“Obvious explanation is he was waiting where he wanted us to go, in a high rise, on an apartment roof, in a car-whatever-and when we didn’t show in ten, fifteen minutes, he knew we went to the wrong place.”
“So what’s with the riddle?” Vail asked. “Those intended to heal-Tumaco-may give life-he’s a doctor-but drown the truth.” She thought a moment. “Was Tumaco involved in a cover-up?”
“Of what?” Burden asked as his phone vibrated. He grabbed it, answered, and listened. “Got it- Yeah, no, that’s fine. About what I expected.” He shoved it in his pocket. “They can only tell us that those texts that came from Robert’s phone are in a two- to three-mile radius. They’re putting a trap on the phone, but it’s off.”
“I doubt the offender’ll use that phone again,” Dixon said.
“Violence and sleep come under watchful eyes,” Vail said. “Now I get it. He meant here, where a man was killed in a flotation tank under watchful eyes.”
Burden huffed. “Apparently, no one was watching.”
“Wrong,” Vail said. “The killer was watching.” She turned and walked back to Veronica. “Can you give me one of your cards-and jot down your direct line on the back in case we need to reach you?”
Veronica did as requested-and handed it to Burden as Vail’s phone vibrated.
A text.
this one comes from on high
the other mission
where darkness reigns
seek not the son but the father
make haste
Vail looked at her partners. “Let’s take this outside.”
They ran down the stairs to the street. Allman was on the phone, leaning against a tree. Scheer, also on a call, saw them first and trotted over.
“Different cell,” Vail said as she thumbed her BlackBerry. “Sending it on to your office for a trace. Probably a throwaway.”
Burden nodded at her phone. “The text. Break it down like we did before.”
“Another message?” Scheer asked as he approached.
Vail read it to them.
“Mission District,” Burden said.
Allman shook his head. “No-it can’t be.”
“Why not?”
“Read the rest of it. He wrote, the other mission.”
“Yeah. So what?” Dixon asked. “What other mission is there?”
Scheer looked up. “The Mission-as in the church. San Francisco de Asís. In the Mission District.”
“We already pissed him off once by getting it wrong,” Vail said. “On your brilliant idea. I’d like to avoid a repeat performance, thank you very much.”
“How sure are you about this?” Allman asked.
Scheer’s lips tightened. He looked at Allman for the first time. “Pretty sure, Clay. Sure enough to risk embarrassing myself in front of you. Again.”
Clay threw up both hands-an I give up gesture.
“I think it works,” Burden said. “I don’t see the ‘where darkness reigns’ part. But I’m not hearing anything better.”
“Then let’s go,” Vail said. “‘Make haste.’”
THEY ARRIVED AT THE CHURCH, LOCATED on Dolores Street near Sixteenth. A two-story white adobe structure with four columns dominating its front and a simple cross at the pinnacle of its pointed roof sat beside a tan, ornate dual-spired basilica. Two young pine trees rose from a grass strip in front of the mission.
Burden led the way up the burgundy tile steps of the smaller structure. The interior was long and narrow, with a floor-to-ceiling mural dominating a wall to the right. Pews lined both sides of the room, with a center aisle leading up to the front. A striped, multicolored wood-beamed ceiling ran the entire length of the ground floor.
“Anyone know anything about this place?” Burden asked as they all cleared the wood front doors.
“I think it’s one of the original missions,” Allman said. “If I remember, Father Junipero Serra officiated here, back in the 1700s.”
“That would be 1782, and that’s correct. One of only two remaining missions that can say that.”
The group turned.
To their right stood a bespectacled, well-coifed man in dark robes, his hands clasped in front of him. “May I help you?”
Burden held up his badge. “Lance Burden, SFPD. And you sure can.”
“Then I am at your service,” the man said with a slight bow.
“We were sent here by someone…pertaining to a case. Is there anything you can tell us about your facility that might…well…” Burden turned to Dixon and Vail.
“That might involve violence, or murder,” Vail said.
Burden brought a hand to his forehead. Apparently, he was uncomfortable with her direct approach.
“No offense intended, sir,” Scheer said. “But time is of the essence.”
Vail turned slowly. “Thanks. Now keep your trap shut.”
The man’s eyes moved back and forth between Vail and Scheer, clearly unsure what to make of this tightly wound redhead-and her direct and offensive question. He finally said, “Nothing to my knowledge, Officer.”
“Any idea why someone might refer to this as a place where darkness reigns?” Dixon asked.
The man took a step back. “If anything, Miss, this is a place of light. Enlightenment. Fulfillment, and repentance.”
“I meant no disrespect. We’re just…”
Fishing. Clueless. Desperate. Pick any of those adjectives. They all fit.
“…working a case,” Dixon continued, “and it’s forcing us to ask some uncomfortable questions.”
“Holy shit.” Vail clapped a hand across her mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Holy-father.” Is that better? Jesus Christ, I don’t think so. “I-uh-I just had a thought,” she said to Burden and Dixon. Then, back to the increasingly insulted clergyman: “Did a Father Ralph Finelli ever work here?”
“Finelli…” The man’s brow furrowed and he looked off into the distance. He finally shook his head. “I’m nearly certain he has never ministered here. I have a listing of all the priests who have been a part of the mission since its founding-”
“This would be much more recent. Say the last fifty years or so.”
“Then the answer would be no.”
Vail looked at Burden and Dixon. “You guys want to ask anything?” She then turned to Allman and Scheer, who were a few paces back. “What about you?”
They both shrugged.
“Thank you for your assistance. And please accept my apologies for…well, everything.”
They walked outside. “You guys give us a minute?” Dixon said to the journalists.
The men walked off in different directions, down the sidewalk.