They did know. The unmistakable sweet, sickening smell of burnt flesh had invaded their nostrils as they’d drawn close to the doors of the church.
“So they get the flames put out relatively quickly and start looking around. They followed the burn pattern to the confessionals and found them inside. The woman was on one side, the priest on the other. They’re pretty charred—it looks like the fire was started in the confessional, or damn close to it.”
Taylor was running through the scenarios when Baldwin jumped in. “So it appears intentional? They were murdered?”
“Seems that way. They have an ID on the priest. Father Francis Xavier. He wasn’t burned as badly—his wallet made it through pretty much unscathed. The bishop confirmed he was doing confessions today. He told me he was new to the church, recently moved here from Boston.”
“What about the woman?”
“She’s a mess. It looks like she was bound, her arms were behind her back, and there was a little bit of cording around her wrists that made it through the fire. But there’s nothing on her as far as ID. They searched the church. There’s no purse or anything that looks like it would belong to a woman.”
“Are you going to try and do a dental on her? Match it to our missing girl?”
The question was lingering in the air around them. No one wanted to say the name out loud in case it would become truth, crystallized by meeting the air.
“I’m going to have to. She’s burned up pretty badly.”
“I’ll call and see if her parents are already up here. They’ll need to get her dental radiographs for us ASAP.”
“Thanks, Taylor. I’ll post her first thing in the morning.”
Sam reached over and gave Taylor a hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and turned back to her van.
Baldwin turned to Taylor, who looked stricken and suddenly very tired.
“Do you think it’s her?”
Taylor sighed. “Yeah.” She pulled out her cell phone and speed dialed. “Fitz? It’s Taylor. Just wanted you to know. We may have found Jill Gates.”
43
The parking lot was full, people rushing about, yelling, panicking. The air smoldered, the scents of smoke and death lingered. A shiver of excitement went through him. It was happening, just as he planned, as he’d been told.
“And the angel took the censer, and filled it with the fire of the altar...”
He turned away. So much left to do.
44
Jill woke when the needle pricked her arm. She shook her head, trying to clear her vision, focusing on the stinging in the crook of her elbow. She started to cry, then felt herself melt away into the darkness again.
She knew the drugs were making her hallucinate. She thought she was sitting in a massive green courtyard, even though she knew she was in the bed. She tried to get her bearings, looking first right, then left, but her head felt as if it was tethered in place. Her arms were bound at her side. She could only look ahead, to the expanse of green grass in front of her. There was a shadow there, a woman swaying like a cobra mesmerized by an unknown song. She tried to speak, to ask where she was, but no words came out. The shadow shifted, slowly, so slowly, side to side, and Jill heard the sound of sobbing. The woman was sad. So very sad. And suddenly she was gone, and the shadows lifted, leaving only a blank wall of green in their place.
Jill heard a voice in her head. She knew it came from the woman. She was angry now, crying and yelling. Her voice faded in and out, and Jill tried so hard to hear what she was saying, but only snatches of the woman’s voice came to her. “I will tell,” said the voice. “I will tell them what you’ve done.”
Another voice joined the mix, this one somewhat familiar, deeper, comforting. Was it soothing the woman, trying to calm her? The voice of the woman grew fainter, and Jill could hear the gentle voice, quieter this time. “You will be honored.”
THE
FIFTH
DAY
45
Taylor and Baldwin shivered in the parking lot of the church. It was barely morning and exceptionally cool, overcast, and breezy. A few times through the night, hot cups of coffee appeared magically at their elbows, borne in on a tray by a young man Taylor didn’t recognize. Despite her distaste for straight coffee, Taylor had accepted the steaming foam cups gladly, holding on to the precious warmth and choking down the bitter liquid. Baldwin had been sucking down cup after cup and was jumping around like a child on Christmas morning.
Taylor took in his appearance with a smile. “Baldwin, you’re a mess.”
He gave her a hurt look and bent to examine his reflection in the side mirror of her car. He took a halfhearted swipe at his hair, which was standing on end and pointing off in every direction like a broken compass needle. He had two days’ worth of stubble darkening his jaw and cheeks, and his eyes were bloodshot from the smoke and lack of sleep. He hadn’t felt so alive in months.