Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (rooftoppers txt) 📕

he said, pleased with his eloquence. “Maybe the priest might be able to offer some insight.”

“What about that Urim word?” she asked. “You said that was Hebrew. Should we be looking at Jewish people, too?”

“I’d say it’s doubtful, but I’ll bring it up when I give my report to Agent Layton.”

“You still haven’t told him you’re working with me.”

Manny shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “He doesn’t need to know.”

“He probably already knows.”

She likely wasn’t wrong, but he still wasn’t in any hurry to have the conversation. The longer he could put it off, the happier he’d be.

“I think we can head out,” he said, changing the subject. “What are you in the mood for dinner-wise?”

Maureen shrugged.

She’s retreating back inside herself, he noticed. He foresaw a night of her on the couch, hogging the remote and drinking whiskey until she fell asleep without saying more than a few sentences. And he’d miss another ballgame. If he wasn’t so sure he’d lose her to the road, he’d drop her off at her place.

They headed out of the library and into the summer twilight. The heat of the day was still hanging in the air and hit Manny hard in the face as they left the air conditioning. He looked about, observing the small clusters of students who were just beginning to return to campus. For a moment, he found himself wishing he were back in school, sitting in a criminology class, before the real world had swallowed him up.

Maureen had gone ahead of him and was leaning on his truck with her arms folded. They didn’t exchange any words as he unlocked the truck and opened the passenger’s side door for her. She hopped up into the seat and closed the door before he had a chance to do the same. Manny couldn’t help but smile to himself at her defiance as he walked to the other side and got behind the wheel.

“We’ll go to St. Mary’s tomorrow,” he said to her as he backed the truck out of its parking space and headed out of the parking lot. “See how much they know about the families of the victims?”

He glanced over at Maureen, who simply shrugged and continued to stare out of the window with a faraway look in her eyes. He didn’t see the need to press her further. She needed time with herself to process and stuff her feelings back into the corner of her mind where she kept things like this. He didn’t blame her. She’d seen a lot, obviously, and with the nature of the person who had undertaken the killings coming into focus, anyone could be forgiven for being a little shaken. In his mind, it was still all about the money, but the twist of using Tom and Sandra’s religious beliefs to send a message was a very disturbing one.

“I make a pretty good steak,” he said to Maureen, trying to lighten the atmosphere of the truck’s cab. “What do you say we pick up a couple, and I do some cooking for a change? I’ve got some dried chilies and limes. I could inject a little Latin flavor into the night.”

“Keep it in your pants,” Maureen replied, without the usual bite.

“I’ll take that as a yes to steak,” he said.

As they drove along, Manny wondered if the FBI’s investigation was going along like theirs was. Surely by now, they had made the connection between the sale of the county building and Sandra’s payoff of her son’s medical bills. But had they understood the significance of the chrism at the crime scene and why the children were being burned? He would sure like to figure out for certain what language Maureen had spoken in her trance state on Saturday morning. There couldn’t be many people in Sycamore Hills who could speak it, whatever it was.

TWENTY-FOUR

Maureen stared up at the cross atop the steeple of St. Mary’s and frowned. Given all that she discovered about herself since the last time she was there, she wasn’t exactly looking forward to setting foot inside again. Whispering prayers over young boys that were about to be murdered, even if it was in her sleep and it wasn’t her literal hand on the knife, didn’t inspire confidence that she wouldn’t burst into flames upon entering. She knew the idea was outrageous, but she couldn’t shake it. She wondered what part of hell was reserved for psychics.

A sharp jab into her back brought her out of her thoughts and made her jump. Detective Benitez smirked as he walked past, seemingly pleased with himself. She smacked him on the arm and watched as he stalked up the stairs toward the church’s front door, trying to not let her eyes stray too far down his back. Admonishing herself for even considering it, Maureen shook her head and jogged up the steps to stand next to the detective.

The door swung open as he reached for the handle, almost as if they were expected. The smiling face of Father Patrick greeted them.

“Ms. Allen,” he chimed, seeming to ignore the detective completely. “I’m glad to see you again. Have you come to firm up our dinner plans?”

Detective Benitez turned and raised an eyebrow.

Maureen ignored the detective’s look. “We’ve come to talk to you about something else, Father. This is Detective Benitez from the police department, but he’ll probably try to insist that you call him ‘Manny.’”

The detective held out his hand to shake the old man’s and nodded his hello.

“I suppose you had better come in so that we can talk,” the priest said.

The three of them moved into the entrance, allowing the door to shut behind them. Father Patrick seemed perfectly comfortable in the awkward situation, much more so than Maureen felt herself. She looked on uneasily as the two men held their conversation.

“Father Patrick,” the detective began, putting on his investigative tone, “you may have heard about the double murder that is being investigated here in town. Two young boys, found