Ten Plagues (16 page)

“And if they are?” Paul prompted.

“Then we pray together.”

“And it works?” Paul was fascinated.

“It works. It works a surprising amount of the time, because part of my discernment seems to be … well, usually… I think I can discern a spirit in someone who is open to being free of it. Because I usually help them, so it stands to reason, right? God gave me that type of understanding as the true purpose of my gift. Leading them to Jesus Christ always has to be part of it. I’m afraid I’ll leave them empty and more demons will come and take up residence.”

“That’s from Luke.” Paul was impressed. “You’ve really done your homework on Biblical demons.”

“Can you blame me? It’s a huge part of my life. It’s why I became a police officer.”

“To chase demons?”

“No, because sensing them and seeing the damage they do, both to the ones they possess and those around them, gave me a special heart for the people who struggle with them. I’ve found my gift very useful as a cop.”

There was a lull while Paul considered the strange conversation. “And our killer’s demon is bad news?”

“The worst news imaginable,” Keren replied.

“So, Juanita was killed by a demon, and now he has LaToya at his mercy.”

“God is holding LaToya in the palm of His hand, Paul. And Juanita is being bathed in His love. No demon really has any power over God, you know that. Good is stronger than evil.”

“I do know that.” But Paul was glad she’d reminded him. “And I know that to live is Christ, and to die is gain. I tell Rosita that every morning when she scolds me for jogging through the neighborhood.”

“I like Rosita.” Keren grinned at him.

“I like her, too, but she’s a nag.” His eyes had adjusted to the dark until he could see every nuance of her face, the moonlight casting her skin in blue, her eyes a glowing, ghostly gray.

“So we do our best, and we leave the rest to God.” Keren shifted in her seat as if it made her impatient to accept that. “I’d lose my mind at work if I couldn’t.”

“I never could leave anything to anyone, least of all God, when I was a cop. I let the job consume me until it almost ate my heart out.” Paul snorted. “What almost? It did eat my heart out. I lost my wife. I lost my daughter. What were they if not my heart?”

Paul paused then whispered, “I was a bad father.”

“Hush.” Keren reached for him then pulled her hand back. “You know better than to waste time with regret. Your faith won’t allow that kind of wallowing. Turn to face God and the challenges of today, and let the past go.”

“Sounds easy.”

“Not easy, simple. There’s a difference.” Keren ran her hands into her hair and fiddled with her hair tie.

She was self-conscious now because he’d done something so stupid as kiss her. “Simple to say but not so simple to do.”

“Like I said, simple, not easy.”

She was going to quit touching him, and only now was he aware that almost no one ever touched him. He often rested a hand on the shoulder of the homeless people he served, but they didn’t touch him back. He suddenly missed the touch of a human hand desperately. And he knew exactly who he wanted to touch him.

He turned to face her. “Maybe it’s time we talked about that kiss.” He closed the distance between them.

A patrol car pulled up to Keren’s door. Paul threw himself across the car seat, away from Keren. He saw her gun come up to just below the window. She was on edge, even though the car was marked and both men in it wore uniforms. One of them got out and came up to her window.

“Are you Detective Collins?” He was young and eager. It saddened Paul to think how soon those eyes would become cynical.

“Yes.” Keren flashed her badge at him. “Let me see your badge, officer.”

Keren kept her gun out of sight.

The man tapped his chest where it was clearly pinned.

Keren studied it for a long minute before she slipped her gun into its holster without the young officer even knowing she’d had it ready. The kid wasn’t nearly scared enough.

“Were you informed of why you were needed here?”

“You suspect that the man who blew up that building downtown might use that pond over there as a dump site for his latest vic.”

Paul realized Keren had gotten used to saying LaToya. She glanced at him. He’d wanted them to be less detached when they talked about Juanita and LaToya. Keren had told him no, but somewhere along the way he’d converted her, and now this officer’s language chilled him.

“That’s right. This guy is a stone-cold killer.” Keren jabbed her finger in the cop’s face. “Don’t either one of you sleep. Don’t daydream. Don’t let your guard down for a second. Don’t let someone drive up to you or walk up to you. Assume everyone’s got a gun and will open fire as soon as they’re in range.”

The cop straightened and his face looked pale in the streetlight.

Keren continued. “He definitely studied the other dump site and waited until he was alone to leave the body. He’ll be watching, waiting for you to make a mistake.”

“Yes ma’am.” The cop stood at attention.

“And when you make a mistake with this maniac, you’ll end up dead.” She slashed one finger at him like she was slitting his throat.

The officer took a half step back. “Yes ma’am!”

“I’ll radio to have someone take over for you when your shift ends.” Keren pulled out of the parking lot.

“You went overboard a little scaring that kid, don’t you think?” Paul asked.

“I sure tried.”

Paul slumped down in his seat. “Good girl.”

P
reach your sermon tomorrow like you’re supposed to,” Keren ordered Paul as she pulled up at the shabby back door of the old brick mission. “It’ll remind you of who you are.”

Paul leaned over and kissed her good-bye, as if he’d done it a thousand times before and it was his right. He pulled back and his eyes ran over her face.

“What’s that thing you’ve got in your hair?”

Keren, flustered, reached up for her leather tie. “It’s the only thing that works.”

“Works? What does that mean?”

“Keeps my wild mop of hair under control.” She pulled the odd contraption free and her hair spread in a riot of curls all around her head.

Paul took the hair ornament. “Beads, ties, weird.” He looked up at her. “You ought to let your hair loose. I love it down.”

Reaching out he caressed it and closed in again.

It took Keren way too long to put a stop to that. She waited until he was inside then drove back to the precinct to sleep.

There was a light burning in the room where they’d met with the FBI, and Keren went to see what was going on. Higgins sat at the desk, Dyson on a folding chair. Both were poring over stacks of paper.

“You’re working late, gentlemen.” Keren wished she’d just walked straight to the room with the cots.

Higgins gave her that I’m-a-predator-and-you’re-lunch look, and Dyson did his odd impression of a mind reader.

“Can you give us a minute, Detective?” Higgins had a way of making requests that sounded like orders. “We’ve got some things we’d like to go over with you.”

Feeling every ounce of the weight of her long hours without sleep … and the poor quality of the sleep when she did get it, Keren said, “Sure.”

“The mayor has asked us to be part of a task force to deal with this.”

“I’ve been expecting that. The bizarre murder, the explosion combined with the second abduction—”

“We want Pastor Morris to be part of it.” Higgins was so alert, Keren couldn’t shake the sense that he was always on the hunt.

“I’m sure he’ll be agreeable to that.” Privately, Keren suspected they’d have more than they could handle if they tried to keep him out.

“Have you made any headway on the profiling?” She sat down on a folding chair next to Dyson. Higgins faced them from across the desk.

Higgins looked at Dyson and Dyson turned his spooky blue eyes on her.

“We’ve come to the conclusion that Pravus has too much inside knowledge of the mission to have done research on it from the outside.”

A chill raced up Keren’s spine. “You mean he comes and goes in that building all the time.”

Higgins nodded. “It’s possible it could be a deliveryman or someone with a reason to be in the mission, but it’s more likely—”

“It’s one of the street people.” Keren hated the thought of it.

“No, it’s someone who’s
masquerading
as a street person.”

Keren considered her impression of evil. She needed to go in the mission when the inhabitants were around. But there was no way to explain that to these men.

“What is it, Detective Collins?” Dyson asked. He was watching her like a hawk … or maybe a vulture.

“There’s a church service in the morning, during breakfast,” Keren said reluctantly. “Someone should attend and get a closer look at those people.”

“We need a list of everyone who is associated with the mission.”

Keren hated the thought of using Paul’s mission service in her police work. It seemed like such a betrayal of people who might be making a fragile step in faith. “It’s a very transient group.”

“It figures this guy hasn’t gone anywhere,” Higgins said sarcastically.

“And they’re not going to cooperate.” Keren was getting tired of Higgins, and all the while he sparred with her Dyson stared, trying to pick up nuances. When he asked questions it was like her every word, gesture, and expression was being watched under a microscope. He was sitting beside her, so if she focused forward she could ignore him, but she could feel his creepy gaze boring into her brain. He was probably a real bust at parties.

“Not cooperating is almost a defining characteristic of street people.” She wished she’d never mentioned Paul’s church. She should have let it come from the FBI. “A lot of them probably don’t even go by their real names.”

“I’ll bet every one of them has a rap sheet and a mug shot.” Higgins slumped back in his chair, but the sense of his utter alertness never eased.

“You know, Higgins, the people at the mission are really going through a tough time.”

“They’re bums.”

“They’re mostly mentally ill, with no family to care for them.”

“They’re drug addicts and alcoholics who did so much damage their families finally washed their hands of them and dumped their problem on the streets.”

“A little compassion wouldn’t be out of place here.” Keren’s jaw tightened. She should drop this. She should get some sleep. “A lot of them are bipolar and they drink and drug to silence the voices in their heads. And a lot of families just can’t deal with it. A lot of them have tried and tried until they’ve given up to save what’s left of their own lives. That mission is trying to do more than just feed them. Paul is trying to lead them to a Christian faith that will give them hope, help them find a purpose for living and a reason to reclaim their sanity.”

“ ‘Paul’?” Dyson asked. “Is he more to you than a witness to a crime?”

Suppressing a flash of irritation, Keren kept quiet. She preferred talking things through, bouncing ideas off O’Shea. The two of them worked well that way. But Higgins just seemed to delight in pointing out the obvious when she’d only meant to run through her thoughts aloud. And Dyson, with his eternal search for the key to everyone’s thoughts, was about halfway to a mental patient himself.

Higgins made a soft scoffing sound. “Figures a mission would force hungry people to sit through a sermon in order to get food.”

Keren’s impression of Higgins dropped through the floor.

“You’re a believer?” Dyson was still watching her. Still reading her mind.

“Why don’t you”—Keren turned and met Dyson’s spooky blue eyes directly—”use whatever ability you have to profile Pravus instead of trying to pick up messages from every tiny expression that flicks across my face? Or is reading minds some trick you do to win bets in a bar?”

Dyson kept staring.

Higgins sat watching, too. Keren decided she’d had enough of it.

“Maybe if I wasn’t running on little to no sleep for the last few days I could enjoy being stared at. I’d enjoy having my faith sneered at. I’d enjoy listening to you mock a man who has committed his life to helping people in need.” Keren rose from her chair. “Yes, he preaches a sermon. He’s trying to give them more than a meal that will last a few hours. But no one is denied food if they refuse to stay. If you don’t have anything to say about the case, then I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

“One more thing before you go, Keren.” Higgins spoke mildly again, but he might as well have shouted at her to stop.

“What is that?” Keren turned to face him.

“We’ve listened to the tapes. You have to know Pravus has you in his crosshairs. It’s very possible he sees you as one of his potential victims.”

“Wow,
Lance
. Did you figure that out all by yourself? Or did you fly a whole bunch more people in from DC to help you?”

“We expect cooperation from local law enforcement agencies, Detective.”

“And you sometimes don’t get it, is that your point?”

“I’m not talking about sometimes. I’m talking about now, and I’m not seeing much of it from you.” Higgins’s golden eyes had seemed so attractive and contained such strength when she’d met him earlier. Now they repelled her. Between his rudeness and his crude remark about the mission’s outreach and the contempt he held for the homeless, she was fed up.

“And why do you think I’d hesitate to work with you? What possible reason could I have? I’ll bet you don’t even need Dyson reading my mind to get the answer to that. Unless you’re both idiots, you should get it loud and clear.”

Dyson stared. Higgins stood as if he needed to be on the prowl. Neither of them answered.

“Good night, gentlemen. If I have any spare time tomorrow, maybe I can stop in again to be insulted for things that have nothing to do with this case. I’m sure it never gets old … for you.” Keren left the room, closing the door behind her with a firm
click
.