AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Stay here with Father O'Malley for now," Officer Jennings suggests. "We'll post a car outside and update you as soon as we have more information."
“What about Max?”
“We already sent a team out there.”
As the detectives leave, I turn to Father O'Malley, my fear and confusion swirling in my chest. "Who would want me dead, Father? And why?
My father and I have been fighting a lot, and he even threatened my life during a heated argument, but I can’t wrap my head around this . . . that he would do this. We both know what he is capable of, but this?"
"I don't know, Liam," Father O'Malley replies softly, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "But we'll find out. You're safe here."
Chapter twenty-eight
THE GRAND ESCAPE.
LIAM
Friday afternoon, and here I am, once again, sitting in the church pew, stained glass windows casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the wooden benches, the scent of incense lingering in the air, mixed with the familiar musty smell of old hymn books and lost souls, if you asked me.
He said he’d be here twenty minutes ago. Where the fuck is he?
The muffled footsteps of Father O'Malley lighting candles on the altar come to an abrupt halt as he turns to look at me, and I wonder how on earth he could have heard me curse in my head in the house of the Lord. I am certainly going to hell, no hand-basket needed.
Father O'Malley’s white cassock sways gently in sync with his movements as he turns back to attend to his candles when the heavy doors creak open, and Detective Morris enters, his eyes scanning the room before settling on me.
He walks down the aisle, footsteps echoing against the high-vaulted ceiling, shoes clicking against the stone tiles, and stops in front of my pew.
"Mr. Dexter," he says, "I wanted to let you know that our investigation into the assassination attempt on your life is still ongoing. However . . . " He pauses for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as if wearing brand-new shoes that haven’t been broken into.
"We've reviewed the CCTV footage, and it's clear that the shots came from a different location than where you were when Max fell."
I can’t believe they suspected me to have been the killer, even for one second. Who kills a man they’ve known for just a couple of hours. There’s not enough time to even form a motive unless they think I am a hit-man, now that I am a convict . . . a hardened criminal, proud product of the criminal justice system.
"Based on this evidence, we're lifting the restrictions placed upon you as a suspect in Max's murder. You're free to resume your life as you see fit, with no restrictions on your movements."
"Thank you, Detective," I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. I can't help but glance at Father O'Malley, who has paused his candle lighting and now watches us with a concerned expression.
"Father," I say, turning to him, "did you hear that?"
He nods slowly, his gaze flicking between Detective Morris and me. "Yes, my son, I did. It's good news, indeed."
As Detective Morris turns to leave, I stand up from the pew, feeling the weight of suspicion finally lifting from my shoulders. The glint of sunlight streams through the stained glass in a peculiar way, catching the gold crucifix hanging above the altar at an angle that casts a warm glow over the entire church. I am not a praying man . . . not even a believer, but I am the guesthere. This is the domain of God, His only begotten Son, and all His angels. One of them just entered the room. I don’t know which entity, but one of them just entered the room. That glow was ethereal—unnatural.
The last few weeks have been nothing but a nightmare. Without knowing who out there wants me dead, I’ve been cooped up in Father O’Malley’s church, looking for answers stealthily, taking the utmost care not to give away my position.
Unable to bear it anymore, Father O’Malley and I went through the exercise of finding an alternative, and after many hours of testing ideas and finding flaws with each, I finally settled on the one most improbable idea. One that offered the most protection and the highest risk—my place in Zurich.
“Are you crazy?” Father O’Malley had burst out incredulously when I’d first proposed it. “Aren’t all the Ricardos there?”
“Yes. Yes, they are, and I have no idea how long they intend to be there, and that is not the only complication. Abigail doesn’t know the connection between me and her being in Zurich. Tony and her siblings thought it best that she doesn’t know.”
“Naturally, I can imagine.” Father O’Malley says, eyes still wide in disbelief.
“But, don’t you see. Look at your own reaction. Nobody would believe that I would go there with all the Ricardos in-house. The whole world knows just how much they all hate me. Nobody would think to look for me there.
“On the other hand, I can think of at least one of them who would take an ad to the papers advertising to the world that I was there and the killer should come right up to the house as he will open the door to them . . . Dick.
“If it is hiding in the chicken coop I am looking for, Maybe Zurich with the Ricardos is a very bad idea. If Dick really bares the kind of grudge I believe he does, this would be a perfect opportunity for him to have his revenge—an eye for an eye—without his hands being tainted with my blood.”
