‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’ve been expecting your call.’
‘We?’
‘My son and I.’
Byrne said nothing.
‘God chooses us for a reason,’ the woman said. ‘Are you ready?’
‘I’m ready.’
There was a moment of silence. Then, ‘Do you know what you must do?’
‘I do.’
‘It has all led to this moment. Do you feel the weight of providence?’
More than you know, Byrne thought. ‘Yes. But there’s something I need first.’
‘I am listening.’
Byrne told her what he needed. The woman agreed to get it for him.
‘Do you want to know where we will be?’ she asked.
‘I know where you’ll be. I just don’t know how long it will take me to get there.’
‘We are patient.’
‘Expect me.’
Byrne clicked off, sent Jessica a text message. He put his cell phone on his dining-room table, next to his service weapon and his badge.
How else could I do good, man?
Kevin Byrne knew.
FIFTY-FOUR
Jessica could not find Byrne. She tried every cell, landline, pager number, text. Nothing. She had not told Maria of Mateo’s call — indeed, Jessica had asked Mateo to keep it to himself as long as he could. She couldn’t ask him to lie or erase the footage of Kevin, but Mateo was a stand up cop, and agreed to follow her lead on this. He promised not to say anything. For the moment.
St Simeon’s was now crowded with personnel. Jessica had seen the look on Dana Westbrook’s face when she pulled up, and it wasn’t good. Their killer had committed a crime, right under the noses of two detectives, and this would not play out well with the media.
Jessica decided to worry about the wrath of her boss later. Her immediate concern was Kevin Byrne.
What had he been doing at the church?
Jessica walked out of St Simeon’s. Her phone rang. It was Maria.
‘Yeah, Maria.’
‘I’m checking the cars on the street. There’s a compact car about a half-block from your location.’
Jessica recalled the car from when she entered the church. ‘What about it?’
‘It looks like we’ve got a second victim.’
‘There’s a body in that car?’
‘Yeah.’
‘He’s DOA?’
‘Oh, he is definitely DOA. There’s something on the seat next to him you should see, though.’
Jessica jogged down the alley, turned the corner. She saw Maria a half-block away, standing near the car. She walked the remaining distance, thinking there was no need to run. A DOA tended to stay dead.
When she arrived she looked in the driver’s window. The victim was a white male, late twenties, early thirties. His head was back on the headrest. A thin trickle of vomit leaked from the corners of his mouth. Jessica shone her Maglite into the car.
‘Ah, Christ,’ she said.
‘What? You know him?’
‘His name is Shane Adams. He’s a reporter. He tried to shadow me earlier today.’
Jessica ran her Maglite around the inside of the car. The backseat was full of junk, the kind of stuff you’d have if you lived half your life inside your car — extra clothing, fast-food trash, Handi-Wipes.
‘You are not going to believe this,’ Maria said. With her gloved hands she took a digital video camera off the front seat and put it on top of the car. ‘This was playing when I walked up to the car.’ She hit a button, turned the LCD screen to face them.
At first the image was out of focus. Soon it became clear. It was the image of a cross. It was hard to tell on the small screen what the cross was made of, but the closer Jessica looked at it, the more she realized it was made of glass.
‘Is that a window?’ Jessica asked.
‘I’m pretty sure it is,’ Maria said. She froze the image, pointed at the screen. ‘It looks like this is tinted glass, doesn’t it?’
The two detectives looked at each other at the same moment, understanding flowing between them.
‘Stained glass,’ they said in unison.
‘Keep playing it,’ Jessica said.
Maria hit the button. The video continued. The stained-glass image of the cruciform began to lose focus again, and Jessica soon realized what was happening. There was an image behind the glass that was starting to come in to focus. A few seconds later she saw what it was, and her heart skipped a beat. There, on the other side of the cross, was a person, perfectly framed, as if on the cross.
There could be no doubt. The person was Kevin Byrne.
Jessica ran back down the street, up the alley. She looked at the side window next to the door that gave entry into the church. There was a cross in the stained glass. It was identical to the crucifix in the video.
The killer had just shot this footage.
FIFTY-FIVE
Jessica paced the sidewalk in front of the church. There were police cars everywhere. Dana Westbrook had said that she wanted her back at the Roundhouse on the double.
‘Are you okay?’ Maria asked.
‘I’ve had better days.’ Although Jessica knew she was expected at Eighth and Race any minute, she knew she wouldn’t rest until Kevin Byrne was in her sight. ‘What I think we should do is — ’
The envelope, Jessica thought. The envelope the woman had dropped off for Byrne.
The envelope from Father Leone.
Jessica reached into the car, retrieved the envelope from the back seat, tore it open. In it were pages from the Bible, along with other pages, handwritten on old, yellow-edged typing paper.
These were messages from Father Leone. Messages from beyond the grave.
As Jessica’s eyes scanned the pages, things began to make a clear, horrifying sense. It was about the seven churches of the Apocalypse:
Unto the angel of the church of Ephesus … thou has left thy first love …
Cecilia Rollins, Jessica thought.
Unto the angel of the church of Smyrna … ye shall have tribulation ten days …
Danny Palumbo was in that basement ten days.
To the angel of the church of Pergamos … give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written …
Martin Allsop. The white stones. The name of the next crime scene written on a stone.
Unto the angel of the church in Thyatira … Jezebel … I will cast her into a bed …
Michelle Calvin was found on that bloody mattress.
Unto the angel of the church of Sardis … I will come unto thee as a thief …
DeRon Wilson had his hands cut off.
Jessica found that her own hands were shaking as she looked at the last two entries. The final two churches were Philadelphia and Laodicea.
Her eyes roamed the page, looking for a clue, a thought, a line that might help her penetrate the mind of a killer.
Unto the angel of the church of the Laodiceans … I counsel thee to buy of me gold tried in the fire … and white raiment …
To the angel of the church in Philadelphia … he that hath the key of David … but do lie …
The final page was a single piece of old onion-skin typing paper. On it was a hand-scrawled note from Father Leone, perhaps the last thing he ever wrote. To Jessica, it was just as cryptic as the pages of Revelation. It read:
IT WAS A VESTMENT, KEVIN. THE FIRE OF THE HOLY SPIRIT.
What did he mean by this? What vestment?
Jessica considered calling Byrne again, but she knew she would get his voicemail. She looked at her key ring.
‘I’ll be back,’ Jessica said.
‘Where are you going?’ Maria asked.
‘I’m going to Kevin’s house.’
‘I’m coming with you.’
Jessica glanced at the swarm of PPD personnel descending upon St Simeon’s. They had both given their statements, and neither of them were going to be the lead investigator on the case.