Erica Spindler - Dead Run

“How upset?”

She thought a moment. “Rattled. Shaky.”

Val nodded and she continued. “He hadn’t seen Stephen, the church caretaker, in a couple of days and was worried about him. He had gone to his quarters looking for him and found the bed bloodied. That’s when he called us.”

“He have a key to the place?”

“It was unlocked.” Carla let out a breath. “He led me here. Upon a brief inspection of the bed, I noticed a trail of blood leading to what I assumed was a closet.” She pointed. “I saw the handprint and feared we had a perp hiding in the closet. I advised the pastor to wait outside and I called for backup.”

Val drew his eyebrows together. “But you didn’t wait for backup to arrive.”

“No.” She met his eyes. “I screwed up. When I heard him moan, I reacted. I figured we had a victim in need of medical attention.”

“Go on.” Val crossed to the door and peered into the space.

“At first I thought I had been right. The caretaker was bloodied and appeared to be having some sort of seizure.”

“A seizure?” Val murmured, frowning. “What indications-”

“His eyes were rolled back in his head.” She shuddered, remembering. “When Pastor Tim cried out the man’s name and asked if he was hurt, it was if they snapped back in place. Really creepy.”

Her superior looked annoyed at her editorializing and she refocused on the facts. “That’s when I saw the knife. I went for my weapon, but I was too late. He charged us and headed out to the garden. The rest I think you know.”

Val moved into the narrow room. He squatted in front of the cot, careful not to disturb anything. “Bible pages,” he murmured, indicating the papers that littered the cot and floor around it. “That’s curious.”

He tilted his head to read one. “This one’s from the Gospel of Peter. This one from Luke. Looks like mostly New Testament stuff.”

He looked at her. “You read much Scripture, Carla?”

“I grew up Catholic.” She rubbed her arms, at the chill bumps that dotted them. “Went to mass and confessed my sins regularly. Said my share of novenas, but that’s about it. Why?”

“Don’t know.” His expression grew pensive. “Just trying to figure out what it all means.”

He drew his handkerchief out of his jacket pocket. Using it to prevent possible contamination of the evidence, he carefully tipped the Bible over. The breath hissed past his lips.

“Carla, you might want to take a look at this.”

Carla crossed to her superior and peered over his shoulder at the book. Imprinted in gold on the cream-colored leather cover was the name Rachel Howard.

Monday, November 19

3:00 p.m.

Liz opened her door a crack. Valentine Lopez and Carla Chapman stood on the other side, their expressions grim. Her heart leaped to her throat. They knew Mark was here. Rick had seen through her subterfuge; he had gone to the police.

What did she do now?

She worked to hide her thoughts. “Yes, Officers?”

“There’s been a development in your sister’s case,” Lieutenant Lopez said. “May we come in?”

“My sister’s case?” she repeated, moving her gaze between the two detectives. “What-”

“May we?”

“Yes, of course.” Liz opened the door wider and stepped aside so they could enter. Her hands shook as she shut and locked the door behind them.

“Do you have company, Ms. Ames?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” She moved her gaze between the two officers. “You said you had information concerning my sister?”

The man looked at the other detective. “Carla?”

She nodded and drew a book out of the canvas tote she carried. Even housed in a plastic bag, Liz recognized Rachel’s Bible immediately.

Carla handed it to her. The plastic crackled. “Have you ever seen this before?”

Liz stared at the book, the leather cover marred by fingerprints. Bloody fingerprints. Tears choked her. “It was my sister’s.” She ran a finger over the letters of Rachel’s name, stamped in gold at the bottom of the book’s cover. “I gave this to her when she…” Liz lifted her gaze, vision blurred. “How…where did you…find it?”

“Do you know Stephen St. John? The old caretaker of Paradise Christian?”

“Yes, but what does he-”

“We have reason to believe he may have been involved in your sister’s disappearance.”

A chill washed over her. “I don’t understand.”

“Detective Chapman answered a routine call to Paradise Christian this afternoon. The caretaker attacked her with a knife that fits the M.E.’s description of the one used to murder Tara Mancuso and Naomi Pearson. Among other things, we found your sister’s Bible in his quarters.”

Liz couldn’t breathe. “Excuse me, I need to sit down.”

She pushed past the two and sank heavily onto one of the stairs. She lowered her head to her knees and breathed slowly and deeply, in her nose and out her mouth.

More proof that her sister was dead. Another nail in her coffin.

“In any of your conversations with your sister, did she ever mention Stephen St. John to you? Either by name or title of church caretaker?”

She shook her head but didn’t look up.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” She lifted her face then. “You might talk to the owner of Bikinis & Things. She was friends with Rachel and she…she told me Rachel was frightened of him. That Rachel had caught him peeping in her windows.”

The two detectives exchanged glances. “Do you know her name?” Carla asked, removing a spiral notepad from her tote.

“Heather Ferguson.”

Carla jotted down the name. “In your sessions with Tara Mancuso, did she ever mention the church caretaker?”

“No, never.”

“Do you have any idea how Stephen St. John could have come into possession of your sister’s Bible?”

She shook her head.

“When did you first meet the church caretaker?” Val asked.

She struggled to collect her thoughts and put them into words. “On one of my visits to Paradise Christian. I’d just met with Pastor Tim and Stephen…blocked my path. He startled me by grabbing my wrist. Luckily, Heather Ferguson happened along. She scolded him and he ran off. Isn’t he…harmless?”

“That’s what we all thought,” Carla said, closing the notebook.

Liz rubbed her arms. “Are you saying…You think Stephen murdered Tara and-”

Val cut her off. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Ames.”

Carla crossed to where she sat. She held a hand out, expression apologetic. “I’m sorry, but we’ll have to keep your sister’s Bible for the time being. It’s evidence.”

She handed the book back, feeling light-headed. “Evidence?” She looked from Carla to her superior. “Then you think Rachel…that Stephen…”

Her voice trailed off. The lieutenant’s expression softened. “In light of these new developments, I’ve decided to reopen the investigation into your sister’s disappearance. Looks like you might have been right. We’re fearful Pastor Howard may have met with foul play.”

She uttered a sound of despair. She didn’t want to be right. She wanted her sister.

“Ms. Ames?”

She lifted her watery gaze. “Yes?”

“As far as you know, did Mark Morgan and Stephen St. John know one another?”

“What?”

“Mark Morgan and Stephen St. John, did they know one another?”

“I don’t…I’m not…” She looked helplessly at them, struggling to come to grips with all they had said, the implications of it. With her own conflicting thoughts and emotions. Who should she believe? Who could she trust?

“It seems like this isn’t a good time,” Val murmured. “If you think of anything that might help us, give me a call.”