Byrne took out the small plastic trash bag in his pocket, bagged everything in the room he had touched — the coffee cups, lids, tray, creamers. Unless a federal team did a million-dollar sweep of the room, he had never been here.
He moved over to the windows, parted the curtains an inch or so. The parking lot was exactly the same as it had been when he’d left it.
He stepped into the second bedroom.
‘Detective Byrne,’ Roland Hannah said. ‘It’s nice to see you again. If you’ll pardon.’
‘Not a big fan of irony either, Roland.’
‘No. I imagine not.’
‘Are you ready?’
Roland Hannah didn’t respond. Byrne flipped on the light. Hannah was sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed. He was fully dressed. He was not wearing his amber aviator sunglasses.
‘I hope you didn’t hurt him,’ Roland said.
‘He was a police officer,’ Byrne replied. ‘I don’t hurt cops.’
‘Just criminals?’
‘And those who would have me believe they are not.’
Byrne looked out the back window of the motel room. The lot behind the motel was empty.
‘Why have you come for me?’ Roland asked.
Byrne said nothing.
Before they left, Byrne took Anthony Colasanto’s cell phone and two-way radio, then cut the motel room’s phone line. It wouldn’t prevent Colasanto from putting the word out when he woke up, but it would slow him down a little. If Byrne knew anything about the pills he had dissolved into Colasanto’s coffee — and over the years Kevin Byrne had become quite the expert on sleeping pills — they had a few hours. Which was more than enough time.
Byrne led Roland Hannah to the door. There, he turned and did a quick sweep of the room. He had taken care of everything. He opened the door, checked the sidewalk and parking lot again. Silent and still. He walked the blind man over to his car, unlocked the back door. Roland Hannah slid in.
Byrne handcuffed Hannah to the door handle of the back seat.
Two minutes later, they drove into the night.
FIFTY-EIGHT
By the time Jessica and Maria reached the rowhouse where Sarah Goodwin kept her private office, there were a half-dozen sector cars in front of the building. The street was blocked off at both ends, and a SWAT team was in the process of deploying on nearby rooftops and fire escapes.
Josh Bontrager, Jessica, and Maria would breach the entrance, accompanied by two SWAT officers. The entry would be a no-knock, hard entry. This was a suspect in multiple murders.
As they prepared for the breach, the three detectives secured their Kevlar vests. Jessica silently berated herself for not putting it together before. Danny Palumbo, Adria Rollins, Michelle Calvin, and Martin Allsop were all prime candidates to have been analyzed by a psychiatrist before court proceedings. Sarah Goodwin did consulting work for both the county and city law enforcement agencies. Jessica knew that Byrne had seen her professionally, and it was very likely he had opened up about Gabriel and DeRon Wilson, knowing — or at least believing at the time — it was all confidential.
Jessica also knew that the video camera they had found in the reporter’s car was either on its way to or had already arrived at the crime lab. Maria had tried to delay it as long as possible, but there was only so much she could do. Any second now the criminalists would place Byrne at the scene at St Simeon’s, and questions would start to be asked.
As Jessica approached the door she scanned the area. She did not see Dana Westbrook on scene. This was a good thing. Jessica had a lot of explaining to do to her boss, and she was not prepared to do any of it yet.
The SWAT officer with the ram took up position on the small porch. He looked to his two fellow officers. The other two SWAT officers carried AR-15 assault weapons. On a silent three, the ram hit the door, blasting it almost off its hinges.
‘Philadelphia Police!’ one of the SWAT officers yelled. The two men rolled into the front room. One of them flipped on the light. After a few seconds:
‘Front room clear!’
The two officers methodically went room to room in the rowhouse, and ultimately found no one. The only space left to clear was a closet in the main office.
Her weapon aimed low, Jessica positioned herself to the left of the closet door. She was flanked on her right by one of the SWAT officers. The officer raised his weapon, pointed it at the closet. He made eye contact with Jessica. The second SWAT officer pulled open the door.
The dead body in the closet was that of a white woman in her forties. She wore a lab coat over a dark blue pantsuit, no shoes. There were no visible wounds on her face or hands, no blood, no apparent trauma. Heart racing, Jessica knelt down, put two fingers to the woman’s neck, found no pulse. Before she stood up Jessica noticed the edge of a plastic nametag peeking out from behind the lapel of the lab coat. Although she should have put on a latex glove, she had no time. She gently turned over the lapel. The nametag clipped to the dead woman’s coat read: SARAH GOODWIN, MD.
‘Shit!’ Jessica yelled.
As the SWAT officers and detectives stood down, Jessica began to pace the small office. This did not make sense. Worse than that, she knew how it was going to look for Byrne. Sarah Goodwin was his psychiatrist, and now she was dead.
‘Jess.’
It was Maria Caruso calling her from the waiting room. Jessica walked out there. Maria was looking at a framed photograph on the wall. In the picture two women sat on the edge of the desk in the main office. The caption read: Dr Sarah Goodwin and her assistant Antonia Block open a new office.
Jessica looked at Dr Goodwin, then the other woman in the picture. She knew her, but not as Antonia Block. Jessica recognized the woman in the photograph as Mara Reuben, the woman she had interviewed across the street from the St Adelaide’s scene.
She was looking into the face of a murderer.
Jessica pulled the piece of paper out of her pocket, the one she had kept from the envelope Father Leone had sent Byrne. She looked at the hand-scrawled note.
IT WAS A VESTMENT, KEVIN. THE FIRE OF THE HOLY SPIRIT.
Jessica knew where Byrne was.
FIFTY-NINE
He is much bigger than she imagined. Or maybe she just sees him that way. She thinks it must have been this way for the Apostles as well.
They are sitting in a circle surrounded by seven candles. Ruby, the boy, the detective. There is one empty chair.
‘What should I call you?’ the detective asks.
‘Ruby,’ she says. ‘I want you to call me Ruby. Will you do that?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s been so long since anyone has called me that.’
‘Your father was Elijah Longstreet?’
‘Daddy.’
‘You are also Mara Reuben?’
‘Yes.’
‘And also Antonia.’
Ruby smiles. ‘Antonia Block.’
The detective nods. ‘From Antonius Block. In The Seventh Seal.’
‘My little conceit,’ she says. ‘I was afraid you would see through that when you came to Dr Goodwin’s office.’
‘The last name wasn’t on your nametag.’
‘Of course.’
When she had gotten the job as the medical assistant she didn’t know much about the computer system. It didn’t take long to learn. Forging the prescriptions from Dr Goodwin was much easier. Eventually Dr Goodwin allowed her to call the pharmacies using the office code. This night, when the detective needed the sleeping pills, it was effortless.