The Last Amen

by C. C. Jameson

  Silencing his phone was an option, but not a great one if important calls were to come in.

  His eyes went from the community in front of him back to his phone, then back to the priest.

  What harm would there be in having a quick chat? Then he’d be able to fully focus on his surveillance task.

  “Make it quick, Vanessa. I’m at work and I can’t talk right now.”

  “I didn’t want to leave you a text message. I had to tell you.”

  “Can’t this wait until tonight? After I come home?”

  “It’ll be too late by then.”

  He put the phone on speaker and set it on his dashboard. He rubbed his temples, struggling to follow along while doing his best to keep an eye on the father.

  That woman had grabbed his attention with her fiery attitude—both on the dance floor and in bed—but he’d never managed to have an easy conversation with her. If he were honest with himself, he’d have to say they shared intense chemistry. But that was it. She wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and that little tidbit made for difficult conversations. He knew he wasn’t a rocket scientist either, so he’d let it slide, enjoying the perks that came with their relationship.

  “What? Why?” he asked.

  “I’ll be gone. My bags are packed. I’m leaving.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You sound like a broken record. I told you last night. But then you fell asleep halfway through our conversation.”

  Smitty made fists with his hands and stared at his car roof. The woman drove him crazy. Not even a month ago, she’d begged to move in with him, saying it would be good for their relationship. “Vanessa, what are you saying, baby? Why do you want to leave now?”

  “See, I’ve been thinking about it all day. When I told you I was pregnant, the only thing I heard from you was a snore. That’s not—”

  “What? You’re pregnant?”

  “Yes, I told you last night, Smitty! You never listen to me, that’s the problem!”

  As though a kaleidoscope had burst open in his brain, he suddenly couldn’t think straight. Images of a screaming baby fought with those of Vanessa microwaving breast milk or dipping a pacifier into whisky. His life as a sleepless cop flashed to mind. While Vanessa went on and on about whatever she was going on about, he couldn’t register the words she spoke.

  Then he thought of his partner, the voice of reason, and finally spoke.

  “Vanessa, baby! I didn’t hear any of that last night. I’m sorry you’ve been freaking out about it. I’ve been exhausted. I told you I wasn’t in the mood for a discussion. I wasn’t kidding. I just fell asleep.”

  “But I told you it was important!” Her voice had reached new levels both in terms of how nasally she sounded and how close she was to tears.

  But then Smitty looked up, trying to see if Father Matthews was still where he’d last seen him, but he could no longer see the man. “Shit!”

  “What?”

  “Vanessa. I’m so sorry I have to hang up on you, but I’m at work. I’ve got to run. Please, I’m begging you, stay home until I get back from work. Then we’ll talk about this, okay?”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes!” He hung up then rubbed a hand over his face, as though the motion could somehow make him forget about what he’d just learned in the past few minutes. He had to focus on work.

  Where the fuck had the father gone to?

  He looked over to where he’d parked his vehicle. It was still there.

  Relief washed over him as he realized he could most likely recover from this stupid mistake. How did he let his personal shit get in the way of an important case? His one chance to make a difference in a fucking serial killer case. The sergeant had thrown them a bone and assigned them to surveil one of the suspects in a major crime, and this was how he was paying him back?

  He’d really messed up this time.

  Smitty had never hated himself as much as he did at that moment.

  Then Vanessa’s latest bomb came back to haunt him, not helping his case.

  He got out of his unmarked vehicle and headed to the meetup. He’d just follow the breadcrumbs. He’d ask around. It would likely raise more questions than anything, but at least he’d get his eyes back on the suspect.

  As he marched toward the crowd of old friends, dressed in his cheap gray suit, he realized he kind of looked like he belonged. He headed to the cluster of people where he’d last seen him.

  “Hi, have you seen Father Matthews?” Smitty asked a red-headed woman in a green sundress, one of the handful of women holding on to red Solo cups or tiny cardboard plates.

  “He was just here a few minutes ago. I don’t know where he went.”

  “I saw him head inside the building,” a blonde said, her hand pointing toward the back entrance of the six-story building.

  “Thank you,” he said, although he really meant to swear, but knew it wasn’t the proper time or venue.

  He’d messed up. It was his own fault. Well, Vanessa shouldn’t have called him. No! My fault for picking up. Shit, shit, shit.

  Holding tight to his phone, he thought about calling the detectives and admitting he’d messed up. Then, he didn’t want to. How bad would that look?

  He made a pact with himself. Ten minutes. If I don’t find him by then, I’ll call it in. He looked at his phone, surprised by the time on his clock.

  “How long was I on the phone with her?” he muttered as he headed toward the elevator doors.

  For ten minutes, he surveyed every floor. But it was all in vain. No way he’d knock on every door. He just hoped he’d somehow run into the man.

  But that was dumb. The stupidest plan he’d ever had.

  Why did he have to go and answer Vanessa’s call?

  He fucking messed up and messed up bad.

  The worst mistake of his career!

  Smitty was calling himself all sorts of names by the time he stepped outside again, ready to admit defeat. But then he spotted Father Matthews smiling and nodding at a young woman near the punch bowl.

  He let out a long exhalation and closed his eyes. “Thank, God!”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Luke sat on the couch, his sock-covered feet resting on the coffee table, a folded newspaper in front of him, pen in hand.

  How he loved the complexity of those Sunday crossword puzzles. He had yet to finish one, but using a pen did increase their difficulty level. Pure challenge and fun for his morning alone in the house.

  The sound of a key in the lock had him look up to the clock below the TV. Had Kate returned from the precinct already? But when he didn’t hear the beeps from the safe, he realized it was his mom.

  Mass ended late today, he thought.

  His mom walked into the living room a few seconds later. Her slippers clashed with her outfit, but he knew she would head to her room and change soon. She only wore her best outfits for church.

  But she put her hands on her hips and frowned the instant their glances met. “Luke Stewart O’Brien! Get your feet off that table!”

  As a reflex, he obeyed. Then he put them back on there. “Mom, this is my house. I get to do as I wish.”

  She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I raised you better than that.”

  “My house, my rules, Mom. That was the deal when I invited you to live with me.”

  “Well, I don’t care for this particular rule. It’s not proper.”

  “We’re not hosting a fancy dinner with company. I’m just working on my crossword puzzle and I want to relax.” Not wanting to hear or say another word about such a trivial topic, he turned the tables on her. “What took the priest so long today? Aren’t you home a good twenty minutes later than usual? Did your friend have car troubles?”

  “As a matter of fact, I stayed behind to chat with Father Coffedy.”

  He frowned, exhaled, then put his pen down. “Dare I ask why?”

  She smiled. “Let me get my purse. I’ll show you.”

 
; A few seconds later, she was back in the living room, taking a seat next to Luke on the couch, staring at his socks.

  “Fine!” He moved his feet to the floor and straightened his back. “What do you want to show me?”

  “Well…” She smacked her lips, a sound she only made when she was about to say something that would upset him. “I was waiting to talk with Father Coffedy after mass. But you know, he was busy, chatting with other parishioners who wanted to share some news with him, so I got to talking with Candidate Anderson. The young man is so helpful—”

  “Get to the point, Mom.”

  She frowned at him, her head tilted. “Anyways, I finally got my turn with Father Coffedy and I asked about the church’s marriage preparation course. For you and Kate, of course. Not for me.”

  He dropped his newspaper onto his lap. “Mom! Why did you go and do that?”

  “There’s no reason to get upset. I didn’t book a date for a ceremony or anything. You know it’s the right thing to do. Make it right under the eye of God!”

  “Mom, we’ve been through this before. Kate and I have something that works. I don’t want to mess it up. The status quo is perfect. I don’t want to ruin the best thing I’ve ever had.”

  “Asking someone for their hand in marriage is the furthest thing from ruining a relationship!”

  “But Kate doesn’t care about marriage! She’s never brought it up.”

  “Then here’s your chance to broach the topic.” Her hand reached into the purse that had been resting on her lap, then she pulled out a leaflet. “Have a look. Share the information with Kate. Leave it on her pillow tonight if you prefer. That will get the conversation going.”

  “Mom, Kate isn’t religious. She’d be annoyed if I did that.”

  “Nonsense. She prays before meals with us.”

  “If you weren’t here, she wouldn’t.”

  One of her eyebrows had raised above the other as her lips pursed. “What are you saying?”

  “She’s only praying with us before the meals because it means something to you. She doesn’t want anything to do with the church or religion in general.”

  She shook her head. “You’re wrong there. She came to church with me the other morning. She was really interested in that young priest, Father Matthews. In fact, I don’t think she’s the cheating kind, but I’d be careful if I were you.”

  “Mom! Come on! You’re being ridiculous now. I trust Kate. And if she were to cheat on me, she would most definitely not do it with a priest! You watched too much of The Thorn Birds. Seriously.”

  “Well, why else would she be so interested in him? We missed half the mass so we could go see him instead of Father Coffedy.”

  Luke shrugged. “It probably had something to do with her work. The news was pretty clear about it. There’s a religious theme to the latest strings of murders. She was probably scoping out the crowd, wanting to talk to him to get some information about certain parishioners.”

  His mom shook her head before exhaling loudly.

  “You know what, Mom?” Luke asked, tapping his mother’s lap briefly. “There is something that would make me feel a lot better, now that we’re kind of on the topic.”

  “Reading the leaflet?” she suggested, once again pushing her unwanted literature into Luke’s hand.

  “No. I want you to hold off on going to church for a little while. Just to be safe, you know?”

  “Luke.” She got up but continued shaking her head at him.

  “I’m not saying to abandon your faith. I’m just saying to skip your religious functions until they catch the killer.”

  “That’s where you’re so wrong. Out of all times, now’s the time for me to strengthen my faith and spend more time at church. Only by praying will light overcome the darkness.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Kate stood in the center of conference room two, soaking in the photos, maps, and clues their team had pinned all around the room. She knew she was disobeying Fuller’s direct order by coming into work today, but she couldn’t help herself. Her brain wouldn’t magically switch off, so she might as well put it to good use.

  Instead of pretending to listen to Luke and his mom—something she’d shamefully caught herself doing too many times over the past few days—she was better off wasting time rehashing the same clues over again at work instead of at home.

  There had to be something they’d missed.

  The killer couldn’t have gotten away with murder twice without leaving a single clue. She looked at the map and added one pin: Father Matthews’ apartment, whose address she’d just looked up. Its location didn’t jump at her as anything overly convenient for either of the two victims.

  Using one of the blank whiteboards, she turned to the mental game she played when she was really stuck: brainstorming. She began by selecting two words that had appeared at both crime scenes, then she let her mind make whatever mental associations it felt like making. No time for second guessing or political correctness.

  Rosary: religion, church, choir, hymn, prayer, father, amen, cross, oil, blessing

  Used nightgown: beggar, poor, donation, charity, non-profit

  Out of words for now, she stopped and stared at the board. Then she stepped forward and circled two words: donation and choir.

  A while back, Luke had mentioned to her in passing that the church had been collecting used clothing. In fact, he’d suggested it as a way for her to get rid of Kenny’s clothes instead of just throwing them away. The nightgowns. The detectives hadn’t bothered with tracking those down. While some DNA had been found on them, it hadn’t matched anyone in their databases or on their list of suspects. Not even Father Matthews.

  For a few seconds, Kate wondered if they should try to contact second-hand stores, see if they could have sold or given those two articles away, but she couldn’t picture anyone spending money—not even a dollar—for those really worn-out pieces of clothing. They had to have come out of the back of someone’s closet, trash can, or donation bin.

  But which? There was no real way to tell unless a volunteer would recall those specific items. Kate had no idea how many donation bins existed, either formally or informally, within the city, but she guessed the number to be too high for the time they had. Not worth the effort.

  She turned to her other brainstormed option: the choir. That majestic organ she’d seen… Could the killer be part of the church’s choir? Would one choir rotate through several parishes?

  But before answers could come to her, her phone rang with the tone she’d assigned Fuller.

  “Detective Murphy,” she said, bringing the device to her ear while hoping he hadn’t just driven by the station and seen her car in the parking lot.

  “We’ve got a third one.”

  “What’s the address?” she asked, marker in hand, ready to add to her board.

  He gave it to her. “I’m heading there now, but I need you to contact our surveillance guys right away. Confirm where your two main suspects were for the past few hours. First officer on the scene talked about a rosary. He said the vic hadn’t cooled off yet.”

  “On it.”

  “Call me back right away.”

  She ended the call then dialed the shift supervisor’s number who promptly provided the names and numbers of those currently surveilling. Next, she called one of the officers with eyes on Amanda McCutcheon.

  “Officer Lofland, this is Detective Murphy.”

  “I was just about to call you guys,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “We’re bringing her in. She spotted us and went ape-shit!”

  “What?”

  “It appears she may have been a target of your murderer. Long story, from what I gathered. We’re heading back to the precinct with her now.”

  “Fine.”

  Kate smiled as she dialed Smitty’s number. She’d shared a few shifts with him before. He’d even pulled a favor and helped her out with her uncle’s case a few years back. Perhaps he
’d have helpful info for her once more.

  “Smitty, it’s Murphy. I need a status update on Father Matthews.”

  “Hey, hey! Good afternoon, blondie!”

  “No time for small talk. Where was he during the past few hours?”

  A small pause, then he spoke. “He’s been at the church’s fundraiser for at least an hour.”

  “What does that mean. Where was he the hour before now?”

  “Is it really important?”

  “Smitty, we just got a third victim. It happened within the last few hours. Tell me you guys had eyes on Matthews the whole afternoon.”

  “…”

  “Smitty!”

  “Mansbridge had to leave, and I may have lost him for about thirty minutes.”

  “Fu—” Her nails digging into her palms, Kate swallowed letters she didn’t voice. Could this be good news instead? Was that enough for probable cause? “Tell me exactly where he was before and after you lost him.”

  “At the fundraiser.”

  “Address?” Kate asked as she walked toward the map.

  She added a pin to mark the fundraiser’s location and another for the third murder. They were a stone’s throw from each other. The man could have gone from one to the other and killed the person within thirty minutes.

  “Man, Smitty, you should have called it in when you lost eyes. I’m gonna ask for another unit to take over for you. The minute you’re relieved, I need you to report to Detective Lieutenant Fuller.” She gave him the crime scene address and hung up, mixed feelings brewing in the pit of her stomach.

  Is this it?

  She grabbed her jacket and headed downstairs, phone cradled against her shoulder as she stepped out of the elevator, waiting for Fuller to pick up.

  “Sir, we’ve had developments on both sides. Officer Smitty, our eyes on Matthews, lost him briefly this after—”

  “What the fuck?”

  “I know. I’m just about to call the patrol supervisor. I’ll get a replacement for him so he can brief both of us in person. His fuck-up may be our opportunity for probable cause. Matthews was a block away!”