“Sounds like the same cancer that eats away at the rest of society.”
“Exactly. Although in the church it makes every attempt to remain hidden, where it is left alone to grow in the dark. You ever wonder why incidences of divorce and gluttony and virtually all of evil’s fruits are as high in the church as in society at large?”
“Actually, I didn’t know that.”
“Though being freed from sin, most remain slaves, blinded and gagged by their own deception. ‘The good that I would, that I do not do and that which I would not, that I do.’ Welcome to the church in America.”
“And you’re saying you’ve discussed this with Kevin?”
“I discuss this with every class I teach on the subject. Kevin, more than most students, understood it.”
“Based on what you’re saying, what Slater’s doing isn’t so different from what every old lady in the church does when she gossips?” And killing Roy was no different either,she almost said.
“Assuming that old ladies have a proclivity for gossip, a false assumption, actually. On the other hand, Saint Paul drew a distinction between some sins and others. Although he did place gossip in the most vile category.”
Jennifer set down her cup on a cherry wood end table. “So you’re suggesting that the Riddle Killer is interested in Kevin confessing his true nature, not necessarily some particular sin. Seems like a stretch. To what end? Why would Slater single out Kevin, unless Kevin somehow wronged him?”
“Now you’re out of my league, I’m afraid.”
“You’re pushing theory way beyond what feels reasonable, Doctor. My brother was murdered. I hardly see any similarities between his killer and an old lady in a church.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” His compassion appeared thoroughly genuine.
“Even naysayers accept the brilliance of the teachings of Jesus,” he said. “You do know what he said on the matter?”
“Tell me.”
“That to hate a man is the same as killing him. Perhaps the gossipers are murderers after all.”
The notion struck her as absurd. Jennifer sighed. “So Slater, who was once wronged by Kevin, studies him today and sees this great inconsistency—that Kevin lives a life of minor sins—anger, resentment, gossip. But Slater believes, as you seem to, that minor sins are no less evil than the greater sins. Kevin decides to become a priest. This upsets Slater and he decides to teach Kevin a lesson. That the gist of it?”
“Who’s to say how a demented mind works?” The professor smiled. “Really, it’s beyond me how anyone could do this to another man, especially a man like Kevin. Regardless of his past sins, Kevin is a walking testimony of God’s grace. You’d think he’s been through his share of difficulties. To have become the man he is today is nothing short of amazing.”
She studied Dr. Francis. “He is quite unusual, isn’t he? I didn’t know his type still lived on the West Coast.”
“His type?” the professor asked. “You mean his innocence?”
“Innocent, genuine. Maybe even naive, in a nonoffensive way.”
“You’re aware of his past?”
“Sketchy. I haven’t exactly had the time to dig past his file these last two days.”
The doctor’s brow went up. “Perhaps you would do well to pay a visit to the home of his childhood. I don’t know the entire story, but from what Father Strong told me, Kevin’s childhood was anything but normal. Not necessarily terrible, mind you, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find more there than Father Strong or any of the rest of us suspects, particularly in light of these recent events.”
“So you don’t know the details of his past. Still, you say he’s been through his share of difficulties.”
“His parents died when he was one. He was raised by an aunt who despises his pursuit of higher education. As you say, he acts like a man who has recently walked off an island to discover that there is a rest-of-the-world. Naive. I think there’s something in Kevin’s past that haunts him. It may shed some light on this man you call Slater.”
“The boy,” she said.
“I’m afraid I don’t know about any boy.”
She would take a trip to Baker Street as soon as she left. “Nothing else comes to mind? No other students or faculty might have any motive to hurt Kevin?”
“Heavens, no. Not unless all of our gossiping students are becoming murderers to flush out the truth.” He grinned.
“You sound like a wonderful teacher, Dr. Francis. Do you mind if I call on you again?”
“Please.” He tapped his chest. “There’s a special place in here for Kevin. I can’t place it or explain why I am so taken by the boy, but I think we all have something to learn from his story.”
She stood. “I pray you’re right.”
“I didn’t know you were a religious woman.”
“I’m not.”
15
THE YOUNG MEN WITH THE CHAINS didn’t look like they were carrying any weapons. Not that criminals made a habit of hanging guns around their necks from shoestrings for all to see. Either way, Kevin gave them a pass and pulled back onto Western.
Maybe looking in less obvious spots would fare better. Side streets. Any beer-drinking slug wearing a wife-beater would be packing one, right? Or at least have a piece tucked under the mattress nearby. The fact was, Kevin had no clue what he was doing and the growing realization pushed his nerves into overdrive.
He drove several neighborhoods before working up the courage to park in one particularly seedy-looking lane and take to foot. Wouldn’t it be ironic if he were held up at gunpoint minding his own business? Why play games with a serial killer when you could take a stroll down misery lane and get offed any day of the week? Just like in the movies. Or was the other more like a movie?
He walked down the street, past houses with prying eyes. Maybe now would be a good time to pray. On the other hand, considering his intentions, praying felt inappropriate. A ball rolled out on the sidewalk three feet in front of him. He glanced at the house to his right and saw a boy, maybe three feet tall, staring at him with wide brown eyes. A large, shirtless man covered in tattoos, bald except for a black goatee, stood in the doorway behind the boy, watching him from under bushy eyebrows. Kevin picked up the ball and tossed it awkwardly back into the brown lawn.
“You lost?” the man asked.
That obvious? “No,” he said and turned away.
“You look lost to me, boy.”
Kevin was suddenly too terrified to respond. He walked on, not daring to look back. The man humphed, but made no other comment. Half a block later he glanced back. The man had retreated into his house.
Now, that wasn’t so bad. You go, boy. Kevin the player.
Kevin the fool. Here he was, wandering a strange neighborhood, pretending to have a clue, scheming nondescript plans, while the real game awaited its star player twenty miles south. What if Slater had called in the last couple hours? What if he’d called Jennifer or the police with the next threat? Or what if Sam had awakened, found him gone, turned on the phone, and received a call?
Kevin stopped walking. What on earth did he think he was doing? Sam. Sam had a gun. She’d never shown it to him, but he knew she carried it in her purse. Why not just take her gun? What was she going to do, throw him in jail for—
“Excuse me.”
Kevin spun around. The man from the doorway stood five feet away. He’d pulled on a white T-shirt that barely managed to contain his bulging shoulders.
“I asked you a question.”
Kevin’s heart pounded. “I’m . . . I’m not lost.”
“I don’t believe you. I see a Wall Street punk walking down the sidewalk at ten in the morning and I know he’s lost. You trying to score?”