” ‘Cain said to Abel, his brother, “Let us go out to the field.” And when they were in the field, Cain rose up against his brother Abel, and killed him. Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is Abel your brother?” He said, “I do not know; am I my brother’s keeper?” And the Lord said, “What have you done? The voice of your brother’s blood is crying to me from the ground.” ‘ ” Mrs. Hogendobber quoted Genesis. “The first murder of all time. Cain didn’t get away with it. Neither will this murderer.”
“Rick Shaw is working overtime to tie Kendrick to both murders. Cynthia called me last night. She said it’s like trying to stick a square peg in a round hole. It’s not working, and Rick is tearing his hair out.”
“He can ill afford that.” Mrs. Hogendobber turned south on Route 29.
“I keep coming back to cowardice. Poison is the coward’s tool.”
“Whoever killed McKinchie wasn’t a coward. A bold run-through with a sword shows imagination.”
“McKinchie was unarmed, though,” Harry said. “The killer jumped out and skewered him. Imagination, yes, but cowardice, yes. It’s one thing to plan a murder and carry it out, a kind of cold brilliance, if you will. It’s another thing to sneak up on people.”
“It is possible that these deaths are unrelated,” Miranda said tentatively. “But I don’t think so; that’s what worries me.” She braked for a red light.
She couldn’t have been more worried than Father Michael, who, dozing in the confession booth, was awakened by the murmur of that familiar muffled voice, taking pains to disguise itself.
“Father, I have sinned.”
“Go on, my child.”
“I have killed more than once. I like killing, Father. It makes me feel powerful.”
A hard lump lodged in Father Michael’s thin throat. “All power belongs to God, my child.” His voice grew stronger. “And who did you kill?”
“Rats.” The disguised voice burst into laughter.
He heard the swish of the heavy black fabric, the light, quick footfall. He bolted out of the other side of the confession booth in time to see a swirl of black, a cloak, at the side door, which quickly closed. He ran to the door and flung it open. No one was there, only a blue jay squawking on the head of the Avenging Angel.
52
“Nobody?”
Lucinda Payne Coles, her heavy skirt draped around her legs to ward off the persistent draft in the old office room, said again, “Nobody. I’m at the back of the church, Sheriff. The only way I’ll see who comes in and out of the front is if I walk out there or they park back here.”
Cynthia, also feeling the chill, moved closer to the silver-painted radiator. “Have you noticed anyone visiting Father Michael lately, anyone unusual?”
“No. If anything it’s quieter than normal for this time of year.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Coles. Call me any time of the day or night if anything occurs to you.”
Rick and Cynthia walked outside. A clammy mist enshrouded them in the graveyard. They bent down at the side door. Depressions on leaves could be seen, a slight smear on the moisture that they tracked into the cemetery.
“Smart enough to cover his tracks,” Cynthia said.
“Or hers. That applies to every country person in the county,” Rick replied. “Or anyone who’s watched a lot of crime shows.” He sat on a tombstone for a moment. “Any ideas?”
“Nope.”
“Me neither.”
“We know one thing. The killer likes to confess.”
“No, Coop, the killer likes to brag. We’ve got exactly one hope in hell.”
“Which is?” She told herself she wasn’t really a smoker as she reached into her pocket for a pack.
“I’ll take one of those.” Rick reached out.
They lit up, inhaling.
“Wonder how many people buried here died of emphysema?”
“Don’t know.” He laughed. “I might be one of them someday.
“What’s your one hope, boss?”
“Pride goeth before a fall.”
53
Rick Shaw set up a temporary command post in April Shively’s office. Little Mim and Sandy Brashiers requested over the radio and in the newspaper that students return to St. Elizabeth’s for questioning.
Every hand Rick could spare was placed at the school. Little Mim organized and Sandy assisted.
“—the year started out great. Practice started out great—” Karen Jensen smiled at the sheriff. “Our class had a special film week. We wrote a story, broke it down into shots, and then Friday, we filmed it. Mr. McKinchie and Miss Thalman from New York directed us. That was great. I can’t think ofanything weird.”
“Sean?”
“Oh, you know Sean, he likes playing the bad boy, but he seemed okay.” She was relaxed, wanting to be helpful.
“If you think of anything, come on back or give me a call.” Rick smiled reflexively. When Karen had left, he said to Cooper, “No running nose, no red eyes or dilated pupils or pupils the size of a pin. No signs of drug abuse. We’re halfway through the class—if only Sean would regain consciousness.”
“If he is going to be a father, that explains a lot.”
“Not enough,” Rick grumbled.
Cynthia flipped through her notes. “He used to run errands for April Shively. Jody Miller said Sean had a permanent pink pass.” She flipped the notebook shut.
A bark outside the door confused them for a moment, then Cynthia opened the door.
Fur ruffled, Tucker bounded in. “We can help!”
With less obvious enthusiasm Mrs. Murphy and Pewter followed.
“Where’s Harry?”
As if to answer Coop’s question, Harry walked through the door carrying a white square plastic container overflowing with mail. “Roscoe’s and Maury’s mail.” She plopped the box on the table. “I put Naomi’s mail in her mailbox.”
“Anything unusual?” Rick inquired.
“No. Personal letters and bills, no Jiffy bags or anything suspicious.”
“Has she been coming to pick up her mail?”
“‘Naomi comes in each day. But not today. At least not before I left.”
Cynthia asked, “Does she ever say anything at all?”
“She’s downcast. We exchange pleasantries and that’s it.”
“Good of Blair to lend you his Dually.” Coop hoped her severe crush on the handsome man wouldn’t show. It did.
“He’s a good neighbor.” Harry smiled. “Little Mim’s pegged him for every social occasion between now and Christmas, I swear.”
“He doesn’t seem to mind.”
“What choice does he have? Piss off a Sanburne?” Her eyebrows rose.
“Point taken.” Cynthia nodded, feeling better already.
“When you girls stop chewing the fat, I’d be tickled pink to get back to business.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Spoilsport,” Harry teased him. “If we take our minds off the problem, we usually find the answer.”
“That’s the biggest bunch of bull I’ve heard since ‘Read my lips: No new taxes,’ ” Rick snorted.
“Read my lips: Come to the locker room.” The tiger cat let out a hoot.
“Was that a hiccup?” Cynthia bent down to pat Mrs. Murphy.
“Let’s try the old runaway—run back routine.” Tucker ripped out of the room and ran halfway down the hall, her claws clicking on the wooden floor, then raced back.
“Let’s all do it.” Mrs. Murphy followed the dog. Pewter spun out so fast her hind legs slipped away from her.
“Nuts.” Rick watched, shaking his head.
“Playful.” Coop checked the mail. There wasn’t anything that caught her eye as odd.
Halfway down the hall the animals screeched to a halt, bumping into one another.
“Idiots.” Mrs. Murphy puffed her tail. The fur on the back of her neck stood up.
“Wecould try again.” Tucker felt that repetition was the key with humans.
“No. I’llcrawl up Mother’s leg. That gets her attention.”
“Doesn’t mean she’ll follow us,” Pewter replied pragmatically.