by Dianna Love
Riley couldn’t believe he was going through this again. He couldn’t let this happen. Not again. He pulled the phone out of the bag he discarded, then lowered it to his side where he could hide the way he carefully moved his thumb around pushing buttons. He couldn’t key the wrong number. He wouldn’t get a second chance.
“What’d you do with Kelsey?” Stan pleaded with the killer in the voice of a parent living a nightmare.
“She’s safe from you and your wife.” The maniac held his head high as if he’d performed the holiest of duties by taking Stan’s child. “You’ll no longer abuse her innocence.”
“No! I didn’t touch Kelsey. My wife is crazy.” Stan looked at the killer then Riley. “I swear it on my daughter’s life. I wouldn’t hurt that child. I don’t know what got into Lucinda.”
The killer faced Stan and raised his weapon.
“Wait.” Riley fumbled with the phone. “I’ve got the video cued up, but you have to prove to the viewers you’re really doing all this to protect children.”
The killer lowered his weapon and stared at Riley as if he was the crazy one. “I don’t have to prove anything.”
“It’s good PR, Monsignor.” Riley couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with a killer, but the guy was delusional and wanted to be treated as if he was the monsignor. “Tell the viewers where Kelsey is. You can always edit out anything you don’t like later.”
Squinting against the rain, the killer thought for a moment then nodded. “Okay. Start filming.”
Riley made a show of hitting a button on the cell phone, but not the one to start videotaping with the phone. He’d just hit the send button for the number he’d keyed in he hoped like hell was J. T.’s. Then he turned the camera eye of the cell phone toward the killer. “You’re rolling.”
Straightening his shoulders as if he were addressing a congregation and not standing in a downpour with a weapon in his hand, the Killer smiled. “I’m Monsignor Dornan of St. Catherine’s Parish. Today I’ll show you what it takes to stop those in Philadelphia from continuing to sin without remorse. Here – ” He pointed the .38 at Stan. “ – is a man whose child has endured a terror no child should.”
Stan mumbled in a barely audible broken voice. “I didn’t do it, didn’t do it...” He dropped his head, moaning then shook his head and raised grief-stricken eyes. “You kidnapped my child!”
Undaunted, the killer continued. “No, I saved that child and left her in the care of Janeen in a safe basement. Once I’ve redeemed the parents, I will bring Kelsey into the fold of the church where she’ll be cared for.”
Riley played the role of interviewer. “You sure the basement is secure?”
“Of course it is. Janeen lives in a nice neighborhood.”
Riley hoped someone caught that and could locate the little girl and Janeen.
The killer stopped and looked expectantly at Riley.
What’d he want? A thumbs up?
“Sounded great.” Riley shoved dripping wet hair off his face with his free hand. “Now, about Enrique – ”
“Not yet!”
Dammit. What was it going to take to get this bastard to tell him where Enrique was hidden?
Stan lifted his head and looked to Riley. “Please save Kelsey. You can’t believe anything on the news. Kelsey knows I never touched her any way but as a father. She knows. Please save her.”
Riley had nothing to base it on, but his gut told him Stan Myers was telling the truth and about to die at the hands of a lunatic for a sin he hadn’t committed.
“Don’t do this,” Riley told the killer. If J. T. wasn’t here yet that meant he and his men were having a tough time finding this location fifteen miles outside of Philly or that J. T. had to work through jurisdictional issues...or the call from the phone in Riley’s pocket never connected.
“We have to do this, Walker,” the killer ordered.
With nothing to go on but instinct at this point, Riley lowered the phone. He wanted to save Enrique more than he wanted to continue breathing, but he had to stop this guy from killing Stan. If Riley didn’t play cameraman and anchor for this nutcase then the killer couldn’t act. “I thought you said you were here to save children. Men of God are supposed to help people, not kill them.”
“Turn on that video and start filming now!” the killer screeched, water spitting from his lips. Veins stood out on his forehead. His eyes blazed with insanity. “Sinners will repent or face the Enforcer.” He took a step and swung his .38 at Stan’s forehead.
“No, don’t!” Stan jerked his body, trying to get away. The ropes cut his neck.
“Ready?” The killer struck a pose, head high, eyes challenging Riley.
Riley didn’t lift the phone. “No! I’m not filming this or telling your story.” He didn’t know what else to threaten. The only possible thing nearby to use for a weapon were the two monstrous trees that had fallen crisscross over the last twenty feet of the foundation. Nothing useable there.
The killer snorted at Riley, the sound degrading. “I thought you cared about Enrique. He’s not far away, you know. You can have him once this is done.”
Was Enrique really still alive? Was this all one big scam? “How do I know you aren’t lying?”
“You have to have faith. Now, start filming.” The killer turned back to Stan and lifted the weapon again. “I’ll hear your confession now, sinner.” When Stan just dropped his head, crying, the killer screamed, “Then prepare to meet the devil because the gates of heaven are closed to you.”
Riley had never prayed in his life, but he prayed now. Please, God, don’t let this be a mistake.
“The video isn’t working,” Riley shouted. If J. T. hadn’t gotten his last cell phone call by now, Riley had run out of options.
The killer turned, confusion locked on his face. “What?”
Riley dropped the phone to the concrete and slammed his boot heel down on it then rushed the killer. Wind galed across the foundation and icy rain slammed Riley in the face.
The killer screamed, jerked his weapon around and fired at Riley.
Pain burned through Riley’s side when he took two steps.
Another shot blasted and another.
Riley kept moving forward, adrenaline and fury driving him. He rammed the killer’s chest, rocketing both of their bodies into the air. They went down together. Riley rolled on his side that hurt like a mother. He shoved up to his knees then to his feet.
Men shouted beyond the tree line. Police?
The killer was down on his back, jerking spasmodically and holding his throat.
Blood gushed through his fingers.
The priest had been shot.
“No!” Riley dove down on top of him. “Tell me where Enrique is. Tell me! Don’t you die!”
The killer’s free hand grabbed Riley’s arm. He coughed and choked, blood drizzled out the corner of his mouth. His eyes bulged but then his lips moved, trying to say his last words.
Riley lowered his ear. “What? Say it. Where is Enrique?”
Gurgling noises pulsed from between the killer’s chattering teeth. His body clenched once and shuddered.
Then nothing.
The hand clutching Riley’s arm let go and slipped away.
Riley jerked his head up and stared down at the blank eyes of death.
Enrique was underground. Somewhere.
Riley shook the killer’s dead body and screamed. “Noooo...”
Chapter 75
Police swarmed all over the foundation and through the encroaching woods.
Someone was talking to Riley.
He could hear his name, but couldn’t comprehend the words. Didn’t want to. Then a hand clamped down on his shoulder and Biddy squatted into view.
Riley stared at Biddy, who waited patiently. When Riley found his voice the words came out thick and rusty. “Thought you might have gotten blown up.”
Biddy’s answer was a wry smile that didn’t match his sad eyes.
Riley would never question Biddy’s abilities again. “You get Kirsten?”
“Yep. She’s here. Wants to talk to you, but J. T.’s keeping everyone back.”
Riley nodded.
Biddy asked quietly, “Who was the crazy priest?”
“J. T. ran the license. His name’s Oscar Baylor. Worked at St. Catherine’s.” Riley stared at the house foundation. He’d ended up on the ground with his back against a tree, but couldn’t recall exactly how that had happened. He swallowed. His words came out wounded, scraped along his raw throat. “He wouldn’t tell me where Enrique was.”
“I know, buddy.” Biddy’s voice was rough as Riley’s. “Fuckin’ bastard, but we’re not giving up. We’ll keep looking.”
Riley had searched for the child in Detroit for another six weeks until he finally accepted that the first two bodies had only been found after the Kindergarten Killer had sent a tip...two weeks after the children had died.
The third child – body – had never been found.
Was Enrique still alive, scared, running out of air in some hole? Riley cupped his eyes, but horror coated the inside of his eyelids. He dropped his hand and took a trembling breath.
Biddy stood and gave Riley a hand up to his feet.
Headlights blazed through the forest from all the squad cars. Blue lights spooked through the dark afternoon.
Stan Myers stood shivering with a blanket around his shoulders. Medics and a dozen squad cars had shown up minutes after J. T. and his men arrived on scene in time to see the killer fire at Riley. Shooting the killer at that point was SOP for any law enforcement.
When Riley’s gaze clashed with Stan’s, the executive walked toward him. Agony wrinkled Stan’s forehead.
Biddy started to intervene, but Riley put his hand out to let Biddy know it was okay. He understood the helplessness and terror Stan had suffered.
Stan seemed unsure what to do or say then his face crumpled and he hugged Riley, sobbing. “Thank you, oh, God, thank you.”
Riley patted his back, unable to offer a word of comfort. They stood like that, lost in the moment. Riley had stopped caring about time when he watched Enrique’s lifeline die.
Stan released Riley and stepped back. “The police found Kelsey and Janeen alive. My baby is alive because of you. Thank you.”
All Riley could do was nod then Stan walked away.
The medics made a second attempt to approach Riley. Biddy took one look at where Riley held his side and waited. Riley shook his head. He wasn’t hurt that bad. The bullet ripped a cut across his side, but nothing that would kill him.
If he did die from the wound, so what?
Biddy waved off the medics. Kirsten appeared out of nowhere. She rushed up to Riley and folded into the arm he hugged around her. His heart took a crazy leap. He wished he could hug Enrique, too. “How could I fail another child?”
She pulled back and looked up into his face. “You didn’t. This isn’t your fault.”
“Yes it is. If I hadn’t come to Philly the killer would
have – ”
“Picked another news reporter who might not have saved Stan and Kelsey,” Kirsten finished.
Riley’s gaze strayed to the ME standing over the killer’s body. “He put Kelsey in a basement. Why couldn’t he have done that with Enrique?”
“I don’t know.” She lifted a hand to his cheek. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “He gave back two children, but he was crazy. We’ll pull together search parties for Enrique.”
“But where...” Something the killer had said clicked in Riley’s mind. He stared hard at the foundation, wondering, then slipped out of Kirsten’s arms.
“What is it, Riley?”
He started walking to the steps, holding his side that burned with each breath. He might be injured worse than he’d thought. Climbing the steps took some grit.
J. T. stood over the dead priest, holding a small vial of what appeared to be oil in his gloved hand.
Riley didn’t slow down, just kept striding to where the trees had fallen – one a giant evergreen, the other a naked oak.
“What’re you doing, Walker?” J. T. asked in a guarded tone someone used with a person about to leap off a bridge.
Riley grabbed a branch on the evergreen and yanked. Biddy appeared beside him, not saying a word as he added his strength and snapped branches thick as three fingers. Riley plowed into the dense mangle of limbs, pushing his way through and under.
Biddy stayed right beside him, muscling more wood out of the way.
Down on his hands and knees, Riley’s fingers bumped something an inch thick and flat. A sheet of wood. He pushed to his knees. Branches held his back down as he tried to lift the edge of the plywood and pull, but it was stuck.
“I got it,” Biddy said. “On three. One, two, three.”
They yanked together and the sheet of wood slid free.
Riley went back down on his stomach and rolled under branches, gritting his teeth against the pain. He felt his fingers slip over the lip of a concrete edging then squirmed until he was lying along a square opening. On the next move, he pushed sideways to lower his feet into a void and wormed his body under a gauntlet of branches.
Then his feet bumped a support.
Steps. He climbed down slowly until his shoe soles touched a solid bottom, soft and shifting like dirt. Musty smelling.
“Here ya go.” Biddy lowered a small flashlight already turned on into view and let go.
Riley caught the light and started fanning it around the underground space. The beam shook in his hand. When his eyes adjusted, he saw something that jacked his heart with hope and scared the hell out of him at the same time.
He took four long steps across the earthen floor to where a glow leaked around the edges of a makeshift wooden door. The covering had been secured with a wooden bar.
Riley stuck the flashlight in his back pocket and grabbed the round pole that was thick like a shovel handle. Not a good visual. He jerked the bar up and flung it to the ground.
In too much of a hurry to consider what he might have to face inside, he jerked the covering away.
A Diego blanket covered a small mound.
His heart threatened to explode. A battery-operated lamp lit the cramped eight-foot- square area. He rushed over and reached for the blanket, lifting slowly to uncover a child lying on a small mattress.
Riley swallowed and scooped the dark haired little boy into his arms. He laid an ear against the tiny chest.
Where a heart beat.
Thank God.
Riley hugged the child. Miracles did happen.
Enrique was drugged, but alive.
Chapter 76
Margo stood at Monsignor’s doorway, working up the courage to have this final talk. The monsignor sat hunched over a file at his desk, so intent he hadn’t noticed her approach on silent feet. That or he was so exhausted from the last two days he was oblivious to any commotion around him.
He’d been absent from St. Catherine’s all hours of the day and night, meeting with the mayor, the DA’s office and law enforcement about everything from Icky’s shooting to those poor people Baylor had killed. She hadn’t found the chance to tell Monsignor about handin’ over the oil, but he had to know by now.
He’d arrived early at St. Catherine’s administrative offices this mornin’, even ahead of Margo who thought she’d be first when she walked in a few minutes ago at seven. She couldn’t stand waitin’ another second to hear his ruling on her conduct.
“Monsignor, I’m needin’ to speak with you. Please.”
He lifted his head and showed her a face she couldn’t read. His disappointment would cripple her more than anything else, even leavin’ the church.
“Have a seat.” He laid his pen down and sat back, elbows on the arms of his chair and hands clasped in front of his chest.
“I wanted to tell you this two days back, but Father Ickerson was injured, then everything...happened.” She twisted the material o
n her corduroy pants, finding it hard to breath. Her eyes searched out everything on his desk, looking anywhere but Monsignor’s eyes.
“Tell me.”
Margo stopped fidgeting. “I gave the reporter a drop of sacrament oil the night before Ickerson was hurt.” Her insides ached, just thinking about her betrayal, but she still believed in her reason for doing it. She licked her lips and continued in a coarse whisper. “When Walker asked for the drop of oil, I believed it would prove St. Catherine’s was not involved
and – ” Her voice fell off. Anything more would be whining.
“You believed in me,” he finished.
She lifted her damp gaze to meet his quiet one. “Of course, I believed in you. How could I ever think you’d be capable of somethin’ like...that?”
“Many others stood ready to accuse me the morning Baylor set out to kill Stan Myers.”
“Because I made a terrible mistake.” She turned her head then realized she was actin’ as a coward and faced her mentor.
“Mistakes were made everywhere. I came here to rebuild the faith of this community and help Bishop Gautier overcome the damage done by a thief. I allowed a murderer to walk among us. No, it was worse, from what I now understand.” Monsignor shook his head and the grim line of his mouth flattened more.
“None of us suspected Baylor.”
Disappointment lining Monsignor’s face said he wouldn’t let himself off that easily. “The police profiler believes Baylor was like a mortar round, filled with potential to kill but not dangerous until activated. My presence was the catalyst. I’ll spare you the classic symptoms of psychotic background, but he had a delusion that fixated on someone...who – ” Monsignor paused, searching for a word.
“ – was powerful and respected,” Margo filled in. “A leader everyone looked up to.” A man she revered more than any other person on this earth.
A sigh laden with lament escaped Monsignor’s lips. “Yes, I suppose that sums it up. Baylor had once worked at the cemetery where one body was found and he knew all the victims well, having worked here and at Philomena House. Once the police knew it was Baylor and dug into his past, they found out he spoke easily with strangers, spinning all sorts of tales about his background.”