CHAPTER ONE
Mackenzie’s hands shook as she gripped the tattered piece of paper. Her mother’s handwriting was smudged from her tears. Her lungs constricted, and the painful tightness in her throat made it hard to breathe.
My dearest daughter;
My body aches, and I have found no relief. My sorrow strangles me. Please don’t blame yourself. Your love and devotion after your father’s death kept me going. Without you, I would not have made it as long as I did. I watched you grow from a child into a beautiful woman. Now you must live your life for you and your purpose. Not care for a withering old lady.
My heart pounds against my chest, and I am breathless as I wait to see Him and stand in the presence of Christ. Please understand much thought and prayer has gone into this decision. I know my death will wound you. Your strength with the wisdom and guidance of the Lord will help you get through this. Trust in His written Word and listen to Him. He will guide you and show you what you need to do.
I love you, my sweet child.
Mother
Mack wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Mother, oh Mother, why didn’t you say anything? Why? You let me believe you were fine. You lied!” The note fluttered to the floor as Mackenzie paced the length of her living room, clenched fists banging against her thighs with each step.
Her nostrils flared as her lips pulled back, baring her teeth. She picked up a heavy paperweight and threw it across the room. The glass shattered on impact like a car bomb exploding, sending glass shards everywhere.
A guttural roar bellowed out of her. “You had no right! You were selfish. You cared about yourself with no regard for me. You’ve left me behind with no one!” She yanked on her hair, pulling long strands from her head. Mackenzie fell to her knees and wept.
Her hand brushed against the note. She pressed it against her leg and smoothed the edges down. She clutched the paper against her chest. Mack stood and gazed at her mother’s picture. She always loved Mother’s long hair and the way it cascaded down her back. Mack laid the note next to the frame.
Moving back from the mantel, her gaze became unfocused. Her eyebrows squished together as she rubbed her forehead. “I miss you, Mother.” Mackenzie clenched her teeth together. “The priest was mad at me, Mother. I forgot to tell you. After your service, he voiced his disappointment that I chose not to bury you in the cemetery. I explained it was my decision—my decision! Not his!”
She paced and fisted the air. She screamed, “What about their decisions? What about that? They didn’t care for you. They turned their backs on you when you needed them the most. Why would I leave you in the cold dark earth? You need to be here with me.” Mack’s long skinny fingers reached out and touched the urn. “I don’t blame you, Mother. None of this is your fault.”
She turned, and her eye caught a crucifix hanging on the wall. Mack’s breathing labored. She cocked her head to the side. “I blame You. You have let this happen.” She stepped closer to the crucifix. “You have left men in charge that no longer do Your will. They don’t care about Your flock. The priests care more about the gratification of their flesh than anything else. I’ve seen the reports. I’ve seen what they’ve done.”
Mack crumpled to the floor. “Forgive me, Father. The blame lies not at Your feet. You gave these men charge to do Your will. The priests chose not to follow Your commandments. They put other gods before You. They gave in to their desires. Desires of the flesh and mind. The priests no longer keep themselves pure to carry out Your teachings. They can’t lead Your flock if they serve more than one god.
“I will make them pay. I will hold each of them accountable for their lack of judgment.” Mack laughed. “I didn’t understand at first; now I do. You have used the last few months to bring clarity to the task at hand. Now I understand they must answer for their sins. Their deaths will bear witness.”
Mack grabbed the rosary beads dangling from the crucifix. Her fingers tightened around them. “Their sins led them to choose their will over Yours. They need to be struck down. They need to beg at the gates of Heaven for entrance into Your Kingdom. Your grace no longer covers them. Your house must be cleansed.”
CHAPTER TWO
November 28th
Early Monday morning
Damien admired the woman beside him. Her long, honey blonde hair fanned out around her. His heart pounded against his chest. He reached out and caressed her cheek. A tingling jolt shot through his fingers.
Between their schedules, they had few consecutive days off together. This weekend was one of those rare ones. They had spent the entire weekend in bed, stopping long enough to eat and shower.
Dillon’s eyes fluttered open. A soft sigh escaped her lips. “Why are you gawking at me?” She reached out and touched Damien’s chest.
“I can’t help myself.” Damien scooted closer, closing the gap between them. He dragged his hand along her slender silky thigh.
“Hmm, you’re going to tell me it’s Monday, aren’t you?”
“Unfortunately, yes. We still have two hours before we have to get out of bed.” Damien’s hand slid from Dillon’s hip to her breast. He rubbed his thumb across her nipple.
Dillon sucked in air as her whole body tingled. She reached down and wrapped her fingers around his length. “Well, seeing as how I’m awake, maybe I should take care of this for you.” She moved to him. Her body slid down his, her tongue blazing a trail across his skin as she licked her way down his body. Dillon took him in her mouth.
Damien’s fingers threaded through her hair. “Dillon.” Her name came out as a whisper.
Dillon’s tongue slid back up his torso. Her lips crushed down on his.
Damien lifted her hips as she guided him into her. Wet slick heat sucked him inside. He dug his fingers into her flesh. Her back arched. Damien watched her as she came closer to her climax. Her body tensed and trembled as an orgasm overtook her. Dillon’s muscles clenched around him.
In one quick movement, Damien flipped her onto her back. He thrust into her. Dillon wrapped her legs around his waist, allowing him deeper access. Grasping his hips, she met each thrust. She called out his name as another orgasm ripped through her body. His own orgasm exploded, and he emptied himself into her.
“Oh my God, you're going kill me,” Dillon said. “I don’t even know if I can walk.” Her fingers trailed up and down Damien’s back while his head rested on her chest.
“I’ll move as soon as my brain can tell my body.” He stayed there another minute before he rolled off her. “Every man should be so lucky to wake up this way.”
Dillon snorted. “I don’t think I could do this for every man, every morning.” She raised up off the bed and headed toward the bathroom. She glanced over her shoulder, “You need to join me in the shower. Help me wash my back.” She winked at him and disappeared through the doorway.
Damien jumped up from the bed and headed after her. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to go around with a dirty back all day.”
***
An hour later, Dillon watched Coach try to sneak a piece of bacon off Damien's plate. He pointed his finger at the fat cat causing Coach to retreat to his chair. His head raised above the table so he could monitor and wait for leftovers. Dillon’s phone chirped, interrupting the idyllic scene.
“McGrath.”
Damien watched her give Coach a piece of ham while she listened to the caller on the other end.
“Yes Sir, I can be there in about an hour. I can have the video conference ready to go by—say nine-thirty?” Dillon nodded. “I’ll round everyone else up. Talk with you soon. Wait, what? You’re kidding me? Okay. Yes, Sir.”
“What’s up?” Damien asked. He gathered up the dishes and rinsed as Dillon filled Coach’s bowl with leftover bacon and eggs. “You know; Coach will weigh fifty pounds if you keep giving him leftovers.”
Dillon laughed. “I guess I feel sorry for him. He gives me that look, and I can’t help myself. Anyway, that was Deputy Director Sherman. A video conference scheduled for later today has been moved to this morning. I’m responsible for letting everyone know and getting together the files needed. I can’t get into it, but it concerns Jason Freestone.”
Damien stopped loading the dishwasher. “What do you mean it concerns Jason and why can’t you get into it? I worked that case too.”
“I can’t tell you anything because I know nothing. As soon as I do, I will let you know. I promise.” She checked her watch. “Damn, I better get going.” At the entryway table, she picked up a slim wallet holding her credentials, and then placed it in her back pocket.
Damien eyeballed her. She pulled her hair back and wrapped it in a loose bun above her collar. He strolled to her, grabbed her by the waist, pulling her close. “Did you decide on what I asked you at the start of the weekend?” Damien's lips grazed her neck.
“Yes, yes I did.” She stepped back and locked on to those intense blue eyes. Dillon felt as if she could drown in the unbridled emotion that swirled there. She ran her fingers through his wavy black hair, tugging slightly on the ends. “Are you sure you’re ready for it?”
“It’s somewhat stupid to keep two places. Mine is bigger, you can have your own office space, and I like having you in the morning.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. Three months ago, he had met Dillon on one of the worst cases of his career. Jason Freestone had abducted, raped, and murdered over fifteen girls. Some he buried on his farm and some he dumped across Illinois. As one of the FBI’s top profilers, Dillon had been called in to assist on the case.
Dillon sighed. “I am pretty tired of bringing a bag every time I come here.” She felt the weight of his stare as he waited for her answer. A move like this terrified her. “Yeah, I’ll move in here.”
Damien leaned in to kiss her. His phone signaled an incoming call from Dispatch. “Lieutenant Kaine.” He nuzzled her neck as he listened to the drone of the operator. His back straightened. “Okay, send the address to my phone. I’ll notify Detective Hagan.” He tapped on his phone with one hand while holding on tight to Dillon with the other. “Joe, we got a DB. I’ll pick you up. See you in thirty.”
“What do you have?” She asked him.
“Dead body at St. Florentine Cathedral, no other details. The witness who found the body couldn’t give any information over the phone. Officers are securing the scene as we speak.” He pulled out a little box and handed it to her. “I got this for you.”
Damien watched her turn the box over and inspect it. She lifted the lid and sniggered.
“A key,” Dillon said.
Damien took the key from the box and took her key ring from her hand. He placed the key on the ring and handed it back to her.
“Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “You're sure?” She asked him.
“Yes. Quit asking me.” He kissed her. “You belong here with me. Always.” He kissed her again. “I’ll text you later and let you know when I’ll be home.”
They both walked out into the large two car garage. “We need to get a Christmas tree. We’ll go sometime this week and get one.”
She beamed at him. “I haven’t decorated a Christmas tree in years. You, me, and a bottle of wine beside the tree. It sounds perfect.” She kissed him. “Keep your ass safe.”
CHAPTER THREE
Police tape surrounded the front of St. Florentine Cathedral. Several officers kept out the unauthorized.
“What the hell is going on?” Joe asked. “Who the hell is dead inside?”
Damien peered around. His stomach twisted in a knot. An officer sat on the front steps. His face had no color and sweat covered his brow despite the chill in the air. “I think we’re about to walk into a shit storm.”
The metallic smell hit them the moment they opened the church doors. Out of habit, Damien and Joe dabbed their fingers in the Holy Water, crossing themselves and genuflecting like good Catholic boys. At the end of the central aisle, dressed in white coveralls, two men from the ME’s office stood off to the side. A third man stood dead center, about five feet from the police tape. He turned and focused on the detectives making their way down the aisle.
“Good morning Lieutenant Kaine, Detective Hagan.” Head CST Roger Newberry held out boxes of gloves and booties. “You’re not going to want to walk any farther without putting these on.”
“Have you touched anything yet?” Damien asked.
“No, Sir. The captain informed me to sit tight and not touch anything. The captain also wants the ME techs to wait for Dr. Forsythe. He should be here in about ten or fifteen minutes.”
“How about a name? You guys got that?” Joe asked.
“Yeah, the cop on scene said the victim is Father Shri Mandahari. Came to this parish five years ago from India.” The tech fixed his stare on Joe. “You still seeing that girl Taylor from Springfield? The one with you at Mulligan’s a few weeks back?” He raised an eyebrow at him. “I haven’t seen you hanging around with her these last few weeks. She dump your ass already huh?”
Damien smirked at Roger and ogled Joe with a humorous gleam. “Yeah Joe, has she dumped you yet?”
“Ha, hilarious.” He glanced between Damien and Roger, “she didn’t dump me. We’re having a casual relationship. I see her when she can come up and stay for a weekend.”
Roger snickered and shook his head. “Hey Johnson,” he yelled to the other tech. “You owe me a beer.” Roger turned back to Damien. “I bet Johnson that Joe would deny having a girlfriend.”
Damien chuckled at the exchange. Joe met Taylor during the same case he met Dillon. Joe just couldn’t bring himself to commit to one woman. Damien and Joe walked past Roger and stepped under the police tape. Their jovial attitude disappeared. Joe cursed under his breath. Damien grabbed the St. Michael medal from around his neck and said a quick prayer in Italian.
A priest lay on the steps of the altar, posed as Christ on the cross. That’s where the similarities to that iconic picture ended. He wore an open cassock and his collar. The killer had cut the garment and fanned it out around his bloody naked body. A cross had been gouged into the man’s chest, each line close to three inches wide.
Damien walked around the massive pool of congealed blood. “Madre Maria di Dio,” Damien whispered. The priest’s entrails had been arranged in a macabre design outside his body. Coins spilled out of the cross-shaped cut and floated in the semi-dried blood. Damien crouched down taking a closer look at the coins. “I see half-dollars, pennies, and quarters.”
Joe moved to the top of the steps. He gave a cursory visual exam of the head using his penlight. “I don’t see any kind of obvious head wound. This isn’t a small guy. Our killer subdued him somehow.”
Damien stepped up next to Joe. “The ME will run a toxicology panel. I bet the killer drugged him.” He noticed something sticking out from the corner of the dead man’s mouth. “Hang on, Joe. Hey Roger, hand me a pair of forceps.”
Roger moved to stand next to Damien. “Whatcha got?”
“I’m not sure. I think something is in his mouth.” Damien pried open the priest's jaw. He took the forceps and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Joe held the corners as Damien unfolded it. He read the hand-written message.
No one can serve two masters.
For you will hate
one and love the other;
you will be devoted to one and
despise the other.
You cannot serve both
God and money.
Damien turned toward Roger. “Hand me an evidence bag. Please.”
Joe studied the verse. “What verse is that?”
“Didn’t you pay attention during Sunday school, Hagan?” A tight smile tugged at Damien’s mouth. “It’s Matthew 6:24.”
“Mr. Know-it-all.” Joe teased as he left the altar area and walked toward the confessionals. He gave each one a once-over. Nothing seemed out of order. “When was the body discovered?” Joe called out across the chancel.
“The officer first on the scene reported the witness called it in about eight this morning.” Another CST answered.
The church doors opened as Joe spoke. “Hey, Doc.” He nodded in the ME’s direction.
Damien glanced up from reading the note. The soft haze of sunlight cast shadows throughout the atrium. Dr. Forsythe’s rail-thin frame seemed to float down the aisle. “Good morning, Dr. Forsythe. If you can give me an estimated time of death, I would appreciate it.”
“Ahh Damien, for you anything. Just give me a few minutes.” The doctor smirked as he stepped under the police tape. The case he carried crashed to the floor. “Oh, holy saints and angels.” He staggered back and caught himself on the edge of the pew. Dr. Forsythe had difficulty swallowing as a searing pain filled the back of his throat. He crossed himself and bowed his head. “I know this man.” His body shuddered as he focused on the face of his friend.
Damien moved toward the Doctor handing the note off to Roger, as he placed his hand on the Doc’s shoulder. “Sit down, Bernard. We can get another ME in here.”
“No. He’s my friend.” Dr. Forsythe bent over and took an instrument out of his bag. “There’s so much damage done to his abdomen area. Getting an accurate reading will be hard to do here on scene.” He fumbled with the thermometer.
Roger removed the instrument from his shaking hands. “Let me do this, Dr. Forsythe.” Using care, Roger stuck the thermometer into the liver. He moved one of Father Mandahari’s arms to check for rigor. “I’m leaning toward sometime between nine pm and two am. Dr. Marshall will narrow down a more precise time of death.”
Dr. Forsythe clenched his jaw to stop the vomit from escaping. Tears flooded his eyes. “He didn’t deserve this. No one deserves to die like this.”
Damien studied the doctor. The loss of color from his face and his salt and pepper hair made him look as if he had just stepped out of a black-and-white photo. Even at the sight of his friend, Dr. Forsythe’s breathing remained slowed and controlled. Damien considered his past as an avid long-distance runner, could explain his reaction. “Bernard,” Damien said, “tell me about Father Mandahari. What do the coins represent? And why would the killer leave a note behind? A note referencing money? What’s the significance to Father Mandahari?”
Dr. Forsythe glanced up at Damien. He closed his eyes, and his shoulders sagged.
Damien witnessed Dr. Forsythe struggle with an internal battle. “Please. Doc. Tell me everything you know about him.”
Dr. Forsythe sat in the first row of benches. His head hung low; his elbows rested on his knees. Damien noticed a few tears splattered onto the floor. Dr. Forsythe inhaled a deep breath through his nose, exhaling through his mouth. He lifted his head; the corners of his mouth drooped as he watched the techs prepare his friend for transport.
His gaze fixed on Damien and Joe. Tears spilled down his cheeks. “Shri—Father Mandahari—had a gambling problem. He blew off some of his responsibilities. When he hit rock bottom, he reached out. I helped him get into an outpatient treatment facility. He dealt with it head on, and he gave up gambling.”
“How long ago did he quit gambling?” Damien asked.
“Mandahari gave it up, stopped cold-turkey, almost a year ago. That’s why this doesn’t make any sense.”
Joe sat next to the ME. “How many people do you think knew of his addiction?”
Dr. Forsythe frowned. “A Few. Outside of Bishop Cantor and the workers here at the church. I’m sure none of the parishioners knew of it. If any of them were aware of it, they never talked about it. Shri never stole from the church to gamble. He just didn’t show up for certain meetings or jobs he was supposed to do. Gambling had become more important than his service to God.” Dr. Forsythe glanced between Damien and Joe. “He changed, though. This last year he had fallen back in love with his role as a priest, with serving God.”
Damien pinched the bridge of his nose. A heaviness settled in his stomach. “Dr. Forsythe, did Father Mandahari have any other vices that may make him a target?”
“No.” Dr. Forsythe wiped his brow with his arm. The Doc stared at his gloved hands. His friend’s blood coated his fingers. “No. Shri had no other vices. He didn’t watch porn, or lust for women, men, or children. He was a good man and great priest. Shri controlled his gambling habit. He rededicated his life to following and teaching the ways of Christ.”
A knot forming in Damien’s stomach tightened. “Bernard, you know how this works. Can you tell me when you last saw Father Mandahari?”
Bernard’s voice stammered as he glared at Damien. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“C’mon, you know anyone connected with this man must be questioned. The sooner I can eliminate you from the equation the sooner we can move on,” Damien said.
Dr. Forsythe leered at Damien. “Maybe I should contact my lawyer?” He noticed the slight flinch in Damien’s expression. Bernard interlaced his bloody fingers and placed his hands on his lap. “The last time I saw Father Mandahari was roughly three or four days ago. We met for a late lunch at Hutch American Bistro. Given a few hours I could hunt down my credit card receipt, or manufacture one if nothing else.”
Damien raised his hands. “Listen, I’m not trying to make you angry or hurt you. I need your help. Your friend,” he pointed to Shri Mandahari lying dead on the floor, “he needs your help, Doc. I have a job to do. You of all people should understand that.”
Dr. Forsythe’s arms fell to his side. His chest deflated as the tears resurfaced. “I know, Damien. I know. This is a fucking nightmare.” The ME glowered at Damien. “Find the bastard who did this to my friend.”
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