Throughout Egypt hail struck everything in the fields—both people and animals; it beat down everything growing in the fields and stripped every tree.
Pravus crooned to the woman in front of him, “I’ve got the perfect place for you. It’s going to be cold, but you won’t care for long.”
He was finding his work to be more of a chore. Eluding the police was heady, but the beast told him his victims were unworthy.
He didn’t even bother to call the preacher this time. Pravus hated to admit it, but he was becoming bored with his creations and living now only for the kill. He worked away, but he couldn’t put the love he needed into his art.
And then, like any true artist, he was inspired. He needed to pick a moment when the reverend was distracted, and he knew just how to do that—how to listen in on his room. Strike while the reverend slept.
He went to the window to look down on the mission, and the final piece of the next child he’d create came to him instantly, when he saw pretty little Rosita.
In spite of all the nickel-sized burn marks on her, Paul easily identified the schizophrenic Hispanic woman who came and went from the mission.
He had to fight back his rage when he stood over her, thrown away like garbage in an alley.
“I should be praying,” he said to O’Shea. “Or crying.”
O’Shea shrugged.
“If I look in a mirror, will my eyes be as detached and cool as yours?” Paul shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from hitting something.
O’Shea looked away from the mutilated body. He stared at Paul but didn’t say anything.
Paul could feel his own cold-blooded cop personality oozing out of him. “Let’s get this over with.”
“The FBI just pulled Keren aside to ask her some questions. She’ll be back in a minute. She’ll want to hear your statement, maybe ask some questions.”
“I’m not waiting around.” He gave his statement, then he went straight back to the Lighthouse.
He went later to visit LaToya. She lay immobilized in the hospital bed. The beeping monitor was the only thing that proved she was alive.
Caldwell didn’t call.
The streets around the mission were so heavily patrolled that the vagrants and gangs were driven inside or underground. By the end of the day, there wasn’t a single person in the mission. No one showed up for the evening meal.
Paul ran down a list in his head of every woman he knew who lived on the streets. He tried to figure out a way to track them down and bring them inside for the night. Even thinking about it was a waste of time. He’d never find them, and if, by some fluke he did, they wouldn’t come with him unless he used force.
He considered using force—considered it hard. In the end he stayed inside and prayed.
His prayers seemed futile, and he thought about the gun permit he’d been issued when he left the force. He was tempted to get one. He was sorely tempted to walk a foot patrol up and down the South Side, hunting Caldwell. Make himself an easy target to see if he could draw this maniac out.
Pounding awakened Paul after only a couple hours of restless, nightmare-plagued sleep.
Coming instantly awake, something he’d learned on the force, he rolled off the mattress, got to his feet, and yanked the door open.
Higgins was in the hall. “We’ve got another one.” He jerked his head toward the stairway. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
“What is going on? Why didn’t he call? Why is there no sign delivered to me? Why no threats, no bombs?” Paul took the time to pull on his running shoes and was after Higgins in seconds, wearing the jogging suit he slept in.
Higgins led the way to a seedy bar a block from the mission.
Higgins pushed his way through a crowd, Paul right on his heels, until Paul saw the ghastly contents of the bar’s ice machine.
Paul saw the gaping eyes and the cold blue skin. “Talking Bertha.”
“One of yours?” Higgins asked.
“One of mine.” Paul analyzed the position of the body. The medical examiner, a young black man, fixed plastic bags over the woman’s hands, hoping to preserve evidence under her fingernails.
“Anything?”
“Nope, just routine.” The ME started loading equipment in a kit.
“Okay if I touch her?”
The ME dragged a pair of plastic gloves out of the kit and tossed them to Paul. “Go ahead. I’ve got everything I need. We’re ready to transport.”
“When’d you find her?” Paul glanced over his shoulder at Higgins as he pulled on the gloves.
“The bar has a silent alarm that went off at two a.m. Police response time was three minutes.” Higgins rapped out the details as the examiner left.
“So she was probably dead when he brought her in, not like the first two. Juanita was probably killed on-site, and he was planning to kill LaToya the same way.” Paul crouched down to pinch a clear plastic encased hand, hanging suspended from the wide door of the ice machine. “Those welts on her body look like burns.” Higgins snapped plastic gloves on his hands and ran a finger over the raised welts on Talking Bertha’s neck, just above the words EAMUS MEUS NATIO MEARE, painted on the white dress she wore.
“This is the plague of hail, right?” Higgins flipped open his notebook.
“Yeah, these are probably freeze burns. Liquid nitrogen, maybe.”
“How does she fit the profile?” Higgins lifted an eyelid over Talking Bertha’s slack, lifeless eyes.
“She knows me. What other profile is there?” Paul stood away from the body. His stomach twisted at the casual tone of his voice. He knew it was wrong to work over Bertha’s body without praying, without crying, without feeling for her. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
“Go then. We’ll send someone over later.”
“You don’t need a statement. You know everything I know already.” Paul turned on his heel and walked out.
Keren showed up at the mission an hour later.
Paul saw the dark circles under her eyes. Her hair looked like she hadn’t done more than run her fingers through it and twist it into her barrette for days. He was tempted to smooth the riotous curls. He wanted to take her in his arms. He wanted to share his strength with her and take some of hers for himself. But was that the cop who wanted that or the preacher?
Because he couldn’t be sure, he led her toward the coffeepot.
He got her a cup and one for himself, and, remembering that Caldwell had been watching the mission, Paul dragged her away from the front windows and they sank down at the table closest to the lunch counter.
“He hasn’t called?” Keren asked.
“I’d have let you know,” Paul said with more bite than he’d intended.
Keren nodded and closed her eyes. She held her coffee cup like her hands were freezing, even though it was seventy-five degrees outside. “Sorry. That just slipped out.”
“I know.” Paul drank his stout, bitter brew until he’d emptied the cup.
“So are you still spending the nights at the hospital?”
Paul shook his head. “Rosita is pretty much living there. It’s safer than her going back and forth.”
“You moved back into your apartment?” Keren asked idly.
“No. I don’t think I ever will. There’s another one on that floor. Not big and not in good repair. But I think I’ll move into it permanently.” He got up to refill his cup. He got back and noticed hers was empty. He refilled hers, too, without asking.
“Thanks,” she said, again gripping the cup.
“What about you?” Paul asked. “Are you going back?”
Keren shook her head. “I’m already hunting for a new place. I’m sleeping at the precinct for now.”
“Those cots’ll kill your back.”
“Tell me about it,” Keren muttered. “O’Shea said I could stay at his place when his wife comes back. I know her pretty well. She’s a nice lady. It would work for a couple of weeks if I can’t find something soon.” She shrugged. “Who’s got time to apartment hunt?”
Paul didn’t respond.
“Are you okay?” Keren looked up from her cup. “Are you getting yourself back a little?”
“I’m trying.” Paul took a long drink of the acid coffee. “I don’t know how much success I’m having. I know I should be helping more, but I just can’t. Not right now.”
“I understand. I respect your desire to get away from it.”
“Why would you?” Paul slapped his cup onto the table with a sharp click. “You can’t get away from it. The women who are dead can’t get away. But I bail out when it gets tough. I’m not firm enough in my faith to work beside you and still be a Christian.”
Keren fell silent. She looked up from her coffee and met his eyes squarely for the first time since she’d come in. She studied him. She opened her mouth once then closed it again. After a few silent moments, she said, “I’ve decided to give you a break, now that it doesn’t matter, and tell you where we met.”
Paul was instantly alert. They’d started getting along so well he’d forgotten the little fact that Keren had started out hating his guts. “Okay.”
“You never really met me. Everything you did was on paper and on TV.”
Paul tried to remember.
“I arrested a man who was wanted for a string of crimes, including one you were working on. It was a B and E, nonviolent. No gun.” Keren’s eyes lost their focus as if she were looking into the past. “It was the weirdest thing, the way I caught him. It was a pure accident. I was just new to the detective unit, and we were called in, hours after the fact, to this B and E. I was poking around in the alley behind the high-rise, and here comes this boy out of a ground-floor window. We had a decent description of him and I was sure he was our guy. He should have been long gone. There was no reason why he would have still been hanging around. It was like he was delivered into my hands. I yelled, and he just lay down. I never even drew my gun. I slapped the cuffs on him and while I was securing him, I sensed the demon.”
“He was possessed,” Paul said.
“Yeah. The other cops were all over him so I couldn’t do anything right then, but I rode back to lockup with him. I never left his side while he was booked. Then I got a chance to talk to him alone in the interrogation room. I only said a few words to him about the demon. The boy was so ready to turn to God, I’ll always believe that somehow he stayed behind, waiting for me. It was all in the hands of God from the minute I responded to that call.”
“So you led him to the Lord?” Paul asked, feeling the spurt of pleasure that always lifted him when he heard of someone turning their life around.
“Right there in that dingy room.” Keren smiled at the memory. “And he really was changed. I visited him every day in jail. I was afraid for him to be in such a bleak place with his new faith. I spent hours talking to him. I had my pastor go in to see him, and a group from our church that ministers to prisoners virtually adopted him. The poor guy was swamped with Christian support.”
Paul said, “And he was one of my cases?”
Keren nodded. “Lucas Vilsack. You probably remember him because he was six foot seven and had bright green hair when he was arrested.”
Paul snapped his fingers. “He got out of jail and went to college. He’s playing forward for Notre Dame.”
“That’s the guy.”
“I remember him. I tied him to a string of burglaries that went back two years.”
“Sixteen months. He started in when he became possessed. Ran away from a really good home, lived on the street.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is—”
Paul cut her off as the light dawned. “I came stomping in on that case and found out he was being given probation and community service. He was going to walk.”
“Because I had been working my butt off arranging for him to walk. While he was out on bail, he’d met with every one of his victims and arranged to pay them back. He had plans to do community service by speaking to high schools about the mistakes he’d made with his life. He’d already given a couple of speeches and they were wonderful. He could really have reached some kids. And he was back in school and involved in a youth group in my church. I had contacted every jurisdiction where he was wanted. He was making no effort to cover up any offenses, because he admitted to things that hadn’t even been connected to him. I’d talked to everyone and urged them to meet him and judge for themselves if his remorse was genuine. And that includes you. I called you and—”
“I wrecked it. I wanted to make an example of him. I couldn’t be bothered to meet him, and I was sure he was just conning a rookie detective. I used my influence to make sure he did some real time.”
“Five years. He got out in two because he was a model prisoner.”
Paul closed his eyes as more details came back. “And I did my best to have you, and every other cop who was letting him off the hook, busted back to a uniform.”
“There were four of us. One was older and he took early retirement. The other two ended up walking a beat for a while, but they eventually left the force. They were all three good cops who didn’t see a future for themselves once they had bad paper in their jackets from the charges you filed against us.”
“But you stayed on.”
“I managed to hang on to my detective shield, mainly because I was a woman, which made me furious on the other guys’ behalf, but I was too much of a wimp to resign in protest. I spent six months sitting in the evidence locker doing paperwork. The only reason I stuck with it was because I felt police work was where God wanted me. Then I found something in an evidence box that broke open a case O’Shea was working. He got me transferred. We’ve been partners for two years now.”
“And it was my fault.”
Keren gave him a squinty-eyed look. For some reason it pleased Paul that she didn’t just wave it off and say, “No big deal, what’s six months of my life?”
“Yeah, it was your fault. You were so cynical, and the cameras were rolling. You couldn’t be bothered to just listen to the kid. You never gave him five minutes of your precious time. Yeah, it was your fault.” She fell silent for a moment. “And Lucas is okay, and you’re okay, and I’m okay, and none of it matters anymore,
except your name is eternally linked in my mind with insufferable arrogance.”
“That’s all?”
“Yup, that’s all.”
Paul rested his face in his palms. “Sorry.” He peeked out between his fingers. “I’m really sorry.”
“Too late,” Keren said.
“I promise you I’ll call Lucas tomorrow and apologize.”
Keren arched an eyebrow at him. “Too late for that, too. He made it, in spite of you.”
“I’ll find those three cops and apologize personally, and allow the older one to beat on me awhile. The younger ones might hurt me.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“Okay, the young ones can hit me, too.”
“I can get you their names and addresses by nightfall.”
Paul was afraid she meant it, and if she did, he’d have to do it. He owed them all. He smiled at her. “The only bad part of hiding out here instead of working with you is that I’ve been worried. When you said I could be your bodyguard so you could be my bodyguard, I meant it. I need to know where you are. I’ve been imagining you in Caldwell’s hands. I’ve got to do something to make sure you’re safe. But I turn into a man I don’t like or respect when I’m doing police work. I’ve got an idea, but it might just be… that I’m not so much worried as I just… miss you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” Keren set her coffee cup down with a thud and covered her mouth. From behind her hands, she said, “Forget I said that.”
Paul circled the table and pulled Keren up out of her chair. He looked into her eyes until he felt like he could see all the way to her heart, and he saw himself in her heart. “Uncover your mouth.”
Muffled, she said, “No way.”
“I really need to stay away from you,” he said as he got closer to her.
“Agreed,” Keren said between her fingers as she backed away.
Paul advanced. “Stand still and let me kiss you. You’re as hard on me as this whole cop mess.”
Keren retreated. “I’m hard on you?”
He gave her a wry look then snagged her by the arm and kissed her on the forehead. “Okay, that’s enough anyway.”
She nodded and stepped away. She tripped over her chair. She flung her arms out. Paul caught her, pulled her close, and kissed her. His mouth missed her forehead this time and landed square on her lips.
And her hands weren’t protecting her mouth at all when they wrapped around his neck.