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“Then why is your kitchen a pharmaceutical factory?”
Alden didn’t respond. Despite his warped mind, he seemed to know when to keep his mouth shut.
Ella continued, “Here’s what I think. Since you got banished from the church, you’ve decided to get revenge on the people you think wronged you. You’re targeting the weak and vulnerable people who you met during your old classes, making easy targets for your little mission. Your homemade drugs lab is how you support yourself. Tell me when I’m telling lies.”
“Targeting?” Alden asked. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh please. Joanne Gustafson, David Harper, Gary Weathers. Those names ring any bells?”
Alden had a far-away look in his eye, deep in thought. “Yes. Old memories.”
“Seen them recently?” Ripley asked.
“Joanne? Yes. The others? No.”
“When did you last see Joanne?” asked Ella.
“Weeks ago.”
Ella violently rubbed her eyes. These short answers were starting to grate. “What for?”
“You already know,” Alden said.
Ella had to up the ante, get something usable out of this man. She grabbed the folder in Ripley’s lap, pulled out the first picture and lay it on the table. It was a close-up of Joanne Gustafson’s dead body.
“Looks like you lost a customer.”
Alden’s expression barely faltered. He maintained the same unwavering glance, the same static mask. “This is Joanne?”
“You tell us,” said Ripley.
“It looks like her. If you’re implying I did this, you’re very much mistaken.”
Ella threw down two more photographs. “How about David and Gary? Remember them? Well, this is them now.”
Alden betrayed no emotion at the sight of three corpses, three people he’d had personal contact with. Even the most hardened psycho usually simulated some kind of response, but Alden seemed to occupy his own emotionless void. Ella turned to Ripley who looked equally perplexed by Alden’s lack of a reaction.
“I didn’t do this,” Alden said after a long pause.
Ella couldn’t read the man, couldn’t see beyond the blank canvas. She had two pieces of ammunition left and she was about to fire them right into his heart.
“Father Kerley. Want to tell us about your relationship with him?”
“Not particularly.”
“We’re not asking.”
Alden shuffled in his chair, rotated his shoulder. For a main who just fell off an apartment roof, he showed no sign of injury whatsoever. Ella had to wonder how the hell this man became a priest. Even without the facial wound, he didn’t exactly have a trustworthy face.
“He pushed me out of the clergy. I wouldn’t call us friends.”
“So you went back and threatened him, isn’t that right?”
Alden gave a slow, thoughtful nod in response. “I just needed him to know he wasn’t going to get away with it.”
Ripley said, “That’s why you stole something of his? A ceremonial dagger, I believe.”
Alden tried to fold his arms but his shackles made it impossible. “Maybe.”
