Silent Mercy

FORTY-SIX

“HERE’S the cell phone information for the perp’s brother, Loo. Get somebody to run with it,” Mike said, then hung up with Peterson. “Nice grab on that gym bag, blondie.”

It was after ten thirty and we were working out of a small office in the headquarters of the Rhode Island State Police. Several patrol cars met the train when it reached the freight track at Providence Station an hour earlier. Local cops and troopers had orders to sweep it from end to end, talking to all the troupe members, searching for evidence of a crime or signs that Fyodor Zukov had brought any of the women on board.

Mike and I had trailed the officers through the compartments for a first look at every possible place to conceal anything from a weapon to a body, then left them to their work. Daniel Gersh rode with us to headquarters, in case there was any way he could assist in the ongoing search. Yuri and Oksana Zukov were separated for the ride, and a prosecutor had been called in to discuss whether they could be held overnight as material witnesses.

“No sightings of Fyodor or the truck on the highway?” I asked.

“Nothing yet. You trust that broad?”

“Not entirely. She swore to the lie Yuri told about not having phones. But when we started to talk about Georgia’s death penalty, she really got nervous.”

“So you think he’s headed south?”

“I guess we wait to see if there’s any info on Yuri’s cell,” I said, opening the door to a cop who had brewed a fresh pot of coffee for us and handed mugs in to me.

The television was on in the main squad room, and all the news channels — local and national — were interrupting broadcasts to show photographs of the man wanted for the abduction of Chastity Grant and the possible murders of five other people from Georgia to New York. MANHUNT FOR CLERGY KILLER was the continuous crawl running at the bottom of the screen.

“I’m ready to start mainlining caffeine,” Mike said. “Another hour and it probably makes sense to accept the captain’s offer to drive us back to New York.”

“Whatever you think,” I said, yawning as I settled into a high-backed chair and curled my legs up beneath me.

“Did you reach Mercer?” Mike asked.

“He’s not picking up. I left him a message.”

“Where are you, Coop? You’re thinking something you’re not telling me.”

“The one piece that stumped me was why Zukov was at the trial this week, why he was there when Bishop Deegan testified. He certainly didn’t have his eye on me — I was a surprise guest, the designated hitter stepping in for the young prosecutor.”

“And the bishop?”

“No. Deegan’s his kind of guy. Old-fashioned, misogynist, trying to uphold the dignity of the church. No, no. He was scouting his outcast.”

“Who?”

“The defendant on trial. Denys Koslawski. Think of it, a disgraced priest who had molested children.”

“Yeah, but how would he know?”

“I’ll take the hit on this. There was a story in all the papers about Koslawski — no mention of Deegan’s court appearance at the time because he wasn’t expected to testify — when the original trial was supposed to start.”

“December?”

“Yes, December. There was a feature about rogue priests. And then we had the idea to adjourn the case for three months because juries tend to be so generous to the bad guys around the holidays. I didn’t want a Christmas verdict for Koslawski.”

“So Koslawski goes and waives a jury in the end — wouldn’t have been a problem—”

“And Fyodor Zukov had another pariah to stalk,” I said. “I’m going to put that assignment in your lap when we get home. You check with Bishop Deegan. I’ll bet he doesn’t know Zukov and just nodded to him because he spied the clerical collar and assumed he was a friendly spectator.”

“Sure, I can do that — if you shut yourself off for a few minutes. You’ll be no good to either of us if you’re all worn down.”

I rested my head against the hard wooden slats and closed my eyes. Just a fifteen-minute catnap might help refresh me.

I went out so fast and deep that I didn’t even hear my phone vibrating on the tabletop ten minutes later.

“Just a minute, Faith,” Mike said. It was his voice that woke me up. “I’ll put her on.”

He handed me the cell. “Are you all right?” I asked her, startled out of my short slumber.

“Yes. But I’ve just had a call from Jeanine Portland.”

I sat up. “Is she back on Nantucket? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, Alex,” Faith Grant said. It sounded like she was choking up as she tried to talk to me. “Chat called her.”

“When? Was that tonight?”

“No. I wish that were so. It was this morning. Late morning, maybe right after her call to me.”

“Why did she call?” The timing made it all the more likely that Chat had been abducted shortly after she left us with Faith at the seminary.

“Chat told Jeanine she needed to talk to her. You see—” Faith’s voice broke, and she took a few seconds to put herself together. “I didn’t know this. I feel like I failed my sister entirely.”

“You know that’s not true. Stay strong for us. Tell me.”

“After they met at Ursula’s play, in December, it seems Chat and Jeanine struck it off. She said she found it easier to talk to Jeanine than to me. That she was — well, less judgmental than I am.”

“That’s not about you, Faith. It was probably easier to unload some of her troubles on a person who wasn’t aware of the whole backstory. You’ve been Chat’s lifeline. You keep that going all through this night, you hear me? She’ll need you more than ever right now.”

“I so very truly want to believe that. I know I can give her all the love, all the support that she could possibly want.”

“You’re the only one who can,” I said. “Did Chat see Jeanine between Christmas and this week?”

“No. That’s why Jeanine said she thought the call was so strange. She went up to Boston yesterday, from Nantucket. She got the call today, saying Chat needed to see her. Urgently.”

“What about?”

“Chat didn’t say. Just that she needed help, and she couldn’t rely on anyone but Jeanine to give it to her,” Faith said. “She asked Jeanine to meet with her tonight.”

My head was pounding. “Where? Meet her where?”

“On the Cape. She told Jeanine she could get herself to the Cape. She asked her not to take the boat home to Nantucket, but to wait for Chat to arrive. There was a friend, Chat said to her — a man who needed help too.”

“And Jeanine?…” It sounded as though Zukov was shooting for two victims, using Chat to draw Reverend Portland into the trap.

“Agreed to do it, of course. She told me—” Faith had dissolved into tears. I could hear the voice of a woman in the background trying to comfort her.

“Are you there?” I waited a few seconds before asking her.

“I’m all right. Jeanine told me that Chat sounded like she was in pain. I can’t bear to hear that, Alex. About the pain. You’ve got to find her.”

“We’re going to do that. I promise. Is Jeanine with the police?”

“Yes. The officers have her at a hotel room in Hyannis,” Faith said, sounding as though she had found something lighter to say. “She’s not terribly serene about that, Alex. She understands, but she’s not happy about it. We’re a stubborn lot.”

“That’s how you came to be ordained. I’m counting on stubborn to help us here. I’ll call her now, Faith. Get some rest, if you can.”

“The Reverend Portland?” Mike asked when I hung up.

“Yeah. I’ll call her to get more details. I say you ask the captain for a cruiser and we head to Hyannis right now. Scratch what I said about the perp heading south.”

“I’m on it, even though I gotta think the fishing is better in Florida this time of year.”

“You’re right, Mike.” I thought of the photograph of the four women, the third victim already in the killer’s weakened hands, and the fourth one being drawn into his web. “But tonight there’s live bait in Hyannis.”