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In ten minutes.
First, he pulled up the pictures of mourners at Jay’s funeral for the third time tonight. They were photos that had been discreetly snapped from a cell phone by one of the cops watching the crowd from a distance. He studied each of the mourners, as he had the day of the funeral, and told himself the killer wouldn’t be so bold as to risk exposure there.
Or would he?
Would his fascination, whatever the hell sick compulsion that caused him to assault Kristi and kill her husband, drive him to be a witness to the rite? No one looked out of place. He’d IDed everyone in attendance at the grave site and taken note of the mourners at the church. He had no pictures of the inside of the nave, but the same cop taking shots of the entombment had also clicked off dozens of photos of people leaving the church. Some he didn’t recognize, but most were identified, people who knew Jay, friends, co-workers, and family, or others who were there to support Kristi.
Tired to the bone, he reached under his desk to his briefcase, quietly zipped it open, and found the small flask he kept in an inner pocket. Telling himself it was just this one time, he took a long swallow.
For years he’d been on the wagon, never touching a drop, but then he’d slipped, drinking a beer or two while investigating the 21 Killer’s crime spree. He’d told himself he would stop, put down the bottle and never pick it up again once that case was solved.
But it hadn’t happened.
So far he’d been able to pace himself, but he would quit again.
Soon.
But not tonight.
Not when he thought Father John might have come back to haunt New Orleans.
Oh, good God, Bentz, he’s not a frickin’ ghost. You don’t believe in that shit.
If not the fake homicidal priest, then who?
He scrolled to pictures of the crime scene for Teri Marie Gaines, and his stomach twisted as he viewed her half-nude body, the bruising and little cuts on her neck, her eyes fixed.
This was how Father John liked to see his victims.
So why the vicious attack on the street? Maybe there was no connection at all; it could be that his thinking was muddled because of the Teri Marie Gaines murder. He glanced up sharply to the books on the shelf and zeroed in on the spine of Kristi’s book about the Rosary Killer.
Was there a connection there, or was he grasping at straws?
Could Kristi’s book, with her detailed, thorough analysis of Father John, be not just an account of the killer’s crimes but a blueprint for a copycat?
Or was there no connection whatsoever?
He thought about his promise to his wife, to himself, about turning in his badge and retiring. They’d discussed it; he’d mentioned it to Montoya. But it never seemed to be the right time and now . . . no, not now. Not until he found out who’d nearly killed his daughter, not until he’d brought the scumbag who had made Kristi a widow to justice. No way.
Shoving his hands through his hair in frustration, he let out a heavy sigh, then took another nip from his flask. He was getting nowhere.
He heard a faint cry from Ginny’s room, the results of the bad dreams she sometimes experienced. He kicked back the chair and made his way to her room to find her as he had earlier. Once again curled at the foot of her crib in the fetal position. “Silly girl,” he whispered. He stared at her for a long while, watching her sleep, her lips moving, her breath steady. He wanted to ruffle her tiny curls, but resisted and returned to the den. At his desk he took a final sip and then, as the booze warmed his bloodstream, capped the flask, returned it to his briefcase, then headed for the bathroom to brush his teeth before he slipped into bed, hoping that sleep would come easily.
But he wasn’t betting on it.
CHAPTER 5
In the rain, Jay touched her.
Caressed her.
Kissed her, but she backed away, daring him to catch her.
Then they were running, laughing, dashing through the thick drops pouring down on the city. She turned, smiling, catching sight of his dark figure through the shower.
“Catch me if you can,” she yelled over her shoulder as she turned the corner at the cathedral and raced into a dark alley that seemed to grow narrower and narrower.
Jay’s voice echoed from behind her. “Kristi, ruuuuun!”
