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Kerley’s hands jittered slightly. Perhaps a product of age, perhaps a sign of sudden apprehension. “Immoral? No. Illegal? It’s a gray area.”
Ripley said, “A gray area, huh? Are you sure you want to be telling two FBI agents that?”
“It’s not my place. I’m a listener, not an advisor.”
“What if it’s a very serious crime?” asked Ella.
“Like I said, it’s a gray area. If someone’s stolen a bottle of wine, I’m not going to report it. If someone’s life is in danger, then I will. There are no set rules, just common sense.”
Ella went in for the kill. Joanne Gustafson, David Harper, Gary Weathers. Those names mean anything to you?”
Kerley fast lost his composure. His shoulders tensed up as his hands slipped off the table into his lap. “Joanne? David? Gary?”
“Yes. You know them?”
Kerley nodded, slowly this time. “I… yes… old friends. You don’t mean…?”
Ella let the moment settle.
Kerley wheeled away from his desk and locked his stare on an empty glass box sitting beside his computer screen. It was an odd ornament, as though there should have been some kind of relic inside. “Those three?” he asked after a moment of contemplation. “Murdered?”
“Yes,” Ella said firmly. “Murdered. In their homes. By a member of this community thatmayhave met them here.”
“I’m... I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”
Ella stepped forward, leaning over the desk, applying a more personal touch. She had the holy man trapped in an emotional tornado and if he had something that might help them find their killer, she wasn’t leaving until she’d torn it from his lips. “There’s a serial killer out there, so you’re gonna need some more assistance because there’s gonna be a lot more funerals.”
Kerley glanced around the room, not settling on anything for more than a millisecond.
“Or,” Ella continued, “you can tell us about some of these questionable confessions, because I can see on your face there’s something you want to tell us.”
The priest came around, composed himself. “You’ll keep this to yourself, yes?”
Ripley laughed. “No. We promise to do the exact opposite.”
Kerley’s lips pursed, but then morality seemed to win the inner struggle. “Okay, fine. Yes I knew Joanne, David, and Gary. Regulars, once upon a time. Haven’t seen them for many months. However, I assure you no one has confessed any murders to me. Nothing of the sort. In the eyes of God, I swear it.”
“But?” Ella asked. She could sense a turn coming.
“But,” said Father Kerley, “I got a visit recently. A visit from an old friend.”
“Details,” Ripley said.
“Anonymous confession. I heard a voice. A familiar one. We used to have a priest here, a fellow named Thomas Alden. He was… troubled. Very intense. He took things to the extreme.”
Ella’s curiosity burned like an inferno. Their killer almost certainly considered himself a Christian, perhaps thought of himself as some sort ofchosen onewhose delusions were fed by Bible stories. “How so?” she asked.
“Father Alden believed in archaic penance. Punishments. He got close to certain parishioners and pushed them far beyond what was acceptable from clergy members. We know at least three cases where Alden encouraged self-harm, even self-sacrifice in one case.”
“Suicide?” Ripley asked.
“Yes. Thankfully I was able to intervene, and when I learned about Alden’s activities I had him banished from priesthood.”
“When was this?”
Kerley scratched his gray hair. “One year ago this month.”
“What did he say to you during this confessional?” Ripley asked.
