With his deliberate and pointed use of the familiar nickname, Detective Rodriguez got the desired results. Slowly shifting his eyes, Christian refocused his attention toward the man. "The name's Delacorte. And if you'll give me some time to freshen up, I can come with you now."
Abruptly, the female detective interceded, "No, that won't be necessary. And like you said earlier, you need to wash up. An excellent idea." Her dark eyes full of attitude, she tilted her head. "Take your time. We have an errand to run. Three will be soon enough."
He ignored the obvious bum's rush she gave him, curious about the woman. But dark memories had already started to rise to the surface of his consciousness—a white noise that would escalate. He didn't have much time before the onslaught began.
"Raven. That's an unusual name."
"If you ask Tony here, he thinks it's because I come from a long line of Raven lunatics."
"I can see the family resemblance." He hurled the first volley across her bow, but didn't stick around to see the indignation he knew would be in her eyes. "See you at three."
Christian had to get out, unable to wait any longer. Leaving Fiona to deal with them, he stepped through the door into the second-floor hallway. His footsteps echoed in the corridor, then down the staircase. He headed for his quarters, a small cottage near the pool that had been closed for the season. All the while, his mind was adrift in the past. With war games fresh in his memory, the images blurred with his childhood terror, as they always did.
Not like always, Delacorte! This time is worse.
The flashes of memory came—wave after wave. Fiona's request must have instigated the intensity of his reaction. But he couldn't stop it. The violent images intruded on everything. Even in broad daylight, their assault clouded the familiar sight of his cottage.
Unending darkness escalated into suffocating fear. Torturous screams stabbed his memory, only drowned out by incessant gunfire and a painful ringing in his ears. And the feeling of being completely defenseless unleashed debilitating despair.
God, please. Not now!
Catching sight of the cottage, he quickened his steps and distracted himself with a recollection. As a boy, he'd been terrified of the dark after that night, when his life had been changed forever. But now, he found an odd sense of relief with the anonymity of it. It took him years to cultivate the feeling. But in doing so, he'd paid a price—isolating himself in his obsession.
Get a grip, Delacorte!
Closing his front door behind him, he shut his eyes and slowed his breathing. Clammy skin scurried chills across his chest. His demons were never far from the surface.
"God, Fiona. This time, you've asked too much."
Gray slush glistened on the road, plastering Raven's wheel wells with melted snow, dirt, and salt. The sun fought a losing battle, eventually covered by the onslaught of dingy clouds. When she drove by the chapel, Raven caught sight of the yellow police tape whipping in the breeze. In the stark daylight, it served as a cruel reminder of what had taken place only last night. Children played on the sidewalk, yards from the barrier. The murder investigation, coupled with the renovations to the cathedral, left this neighborhood without its shining spiritual beacon. Another obligation tugged at her. She had to find the killer and restore balance to this community. Pulling into a parking spot in front of the rectory, she listened halfheartedly to Tony's advice.
"All I'm saying is, you better not push this guy too hard. He doesn't look like the kind of guy who'd take it well. He's dangerous, Raven."
"Yeah, I hear ya, partner." Killing the engine, she turned to him. "It's just that he got under my skin. And when people do that, I push."
"Don't I know that." He chuckled. After sliding out of the car, he slammed the door. "Hey, before we go in there, just wanted you to know I have no intention of sharing everything with our new partner from Transylvania. You and I are gonna sanitize that file. He's only gonna see what we want him to see. It's still our case."
"Glad to hear you say that, partner." She grinned and tapped her fist to the top of her gray-splattered Crown Vic. "Now let's see what the priest has to say."
On the stoop, Raven pushed the doorbell, hearing the buzzer muffled behind the door. Father Antonio answered the chime. Eyes puffy from lack of sleep, the young priest looked older.
"Thank you for coming so quickly. Can I get you any hot tea or coffee? It's such a chilly day."
"I could use some coffee if it's made," Raven replied. Tony followed them, letting her establish rapport with the priest once again. A practiced maneuver. "You didn't get much sleep, huh?"
A fleeting smile flashed across the cleric's face. "No, not much. But it helped to pray. I didn't feel alone."
Knitting her brow, Raven wondered if it would be that easy. Could she erase the images of death with prayer? Or would her petition fall on deaf ears? A part of her didn't want to know the answer to that question.
"I brought the file from my room. It's on the table," he offered. He gestured around the small kitchen and break room. "Please, fix whatever you would like."
Raven quickly filled a mug with black coffee, forgoing her usual cream. She couldn't take her eyes from the manila folder on the table. Once at the table, she pulled out a chair and sat near the priest.
"So, tell me about what you saw last night, Father."
"When I was on my way to the chapel, I saw him at his family's gravesite. He comes here often."
"You said before that the man didn't follow the pattern. What did you mean by that?" she asked.
"I think he saw me watching him. That's probably why he didn't stay. The man's eyes. I have to admit it. He scares me." Father Antonio met her gaze, then clarified, "He usually goes to the cemetery, then comes into the smaller chapel. He never talks to anyone, just sits in the back pew. But last night, he—"
"He what, Father?" Tony edged closer. "What did he do?"
"He just—vanished."
Tony tilted his head, then smiled. "People don't just vanish, Father. With all due respect, were you nipping at the sacred chalice?" Humor—the great equalizer in Tony's book.
Father Antonio chuckled. "No, I can assure you I was not imbibing in wine, Detective. But the man didn't come into the chapel. He just left, I suppose. Like I said, the chapel was dark when I got there. Someone turned the lights out. All I know is that I saw this man in the cemetery before I found—"
Raven's gaze dropped to the manila folder placed before her. "And you said you know who this man is? You did research on him?"
"Yes. I hate to even admit it now, but I was curious about him. He was always so reticent to speak to me, so I..." His voice faded. Pushing the folder toward her, the priest added, "Take a look for yourself."
Raven opened the folder, finding countless newspaper clippings and other documents in the file. But one name she recognized.
"Are you sure about this, Father?" After Father Antonio nodded, she looked across at her partner. "You're not gonna believe this, Tony."
CHAPTER 3
Raven pulled at the collar of her coat to fend off the chill. She still held the file Father Antonio had given her. With Tony at her side, she stood within the wrought-iron gates of St. Sebastian's cemetery—her eyes upon the headstone marked Delacorte. Roses wilted by the freeze lay abandoned at the base of the stone jutting from the ground. And the floral offering eclipsed a marker for a child. A tribute of a weathered cloth doll lay against the monument. Christian Delacorte's parents and younger sister had been killed on the same date, according to the headstone.