A Perfect Evil

Chapter 77

What an idiot he was, Nick thought as he rammed the Jeep into gear, picking up speed and leaving Platte City behind. He glanced at Maggie sitting quietly next to him. He should have never allowed her to see the weakness, the absolute terror that had taken control of his insides. Despite her revelation about Stucky, she remained in control and composed, staring out at the dark countryside. How did she do it? How did she keep Albert Stucky and all the other horrors carefully tucked away? How did she keep herself from slamming a fist through a wall and shattering glass doors?

He couldn’t think, could barely concentrate on the dark road The drumming continued in his chest, a persistent pounding, a time bomb ticking off the seconds, each second maybe Timmy’s last.

And through the panic, and maybe because of it, he had almost gone way over the line and told Maggie that he loved her. What an idiot-what a complete idiot he was. Maybe it wasn’t just his virility and charm he was losing. Hell, maybe he was losing his mind, too.

Now sitting here in the quiet dark with Maggie beside him, he felt a sudden strength. He had to be strong for Timmy’s sake, and maybe, just maybe, he could do that as long as he didn’t have to do it alone. Jesus, that was a first-Nick Morrelli might actually need someone?

He could ignore the sick feeling in his gut. He would put the vision of Danny Alverez’s vacant eyes out of his mind. Timmy had to be okay. It couldn’t be too late. He stepped on the accelerator, zigzagging the Jeep over the black highway. Wisps of snow scampered across in spots, but the wind had died down considerably.

“Maybe you should fill me in,” he said, managing to keep the panic from his voice. “Why are we going to a graveyard in the middle of the night?”

“I know your men checked the old church, but what about the tunnel?”

“The tunnel? I think that caved in years ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, no. Actually, I’ve never seen it. When I was a kid we thought it was just made up. You know, to scare us, to keep us from screwing around the church at night. There were stories about bodies rising from the dead, digging out of their graves and crawling through the tunnel. Finding their way back to the church to redeem their condemned souls.”

“Sounds like the perfect place for a killer who believes in redemption.”

“You think that’s where he’s keeping Timmy? In a hole in the ground?” He remembered Maggie’s story about the father who buried his son in the backyard. Again, he slammed on the accelerator, drawing a concerned look from Maggie.

“It’s only a hunch,” she said, but her tone told him she thought it was more. “At this point, I don’t think we have anything to lose by checking it out. Ray Howard mentioned going there to cut wood. He knows something. Maybe he’s seen something.”

“I can’t believe you let him go.”

“He’s not the killer, Nick. But I think he might know who is.”

“You still think it’s Keller, don’t you?” He shot her a look, but in the dark he saw only that her face was turned away from him, staring again into the black night.

“Keller could have easily planted my cell phone in Howard’s room. He had access to the pickup. He keeps those strange paintings of tortured martyrs, martyrs with the sign of the cross sliced into their chests.”

“The guy has bad taste in art, that doesn’t make him a killer. Besides, anyone could have seen Keller’s paintings and gotten the idea.”

“Keller also knew all three boys.”

“Actually, all five boys,” Nick interrupted. “Lucy and Max were able to dig up lists and applications. Eric Paltrow and Aaron Harper did attend church camp the summer before they were murdered. But that means Ray Howard knew all the boys, too.”

“It’s more than that, Nick. Somehow, I think this killer believes he’s making these boys martyrs, saving them from something. Most serial killers murder for pleasure, for sexual gratification or to fill some other egocentric need. It’s like something clicks in this guy and sends him on a mission. Father Keller fits much of that profile. Who else would administer last rites to his victims but a priest? And who else would have the perfect opportunity to push Father Francis down a flight of stairs and get away with it?”

“Jesus, Maggie. You still won’t let that go?”

“Looks like I may not have a choice. The archdiocese is in charge of Father Francis’ remains, since there’s no next of kin, and they see no reason for an autopsy.”

There was silence between them. If Father Francis had been shoved down those stairs, Nick could imagine Howard being more than capable of doing it. But now he wondered what it was Father Francis wanted to share with Maggie.

“Maybe we’ve got this wrong,” Nick said, unraveling the thought as he spoke. “Maybe Keller is involved, but maybe he’s protecting someone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Father Francis couldn’t tell us about Jeffreys’ confession. Suppose the killer confessed to Father Keller?”

Maggie sat quietly. She was obviously mulling over the idea. Perhaps it wasn’t so far-fetched, Nick realized.

Suddenly, out of the darkness, Maggie said, “Did you know Ray Howard and Eddie Gillick are friends?”