Criminal Intent

Chapter 44

The Gospel According to Daniel

There are simply no words to describe the utter degradation and despair I experienced during my first days of posttrial incarceration. True, I had been in jail before, but now, with the trial completed, with all realistic hope of reprieve removed, the full horror of my situation penetrated my consciousness with an almost incapacitating impact. The filth, the loss of freedom, the intellectual stagnation-all of it assaulted my heart and my soul with an intensity that increased with every passing moment. My attorney praised me for holding on to my faith under such dire circumstances, but the truth is, I had no choice. I was like a shipwrecked castaway clinging to the only scrap of timber that hadn’t submerged. Holding on to the only thing you have left is not an act of courage; it’s an act of desperation.

Of course, my attorney visited regularly, being the good-hearted soul he is, and tried to lighten my spirits. We’re doing everything we can, he would say. We’re mounting a major appeal. But I am not a child. I can separate reality from fantasy. I knew when the forewoman read the verdict that my fate was sealed, now and for the remainder of my time on earth.

I have always believed that God has a plan for our lives. But I must confess that I have been utterly unable to discern the plan in the events that have befallen me now. I pray at night for guidance, but it does not come. What am I to do? I ask. What is my mission? I rarely have an opportunity to talk to other people, and when I do, they don’t listen. The prison has denied me writing materials, except those provided by my attorney for my defense. My phone calls are restricted. I would like to think I am meant to have some impact somewhere-but how? How can I be a force for good when I have been deprived of all means of contact with the world? Is this not the true definition of hell-separation from God, from everything that matters?

And if I have already been cast into hell, here on earth, on death row-what awaits me on the other side?

How can you communicate effectively with someone who isn’t even in the same room? Ben wondered, not for the first time. How can you comfort someone you can’t touch? How can you discuss private personal matters when you’re surrounded by unfriendly faces?

You can’t. But when you’re visiting someone on death row, those are the only choices you get.

Ben sat on the opposite side of an acrylic panel, staring at the gaunt, drawn face of Father Beale. He had shaved his beard, or it had been shaved for him. His hair was cut shorter, and he was wearing orange coveralls in place of his white collar. They talked to one another through telephones even though they were only a few feet apart.

“We’re doing everything we can,” Ben said. “Everything possible.”

“I know you are,” Father Beale replied. His voice sounded shrill and tinny over the phone. “But don’t neglect your other cases. You have to make a living.”

“We’re mounting a major appeal,” Ben continued. “Hitting the Court of Criminal Appeals with everything imaginable. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll go for habeas corpus.”

“Don’t bankrupt yourself, Ben. Andrea tells me you haven’t even sent bills for the last-”

“It’s just so frustrating!” Ben stared down at the tacky linoleum floor, because he knew if he looked at his client he would begin to weep. “Mike caught the killers red-handed. With a corpse in their living room, no less. But the DA’s office won’t buy it. They agree that Bruce and his assassin pal killed Ernestine, but won’t concede that they killed the others.”

“I suppose it’s hard to imagine two people could be so cruel.”

“They just don’t want to admit they made a mistake,” Ben said. “If they joined my appeal and asked for your release, they would have to acknowledge that they prosecuted an innocent man-sent him to death row, even. They’re not going to do that unless they have no choice. Until Bruce and Manly’s guilt is absolutely beyond question. And unfortunately, I haven’t come up with any physical evidence conclusively tying them to the first three murders.”

“It troubles me, about Bruce,” Father Beale said. “I talked with him many times, of course. I knew he resented the way his aunt treated him-who wouldn’t? But I never suspected the depth of his resentment. If only he had come to me. Talked about it.” He shook his head. “What a troubled soul the poor man must’ve had.”

Ben supposed he should be sympathetic, but what Beale said only magnified his frustration. Stop being a priest already! he wanted to shout. Look after yourself for a change!

“The problem is the fingerprints,” Ben said, intentionally changing the subject. “That’s the red flag the DA keeps waving in my face. If Manly committed the first three murders, why weren’t his fingerprints on your St. Crispin’s Award? That’s the question I still can’t answer. If I could, I might be able to make some progress. I was in my friend Mike Morelli’s office earlier, and I told him that I-I-”

Ben stopped midsentence. A strange expression came over his face. “I was saying that-that-”

Father Beale frowned. “Ben? Is there something wrong?”

Ben seemed to be lost in some internal thought process. “I was staring at him, and I said-” His voice cut off again, and this time he let out a small gasp. “Oh, my God.”

“What?” Beale leaned closer to the glass. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Ben said quietly. “No. Except-oh, my God-”

“What?” Beale bellowed into the receiver. “Would you stop talking in riddles? What is it?”

Ben spoke slowly and deliberately, barely able to believe he was saying it as he spoke. “I think I know who killed the three women at the church, including Kate McGuire. I think I know who did it-and how.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Just a minute! You can’t leave me hanging like this!”

“I can’t stop to talk now.”

“Why? Where are you going?”

Ben drew in his breath. “To see the killer.”

Beale could barely contain himself. “Who is it? Who are you going to see?”

It was not an answer Ben wanted to give, but it had to be said sometime. Was there any sense in waiting?

“Answer me!” Beale repeated. “Who are you going to see?”

Ben looked at him solemnly. “Your wife.”

Chapter 45

“You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?” Andrea Beale said when she saw Ben on her doorstep.

Ben nodded his head slowly. “I think so.”

“It was bound to happen.” She closed her eyes. “Just a matter of time, I suppose.”

She widened the door, implicitly inviting Ben to enter.

It was a nice home, tastefully decorated on what must have been a limited income. But Ben wasn’t here to admire the furniture. “Will you tell me about it?”

She nodded sadly, then walked into the living room. Ben followed.

He had considered calling Mike, or maybe Loving. For all he knew, she might try to run. Or might even try to hurt him. But Ben saw no evidence of either reaction. She seemed entirely resigned, unresisting. Or maybe it was more that she was… out of breath. Emotionally winded. At any rate, she wasn’t putting up a struggle, and Ben couldn’t imagine that she ever would.

“Will you do one thing for me first?” she asked after they were both seated.

“Well, I don’t know if-”

“It’s a little thing. Indulge me.”

Ben pressed his lips together. “Okay. What?”

“Tell me how you figured it out.”

Ben nodded. Fair enough. “I’ve been assuming that Bruce persuaded his thug Manly to kill the three church women to set the stage for killing Ernestine, and to pin the blame on your husband. But there were problems with that theory. Bruce persuaded Manly to kill by playing on his pro-life sympathies, but Kate McGuire and Susan Marino had no connection to that cause at all. And how could Daniel be blamed for the murder of Ernestine after his bail was revoked?”

“I can see where that would present a problem.”

“I’ve known all along the key was the absence of fingerprints on the St. Crispin’s Award. There had to be some explanation-I just couldn’t figure out what it was. And then, as I was speaking to your husband today, I thought back to when I last saw my friend Mike. He was messing around with some files, trying to assemble them properly, and he got glue all over himself. That’s when I realized.”

“Yes?”

“I remember reading somewhere about how you can coat your fingertips with a thin layer of glue. I don’t remember where. One of Mike’s magazines, maybe. Dick Tracy, perhaps. Who knows? It makes sense, though. One of the prosecution witnesses explained that latent prints are the result of skin secretions left on receptive surfaces. Cover your fingers with glue, and presto. No skin secretions. And it’s easy to do. Any kind of glue will work. You just roll a thin layer over your hands and fingers and let it dry. Kind of like kids do in grade school. A thin transparent layer of glue will be virtually invisible to anyone else-but it will prevent you from leaving fingerprints.”

“And that’s when you remembered the wedding reception.”

“Yes,” Ben answered. “And I remembered seeing you there, carrying all those decorations and supplies-with glue all over your hands.”

Andrea’s eyes wandered down to the carpet. “I must hand it to you, Ben-you have a marvelous memory.”

“May I ask a question now?”

The woman nodded.

“Why?”

She looked at him strangely. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Why did you kill Kate McGuire? And the other women?”

Her eyes widened, like slowly inflated balloons. “You think I did it?”

“Well-but-you said-”

“You think I killed those women?”

“But-you had the glue on your hands!”

“Ben, I was just cleaning up, remember? I told you that at the time. I wasn’t the one who made the decorations. By the time I got to the glue, Kate was already dead.”

“But you said-”

“I didn’t get it at first, either, not till you called just now and said you wanted to talk about glue. That’s when I started thinking about it, and I realized what must’ve happened.”

Ben’s brain was in overdrive trying to take everything in. “What-but then-you’re not-?”

Andrea stared at him. “You don’t know who it was, do you?”

“No, evidently I don’t. Could you please fill me in?”

Andrea pressed a hand against her breast. “You won’t believe it,” she said quietly. “You just won’t believe it.”

“He lives right over there, you know,” Judy said.

“Who? Ben?”

“Yup. That-a-way.” She pointed across the Tulsa skyline. “He’s not home at the moment. Probably with Mike.”

“Who’s Mike?”

“Homicide detective. They’ve known each other since college. Met their freshman year.”

Maura stared at her friend. “Do you know everything about this guy? I mean, this is getting a little spooky.”

“There are no secrets these days, Maura. Not to anyone with a computer and a modem. I can find out anything about anybody.”

The two girls sat perched atop St. Benedict’s bell tower. Not an authorized play area, but they had learned years ago how to pick the lock on the door, climb the stairs, and crawl beneath the bell to the edge of the tower. It was more than three stories high, and since the church was on the crest of a hill, it afforded a lovely view of Tulsa’s rolling green landscape.

Maura opened a small handbag and withdrew a long elegant necklace. Diamonds glistened in the reflecting light of the setting sun. She held it against her neck. “Do you think it looks good on me?”

“Better than it ever did on Susan Marino, anyway.”

“Or do you prefer this one?” She pulled out a much simpler piece of jewelry, a gold chain with a single heart-shaped pendant. “Understated and elegant. What do you think? Better?”

“Not even close. Kate didn’t have Susan’s taste. Or her money, for that matter.”

“You’re probably right.” She threw the pendant off the edge of the tower, deep into the prayer garden. “Some of this stuff we took off Helen looks positively ratty. But I did get that lovely pocket knife, remember?” She reached into her purse and withdrew a knife about the length of her hand. She pulled out some of the blades, then lightly ran her finger down the sharp edges. “It’s a lovely knife.”

“Yes, and we put it to good use, didn’t we?”

Both girls giggled. Maura put the knife and the jewelry back into her purse.

Maura leaned back, propping herself up with her arms. “Now Ernestine-she must’ve had some fabulous jewelry.”

“No doubt.”

“Are you as irritated about that as I am? Having her snatched away from us like that?”

Judy shrugged. “I’m not nuts for jewelry like you are.”

“I’m not nuts for it.”

“You dug up a grave because you heard a rumor that Natalie Bragg’s wedding ring had been buried with her ashes.”

“But I’m not nuts for it.” She sighed. “Still. I would’ve liked to have a fourth.”

Judy turned to face her friend, so simple, so unaffectedly naÏve. “And what’s to stop us?”

“I just thought, now that Father Beale is going to prison…”

“Why should that matter?” She paused, gazing reflectively at the orange sun. “I like being up here, watching all the people scurry about. They’re like ants. Little ants running through their paces, doing whatever I want them to do.”

“Whatever you want them to do? I’m part of this team, too, remember?”

“Of course I do.” She patted Maura’s hand. “Do you remember that rhyme from the wedding? Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I figure we’ve had something old-that was Helen. And we’ve had new-Susan.”

“Kate can be the blue-she had blue eyes.”

“Exactly. But what about something borrowed?”

“Alvin Greene!” Maura said gleefully. “Because he was loaned to us from St. John’s.”

“Brilliant.” Judy took her friend’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “But a man? We haven’t done that before. He’ll struggle more.”

“I think we’re ready for it.”

“I do, too,” Judy said, and a wonderful, contented smile spread across her face. “You’re a good friend, Maura,” she said. “You’re a good friend, and I love you.”

“I love you, too, Judy. You know I do.”

Judy released her hand, then returned her attention to the horizon. “It’s a beautiful sunset, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful,” Maura echoed. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she laid her head gently on her friend’s soft shoulder. “Absolutely beautiful.”

Chapter 46

“You’re kidding!” Mike’s voice was so loud Ben had to move the cell phone away from his ear.

“I’m not, Mike. I’m dead serious.”

“But it couldn’t be-”

“It’s the only explanation.”

“But why?”

“We’ll sort that out later.” Ben was speeding across town, his phone in one hand, the steering wheel in the other-not the optimal conditions for high-speed driving. “Can you meet me at the church?”

“Now? I’ve got a million things-”

“There will be a lot of people there tonight, Mike. And the last time a lot of people were there, someone got killed.”

Ben heard a deep intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Give me ten minutes.”

“You can’t possibly get there in ten minutes.”

Ben heard a soft chuckle. “With an eight-cylinder TransAm and a portable police siren, I can do anything I want.”

“Mr. Greene, could you please help me?”

Alvin put down his wrench. “I’m kinda busy at the moment, little miss. Gotta get this place ready for the big concert.”

Judy and Maura stood beside the altar looking down at him. Judy put on her sweetest smile. “We’d only need you for a little while.”

“Still…” He checked his watch. “I’ve just got half an hour.”

“Please.” Her forehead crinkled, making her look sweetly frightened and irresistible. “I really really really need your help.”

“What is it?”

“I-I think I saw a spider.”

“Honey, we got spiders all over the-”

“A fiddleback.”

“A fiddleback! Those are poisonous. Are you sure?”

Judy swung her head up and down. “I studied all about them in Girl Scouts.”

“Where was it?”

“In the fourth-grade Sunday school room.”

“Way in the back of the church?”

“Uh-huh. Please hurry. I’m so scared.”

“Is anyone else around?”

“Oh no, not now.” Her eyes glistened a bit. She reached out and took his hand. “It’ll just be you and me and Maura back there. Just you and me and Maura.”

As he pulled up to the church, Ben saw that, as he had feared, the parking lot was filled. Masterson’s choir concert was today; both the adult and the youth choirs were performing, and Masterson had been promoting it hard and heavy as an organ fund-raiser.

Ben parked his car and ran to the front entrance, hoping against hope that he wasn’t too late.

Just as he hit the front door, he saw a familiar silver TransAm barreling up the drive. Mike, and he’d brought Lieutenant Tomlinson with him. All the better.

“Where are they?” Mike asked just a few seconds later.

“Follow me.” Ben led them through the narthex into the sanctuary, where the recital was already under way. The youth choir was singing an anthem: “Even When God Is Silent.” The pews were filled. Whether due to excitement over the music program or relief that the Father Beale ordeal was over, the parish had turned out in large numbers. Which could make Ben and Mike’s task all the more difficult.

Ben saw Alvin Greene standing near the door. “Any problems?”

“No,” the short man answered. “Why?”

“Just wondered. No… disturbances? Excitement?”

“Not to speak of. One of the choir girls thought she saw a spider.”

“Which one?”

He chuckled. “The tall one with all the spunk. Judy. Said she saw a fiddleback in the Sunday school room and wanted me to come kill it. I told her she’d have to wait until after the concert. Felt bad, but I had too much to do.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Ben murmured. “It’s the smartest thing you ever did in your life.”

“Which ones are they?” Mike asked.

“Maura’s on the back row. The short girl with the dark hair, second from the end.”

“Jesus Christ. How old is she? Sixteen?”

“Not even.”

“Where’s the other one?”

“I don’t know. I don’t see her.”

They waited until the song was over. During the applause, Ben and Mike walked as unobtrusively as possible to the choir section.

“Maura,” Ben said quietly, “you need to come with me.”

Maura frowned. “What? Why?”

The applause was dying out. “Just come. Now.”

“What’s going on here?” Masterson had left the organ to investigate. “We’re in the middle of a performance.”

Ben tried to keep his voice down, to attract as little attention as possible. “I need Maura.”

“Can’t it wait until later?”

“No.”

Maura looked at Masterson with big wide eyes. “I don’t want to go with him.”

“Look, Kincaid, I don’t know what this is all about, but I’m not letting you drag her off in the middle of my concert.”

The applause was over. Everyone present was watching, listening, trying to figure out what on earth was going on.

“Let’s not make a scene,” Ben hissed.

“I agree,” Masterson shot back. “Please leave so that we can get on with the concert!”

Mike’s limited patience had reached an end. He pulled out his badge and flipped it open. “Major Morelli. Tulsa PD. I want to talk to the girl, now.”

Maura took a step back-but Ben clamped his hand on her shoulder, holding her in place.

Masterson was obviously startled, but he didn’t back down. “What’s this all about?”

“We just need a few words with her.”

“I’ll have to talk to her mother.”

“No, you won’t.” Mike stepped forward and took Maura by the hand. “Come along, miss.”

“But I don’t want to go!” Unable to flee, Maura had obviously realized the value of creating a public scene. “Don’t let him take me away!”

“No one’s going to harm you.”

“Stop! Please! Won’t someone help me? Don’t let him hurt me!”

By this time, the church was in an uproar. Adults rose out of their seats, heading down the aisle to assist the poor defenseless girl. Maura wailed at the top of her lungs.

“What’s going on here?” one of the men said.

“We’re not going to put up with this!” said another.

Mike flashed his badge. “Look, people, I’m the police and you are going to put up with it or I’ll have my lieutenant put you under arrest.”

“Doesn’t she get a lawyer? I think she should call her parents.”

“Tomlinson.” The lieutenant stepped forward, brandishing his handcuffs. “Anyone tries to stop me, lock ’em up.”

He nodded. “Make way. Clear the area.”

Tomlinson could act as tough as he was able, but Ben could see they were vastly outnumbered, and if they didn’t get the girls out of here soon, they were going to have a riot on their hands.

“Where’s Judy?” Ben asked Maura.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

“I don’t, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did. I want to see a lawyer.”

“Maura, listen to me-”

“Judy! Run!”

Ben whipped around. A small figure had emerged from the robing room in the back of the sanctuary. She took one look at what was happening, heard Maura scream, and bolted.

“Run, Judy! Run!” While he was watching the fleeing girl, Maura stomped down on Mike’s toe, hard. She broke away, then plunged into the crowd, heading for the front doors.

“Blast!” Mike started after her, but the mass of bodies around him was dense and was intentionally not cooperating with him.

“I’ll go after Judy,” Ben shouted. “I know the church better than you do.”

“Damn, damn, damn.” Mike unholstered his weapon. “You people will clear out!” he bellowed. “Understand?”

The crowd began to back off. For the most part. Ruth O’Connell couldn’t restrain herself. “You leave that girl alone, you big bully. She’s a wonderful child. She hasn’t hurt anyone.”

“Yeah,” Mike muttered as he beat his way through the masses. “Except for the three women she helped murder, that is.”

Mike shoved his gun back into his holster and started after her.

Ben knew the interior corridors that linked the robing and choir rooms to the back offices were like a maze winding through the interior of the church. Judy, being an acolyte, undoubtedly knew them better than he did, but he pounded along, weaving around corners and tearing down corridors.

“Judy! Stop! You can’t get away!”

“Leave me alone!” she shouted back.

He was closing in, only about twenty feet or so behind her. She would soon be at the other end of the church. She’d have to either go outside, where she’d be exposed, or she’d have to stop running. Either way, he was likely to get her.

“You’re only making it worse, Judy.”

“Go away!”

She reached the end of the corridor. She turned to face him, crouching down like a hunted animal waiting to fight off a predator. Her eyes were fierce and angry.

“Stay back! I’ll hurt you!”

Ben couldn’t believe his eyes. She was a fifteen-year-old girl-but this was like staring down the face of a barracuda.

“I will! I’ll hurt you!”

“Judy… please. You can’t escape. Come peacefully.”

Judy ripped the fire extinguisher off the wall and threw it at him.

Ben ducked. The extinguisher missed him, but flew over his head and crashed into a plate glass window in the office behind. Shards of glass shattered and flew. Ben ducked and covered his eyes as it rained down all around him.

“For God’s sake, Judy!” He brushed himself off and uncovered his eyes. “You could’ve-”

He didn’t bother finishing.

Judy was gone.

“Freeze!” Mike shouted. He blew through the front doors, trailing a pudgy teenage girl Ben told him had committed horrible crimes. Could it be possible?

“Police! I’m ordering you to stop!”

Maura kept on running. She veered to the left, into the prayer garden. There was a tall bell tower in the center, and she seemed to be making straight for it.

“Keep away from me!” she screamed. She wheeled around on one foot and threw something at him. Mike ducked, and her pink handbag flew past him.

Mike plucked it out of a bed of azaleas. Right away he saw two long elegant necklaces. He was no expert on jewelry, but he knew enough to realize they were too expensive to belong to this young girl.

“You can’t get away!” Mike called out. But where had she gone? He darted down the cobbled sidewalk that wound through the garden, calling and shouting to no avail. Had she slipped through a rabbit hole? Where was she?

Ben found Judy outside the church, weaving through the cars in the packed parking lot. Some of the attendees were leaving, apparently too traumatized by the latest bizarre happening at St. Benedict’s to hang around any longer. The traffic only made the chase all the more difficult-and dangerous.

“Stop her!” Ben shouted as he darted between moving cars. “Don’t let her get away!” He yelled as loud as he could, but Judy didn’t slow, and no one helped. And why would they? They didn’t know what was going on. They probably sympathized with their choir girl, not the pain-in-the-butt lawyer who was always causing trouble.

“You can’t get away, Judy. Give it up!” She was running toward a car at the far end of the lot-her car, no doubt, or her mother’s. She could probably drive, even if she wasn’t licensed. God knows she could do everything else. If she had a key and she got there in time…

Ben poured on all the speed he could muster. He dived around a parked car, rocking up on one hand and foot. A moving car pulled out in front of him. Ben didn’t slow a beat. He leaped up onto the hood and kept on running.

“Gotcha!” Ben cried. He flew down and grabbed Judy just before she slid into her car.

“Let go of me!” She struggled, pounding his chest with her fists.

“I will not. You’ve got a date with the police.” He grabbed her wrists and twisted them behind her back. “Come on.”

“Let go of me! Someone help me!”

“Give it a rest, Judy. It’s all over. Now you’re going to-”

Ben didn’t see it coming until it was right in his face. A huge and heavy purse collided with his nose.

“Oww!” Ben fell sideways, clutching his face. Judy broke away and ran.

Ben touched his nose delicately. “I think you broke it!”

He looked up, lightbulbs exploding before his eyes. A middle-aged woman stood over him, a baby in one arm and the lethal leather in the other.

“Why the hell did you do that?”

The woman looked down at him unrepentantly. “Because I’m her mother.”

She must be in the bell tower, Mike reasoned. It was the only possible explanation.

He ran to the base of the tower and pulled at the wooden door. It was locked-from the inside, no doubt. He pulled and pulled, but it didn’t budge. The door was thick and reinforced with metal. Mike didn’t care to try his shoulder on it. And he didn’t have to, not with his trusty Sig Sauer at the ready.

He pulled out the gun and fired. It took two shots, but the lock blew apart.

He stepped inside. It was dark, but a spiral staircase in the center of the tower was the only place to go. He started making his way up.

“We’ve got you dead to rights, Maura,” Mike called, shouting up into the darkness. “It’ll go better for you if you cooperate.”

He continued climbing the stairs. It was damn creepy, moving in the darkness, not knowing what the little brat might throw at him next. This whole damn church was like a house of horrors.

He reached the top of the stairs. There was a wooden plank overhead that no doubt provided access to the bell chamber. While he climbed through, though, he knew he would be totally vulnerable.

“I’m coming in, Maura,” he said loudly, “and I don’t want any trouble. I’ve got my gun and I’m not afraid to use it.” In truth, he couldn’t climb while he held a gun, and if he used it on a fifteen-year-old girl, however murderous, he’d be crucified in the press and probably in the department. But she didn’t have to know that.

“I’m coming through!” He pushed the panel up. It flipped over and thudded, making a resounding noise. Nothing happened.

“Here I come!”

He placed his hands on the edge and pulled as hard and fast as he could. There was no resistance. A moment later, he was in the bell chamber. The large cast iron bell hung so low he couldn’t stand, so he crawled beneath it.

“Maura?”

“Don’t come any closer!”

She was standing on the edge of the tower, the very edge. One short step and she would tumble to her death three stories below. Her face was red and puffy; her hands were tucked behind her back. She was crying.

“She did it,” Maura said, her voice racked with sobs. “Judy did. She did all the killing. I knew about it, but I didn’t help.”

Mike held out his hand. “Come away from the edge, Maura.”

“Don’t come near me! I’ll jump!” Tears streamed from her eyes. “I didn’t want anything to do with it. I thought it was horrible. But she made me. She told me I had to come and I didn’t know what to do.”

“We can sort this out later, Maura.” Mike inched closer. “For now, just come away from the edge.”

“I know I shouldn’t have kept the jewelry Judy gave me. I know she took it from the women after she killed them. But I didn’t hurt anyone. I could never hurt anyone!”

“Just come with me, Maura.” Mike was barely a foot away from her now. “Come down from there and we’ll talk everything out. You don’t want to hurt yourself.”

“I didn’t know what to do!” Maura was near hysterical now, screaming and flinging her head around, her hands still locked behind her back. “I’m so confused. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to go home!”

“Come on now,” Mike said gently. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Just come with me.”

Mike gently laid his hand on her arm. The instant he did, her other arm swung out from behind her back, a brown pocket knife clenched in the fist. She plunged it into Mike’s hand.

Mike screamed.

“I told you to leave me alone,” Maura snarled. She shoved him backwards off the edge of the tower. “You should’ve listened.”

“Maura did it! Maura did everything!”

Even though his nose felt as if it were broken, Ben managed to limp through the parking lot and around the church until he caught up to Judy again, this time near the storage shed in the back. She was making a run for the apartment complex behind the rear fence. Ben was determined that she wasn’t going to make it.

“If Maura did it, you have no reason to run!” Ben shouted after her.

“She made me watch. I didn’t like it! I hated it!” She was only about a hundred feet away from the fence. Give the girl fifteen more seconds, and she’d have it. His chances of catching her would be minuscule.

“Judy, you know how the law works. It’s no good running. Give yourself up. I promise I’ll see that you’re taken care of!”

“Maura did it! Maura did it all!”

She was even closer to the fence now. Ben gave it everything he had, but at this point, his top speed wasn’t much. It looked as if she was going to make it…

When Tomlinson appeared on the other side of the fence. Her head nearly collided with his.

“Going somewhere, miss?”

Judy changed course, but Ben managed to catch her on the rebound. He held her down while Tomlinson snapped the cuffs around her wrists.

“Thanks for the assist,” Ben muttered. “You were great.”

Tomlinson grinned. “Years of training.” He looked down at the girl. “You are under arrest. Anything you say can and will be used-”

“Don’t let them take me away!” Judy flung herself at Ben. She pressed her head against his chest. “I love you, Ben.”

Ben pushed her away. “Don’t make me sick.”

“But I do! Will you represent me?”

“Not a chance.”

The air around them was split by the sound of a low-pitched scream.

“What the hell was that?” Tomlinson asked.

Ben took off and answered while in motion. “Mike.”

Mike dangled from the edge of the bell tower. Two hands-one of them severely lacerated-were all that kept him from plunging three stories down onto the concrete sidewalk.

“How long can you hold on?” Maura asked, leaning over the edge, grinning. “Not long, I bet.”

Mike gritted his teeth. “You sorry little witch.”

“Don’t call me names. I don’t like it when people call me names.” She jabbed the knife into his hand again.

Mike cried out in agony. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to focus all his energy into his one strong hand. You must not let go, he told himself. No matter what she does to you. You must not let go.

“Would you hurry up and fall already?” Maura said. “I need to get out of here.” She came closer again with the knife. “Maybe I can speed things up.” She brought the blade back down toward him-

But this time he was ready for her. As soon as she came close, he used his good hand to knock the knife against the wooden railing. Maura swore. The knife tumbled over the edge, down into the prayer garden.

Mike swung his legs around and managed to get a foot up over the edge. Mustering all his strength, he pushed himself over the precipice.

Maura was already halfway to the hatch. Mike put the pain out of his mind and flew after her. He grabbed her around the waist and knocked her to the wooden floor.

They wrestled back and forth, Maura trying to get free, Mike trying to hold on for dear life. He was at a great disadvantage, especially since his right hand was virtually useless. He managed to get one of her arms pinned behind her back, but she got a swift knee into his groin at the same instant. While he was out of commission, she climbed on top of him, kicking his ribs and pounding his ears. Mike tried to push her away, but the pain in his right hand was too great. Goddamn it, he thought, I’m losing a fight with a fifteen-year-old girl!

He tried to grab her hand, but Maura avoided him and scratched his face with her fingernails.

“You little monster!” Somehow, the additional pain gave him a new swell of energy. Mike pushed forward, flinging her back against the bell. It clanged, sending a tremulous reverberation through the wood of the tower.

He pulled himself to his feet. “Now I’m mad.”

Maura tried to scramble to the hatch, but Mike was too quick for her. He grabbed the back of her dress and held tight. He gave her a sudden sharp yank, and she spun into his arms.

“Give it up,” Mike grunted, as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.

“Go to hell,” she answered. She took his hand-the one she had stabbed twice-and bit down on it.

Pain exploded inside his brain. He felt nauseated. “Damn!” He brought his left hand around-hard-and slapped her across the face.

Ben and Tomlinson came racing through the hatch. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”

Mike pushed the girl to Tomlinson, who promptly snapped cuffs over her wrists. “I’ll live.”

“He beat me up!” Maura cried. Once again, tears flowed from her eyes. “See the bruises? He tried to rape me!”

Mike glared at her. “You know, I don’t know whether to take you down or throw you over the edge.”

“Help me!” she continued screeching. “Someone please help me!”

“Give it up, Maura. It’s over.” With his good hand, Mike unclipped his cell phone from his belt. “Maxine? I need two patrol cars at St. Benedict’s, Seventy-first and Yale. As soon as possible. I think we’ve just bagged a couple of murderers.”

Down on the ground, Mike and Tomlinson worked to keep the madding crowd at bay while they waited for the black-and-whites to arrive. Everyone was shouting at once, wanting to know what was going on, what they thought they were doing, why they were hurting those poor innocent girls. Judy and Maura continued to scream accusations and cry and wail, which only made matters worse. It was a madhouse, all in the parking lot of St. Benedict’s Episcopal Church.

Finally, the patrol cars arrived. Mike let the uniforms take custody of the prisoners.

“Where are they going?” It was Judy’s mother, still brandishing the baby and the purse, trying to intervene for about the tenth time. “Where are they taking my baby girl?”

“Downtown,” Mike answered. “Police headquarters.”

“I won’t let them!”

“I’m afraid it’s out of your hands, ma’am. You can go downtown and meet her, if you like.”

Judy’s mother looked at him indignantly. “I’m calling a lawyer. You’ll be sorry about this!”

Mike grimaced. “Probably.”

As the uniforms dragged their prisoners past Ben, Judy threw herself at him. “Don’t let them take me away, Ben. I love you!”

“Judy, just… go away. I don’t want to see you. Like, ever again.”

“That’s not what you said last night!” she screamed, loud enough for everyone to hear. “When you made love to me. You said you loved me. I was a virgin before you, Ben.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “You lying little-”

Mike held him back. “Just ignore her, Ben.”

“It’s true. He raped me! He gave me one of those drugs and raped me!”

The uniforms dragged the screaming girls to the patrol cars. “Don’t let them take us away!” Judy and Maura cried. “We’re just girls!”

“Just girls?” Ben muttered. “You’re frigging Leopold and Loeb.”

He watched as they were packed into the cars and driven away. He didn’t know what to think. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore.

Mike was getting his hand disinfected and bandaged, and as usual, he was behaving like a perfect baby. “Be sure to give him a lollipop when it’s all done,” Ben told the nurse. “I think he’s earned it.”

“I earn it every time I get involved in one of your miserable cases,” Mike groaned. “Can someone please explain to me what just happened? How two teenage girls who sing in the church choir can be multiple murderers?”

“No, I can’t,” Ben said sadly. “And right now, I don’t even want to try.”

Chapter 47

Murray was asleep. Again.

Ben supposed manning the reception desk was not the most exciting job in the world, but had he ever arrived when the man was awake? Was he a major party hound, Ben wondered, or was there just something about this job that induced instant narcolepsy? It was annoying, and worse, made Ben feel guilty about waking him. He looked so peaceful there, arms wrapped around himself, eyes darting back and forth beneath the lids, a soft snoring sound fluttering from his lips…

“Wake up, Murray.”

To his credit, he came around with amazing speed and resiliency. But then, he’d done this before.

“Oh-Ben-!” He straightened, twisted a kink out of his neck. “I didn’t see you there.”

And for good reason. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, no…” He shuffled papers around on his desk. “I was just resting my eyes. Those fluorescent lights are a killer. You here to see Beale?”

“Smart man.”

“Well, I knew he’d been transferred back to county pending the habeas corpus hearing. I’ll have him around in ten.”

“Thanks. And Murray?”

“Yeah?”

“No catnaps along the way, okay?”

Murray gave him a squinty look, then disappeared behind the interior gate.

Ben had been waiting barely a minute when, to his surprise, he saw Assistant DA Antony Canelli emerge from behind the barred door.

“I always thought you should be behind bars,” Ben said as the man approached. “I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. What did they get you for? Aggravated good looks?”

“Ha ha.” He walked up to Ben and set down his briefcase. “You here to see the priest?”

“Yes. And you?”

“Interviewing a potential witness.”

“Not another jailhouse snitch, I hope.”

Canelli shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “Look, Kincaid, I… I heard about the arrest. Those two girls.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“I don’t know. I mean, officially, of course, our position is that nothing has changed. But as a practical matter, I have to acknowledge…” He licked his lips, then started again. “If we had known about the girls before the trial, things might’ve gone differently.”

“I would hope so.”

“It’s just-” Canelli paused, struggling for words. This all seemed very strange to Ben. But the man apparently had something he really wanted to say. “When you work at the DA’s office, you get wrapped up in winning, you know? And you have to, because the odds are stacked so high against us that if you didn’t, no one would ever get convicted of anything. So you assume everyone arrested is guilty. If there’s any evidence at all, and especially if the press is covering the case, the pressure is always on to prosecute. Of course, if you prosecute and lose, you get crucified. So you gotta win. You gotta win to please everyone, and you gotta win to keep your job. I know the boss claims they don’t keep win-loss records, but believe me, they do.”

“So you do anything you can think of to win. No matter how sleazy.”

“I don’t agree with the sleazy part, but yeah, we want to convict.”

“So you use snitches and junk science and liars and-”

“The point is,” Canelli interrupted, “that I recognize there’s a problem here. Innocent people do get convicted, way more frequently than anyone ever imagined. DNA evidence has proved it. And that makes me feel really… bad.” He paused. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”

“A DA with a conscience? Do my eyes deceive me?”

Canelli’s lips pursed. “You know, you don’t do yourself any favors with those kind of remarks.”

“It was just a joke…”

“But you do it a lot. I think, just as I go into a case assuming guilt, you go into a case assuming the prosecutor is a monomaniacal hardass willing to pull any dirty trick to get a conviction.”

“I’ve seen it, Canelli, way too often.”

“And I’ve seen defense attorneys who lied and helped their clients lie to get them off. Does that mean I should hate all defense attorneys?”

Ben took a step back. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mean to get all soppy on you. I just think, somehow, we’ve got to change things. The system isn’t working, let’s face it. Not like it should, anyway. We know we make mistakes, but we’re not doing anything about it. We just keep going through the motions, and nothing gets any better. We don’t get any better. And that includes me. I need to get out of this zealotlike, lockstep thinking. I need to be more… flexible. And you need to have more…”

Faith? Ben wondered.

“Understanding. Being a prosecutor is a hell of a hard job.”

“I know it is.”

“Anyway.” Canelli picked up his briefcase. “I just wanted to get that off my chest.”

“I’m glad you did.” Ben extended his hand. “Friends?”

Canelli took his hand and flashed his brilliant smile. “Well, friendly rivals, anyway.”

“Judy and Maura?” Father Beale ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t believe it.”

“That’s pretty much everyone’s reaction,” Ben said. “But it’s the truth.”

Beale shook his head as if dazed. “Why?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m not a shrink. But there are a fleet of them working over those two girls right now, trying to come up with some answers.”

“Surely it wasn’t just for the jewelry.”

“No. I think that was a perk, not a cause.” Ben shrugged. “You want to hear my best guess? I think they did it because they could. Because they wanted to see if they could get away with it. It was a deadly combination of personalities-Judy’s capable aggressiveness, Maura’s quiet cruel streak. Their devotion to one another. Apart, probably neither of them would’ve been anything remarkable. But together-they were deadly.”

“But there was more to it than just the murders. I was framed. Deliberately.”

“I’m not sure they meant to do that initially. But after they saw how well it worked the first time, after they saw how brilliantly it diverted suspicion from themselves, they made it a regular part of the program. Killing the second victim in your office. Rigging the lights to go out during the vestry meeting so you would go to the utility room to investigate and find the body.”

“I had a talk with Judy, maybe six or eight months ago. She told me that-well, I think she had a crush on me.”

“Yes, I’ve had a similar experience. And you probably explained that you were too old for her, not to mention married.”

“Something like that.” His eyes widened. “My God! You don’t suppose-”

“That’s why she framed you for murder? Revenge for being spurned? Or maybe it was because she knew it would bring me around to defend you?” He shook his head. “Who knows? Who could possibly understand minds like those?”

Beale fell back against the thin plywood-backed chair. Ben hated seeing him like this. The coveralls were bad enough, but the other sure signs of time spent in prison were evident as well-pasty complexion, stubbled chin, red eyes, generally unclean appearance. To see a man of his education, his compassion, reduced to this was horrifying.

“Enough about those two unfortunates,” Beale said at last. “When do I get out of here?”

This was the moment Ben had been dreading. “I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? But-if they’ve caught the true killers-”

“I know those girls are the murderers, but try convincing anybody else. They aren’t confessing; they’ve got lawyers who refuse to let them say anything to anybody. The DA’s office isn’t buying it; they don’t want to admit they mistakenly sent someone to death row.”

“But the jewelry in Maura’s purse-”

“Is the best thing we’ve got going for us. But it isn’t conclusive. What’s more-it only links the girls to the first and third murder-not the one for which you were convicted. As far as the DA is concerned, the only evidence they have regarding the murder of Kate McGuire points to you.”

“That’s absurd.”

“I agree. But that’s what they’re saying.”

“You’ll use this new information in our appeal, right?”

Ben laced his fingers together, trying to give himself strength. “I already have. But here’s the thing. ‘Actual innocence’ is not grounds for appeal. It doesn’t raise any constitutional issues, at least not according to Chief Justice Rehnquist. To succeed on appeal, you need to show that there was an important procedural error in the trial court-and quite frankly, Father-there weren’t any. I mean, I made some arguments, but the truth is Judge Pitcock ran a fair trial and didn’t make any major mistakes. And he gave us a lot of breaks.”

“Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

“We’re trying the federal courts. To get you out through habeas corpus petition. But as you know, the feds have severely curtailed postconviction appeals.”

“There must be something else.”

“We can ask the governor to pardon you.”

“Then do it!”

“I have. But…” Ben’s eyes lowered. “As you know, our current governor is a Republican. Very Republican. And this is an election year. The last thing he wants to do is appear soft on crime-or worse, create a Willie Horton scenario by releasing someone who subsequently commits another crime. Especially not on a case that has gotten as much publicity as yours. Even if you didn’t do anything after you got out, releasing you could cost him some support in arch-conservative circles. He doesn’t want to take the risk.”

“I can’t believe my life has become some sort of… political football!”

“If we had some DNA evidence or something irrefutable, it might make a difference with the governor. But the sad truth is-we don’t.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s not it,” Ben said firmly. “Christina and I are continuing to work this case. Daily. We’re going to do everything there is to do and then some.”

“But as for now… I’m stuck in prison.”

Ben tried not to let his voice crack. “I’m afraid so.”

“And you don’t know when or if I’ll ever be able to get out.”

“Father, there have been defendants whose innocence was proved beyond doubt by DNA evidence who still spent additional years in jail. There are no guarantees.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes.” Ben motioned to the guard standing at the door. “I’ve arranged for you to have paper and pencils brought to your cell. Told them it was a necessary part of your defense. Tried to get you a typewriter… but anyway. I want you to write down everything that’s happened. Everything since this whole mess started. The gospel according to Daniel. Don’t leave anything out.”

“And then?”

“And then, when I read it, and reread it, and reread it, I’m hoping I’ll see something, think of something, remember something-something that will help me get you out of prison.”

Beale nodded. All in all, Ben thought he was taking this hideous news extraordinarily well. “I’ll start immediately.” He looked up at Ben. “You’ll think of something. I know you will.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” He paused. “I have faith in you.”

“Remember when I told you about Christina’s contract case? About bad faith?”

“There’s no such thing.”

“There is. It’s possible to have too much faith, or to misplace it.”

Beale shook his head firmly. “I have faith in you, Ben. Just as I have faith in God.”

Ben was incredulous. “How can you still have faith in God… when you’re behind bars?”

“I believe in the sun even when it is not shining.”

“Your God put you in prison for a crime you didn’t commit.”

“Yes, and I don’t know why, either. But I know there is a reason. And I know in time it will be revealed to me.”

Ben couldn’t restrain himself. “If your God is so damn powerful, why didn’t He save you? Why did He let those women be murdered? Why does He allow children to become murderers? Why didn’t He save the victims of the Holocaust?”

“God doesn’t do room service. He’s not a fairy godfather, floating around granting wishes. He’s something greater than that.”

“If He’s something greater, I wish to hell I knew what it was.”

Beale fell silent. His finger touched his lips and he sat for a moment, watching Ben.

“You didn’t bring Christina with you today?”

“No. She’s doing habeas corpus research. Why?”

“Just wondered. I’ve…” He paused another moment, smiled slightly, then continued. “I’ve seen how she looks at you, when you’re not watching. And I’ve seen how you look at her, when your guard is down.”

“Christina and I are good friends,” Ben said, very quickly.

“Uh-huh.”

“What does this have to do with God, anyway?”

“Have you read Victor Hugo?”

“On occasion.”

“Les Misérables?”

“Long time ago. Why?”

“Do you remember what the priest says to Jean Valjean? After he rescues him from the police by pretending that he gave Jean the candlesticks he actually stole? After he tells Jean his life now belongs to God, so act accordingly? And Jean doesn’t know what to do. How to go about it.”

“I’m lousy with quotes. What does he say?”

Father Beale smiled. “ ‘To love another person is to see the face of God.’ ”

Chapter 48

The Gospel According to Daniel

This will be the final entry in this heretical gospel, this renegade account of a priest whose life was turned upside down for reasons he couldn’t begin to understand. I’ve recorded it all, every word, thought, and deed. And I tried to tell it true, although I’m sure that at times, to paraphrase Emily Dickinson once more, I told it slant. I don’t know that I revealed any great secrets, any startling insights. And I don’t know what use this will be to my attorney, or to anyone else. But I was asked to prepare it, and I did. It is what it is.

I don’t know what will happen next. Perhaps my attorney will succeed and I will be released. Perhaps he will fail and I will be executed. Or perhaps he will only manage to have my sentence reduced to life imprisonment and I will spend the rest of my days behind these cold walls. That, I think, would be the worst result of all, and yet I cannot deny that it is possible that is God’s will. I have seen much work that needs to be done since I came to this horrible place. Many souls in need of salvation. Many hearts in anguish, without hope. This is not the future I would’ve chosen for myself, but if this is God’s plan, then so be it.

Anne Frank still believed there was good in the world, even when her short life was at its darkest moment. And so must I. I have already had so much more than she, that if it is time for the quality of my life to be drastically altered, then I must accept that with grace. But I am still amazed, even in this dire place, at the tiny acts of kindness I see everywhere. The brief moments of consideration, of unselfishness, even in the grimmest of circumstances. Sharing food. Reading letters for those who cannot. Comforting the lost and forgotten. I know there is evil in the world, true palpable evil, in men, women-even in something as seemingly innocent as a young girl. But I also know there is great good. Perhaps its rarity is what makes it so special-and what ultimately gives us our greatest indication of the divine nature of the human spirit.

I still have my faith. And while I don’t think retaining that is any great act of courage, it is a comfort to me. I can sleep nights, sometimes, with the knowledge that regardless of what horrors I am forced to undergo-it is for a reason. I do believe that. I must believe that. Because if it were not so-life at this point would simply not be worth living. And I want to go on living. I want to believe. And so I shall.

The homily was finished, the anthem had been sung, and the new interim priest, Father Doner, had chanted and sung through the Sanctus and the Lord’s Prayer and the Agnus Dei. Soon it would be time for the choir to rise and take communion; they were always among the first to go, so they could be back in the choir loft singing while the congregation took theirs.

Ben wished his choir robe had pockets, but it didn’t. They wore big bulky Anglican-looking things, white shifts on a dark, full-length, bulky, hot and heavy gown-with no pockets. Who designed these, anyway? Probably some monk five hundred years ago, and people have irrationally been copying it ever since, even though it’s bulky, hot, heavy… et cetera. And had no pockets.

He had tried to concentrate on the homily, but his mind was elsewhere. In the courtroom, replaying his every move, wondering if he could’ve done something differently. Better. In the jailhouse, trying to bring comfort to the man who had brought so much to him, knowing that he had failed him. And at the juvenile detention center, burrowing into the minds of two young girls, trying to understand what to him was simply unknowable. It was too much for his puny brain. It was, as Father Beale would say, greater than him.

Is that why people turned to God? Ben wondered. When all was said and done, was it just the desire to make sense of it all, or to believe that someone, somewhere could make sense of it? He couldn’t say, but if that was it, he could sympathize.

But could he believe? That was the sticking point. He had seen too much, had known too intimately all the bad, the crooked, the grimy, the depraved, the flat-out evil that lurked in the world. He had seen the worst of everyone-even a beloved priest. And yet, it seemed clear to Ben now that Father Beale’s flaws did not make him a fraud-they made him a man. And humanity, with all its imperfections, was still capable of achieving greatness. And occasionally did.

The time had come. All around him, the rest of the choir rose to its feet, and before he really understood when or why, Ben rose also. He followed them as they filed down the nave and knelt with them at the altar rail.

“The body of Christ,” Father Doner said as he passed Ben the wafer. And Ben took it and ate it.

Did he believe? It was too hard a question to answer. But I want to believe, he thought, as he brought the silver chalice to his lips and sipped the wine. I want to believe. And for now, that’s enough.