“What’s this about?” the young man said, his tone adversarial. Hester placed her hands on his to silence him.
“This is my son, Francisco.” Francisco and Jack exchanged glances. “Jack is the one who found Carmen.” Hester’s tone demanded he respect the detective. Francisco softened immediately and extended his hand. Jack took it.
“Not all the credit is mine,” Jack said — no intention of divulging the other deserving party. “I realize this isn’t a good time, but maybe if I could stop by your home? When it’s convenient.”
“Of course, anything.”
“We should go, they’re waiting,” Francisco said, giving her wrist a gentle tug.
“Si, okay.” She turned to Jack. “Goodbye. God bless you.”
Hester and Francisco exited, leaving Jack alone with the priest. His name was Father Carlos Gonzales, he had a stocky build, and thin black hair with graying along his temples. His face was gentle and disarming. Jack could see how someone like him was just the right person to deliver a message of peace during sorrow, or blessings during joy. In a way, they were both public servants, but for his own reasoning, Jack saw himself as the dark one in the room. Even though Jack fought on the side of good, he was constantly immersed in the dark side of his fellow man, whereas this servant of God saw only the goodness in people.
The priest collected bibles from the pews. Jack approached him.
“Father, my name’s Jack Ridge, I’m a detective—”
“I know who you are,” he said with a warm smile catching Jack off guard, “Thanks to you, Carmen’s spirit can at last rest in peace.”
Jack tilted his head, not necessarily agreeing with his assessment. “Then you don’t mind speaking for a moment?”
“How can I be of help?”
“How long have you been with this church?”
The priest looked up at the ceiling, calculating in his head. “Eh, I’m 58 now. So, 26 years, I think.”
“Carmen was a member of this church?”
“I know her family a long time.” The priest continued to collect prayer books as they spoke. He motioned with his head for Jack to step aside so he could collect the ones behind him. He continued to the next aisle.
“Do you remember anything unusual about her before she disappeared?”
“Not that I can remember.”
“Maybe she confessed to something? Was anything bothering her? Trouble at home, maybe?”
The priest turned to Jack, the casual demeanor in his expression gone, replaced with a sudden formality.
“She was a devout member of this church. Her mother still is.”
“I’m sure of that. You didn’t answer my question.”
“Dead or alive, there is a sanctity of confession I will not violate. But I can tell you she never gave her mother a day’s trouble. And I know she always wanted the best for Carmen. It was not easy after her husband passed. The sadness became too great for him, the Lord called him home.”
“Carmen’s murder is part of a larger investigation now. Another girl is missing. Her name’s Angelina Rosa.”
“We are all well aware of it in this community. I know Mr. Rosa, he’s a good man. We both emigrated from Ecuador. I lit a candle with him to pray for Angelina’s safe return.” The priest motioned towards several burning candles near the entrance. He picked up two more prayer books, the stack almost up to his chin.
“Can I help you with those?” Jack asked.
“Gracias.” Jack took half of the books into his arms. The priest walked over and opened a storage drawer by the side of the stage. He bent over and placed the stack inside. Jack did the same.
“You think these cases are connected.”
“I know they are.”
“You will catch this devil before he takes another beautiful child?”
“I hope so.”
The priest stared at Jack as if sizing up his ability to make good on it. He nodded, as if to say, I believe you will. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Jack tucked his pad and pencil away inside his front coat pocket and shook his head. “Thank you for your time.”
As Jack walked towards the exit he noticed a white statue of St. Mary on a pedestal. He hadn’t noticed it on his way in. He turned to the priest. “Actually, there is one more thing. The statue outside, where is it?”
The priest stared at Jack blankly. “Statue?”
“By the side entrance, near the street?”
The priest scratched his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
Jack waited a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “My mistake.” Jack moved to the door.
“Detective,” the Priest called out, “there was a statue — The Sacred Heart. Some vandals defaced it, we had to take it down. But that was years ago.”
Jack was silent. He opened his mouth to say thank you when a sudden cough burst from his lungs, nearly doubling him over. It caught him by surprise; he quickly fished for his handkerchief. He found it — covered his mouth — and just let it out. Five long, wet hacks that echoed through the rafters of the church’s high ceilings.
The priest took a few steps towards him, but Jack waved him off, signaling that it would pass. It finally did. Jack straightened up, inhaling slowly, making sure it was safe to breathe again. He wiped his mouth with the handkerchief and opened the door. “Sorry, excuse me.”
“Detective,” the priest called out, “have you found Jesus?”
Jack paused, “I’m still looking.”
Jack exited the building and turned his phone back on. There was a text waiting for him. It was from Laura, just two words:
We’re ready.
CHAPTER 36
“Does your car have a siren?” Rebecca asked. Jack looked at Laura, sitting in the passenger seat, then into his rearview mirror at Rebecca in back. She was sitting slouched over, her elbow on the door, chin resting on her fist. She seemed disinterested, maybe just making conversation. But Jack played along.
“It’s not that type of police car. But I have this—” Jack flipped a switch and his blue spinning lamp came to life. It got a tiny smile from Rebecca. He turned it back off and returned his focus to driving.
“Rebecca, the dreams you keep having… about the girl. What can you tell me about them?” Jack didn’t want to sound like another doctor, probing. He wanted to sound like a friend — which he was, his tone very conversational.
Rebecca glanced in her mother’s direction.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Laura said.
“It’s like I’m dreaming, but when it’s over, the feelings — they’re so real.”
“How do they make you feel?”
“Sad. Afraid.”
Jack turned a corner and headed into an urban neighborhood. The streets seemed to narrow, houses got smaller, closer together. Laura looked around, familiar with the area.
“The man in your dreams, does he have a name?” Rebecca’s shoulders tensed as she drew inward. “If you saw his face would you recognize him?”
Jack could feel Laura’s eyeballs on him. He turned his attention back to the road, withdrawing the question.
“They’re just dreams. They’re not real,” Rebecca said. Jack knew it wasn’t her talking, she was repeating something her mother had said — probably repeated — over and over, hoping to make it true.
Jack checked his mirror and was surprised to find Rebecca staring back at him, as if to say you’re right, I don’t agree with what she says. They are real. Maybe you’ll believe me. More and more, Jack felt a bond growing between him and Rebecca — kindred spirits.
“Where are we going?” Rebecca asked. Jack looked at Laura. You didn’t tell her?