Dressed in his long black cassock and white Roman collar, he looked pale to her—and worried. She started weaving her way through the crowd.
Tommy and the stranger he was talking to presented a striking picture. Both were tall and dark-haired, but Tommy bore the Irish complexion with his ruddy cheeks and generous sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Unlike her, when he accidentally stayed out in the sun too long, he didn’t tan; he burned. He had an adorable dimple—at least she thought it was adorable—in his right cheek, and his boyish good looks had earned him the amusing nickname “Father What-a-Waste” from all the college and high school girls.
There certainly wasn’t anything boyish about the man standing next to her brother. He kept watching her make her way toward the porch as he listened to Tommy and occasionally nodded agreement.
He finally interrupted her brother when he tilted his head toward her. Tommy turned, spotted her, and shouted her name. Taking the stairs two at a time, his black robe flapping about his ankles, he raced to intercept her with a look of acute relief on his face.
Laurant noticed that his friend stayed on the porch, but he wasn’t paying any attention to them now. He was thoroughly occupied watching the crowd disperse around them.
She was astonished by her brother’s reaction to seeing her. She’d thought he’d be mad, or irritated at the very least, but he wasn’t upset at all. In fact, he acted as though they’d been separated for years, even though she had seen him only a few days ago when he’d taken her on a tour of the abbey’s attic.
Tommy engulfed her in a bear hug. “Thank God you’re all right. I’ve been worried sick about you, Laurant. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I’m so happy to see you.”
His voice shook with emotion. Thoroughly confused by his behavior, she pulled away and said, “You’re happy to see me? I thought you’d be furious that I followed you. Tommy, why didn’t you call me Friday evening? You promised you would.”
He finally let go of her. “And you’ve been worried, haven’t you?”
She looked into his big brown eyes and decided to tell him the truth after all. “Yes, I’ve been worried. You were supposed to call when you had the results of the blood work, but you didn’t call and I thought . . . maybe the results weren’t very good.”
“The lab screwed up. That’s why I didn’t call. They had to redo the tests. I should have called, but damn it, Laurant, you should have let me know you were coming. I’ve got Sheriff Lloyd looking all over Holy Oaks for you. Come on inside. I’ve got to call him and tell him you’re here, safe and sound.”
“You called Sheriff Lloyd looking for me? Why?”
He grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her along. “I’ll explain everything as soon as I get you inside. It’s safer.”
“Safer? Tommy, what’s going on? I’ve never seen you so rattled. And who is that man standing on the porch?”
The question surprised her brother. “You’ve never met him, have you?”
“Who?” she asked, her frustration mounting.
“Nick. That’s Nick Buchanan.”
She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to her brother. “You’re sick again, aren’t you? That’s why he’s here . . . like the last time when you got so bad and you didn’t tell me until—”
“No,” he interrupted. “I’m not sick again.” She didn’t look like she believed him, and so he tried once again to convince her. “I promised you I would tell you when and if I had to have chemo again. Remember?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her fear ebbing.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you Friday,” he said. “It was inconsiderate. I should have let you know the tests got screwed up.”
“If you don’t have to have chemo again, why is Nick here?” she asked with a glance toward the porch.
“I sent for him, but the reason had nothing to do with my health.” He rushed on before she could interrupt him. “Come on, Laurant. It’s about time you met him.”
With a smile she said, “The infamous Nick Buchanan. You didn’t tell me he was so . . .” She stopped herself in time. She had always felt she could tell her brother just about anything, but it didn’t seem appropriate now for her to admit that she thought his best friend was incredibly sexy. It was double jeopardy, she supposed, having an older brother who also happened to be a priest. There was no way he would understand or appreciate his sister having such ideas.
Nick and Tommy were more like brothers than friends. They met during a fistfight on the playground of St. Matthew’s Elementary School when they were in second grade. They bloodied each other’s noses and from that day on became each other’s shadow. By an odd set of circumstances, Tommy ended up living with the Buchanan family of eight children most of his grade school and high school years, and then he and Nick went to Penn State University together.
“He’s so what?” Tommy asked as he pulled her along.
“I’m sorry?”
“Nick’s so what?”
“Tall,” she said, finally remembering what they were talking about.
“I never sent you any photos?”
“No, you didn’t,” she said, casting her brother a frown for the oversight. Suddenly nervous, she took a deep breath, smoothed her skirt, and went up the stairs to meet him.
Lordy, lordy, he had blue eyes. Brilliant blue eyes that didn’t miss a trick, she thought as Tommy made the hasty introductions. She put her hand out to shake his, but he wouldn’t let her be formal. He pushed her hand away, pulled her into his arms, and hugged her. It was a brotherly embrace, and when she stepped back, he continued to hold on to her while he looked her over.
“I’m so happy to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you over the years,” she said.
“I can’t believe we haven’t met before now,” he replied. “I saw all the pictures of you when you were a kid. Tommy had them up on the wall of our dorm room, but that was years ago, and damn, Laurant, you sure have changed.”
She laughed. “I hope I have. The sisters at the boarding school were thoughtful enough to send photos to my brother, but he, on the other hand, never sent me any.”
“I didn’t own a camera,” Tommy said.
“You could have borrowed one. You were too lazy.”
“Men don’t think about things like that,” he argued. “At least I didn’t. Nick, we should get her inside, shouldn’t we?”
“Yes, of course,” he agreed.
Tommy held the screen door open and rudely shoved Laurant inside.
“What, in heaven’s name, is the matter with you?” she demanded.
“I’ll explain in a minute,” he promised.
The foyer was dark and musty. Her brother rushed ahead and led the way into the kitchen at the back of the two-story house. There was a breakfast nook with a bay window overlooking Monsignor’s vegetable garden, which took up most of the fenced-in backyard. An old rectangular oak table, one leg propped up with a coaster so it wouldn’t wobble, and four spindle chairs sat in front of the three windows. The room had been recently painted a bright, cheerful yellow, but the blinds were torn and brown along the edges. They needed to be replaced, but she knew money was a precious commodity at Mercy.
Laurant stood in the center of the kitchen, watching her brother. He was acting like a nervous twit, pulling all the blinds down to the windowsills. Sunlight filtered into the kitchen through the cracks and tears, filling the room with soft light.
“What’s the matter with him?” she whispered to Nick.
“He’ll explain in a minute,” he promised, repeating Tommy’s exact words to her.
In other words, be patient, she thought.
Nick pulled a chair out for her and took the seat adjacent to her. Tommy couldn’t seem to get settled. He sat down, then immediately jumped back up to get a notebook and pen from the linoleum counter. He was as jittery as a june bug.
Then Nick drew her attention when he stood up. His demeanor was just as serious as her brother’s. She watched him loosen his tie and unbutton the top button of his shirt. The man oozed sensuality, she thought to herself. Was there a woman back in Boston waiting for him to come home? She knew he wasn’t married, but he could be involved with someone. Surely he was.
Then Nick removed his jacket, and Laurant’s fantasies came to a screeching halt.
As Nick draped the coat over the back of the empty chair next to him he watched the abrupt change in Laurant. Her back was now pressed against the chair as though she were trying to put as much distance between them as possible. He also noticed she was staring at his gun. Just a few seconds ago, she had been open and friendly, bordering on flirtatious. Now she looked guarded and uncomfortable.
“The gun bother you?”
She didn’t give him a direct answer. “I thought you were an investigator.”
“I am.”
“Then why do you wear a gun?”
“It goes with the job,” Tommy answered for his friend. He was shuffling through his papers, his head downcast while he tried to get organized.
Laurant’s patience had run out. “I’ve waited long enough, Tommy. I want to know why you’re acting so strange. I’ve never seen you this nervous.”
“I have something to tell you,” he began. “It’s kind of difficult to know where to start.” Looking past her, he said the last to Nick, who nodded.
“I think I know what it is,” she said. “You did get your lab results, didn’t you? And you’re afraid to tell me about them. Did you think I’d make a scene, and that’s why you waited? They weren’t good, were they?”
He let out a weary sigh. “I got the results last night as a matter of fact. I was going to tell you later . . . after I explained what happened yesterday.”
“Tell me now,” she said quietly.
“Doctor Cowan felt real bad that the lab had screwed up the first time and so he made them rush the second blood work. He called from a wedding reception to let me know he finally got the results and everything’s fine. Now will you relax?”
“So there’s definitely no chemo this time?” Her voice sounded like that of a child, and she had so wanted to be adult about this. If anything happened to her brother, she didn’t know what she would do. It seemed to her that she had only just found him and now this horrible illness was trying to take him away from her. “If everything’s going so well, then why are you so nervous? And you are nervous, Tommy. Don’t tell me you aren’t.”
“Maybe you ought to just let her listen to the tape,” Nick suggested.
“I don’t want her to hear it yet. It’ll be too much of a shock.”
“Then let her read the transcript the police made.”
Tommy shook his head. “I think it would be better if I just told her what happened first.” He took a deep breath, then plunged in. “Laurant, this man came into the confessional just as I was about to close up.” He paused for a few seconds while he collected his thoughts and then began again. “After I talked to the police, I made some notes, and while I was writing down what he said—”
Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she couldn’t stop herself from interrupting him. “You wrote down a man’s confession? You can’t do that. It’s against the rules, isn’t it?”
He held up his hand to stop her. “I know what the rules are. I’m a priest, remember?”
“You don’t need to snap at me.”
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Look, I’m just edgy and I’ve got a hell of a headache, that’s all. This guy . . . all the while he was talking to me, he was making a tape.”
She was astonished. “He recorded the conversation? Why would anyone want to tape his own confession?”
“He probably wanted a keepsake,” Nick suggested.
Tommy nodded. “So anyway, he must have gone right out and made a copy of the tape. We know it isn’t the original because of the whirling sound in the background,” he explained. “He dropped the copy off at the police station. Can you believe it, Laurant? He just sauntered inside and left it on a desk.”
“But why would anyone go to so much trouble?”
“He wanted to make sure I could talk about it,” he explained. “It’s all part of a sick game he’s playing.”
“What’s on the tape?” She waited for him to answer, and when he hesitated, she demanded, “Tommy, just spit it out for heaven’s sake. It can’t be as bad as you’re making it sound. What did the man say that was so upsetting?”
Her brother pulled his chair closer to hers before he sat down again. Taking both of her hands in his, he said, “This man told me he’s planning . . . he wants . . .”
“Yes?”
“He’s going to kill you.”
L
aurant didn’t believe him, not at first anyway. Tommy recounted what the man had said to him in the confessional. She didn’t interrupt, but with each new detail she could feel her body stiffen. For a second or two, she was actually relieved that she was the target and not her brother. Tommy had enough to deal with now.
“You’re taking this awfully well.”
Her brother had made the remark in an almost accusatory tone of voice. Both he and Nick were waiting for her to absorb the information, watching her intently as though she were a butterfly trapped under a glass.
“I’m not sure what to think,” she responded. “I don’t want to believe it’s true . . . what he said.”
“We have to take the threat seriously,” Nick cautioned.
“This other woman he talked about . . . Millie. He told you he killed her a year ago?” she asked.
“He bragged about it.”
A shiver ran through her. “But was her body ever found?”
“He said he buried her deep, where no one will find her,” Tommy answered.
“We’re running the name through VICAP,” Nick interjected. “Their computer system stores information on unsolved homicides that have been reported. It looks for possible matches. Maybe we’ll get a lucky break.”
“I believe what he told me. I think he did kill that poor woman. He wasn’t making it up, Laurant.”
“Did you see him?” she asked.
“No,” he replied. “I ended it when he told me you were his next victim. I jumped up and ran out.” He paused to shake his head. “I don’t know what I thought I was going to do. I was pretty shook up.”
“But you didn’t see him? He had already gone? How could anyone move that fast?”
“He hadn’t left.”
“He cold-cocked him,” Nick told her.
“He what?” she asked, unfamiliar with the term.
“He knocked me out,” Tommy explained. “He was waiting for me and he got me from behind. I don’t know what he used, but I’m lucky he didn’t crush my skull. I went down hard,” he added. “And the next thing I knew, Monsignor was leaning over me. He thought I’d passed out from the heat.”
“My God, you could have been killed.”
“I’ve taken worse hits playing football.”
Laurant made Tommy show her where he’d been struck. When she touched the lump at the base of his skull, he winced. “It still stings,” he said.
“Maybe you should let a doctor look at that.”
“I’ll be all right, but damn, I wish I had seen his face.”
“I want to listen to the tape. Did you recognize the voice?”
“No.”
“Maybe I will.”
“He mostly whispered.”
Tommy was frightened. She could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice when he next spoke.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you, Laurant. We’re going to make sure you stay safe,” he fervently promised with a nod toward Nick.
She didn’t say anything for a long while but simply stared at the dripping faucet in the sink across the room. Her head was reeling.
“You can’t be blasé about this,” Tommy warned.
“I’m not.”
“Why are you so calm?”
She put her elbows on the table, bowed her head, and pressed her fingertips against her temples. Calm? She knew she was an expert at hiding her emotions—she’d done it for years—but she was surprised her brother couldn’t see how shaken she was. She felt like a grenade had just gone off in her head. Her quiet, peaceful world had just been blown apart. She was anything but calm.
“Tommy, what do you want me to do?”
“I’ll tell you what you can’t do. You can’t take any chances, Laurant, not until this is over and they’ve caught him. You can’t stay in Holy Oaks.”
“How can I leave? My best friend is getting married, and I’m her maid of honor. I’m not going to miss that. And you know my store is set to open in two weeks, and it still isn’t ready. Then, there’s the public hearing coming up about the town square. People are depending on me. I can’t just pack up and leave.”
“It would only be temporary, until they catch him.”
She shoved the chair back and stood. She couldn’t sit there another second.
“Where are you going?” Tommy asked.
“I’m going to make a cup of hot tea.”
“Tea? It’s ninety-eight degrees in the shade, and you want hot tea?” She scowled at him and he backed down. “Okay, okay. I’ll show you where everything is.”
They watched her fill the teakettle with water and put it on the burner. After she’d gotten a tea bag out of the canister and put it in the cup, she leaned her hip against the counter and turned back to her brother. “I have to think about this.”
“There’s nothing to think about. You’ve got to leave. You don’t have a choice in this, Laurant. I won’t have you—”
Nick quietly interrupted, “Tommy, you ought to call Sheriff Lloyd.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He’d forgotten about the sheriff until Nick reminded him. “And maybe while I’m gone, you can talk some sense into her,” he added with a frown at Laurant. “She can’t be difficult about this. She has to understand this is serious.”
“I’m not being difficult,” she argued. “Just give me a minute, all right?”
Reluctantly, he got up and went to make the call. Nick used his mobile phone to alert the police that Laurant was there. Then he called his superior. While he was talking to Morganstern, she made her tea and carried it to the table. Then she sat down again.
“You need to get one of these,” he said as he put the phone back in his breast pocket. “We would have known where you were and could have gotten hold of you while you were on the road.”
“In Holy Oaks everyone knows where everyone else is. It’s like living in a fishbowl.”
“The sheriff didn’t know where you were.”
“He probably didn’t bother to ask anyone. He’s very lazy,” she said. “My neighbors knew where I was going and so did the two men who were looking after the store while the workmen were there.”
She picked up the transcript of the conversation the police had made, began to read it, and then put it back down.
“I’d like to listen to the tape now.”
Unlike her brother, Nick was anxious for her to do just that. He left the kitchen to get the cassette player, and when he returned he put it in the center of the table.
“Ready?” he asked.
She stopped stirring her tea. She put the spoon in the saucer, took a breath, then nodded.
He hit the play button and leaned back. Laurant stared at the whirling cassette as she listened to the conversation that had taken place in the confessional. Hearing the stranger’s voice made the horror more real to her, and by the time the tape ended, she was nauseated.
“My God.”
“Did you recognize his voice?”
She shook her head. “It was such a low whisper, I didn’t get all of what he said. I don’t think I’ve heard him before. I’ll listen to it again,” she promised, “but not yet, all right? I don’t think I can . . .”
“Some of what he said was deliberate . . . calculated. At least that’s what I think. He wanted to spook Tommy.”
“And he succeeded. I don’t want my brother to worry, but I don’t know how to stop him. It isn’t good for him . . . the stress.”
“You’ve got to be realistic, Laurant. A man tells him he’s going to kill his sister after he gets his kicks, and you don’t think he should worry?”
She threaded her fingers through her hair in agitation. “Yes, of course . . . it’s just . . .”
“What?”
“It isn’t healthy for him.”
Nick had noticed her slight French accent when she first spoke to him, but now the accent was more pronounced. She might have looked calm and collected, but that facade, like a thin layer of ice, was cracking.
“Why me?” she asked, sounding genuinely bewildered. “I live such a boring . . . ordinary life. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“A lot of weirdos don’t make any sense. There was this case a couple of years back. This pervert did six women before they finally caught him. You know what he told them when they asked him how and where he chose his victims?”
She shook her head.
“At the grocery stores. He’d stand out front and he’d smile at the women as they rushed past him. The first one who smiled back . . . that’s the one he wanted. Ordinary women, Laurant, leading ordinary lives. You can’t look for reasons with these guys, or waste your time trying to figure out how their minds work. Leave that to the experts.”
“Do you think the man in the confessional is a serial killer?”
“Maybe,” he allowed. “And maybe not. He could just be getting started. The profilers will know more after they’ve heard the tape. They’ll have some insight.”
“But what do you think?”
“There’s a hell of a lot of inconsistencies here.”
“Such as?”
He shrugged. “For one thing, he told Tommy he did the other woman a year ago, but I think he was lying about that.”
“Why?”
“Because he also said he’s gotten a real taste for it,” he reminded her. “The one statement conflicts with the other.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If he got off on it—torturing and killing the woman—then he did her recently and not a year ago. He wouldn’t have been able to wait that long.”
“Nick, what about the letter he said he sent to the police?”
“
If
he wrote it, and
if
he mailed it, then they’ll get it tomorrow or the day after. They’re ready,” he added. “And they’ll run it for prints, but I doubt he left any.”
“I don’t suppose they found any prints on the cassette, did they?”
“Actually, there was one, but it wasn’t our man’s. The kid who checked him out at Super Sid’s Warehouse had a record, so his prints were on file. It was easy to track him to the warehouse,” he explained. “His probation officer helped him get the job.”
“Did he remember who bought the tape?”
“Unfortunately, he didn’t,” he answered. “Have you ever been to one of those stores? The traffic going through there is unbelievable, and it was a cash-only counter, so there wasn’t any credit card receipt or check to trace.”
“What about the confessional? Did they find any prints there?”
“Yeah, hundreds.”
“But you don’t think any of them are his?”
“No, I don’t,” he replied.
“He’s very smart, isn’t he?”
“They’re never as smart as they think they are. Besides . . .”
“What?”
“We’re going to be smarter.”