Salvation in Death (In Death #27)(60)

“But Catholics do.”

“Yes. The killer will confess to his priest.”

12

EVE HEADED BACK TO HOMICIDE WITH THE IDEA of grabbing Peabody and taking on the priests at St. Cristóbal’s again. Confession, she thought. She believed Billy Crocker would need to unburden himself. Doing the deed—the impulse , even the restrained passion of it—would have carried him through the murder itself. But the aftermath, all the grief surrounding him would scrape and dig at him. Add in her parting shot, letting him know she recognized him, and yeah, he’d fall under the weight. She’d already seen it in his eyes.

But the Flores killer. That was deeper, felt deeper. More personal, and more tied in with the ritual of faith. Mira put her finger on it, in Eve’s opinion. The killer would seek yet another ritual of faith.

Maybe already had.

Hit the priests, and some of the tattoo parlors on her list. But that was long-shot territory. Finding the tat artist who inked her particular Lino after what could be a good twenty years was a crap shoot. But if she couldn’t nail it down any other way, it was worth that shot.

She’d started the swing to her division when she remembered Peabody wouldn’t be there. Party planning, for God’s sake. Why the hell did people have to have parties all the damn time? Food and drinks and gifts and decorations and agendas, all lined up on lists and talked over incessantly to the last stupid detail.

Another ritual, she thought, slowing her pace. All the trappings, the timing, the words or music, the scheme.

The killer had to be part of that ritual. Had to have been in the church at the moment Lino drank the sacramental wine. Had to watch the death—ritual death. A familial connection of the Ortiz’s possibly. But that felt wrong, disrespectful to the old man, unless . . . unless the sin, the crime Lino committed had been in some way connected to Ortiz.

Ran by the Ortiz house every morning, she remembered. Was there a purpose there?

Otherwise, a less intimate connection. Family friend, neighbor, longtime customer, employee.

Turning it over in her mind, she stepped into her bullpen and saw Baxter flirting with Graciela Ortiz. No question about it, she mused, the body language, the eye gleams all said testing sexual interest. Then again, to her way of thinking, Baxter would flirt with a hologram of a woman.

“Officer Ortiz.”

“Lieutenant. I stopped by, but the detective told me both you and your partner were out.”

“Now I’m in. My office is right through there. Go on in.”

“Detective,” Graciela said and gave Baxter one last blast with green, liquid eyes.

“Officer.” His grin widened, unabashed when he turned it on Eve. And pounded a hand like a happy heartbeat on his chest. “You’ve got to love a woman in uniform,” he said to Dallas.

“No, I really don’t. If you’ve got time to hit on subordinates, Baxter, maybe I need to review your caseload.”

“Dallas, sometimes a man’s just got to make time.”

“Not on my clock. But since you’ve made all this time, you can use it to do a search on all John Does, deceased, in Nevada, New Mexico, and Arizona, six to seven years ago.”

“All? Jesus, you’re a hard woman.”

“I am. Be grateful I’m adding age between twenty-five and forty.”

She turned as he muttered, “Oh, in that case,” and walked into her office. “Officer.”

“I wanted to speak to you in person regarding the interviews with family members and friends. There was nothing I didn’t expect—shock, sorrow, even outrage. Father Flores was, as I told you, very popular. Well, when we believed he was Father Flores.”

“And now?”

“More shock, sorrow, outrage. In fact, as he married, buried, baptized many of the family over the past five years, you can add a lot of concern. Some of my family is very traditional, very orthodox. There are questions as to whether the marriages are sanctioned in the eyes of God and the Church. Which Father López assures us would be the case. Though he and Father Freeman have offered to renew all the sacraments, for those who wish it. Frankly, Lieutenant, it’s a big freaking mess.”

She shook her head. “I like to think I’m a progressive sort of person. Practical. But I confessed to that man, and received Communion from him. And I feel . . . violated, and angry. So I understand what many of my family are feeling now.”

“His death stopped the violation.”

“Well, yes. But it also revealed it. If we’d never known . . .” She shrugged. “We do know, so I guess it’s just what we all decide to do about it. My mother thinks we should look on the positive side. Have a mass renewal of vows, of baptisms. And a big party. Maybe she’s right.”

“There were a lot of people at the funeral who weren’t family members.”

“Yes. I’ve spoken to some of them, the ones we’re close to, or Poppy was close to. It runs along the same lines. I don’t know how helpful any of it is to your investigation.”

“You saved me some steps.” She considered a moment. “You have several relatives, I imagine, who are about the same age as the victim. Round about thirty-five.”

“Sure. We’re legion.”

“Plenty of them were living in the area when they were kids, teenagers. And plenty of them members of the church.”