Cody McFadyen - The Darker Side

She's quiet.

"I'm so happy for you, Smoky."

Her voice is thick with relief, a release of tension that puzzles me until I study her and understand.

"You worried about me too much, Callie. I was always going to be fine."

"That's-" She swallows, shakes it off, flashes me one of those mega-watt smiles. "That's one of the many things good friends do."

I reach out to touch her, but pull my hand back. Intimacy with Callie is a dance all its own.

"Let's go catch a killer, friend."

That we can share. No problem at all.

"FATHER STRAIN WAS PRETTY SHARP," ALAN SAYS. "WHEN Iexplained what I was looking for and why, he remembered something right away. A cripple. Guy in a wheelchair came in, had been a drunk and stumbled out into traffic one day, ended up paralyzed from the waist down. He hit it off with Lisa Reid."

"Clever. Why didn't his name come up if he left when Lisa was murdered?"

"He was smart. Made up some story about a daughter he was reconciling with. He was scheduled to fly to California to meet her a few days before Lisa's trip. I'm guessing he'd already killed Ambrose before he left the church. He probably hung out at Ambrose's until Lisa left and then followed her to and from Texas."

It all makes sense and it reinforces our image of him; intelligent, decisive, organized. In all the prior murders, he sent "Andrea" in to locate the victim. She was their public face. With Lisa he could come out into the light. It must have been very satisfying.

"Alan, I need you to switch places with Callie and run the print we got from the Redeemer through AFIS. Callie, I need you to get on the phone with forensics in Virginia. I need them to go to Strain's church and see if there's a print there too."

"Do you think it'll be on the chalice?"

"It's the first place I'd look."

He couldn't have resisted. No more hiding, right? He probably grinned without knowing it as he left his mark for us to find.

"HERE WE GO," ALAN CALLSout.

I hurry over to his desk. On the screen of his computer is a photograph of Andrea True. She's younger in this picture, her hair is shorter, but there's no denying that it's her.

"Frances Murphy," I read. "Why is she in the database?"

"Past criminal record." He scrolls down. "Get this: arrested for assaulting a Catholic priest. That particular priest was later arrested for child molestation and, let's see. . no dispensation from the judge because she wasn't one of those the priest had molested. He liked boys."

"Known associates?"

He taps a key and three words appear that take my breath away.

"Brother, Michael Murphy," I read aloud. "Look him up."

Michael Murphy's photograph appears on the screen. He's a male version of his sister, with the same big, sad eyes. He's handsome enough, not a pretty boy. He has a strong face and a certain intensity; he'd have had no problems with the ladies.

"He took part in the assault on the priest," Alan notes. "Twenty years ago. No dispensation. He wasn't one of the molested either."

"What else?"

A few more taps and their rap sheets appear.

"A familiar pattern," Alan observes.

The list of offenses starts at the age of eighteen and continues forward for about four or five years. Petty thefts, larceny, check-kiting-

nothing huge. The convictions taper off at about twenty-two for both of them. There's nothing after that other than the assault on the priest.

"Check out the birthdates," Alan says.

"January twenty-second and. . January twenty-second?" I blink.

"They're twins."

"Think they'll look good in matching jumpsuits?"

Kirby's voice startles me. She'd crept up behind us. I'd been so engrossed that I hadn't noticed her coming in.

"Twins acting as a killing team?" I mutter. "How does that work?"

"He'll be the one in charge," Kirby says. "Look at her. She's weak around the eyes." Her voice is filled with contempt. "I ran into a brother/sister killing team once down in-well, somewhere else. Killing just seemed to run in the family. Even the dad was a good hitter. Kind of cute too."

I glance at her. She grins.

"I can take a hint. I'll talk to Callie later. Have fun with Dick and Jane."

I murmur something in reply as she leaves.

Weak, huh? I consider her act as Andrea, her commitment to that persona, and have to disagree with Kirby's assessment. I wonder, were the scars on her arm fake? Or had she cut herself sometime in the past, so that she could play the part of a failed suicide to perfection?

The probable answer is as disturbing as everything else about these two.

"Let's find them, Alan."

Coming up on the end of you, Preacher. You and your sister may have shared everything, but you'll die apart. I'll make sure of that.

"GOT A PRINT SCANNED INand on its way to me via e-mail," Callie says. "Give me a sec to match it up with our Mr. Murphy and we'll have all the confirmation we need."

"Alan, where are we on possible current locations for these two?"

"Still working on it."

The door to the office swings open and James walks in with Jezebel. Both have grim expressions on their faces.

"We have a new message from the Preacher. I only watched the beginning of it, but he's showing his face and congratulating us on figuring out who he is."

"Shit," Alan and I say in unison, looking at each other.

"He had eyes on the Redeemer somehow," I say. "He knew there's only one reason we'd show up there, and he knows they left the thumbprint there."

"Think he'll run?" Alan asks.

"I don't know. I think he wants to be caught, but now that it's come down to it. ." I shrug. "They could be having a change of heart. Let's see the clip, James."

He sits down and we all crowd around the monitor to watch, with the exception of Callie.

There's no lettering at the beginning of this clip, no fancy editing. He's communicating to us in as close to real time as this medium allows. The other difference is that we can now see his face. I examine him and see that Michael Murphy is a man at peace. He's certain. He is doing what he was meant to do and doesn't go to bed at night worrying about whether he's on the side of right or wrong. He's calm, composed, happy. His voice is almost friendly.

"It's come to my attention that those in law enforcement responsible for tracking me down have finally found out who I am. I can't tell you how happy this makes me. My sister and I have been building to this moment for twenty years. Twenty years of hiding, twenty years of planning, twenty years of sacrifice.

"Many will ask: why? If you had something to say, why not just say it? I think the answer to that question is self-evident. Look around you at society today. We live in a world where, more and more, the idea of the soul is scoffed at if it's even thought of at all. Mankind revels in the flesh, and the flesh, I am afraid, only believes what it can see.

"Talk to the flesh of truth and it will sniff and say: 'Truth? What truth? I don't see truth. I see sex. I see drugs. I see sensation.'

"I knew if we were going to prove our point and bring people back to God, that we would have to show them. They would have to see with the eyes, hear with the ears. Only then would they be able to know with the heart.

"And it's working, praise God. The impact of the opus is already being felt. Discussions have opened around the world." He picks up a paper from the table and reads. " 'The Preacher has opened my eyes again to the idea that I could get rid of that space I put between me and God, the space made up of the lies I've been unwilling to let go of. I listened to what he had to say and I walked to my local church and gave my first confession in ten years.' "