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His toast is done too, and he finally comes to sit with me at the table.
“What figures?” I ask, letting a lot of the annoyance that’s been building in me over his blasé attitude to my news.
“I figured it would be one or the other,” he says and starts spreading butter on his toast rather noisily. “Sojer uncovered that Kline and Lap treated all the victims between them, at one point or another.”
“Wow,” I say. ”You could’ve mentioned that.”
“What, wake you up last night?” he says and bites into his toast. “I’d prefer to keep a little more distance than that from this case.”
“If you want to keep me from getting sucked into the case, you’re a little late,” I say and cut a piece of cheese with so much force the knife slides sideways on the plate.
“It just seems too easy,” he says, then proceeds to tell me everything he learned from Sojer last night.
“It’s compelling stuff, though, you can’t deny that,” I say once he’s finished. “Could be they’re working together. Maybe they think they’re offering some sort of a euthanasia service to people who wish to die.”
He looks at me from the side of his narrowed eyes. “That’s a stretch, Eva. And exactly the kind of thing I don’t want us to get caught up in at this stage.”
He’s already eaten both his pieces of toast, while I’m still nibbling on the piece of cheese I didn’t even want in the first place.
“Let’s get ready now and go speak to the priest,” he says. “The task force meeting will be later this morning, around eleven.”
I nod and finally take my first sip of my tea After a few more, my mood is much improved. And my thoughts are clearer.
I stand up slowly and follow him to the bathroom, where the shower is already running, fog rising in clouds. He’s just about to brush his teeth.
“Do you think Sojer could be involved?” I ask loudly.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think we can rule it out,” he says. “His high interest in this case is still an enigma to me.”
“I hope you’re wrong,” I say.
“Not as much as I do, believe me,” he says, and I leave him to take his shower.
I didn’t even consider Sojer in this light, but I understand why Mark did. I don’t think he’s right.
The killer we’re looking for sees a higher purpose in the work he does. That is as clear to me as day just from the crime scene photos. And I don’t think it’s this euthanasia plot Mark mentioned. I think it’s more personal to the killer. He’s selfish, not self-less, just like all serial killers are.
And once we uncover the higher purpose that drives him, we’ll have him.
* * *
MARK
The youth center is inside what looks like a large family, two-story house with wooden siding, a new roof and multicolored cutouts of stars, hearts, and flowers glued to the windows of about half of it. The building houses the youth center, as well as a kindergarten and a Caritas charity collection office. The falling snow is clinging to the low hedges that separate the garden around it from a monastery on one side, and the road on the other. The church and surrounding cemetery are behind a tall wall and further along the road, while the whole complex is surrounded by fields and residential houses, and tall apartment buildings in the distance.
The happy chatter of children can clearly be heard as we approach, and I don’t think I’ve ever noticed it so clearly or been so reluctant to question someone about murder while listening to it.
Eva leads the way to the house and she’s as determined as always. I follow her up the three concrete steps that lead up to the unlocked front door. A wide, yellow linoleum-lined hallway separates the kindergarten part on the left from the youth center and Caritas on the right.
A bent over man in a brown habit and rope belt is sifting through the boxes and plastic bags filled with clothes, dishes, toys and who knows what else. Donations to the charity, I assume. The chatter of children is even louder here.
“Good morning,” Eva says. “We’re looking for Father Ignatius.”
He straightens up and fixes us with a very piercing look. He’s in his late forties, taller than me, and very thin. The habit hangs off his wide shoulders despite the heavy wool it’s made of. His dark brown eyes are heavily lidded and sunken deep into his face, while his closely cut dark hair shows signs of receding.
“I’m Ignatius,” he says. “And who are you?”
He has a very pleasant, deep bass voice.
