A Righteous Kill (34 page)

Luca shrugged. He had a feeling that McMurtry’s appearance wasn’t an accident. He wanted to see where this took them.

McMurtry eyed the chair with equal parts suspicion and distaste. Father Michael’s office was, unsurprisingly, a direct contrast to his older counterpart’s. Instead of warm-toned wood and heavy ancient furniture, it was sparsely furnished with file drawers, a cheap laminate desk, and mesh swivel chairs.

“What’s that you have there?” McMurtry pointed to the open file in front of Father Michael.

“Asmodeus,” Father Michael murmured, almost imperceptibly.

“Come again?” The old man limped around the desk, shuffling past Luca with a paternal pat on the shoulder, and stared down at the picture, seemingly unfazed by the blood. “Oh,
him
. A sly devil, that one, but I don’t see why he has much of anything to do with the past. Father Michael has atoned for that night in the eyes of Heaven.” He gave Luca a meaningful look. “
And
the eyes of the law.”

“The past repeats itself,
Padre
,” Luca pointed out. “We’d be foolish to dismiss it.”

Father McMurty rested both hands on his cane and seemed to consider that before he nodded. “I can’t argue with that, Agent Ramirez, but I’m convinced Father Michael is incapable of being this so-called John the Baptist.” He made a face and reached for the photo. “But he,
he
could be the affliction, the reason for the entire tragic affair.”

“What did you call him?” Vince chimed in. “Asmodeus?”

“What do you know about him,
Padre
?” Luca asked.

It was Father Michael who answered, his gaze still glued to his desk. “We learned about Asmodeus in seminary,” he said quietly. “He’s one of the seven princes of hell under Lucifer, the Emperor. He has seventy-two legions of demons under his command and is responsible for all the gambling houses in the underworld.”

Vince snorted. “Hero have a gambling problem we don’t know about?”

“Nope,” Luca denied. They had all her financial records. She was a bit of a spend thrift, but never showed any tendencies to gamble.

“Then why would this guy’s freaky symbol be painted in blood on her wall?”

“I can’t think of a single reason,” Father Michael put a dejected forehead in his hands.

“Is that so, Father Michael?” McMurtry put a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t think of a
single
reason?”

Father Michael looked over his shoulder at his superior in confusion.

Luca held his breath. Now they were getting somewhere. Asmodeus wasn’t just a prince of hell. He was one of seven. And, according to his research, each prince of hell corresponded with a cardinal sin.
This
was what he’d wanted to hear from the priests.

“Lust,” Father Michael whispered the word as though it was a prayer. “Asmodeus is a demon of lust.”

McMurtry nodded. “Yes, there, I think, will be the answer the agents are looking for.”

Father Michael seemed to have an idea. “Do you know what the
Malleus Maleficarum
is?”

Luca searched his memory. “It’s a book on the practice of persecution of witches back in the day.”

“The fifteenth century, actually. Asmodeus, or Asmoday as he is known to some and depicted here in this symbol, is written in the
Malleus Maleficarum
as the demon of lust. He specifically is an enemy to St. John.”

“John the Baptist?”

Father Michael shook his head. “No. John the Apostle, the younger brother of James.”

Luca considered this. The names were too close to be a coincidence.

“He’s also mentioned in the teachings of Solomon, and, according to Pope Gregory the First, Asmodeus was once a seraphim before his fall from grace.”

“Those teachings are rather apocryphal, Father Michael, and not necessarily the canonized traditions of the church.” Father McMurtry held out his hand. “I have some other reference material on these demons if you’d like to follow me into my office.”

Luca looked at Vince who nodded.

“Come with us, Father Michael.” McMurtry limped toward the door. “You may learn something new.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“The lunatic, the lover and the poet are of imagination all compact:

One sees more devils than vast hell can hold.”

~William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

“You sure you’re up for talking to Professor I-used-to-bone-your-girlfriend after all of that?” Vince asked.

Luca’s hand tightened on the steering wheel as he merged on to the I-5 toward the University of Portland. “Hero’s
not
my girlfriend.” Was he the only one who seemed to remember that?

“Oh yeah?” Vince made a rude noise.

“You got something to say to me?”

“Yeah, actually. Why the hell not?” His partner seemed to come to a decision. “You two are kinda perfect for each other.”

Luca glanced over at him. “Have you lost your
damn
mind?”

“Hear me out. Just because it doesn’t look good on paper doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing. I mean, say you two wait for this case to be over to avoid career consequences. How could that be wrong?”

“Let me count the ways.”

“You could at least, I don’t know, get her to work your bone a few times, she obviously wants it, and then you’d be a hell of a lot easier to live with.”

“No I wouldn’t, trust me.” Luca fixed his eyes straight ahead for a few silent miles. That was the plan, wasn’t it? After the danger passed, they would rip each other’s clothes off and fuck the tension out of each other.

Then what?

As cavalier as both he and Hero were about relationships, whatever brewed between them was different, and they both knew it. If he took her to bed, he might not leave the next morning. He’d spend a weekend. She’d make him coffee. He’d go to work. They’d make plans to do it again. Suddenly he’d have a drawer, then room in the closet. A toothbrush. They’d start to mingle their groups of friends. That thought made him smirk, but the smile quickly vanished as the more long-term vision stretched out before him, as congested and dangerous to navigate as the freeway.

There were no rose bush hedges and double ovens in their future. No picket fences or joint bank accounts. She’d push him for something he couldn’t give her. He’d try to dominate and control her. She’d withdraw, or worse, be dishonest. He’d lose his temper and do something he’d regret for the rest of his days. It was a cycle he’d seen time and time again, and not just in his own life. He just—couldn’t let that happen. Not to her. Not to them.

“Can I have a pass at her, then?” Vince asked glibly. “I’m pretty sure I got the wrong assignment, here.”

“Try it, and I’ll rip your guts out your ass and use them as a jump rope.”

Vince just laughed. “That’s what I thought.” He unzipped the leather binder on his lap and picked the memory chip from the pocket recorder and paper-clipped it to the priests of St. Andrew’s files before selecting a different one for their upcoming meeting with Professor Graham. “Priests, man.” He moved on to safer territory. “Is it just me, or do they always seem guilty because of all the times they play the creepy bad guy in the movies?”

Luca welcomed the change of subject. “I don’t know what to think. They certainly had a lot of religious information about the demon symbol. None of it particularly helpful or relevant, but I don’t know a lot of religious professionals so well-versed in all that historical minutiae. Seems like shady bullshit to me.” They’d spent the better part of an hour reading canonized texts on the very creative historic details of the Catholic Church regarding their take on the denizen of Hell. They learned of lesser demons in the Legions of Asmodeus, famous reported possessions and exorcisms of his throughout the ages—both male and female—and numerous anecdotal narratives of confrontations with him, all with little to no supporting evidence. Luca didn’t feel any closer to understanding just why this demon was linked with Hero, specifically. Was it because she inspired lust? Was that the connection with the prostitutes? Seemed like kind of a weak link, but worth exploring further.

Vince shrugged. “I don’t know a lot of religious professionals, period. But pretty much everything they did seemed suspect to me. Anyone willing to take a vow of celibacy just freaks me the fuck out. That shit is unnatural.” He shuddered as though someone just walked over his grave. “You get those medical records on Father McMurtry back from Ireland?”

Luca shook his head. “Could take weeks, it’s been so long since he lived there, and he hasn’t really visited any one here in the states for complications related to his hip.”

“Well, there’s definitely tension between those two. I don’t know if Father Michael is covering for the old man, or McMurtry is threatened by someone younger and more hip in his territory, but there’s something going on there.” Vince’s shrewd assessment paralleled Luca’s own thoughts, precisely.

“If you think about it, Father McMurtry would have to have faked that limp for thirty years in order to have pulled this off. I mean, that’s just... fucking excessive. Also, why wait until now to commit these murders? Why not do it when he’s younger and more capable? I mean he’s got to be in his sixties.”

“You trying to talk yourself out of suspecting him, Ramirez? You got a soft spot for the
padre
?”

Luca thought of the conversation he’d shared with the old man in his office.

There are many ways to exorcize a demon, Agent Ramirez.

Had he been trying to tell him something? Was it a confession? Had he been pointing the finger at himself? At Father Michael? Or had he just been doing his job, offering spiritual counseling to someone who’d come looking for answers?

“The only person I have a soft spot for is your mom.” Luca joked as he took the exit onto Lombard Street and turned toward the university. “She treated me so good last night.”

“Yeah, she said something about your spot being soft.” His partner made a lewd gesture and chuckled, then began to fiddle with the recorder.

Luca smiled, too distracted to think of a comeback. He found himself thinking about how he’d been on this very drive the night Hero had been fished out of the river. He had to admit, it was much more comfortable to consider a perverted asshole like Professor Alec as the perpetrator of these crimes. He had all the traits. Narcissism, predatory behavior, a practiced and grandiose charm, and the pathological ability to lie without remorse.

Had Professor Alec taken refuge at the college that night after dumping Hero in the river? Had Luca been driving past John the Baptist on his way home from work every night for the past year?

The thought caused tendrils of ice to lick at his extremities. The Burlington Bridge crossed the Willamette exactly halfway in between the University of Portland and Cathedral Park. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to release a dying Hero into the river and hide out at the college.

Vince’s initial question had been appropriate. Was he up for talking to the professor? On Luca’s list, the guy rated somewhere between fuckwad and shit-stain, and that was just his personality. Toss in the fact that he’d slept with, and subsequently cheated on, Hero, and Luca had to force himself not to instantly dick-punch the guy on sight. An image of Hero wrapped in those bloody vestments reared in his mind’s eye, and he barely escaped running a red light. Sometimes in quiet moments, he saw her reach out for him with those holes in her hands. Pictured her bruised and swollen face as she fought for her life in the hospital, and a little bit more of his humanity chipped away and disappeared.

If Professor Alec was responsible for that night—well—Luca’s sixth kill might not be so righteous, legal, or particularly quick. Hell, he might just be forced to brush up on his Old Testament and nail the professor’s ass to the wall. Or a railroad tie. Whatever was handy, really. A dark satisfaction surged through him. Eye for an eye, motherfucker.

“Don’t get that look,” Vince warned. “I know that look. It’s the I’m-going-to-do-something-that-will-cause-my-partner-paperwork look. You just lock that shit down, Ramirez, I swear to God.”

“If I do what I’m thinking about doing, there won’t
be
any paperwork,” Luca promised. “They’ll never find the body.”

“Yeah well, make sure they don’t,” Vince said in that voice that made Luca wonder if the guy was really just kidding. “I don’t want to break in a new partner, and I
especially
don’t want to be lead on this case. No thanks. I’ll take the next serial killer. Maybe I’ll get lucky and it’ll be your average, run of the mill, the voices-in-my-head-told-me-to-do-it kind of thing. None of this demons, and priests, and prostitutes, and professors. It’s all a little too
Da Vinci Code
for me, not to mention the alliteration.”

“Tell me about it,” Luca muttered as he pulled onto Willamette Blvd. The river came into view sporadically in between dense greenery and the occasional nineteen forty’s neighborhood. A large portion of the older homes were sub-divided into rentals, like Luca’s, providing housing for the transient nature of a student’s lifestyle. He resided a little north and west of the college in a nicer neighborhood that mainly catered to students with families and even a few adjunct professors.

Luca turned into one of the many lots and parked, then waited for Vince to get the malfunctioning digital voice recorder sorted before they stepped out of the car.

The University of Portland’s layout was much like any other college campus established more than a hundred years ago, complete with the requisite stately brick buildings, towered bell clock which chimed the hour, and landscaped academic quad in the center crisscrossed by sidewalks full of students. The further you traveled from the center, the more modern and less elegant the buildings became. Luca had always been disappointed by this. When he’d attended college, he’d appreciated the ponderous monuments to academia built by the founders. They’d established a sense of place, an affinity for education and knowledge. Outer buildings usually felt like some architect with a boner for the unfortunate fifties threw together the building equivalent of a fold-it-yourself cardboard box complete with florescent lighting, confusing hallways, and stupid student renderings of “art” that no one particularly liked or understood. Being a Catholic institution, The University of Portland fared better in that respect than some state colleges, but barely.