Chapter 43

Nick stormed into the sheriff’s department, slamming the door so hard the glass rattled. Everyone came to a halt in midsentence and midstride. They stared at him as though he had gone mad. He felt as if perhaps he had.

“Listen up, everybody!” He yelled over the ringing in his ear. He waited for those sauntering in from the conference room with their mugs of coffee and glazed doughnuts. “If we have another breach of confidence from this department, I personally will kick the ass of whoever is responsible and see to it that that person never works in law enforcement ever again.”

His jaw hurt like hell, especially when he clenched his teeth. The tip of his tongue found a sharp edge where a tooth had chipped. The corner of his mouth bled again, and he wiped at it with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Lloyd, I want you to get some men together and check every abandoned shack within a ten-mile radius of Old Church Road. He’s keeping these boys somewhere. Maybe it’s not here in town. Hal, find out everything you can about a Ray Howard. He’s a janitor at the church. Not just where he’s from and details about his unpleasant childhood. I want to know this guy’s shoe size and whether or not he collects baseball cards. Eddie, get over to Sophie Krichek’s.”

“Nick, you can’t be serious. The lady’s loony.”

“I’m dead serious.”

Eddie shrugged, and there was a smirk under the pencil-thin mustache that Nick wanted to knock off.

“Do it this morning, Eddie, and treat it like your job depends on getting the details right.”

He waited for any other grumbling, then continued, “Adam, call George Tillie and tell him Agent O’Dell will be assisting him this afternoon with Matthew’s autopsy. Then call Agent Weston and get the evidence his forensic team found. I want photos and reports on my desk by one this afternoon.

“Lucy, find out anything you can about a summer church camp that St. Margaret’s sponsors. Get together with Max and see if you can connect Aaron Harper and Eric Paltrow to that camp.”

“What about Bobby Wilson?” She looked up from her notes.

He paused while he watched their faces, wondering whether he’d be able to pick out the Judas-that is if he was still a part of the department. Six years ago, someone had gone to the trouble of making it look as though Ronald Jeffreys had killed all three boys. Someone had taken Eric Paltrow’s underpants from the morgue and planted them in Jeffreys’ trunk with other incriminating evidence connecting Jeffreys to all three murders. It could easily have been someone in the sheriff’s department, someone who was still here. And if he was, why not make the bastard sweat?

“If I read any of this in tomorrow’s paper, I swear I’ll fire the whole lot of you. Ronald Jeffreys may have only murdered Bobby Wilson. There’s a good chance that the guy who killed Danny and Matthew also killed Eric and Aaron.” He watched their faces as it sank in, especially the group had worked with his father and had celebrated the capture of Jeffreys.

“What are you saying, Nick?” Lloyd Benjamin had been one of them, and now his wrinkled forehead looked angry. “You saying we messed up the first time?”

“No, Lloyd, you didn’t mess up. You caught Jeffreys. You caught a murderer. But it looks like Jeffreys may not have murdered all three boys.”

“Is that what you think, Nick, or is it Agent O’Dell maybe influencing your way of thinking?” Eddie said, again with the smirk.

Nick felt the anger rising and knew he had to contain it. Now was not the time to defend his relationship with Maggie. He wasn’t even sure he could without getting tangled in his own personal feelings. And he certainly didn’t want to share any details about Jeffreys, especially since he was beginning to question the loyalty of his own department.

“I’m saying there’s a good chance. Whether it’s true or not, let’s make sure this bastard doesn’t get away with it, maybe for a second time.” He shoved past Eddie, knocking against his shoulder and dismissing the group. Lloyd caught up with him down the hall at his office door.

“Nick, wait up.” Lloyd’s short, stubby legs jogged to keep up with Nick. He was breathing hard and loosened his tie. “I didn’t mean anything back there. I’m sure Eddie didn’t, either. This thing is just taking a toll on all of us. Just like before.”

“Don’t worry about it, Lloyd.”

“About checking old shacks. Nick, there’s not much out there that we didn’t check the first time. There’s an old barn about ready to fall down on Woodson’s property. Other than a deserted lean-to or grain bin, there isn’t anything else. Except for the old church, but it’s boarded up tighter than a virgin on Sunday.”

Nick frowned at the reference.

“Sorry,” Benjamin apologized though he didn’t look sorry. “You’re getting awfully touchy, Nick. O’Dell isn’t even here.”

“Check the church again, Lloyd. Look for broken windows, footprints, any sign of entry in the last several days.”

“Hell, we’re not gonna find any footprints with this snow coming down.”

“Just check, Lloyd.”

Nick retreated to his office, already exhausted, and the morning had just begun. Within seconds there was a knock on the door. He slumped into his chair and yelled to come in.

Lucy peeked around the door, assessing his mood. He waved her in. She carried an ice pack and cup of coffee.

“What in the world happened to you, Nick?”

“Don’t even ask.”

She put aside her initial hesitation and came around the desk. She leaned against the corner and her skirt hiked up over her thighs. She saw him notice and made no effort to pull it down. Instead, she reached for his chin, cupping it in her hand and laying the ice pack against his swollen jaw. He jerked away, using the pain as an excuse to wheel out of her reach.

“Oh, poor Nick. I know it hurts,” she said, making baby talk sound sensual.

This morning she wore a rose-colored sweater pulled so tight across her breasts the knitted loops hinted at a black bra underneath. She scooted across the desk toward him, and he jumped out of his chair.

“Look, I don’t have time for ice packs. I’ll be fine. Thanks for thinking of it.”

She looked disappointed. “I’ll leave it in your little refrigerator, in case you want it later.”

She crossed the room to the small cube on the floor. She bent at the waist, purposely giving him a view of what he was missing, and put the ice pack in the small freezer space. She glanced back at him as if checking to see if he had changed his mind, smiled, then swayed out the door.

“Jesus,” he muttered, plopping down into the chair again. What kind of a department had he created? Michelle Tanner’s raging ex-husband was right. No wonder he was no closer to finding the killer.

Chapter 44

Father Francis gathered the newspaper clippings and slid them into his leather portfolio. He stopped, held up his hands and stared at the brown spots, the bulging blue veins and the trembling that had become commonplace.

It had only been three months since Ronald Jeffreys’ execution. Three months since he had listened to the confession of the real killer. He could no longer keep silent. He could no longer preserve the sanctity of a killer’s confession. Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference, but he had convinced himself that it was the right thing to do.

He shuffled down the hall to the church. His footsteps were the only sound echoing off the majestic walls. No one waited for confession. It would be a quiet morning. Still, he entered the small confessional.

Despite his having seen no one in the church, the door in the black cubicle next to him opened within minutes. Father Francis sat up and laid his elbow on the shelf, allowing himself to lean closer to the wire-mesh window between the two small rooms.