Salvation in Death (In Death #27)(9)

“Knife wounds.”

“Sometimes priests and religious types go into dicey areas, and sticky situations. He could’ve been stabbed trying to help someone. And the older one could’ve happened when he was a teenager, before the holiness.”

“I’ll give you both of those,” Eve said as she drove to Cop Central. “Face work.”

“That’s tougher. But maybe he was injured. A vehicular accident, say, and his face got messed up. Maybe the church or a member thereof paid for the reconstruction.”

“We’ll check the medicals and see.”

“But you don’t buy it.”

“Peabody, I wouldn’t take it for free.”

In her office at Cop Central, Eve wrote up her initial report, opened the murder book. She set up a board, then fixed a copy of Flores’s ID photo in the center. And spent the next few minutes just staring at it.

No family. No criminal. No valuable earthly possessions.

Public poisoning, she mused, could be seen as a kind of execution. The religious symbolism couldn’t be overlooked. Too obviously deliberate. A religious execution?

She sat again, started a time line from witness statements and López’s memo.

0500—gets up. Morning prayer and meditation. (In room.)

0515—showers, dresses.

0540 (approx.)—leaves rectory with López for church.

0600-0635—assists López in morning service. Accesses Communion wine and crackers—strike—hosts.

0630 (approx.)—Rosa O’Donnell arrives at—unlocked—rectory.

0645 (approx.)—leaves church for rectory with López.

0700 to 0800—has breakfast with López, prepared by Rosa O’Donnell.

0800-0830—retreats to communal office to review readings, etc., for funeral.

0830—Roberto and Madda Ortiz arrive at church with funeral staff and body of Ortiz.

0840—returns to church with López to greet family and assist in floral placements

0900—retreats to anteroom (where tabernacle is kept) to dress for service.

0930—begins service.

1015—drinks poisoned wine.

Which gave the killer from five-forty to six-thirty to walk into the rectory, take the keys to the box, and from seven to nine hundred to doctor the wine. Anytime from seven to nine hundred to walk back into the rectory and replace the keys.

Pretty big windows, Eve mused, especially if the killer was a member of the church, and others were accustomed to seeing him or her coming and going.

Even without the keys, bypassing the lock on the box would have been ridiculously simple if the killer possessed bare minimum skills. Accessing the keys almost as ridiculously simple, particularly if the killer had knowledge of their location, and the basic routines of the church and rectory.

The how wasn’t the deal, though the how would certainly help lock up the killer. The why was the point. And the why was wrapped around Miguel Flores.

She picked up the photos of the medal, front and back.

This was important to him. Important enough to hide, and to keep close so he could take it out, touch it, look at it. Fresh tape, Eve mused, but with traces of older adhesive on the drawer back. Had it awhile, but took it out very recently.

She read the inscription again.

Who was Lino?

A Spanish given name, she discovered after a quick search, for Linus. It also meant linen or flax, but she doubted that applied.

According to the bio, Flores’s mother had died in 2027, so the mama on the medal couldn’t be Anna Flores. A Spanish name, a Spanish phrase for the image, but the rest in English. It said mixed culture to Eve. Latino roots, American soil? That fit Flores as well.

Had Lino been a friend, another priest, a lover? Flores would have been six when the inscription was made. An orphan, spinning through the system.

She knew all about that.

Maybe she didn’t know about making close and lasting ties while spinning through that system, but others did. Flores might have done so, and kept the medal as a connection to a friend.

Then why hide it?

Never adopted, but educated through the church. Had Lino been the one to take an interest in him, help educate him?

She turned back to her comp and began digging down through the layers of Miguel Flores.

Peabody came in, opened her mouth to speak.

“Pretty good timing,” Eve said without looking up. “I see my coffee cup is empty.”

With a roll of her eyes, Peabody took the cup, walked to the AutoChef to program another. “It’s a challenge getting medicals from Mexico. No record of treatment for a knife wound, or any cosmetic work here. After much and heroic persistence—which is why I’m also getting coffee—I’ve accessed his medicals from his years in Mexico. No record of either treatment there either.”

Eve leaned back, took the coffee. “What is on the record in Mexico?”

“Pretty much standards. Annual physicals, vision corrections, semi-annual dental, treatment for a stomach virus and a cut on his hand. No majors.”

“Uh-huh. And during his five years in New York?”

“Not much different. The annuals, blah blah, a couple of treatments for sprains, one for a dislocated index finger, another for an injured knee.”

“What were likely sports-related injuries.” Drumming her fingers on the desk, Eve contemplated. “Funny, he didn’t have any of those types of injuries or treatments while in Mexico. Get me the dental records from Mexico.”