Deadly Sins (6 page)

“Cardinal Cote’s on an energy kick,” Jerry informed them as they preceded him into the one well-lit room in the place. “To go along with the rest of his penny-pinching qualities. Less painful to live in the dark than to go over the electric bill with one of his representatives every month.”

The room looked comfortable and lived in. Skirting the massive desk facing the window overlooking the street in front, Benton settled himself in a faded navy leather wingback chair. Jaid sank onto the matching sofa that faced it, and Adam lowered himself into a chair next to his friend. There were pictures crowding the wall, all showing Jerry with an assortment of strangers, cutting ribbons, shaking hands, accepting large cardboard facsimiles of checks. Others were framed newspaper articles that featured the man holding signs, shouting. One that had obviously been shot at least fifteen years earlier clearly showed the priest leaning over the hood of a police car, being handcuffed.

Her expression must have shown a little of what she was thinking because Adam said, “Jerry is very passionate about his causes.”

She flicked a glance at the older man. “I see that.”

Benton scanned the wall of pictures, smiling a little. His still-thick hair had grayed since the handcuff photo had been taken. Well-worn creases softened the lines of his face. But his narrowed brown gaze was bright with intelligence. “I’ve learned there are other ways to affect change than passive resistance.” Surprisingly, there was a flicker of regret in his eyes. “I’d be lying if I claimed I didn’t miss it.”

“You’ve been fighting for a cause ever since I’ve known you,” Adam observed.

“In your way, so have you. What does it happen to be this time?”

“I need to brush up on some of my old catechism lessons.” Shifting slightly in the chair, Adam stretched one leg out in front of him. “I remember the seven deadly sins. I need a refresher course on the history behind them.”

The priest winked at Jaid. “I’m delighted every time he admits to recalling anything from those lessons. He wasn’t a particularly apt student, even at nine. Challenged me at every turn.”

Fascinated, she shot Adam a glance. “Somehow I’m not surprised.”

He raised a sardonic brow. “I was blessed with a questioning nature.”

“And a suspicious one.” Jerry shrugged. “Since it’s kept you alive this long, I’ve ceased to quibble with that trait.” He raised his palms upright, pressed the fingertips together. Ignoring Adam’s question, he asked one of his own. “What exactly do you remember about the list?”

It was Adam’s turn to shrug. “I recall the mnemonic SLAGIA
. Superbia, avaritia, luxuria, invidia, gula, ira,
and
acedia
.”

A slight wince crossed the priest’s face. “Well, at least your memory is less atrocious than your Latin accent.” He looked at Jaid. “Are you Catholic?” He looked unsurprised when she shook her head. “The list he’s referring to was first noted by John Cassian, a fifth-century monk, but has developed over time. Pope Gregory I revised the list nearly two hundred years later, and modern Catholic catechism lists the sins as pride, avarice, envy, wrath, lust, gluttony, and acedia or sloth. All leave the soul in a state of mortal sin and left unrepented will damn it to the eternal fires of hell.”

“Is there a ranking among them as to which is supposedly the worst?”

Jaid easily followed Adam’s line of thought. If the two deaths were linked, hearing that greed and wrath were the gravest would leave hope that the killer was done. If one were inclined to think positively about such things.

“Ah, therein lies the source of centuries of theological discussion.” Jerry’s face brightened, as if in anticipation of just that. “Most consider pride to be the most grievous. All the other deadlies arise from it.”

Which shot their fledgling idea all to hell. It was personal, rather than professional, interest that had her asking, “What makes pride worse than the others? I’ve seen people and governments do pretty horrible things in the name of the almighty dollar.”

“The Almighty has a different connotation in the church, but I follow your meaning.”

“That’s a joke,” Adam inserted, for Jaid’s benefit. “Sometimes with Jerry it’s hard to tell.”

The priest leaned back more comfortably and raised his leg to rest one ankle on the opposite knee. She blinked when she noted that he was wearing Birkenstocks with dark socks. “Adam is rarely a fan of my humor. At any rate, I tend to agree with you that greed is the most grievous as it keeps wealth in the hands of a few while many go without. I spend a great deal of my time, as a matter of fact, doing my part to redistribute some of the riches. But we’re in the minority, I’m afraid. Most side with the medieval theologian Thomas Aquinas’s argument that pride was the source of every other sin. Lucifer was cast out of heaven for attempting to compete with God, for considering himself God’s equal.”

“Then there is a ranking?”

“Not necessarily.” Jerry answered Adam’s question thoughtfully. “Most consider pride to be the worst as I’ve said, and many would argue that sloth is the least of them all. Oftentimes, it’s a sin of omission, the desire for ease, not expending the energy necessary to become closer to God. But even if one accepts that pride and sloth can be ranked, all of them are offensive in His eyes, and the remaining five at least equally so.”

Jaid mulled the information over. Crimes of this sort were as much about the offender as the victim. So perhaps wrath and greed were the most egregious of the sins in the eyes of the unknown subject. People rationalized their actions all the time. The only thing unique about this offender was that his rationalization was cloaked in religion. “For the truly devout, they might provide rationale for breaking the law.”

Jerry nodded. “I’m hardly a stranger to the concept of bending rules to achieve a greater good. So, yes, of course, one might justify his or her deeds by believing they were righting a wrong or acting on God’s behalf. Although the error in that thinking is that in doing so, the perpetrator is guilty of the most grievous of the sins, pride.” He gave a small smile. “By placing himself or herself in God’s position, he elevates himself to God’s status. It’s similar to governments meting out capital punishment. Man cannot replace God in the ultimate judgment.”

Adam glanced at his watch. “It’s much too late to start a discussion on capital punishment.”

“It’d be a continuation rather than a beginning on that particular topic, but you’re right. I’ve got seven A.M. mass in the morning, and I still haven’t finished my pitch for the metro DC chapter of the American Trial Lawyers next weekend.” The look he fixed on Adam was hound-dog hopeful. “I don’t suppose you’re free?”

“Sorry.” Adam sounded anything but. “What’s the cause this time?”

“Funding for the Youth Mentorship Program. Sharing a bit of your personal journey could go a long way in shaking loose change from the pockets of those lawyers.”

“A tempting prospect, but I’ll pass. I’ve made one appearance for you already this year.”

The priest raised both hands as if to ward off argument. “I know. And I’m grateful, believe me.”

An unwilling smile tugged at the corner of Adam’s mouth. “Bull. You’re a pushy do-gooder who’s never satisfied.”

“And you’re a closed-off workaholic who needs someone to open your eyes to what goes on beyond the parameters of your professional world.” His voice was as mild as Adam’s. Then his look shifted to Jaid. Became appraising. “Perhaps Ms. Marlowe can help with that.”

Unease flickered. “Oh. Ah . . . I’m just along for the ride.”

Jerry gave her a conspiratorial smile. “My experience has been that rides with Adam tend to be bumpy ones.”

Outside the temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees in the short time they had been talking to the priest. “He seems to understand you,” Jaid observed as she hunched deeper into her coat. They made their way down the porch steps. In the face of Adam’s silence, she continued, “I suppose he should since he’s known you since you were a child.” And she wouldn’t give voice to the questions elicited by
that
fact.

“He thinks he does, anyway.” There was a note of wry exasperation in Adam’s voice. “Jerry isn’t above using our relationship to try to leverage me into participating in his cause of the moment.”

They came to the curb where they’d left their cars, and paused. “Sounds like he’s been successful a time or two.” Which spoke volumes about the men’s friendship. She couldn’t recall a time when Adam hadn’t done exactly as he pleased.

In the dim glow of the streetlight, he looked slightly discomfited. “Well.” He moved his shoulders. “He can be incredibly persistent.”

She suspected it was more than that. After all, she’d never met anyone more tenacious than Raiker. It would be Adam’s regard for the priest that dictated the occasional gracious—or not—acquiescence. And she was intrigued, more than she should have been, about what had forged their relationship.

The strength of that interest drove her to take a step back. And then another. “Well. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Following him here tonight had elicited nothing of value. Nothing that had anything to do with the case, anyway. And those were the only facts she’d allow herself to care about. Her defenses were a lot stronger these days. She’d had eight years to strengthen them.

Turning, she strode rapidly to her black Impala. Unlocked the door to open it. Slid inside. He made no attempt to stop her. She didn’t expect him to. Raiker’s good-byes were abrupt.

And final.

Once she’d pulled away from the curb, she checked the clock on the dash, felt a stab of guilt. Fumbling to pull her cell phone from her purse, she hit the speed dial number and waited impatiently for it to be answered.

Traffic was heavy. The Georgetown area that housed Jerry’s church was teaming with college kids jostling on the crowded sidewalks. But the view didn’t bring back memories of her own long-ago university years. Her mind was on the reason for the call.

“Mother.” A flicker of relief met the familiar tone that finally answered. “I suppose Royce is in bed already.”

“I’m just fine, Jaidlyn, thank you.”

Jaid’s teeth ground a bit as she halted for a red light. It was so like Patricia Marlowe to first focus on the social niceties. “I hope you’re still well, since I last saw you this morning,” she said with barely restrained irony. “I’d like to speak to Royce if he’s still up.”

The response was preceded by a long-suffering sigh. “Well, of course, he’s asleep, dear. You know I’m a stickler about bedtimes, even on weekends.”

When the light flashed green, she nosed her car through the intersection. Patricia’s last words had been aimed at her. Because last weekend Royce
had
been up past bedtime. Saturdays were their special nights together. Sometimes they’d watch a marathon of those silly comedies young boys thought were so hilarious. Or engage in a brutal Wii marathon. Boxing. Tennis. Football. But for the foreseeable future their time together was going to be curtailed by this case. From experience she knew better than to issue false promises to him to assuage her remorse. Promises that would almost certainly be broken. She wondered how other single parents managed the ensuing guilt that invariably arose from balancing a challenging career with raising a child.

“Of course. How was the birthday party he attended after school?”

“Oh fine.” As her mother chattered on about her free hours spent cleaning Jaid’s home, cleaning that—in her estimation—had been completely unnecessary, she found her attention wandering. She’d probably be up and gone again before Royce in the morning, but she’d make a point to give him a call sometime during the day tomorrow. The older the boy got, the more she hated to leave him for extended periods of time with her mother. Patricia had come around, softening a bit over the years, but she would never be a warm grandmotherly type. That would have represented a metamorphosis worthy of a Kafka novel.

She considered cutting the call short. Thought better of it. The drone of her mother’s voice in her ear was never a pleasant prospect, but it was infinitely preferable to the alternative.

Like spending the long drive home thinking about Adam Raiker.

Mose Ferrell watched the cars pull away from the curb before starting his own vehicle. He was in no hurry. If the man was heading home, Mose had an hour’s drive ahead of him. And he had to be sure the woman wasn’t going to follow the man back to his town house. Mose’s orders had been very specific. No witnesses.

At this time of night he wasn’t certain he’d find a stretch of interstate that would fit that description, but adrenaline spiked anyway. He had a feeling tonight he’d finally see some excitement.

And so would Adam Raiker.