An icy wind slices through the gathering on the corner. People stamp their feet, rub together their hands. They are cold, yet they cannot leave, cannot look away. Instead they stand and watch, transfixed by the spectacle. It is not often that evil walks into their lives in ordinary raiments.
She considers the road they are plotting, how long ago it had begun, how dark the nights. Beelzebub, Belial, Satan, Old Serpent. None of these names are accurate. There is only one name. That name is Man.
‘Do you think light has been shed?’ she asks.
‘Yes, Mama.’
‘Do you think they will follow?’
‘I do.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it is written in the stone.’
She brims with pride. Another car arrives, more officials. Above them, in the early morning sky, a light struggles though the gray clouds, a light as silvery as Venus. Some call it the Morning Star. Some call it the Day Star.
Others call it by its ancient name, taken from the Latin lucem ferre.
Lucifer.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Jessica, Byrne, and Maria Caruso stood on the corner in front of the church. A crowd had already gathered on the other side of the street, despite the early hour. Jessica had asked Byrne to tell her what had happened the night before — the incident with DeRon Wilson that landed him on the news. Byrne promised to tell her the whole story, and added that he was scheduled to see the captain. There were many possible outcomes to that kind of meeting: nothing at all, suspension, even firing.
As Maria Caruso began to direct the neighborhood canvass, a young man walked out of the crowd. It was clear to Jessica he was crossing the street to talk to them. He looked familiar, but Jessica couldn’t immediately place him.
Then she did. It was Father Michael Raphael. Today, instead of his cassock and collar, he wore a heavy parka and knit cap.
‘Father,’ Jessica said. ‘What brings you down here?’
Raphael pointed across the street, at the TV cameras. ‘I saw it on the early news. This is terrible.’
Jessica introduced the young priest to Maria Caruso. They shook hands.
‘Is there any way I can be of assistance?’ Raphael asked.
Jessica looked at Byrne, at Maria, back at the priest. ‘Not really, Father,’ she said. ‘But thanks for asking.’
Raphael nodded, took a moment. Clearly there was something else on his mind. ‘I’ve been thinking about your visit,’ he said. ‘May I speak freely?’
Jessica figured he was talking to her. ‘Of course.’
‘Detective Byrne asked about whether or not there was a formal ritual when a church was closed.’
‘You’re talking about deconsecration,’ Byrne said.
‘Yes. I did a little research.’
‘What did you find?’ Byrne asked.
‘Nothing yet. Nothing formal anyway, at least as it applies to Catholics. The only real control the church has over what the sacred ground becomes is at the time of sale, I’m afraid. After that, with subsequent tenants, there really is not much the church can do.’
‘So there is no rite?’
‘Not that I could find,’ Raphael said. ‘But I found a few instances where churches — or at least sacred objects within the churches, like the altars — were destroyed to keep them from being desecrated.’
Raphael took a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘This might help to explain things.’ He handed the sheet to Jessica. ‘It’s from the code of canon law. The section on sacred places.’
Jessica unfolded the paper. She began to read. As she did, Father Michael Raphael quoted what was on the sheet, word for word.
‘Sacred places lose their dedication or blessing if they have been destroyed in large part, or have been turned over permanently to profane use by decree of the competent ordinary or in fact.’
‘So a church is deconsecrated by default,’ Byrne said.
‘Yes,’ Raphael said. ‘More or less.’
Jessica held up the paper. ‘May I keep this?’
‘By all means.’
The moment drew out. ‘Is there something else?’ Jessica asked.
Raphael pointed at the church. ‘Would it be okay if I said a brief prayer?’
‘Of course,’ Jessica said. ‘We’ll take all the prayers we can get.’
Jessica lifted the crime-scene tape. As Father Raphael said his goodbyes, and ducked under the tape, Jessica got the attention of the uniformed officer guarding the church door. With a nod she told him that Father Raphael was allowed on the scene.
Jessica read the excerpt again.
Turned over permanently to profane use.
There could be no doubt about that, Jessica thought, considering what had been done in the three crime-scene churches.
‘Detective?’
All three detectives looked up. It was one of the CSU officers. He was talking to Maria Caruso.
‘I’ll be back,’ she said.
While Maria returned to the church, Jessica and Byrne walked over to his car, each lost in their own thoughts.
‘Seven churches,’ Byrne said, echoing the words the caller had spoken, words that began this dark odyssey, uttered what seemed like months ago.
‘I don’t want to think about that right now, Kevin.’
Byrne ran a finger over the small, V-shaped scar over his right eye. Jessica knew this meant the wheels were turning. It really was Byrne’s only tell. To a great degree, Kevin Byrne was a cipher. Jessica had no idea what was coming, but she knew something was.
‘I think we need a little spiritual guidance here,’ Byrne finally said.
Jessica glanced at the steps leading to St Regina’s. Father Raphael was no longer standing there. She scanned the crowd. He was gone.
‘Do you want me to try and catch Father Raphael?’
‘I’m not talking about the church,’ Byrne said. He took his keys from his pocket, unlocked the passenger door on the Taurus, held it open for Jessica. ‘I’m talking about something else.’
TWENTY-NINE
Villa Maria was a sprawling compound, located in a wooded setting in Chester County. The building had at one time been a long-term care facility owned by the county for indigent patients, but purchased and refitted by the archdiocese in the late 1980s. In all, there were sixty-one retired priests at the facility.
From a distance it looked like a fading old resort, something you would find in the Poconos or Catskills. The only hint that it was not was the large statue of the Blessed Mother in front of the main entrance.
The priest sat alone on the rear porch, a large fieldstone veranda overlooking the valley. The room looked like it had at one time been an open porch, but had been enclosed sometime in the seventies or eighties. There were two space heaters glowing in the corners.
The old man faced away from them. As Jessica and Byrne approached, Jessica was first struck by how small the man was. On the way up to Villa Maria, Byrne had told her stories about him, about how the priest had instilled fear and respect in not just the smaller kids in his parish, but the older boys as well.
‘Only one ring at the first genuflection, Mr Byrne,’ the old man in the wheelchair said.
Jessica and Byrne stopped in their tracks, looked at each other. Father Thomas Leone had not turned around. There were no mirrors in the room. It was a bright winter day so there were no night-reflections to be found in the windows. Byrne had not called ahead to make any kind of appointment to see the man. They were not expected.
Was the old man prescient?
‘How did you know it was me?’ Byrne asked.
Leone dabbed at his lips, gently put the napkin back into his lap. His hands were gnarled with arthritis. ‘I wish I could tell you that, at my age — as reward for more than sixty years in service of Our Lord — I have been imbued with the power of omniscience.’ He lifted a thin arm, pointed out the window. ‘The truth is, I saw you pull up in the parking lot.’