Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [readnow TXT] 📗

“I had a hunch. I called ahead and spoke to Mary. As I thought, Sylvie is at the church.”

“This should make things interesting.”

We entered the grounds and climbed the steps to the big red door. Our shadows, elongated by the early autumn sun, lay warped across the stone flags. We paused and listened. Hushed voices seemed to slide and roll up the walls and into the cavernous arches of the ceiling. I touched Dehan’s shoulder and pointed. The reverend and Sylvie stood at the door of the vestry in close, quiet conversation. I couldn’t make out the words, but whatever it was they were talking about seemed important, even urgent.

I moved quietly into the side aisle and walked toward them with Dehan just behind me. They sensed the movement and turned. His face was serious. He sighed very loudly.

“Detectives! This is becoming…” He let the words hang. “Would it not be better to deal with all of your questions in one go, and be done with it?”

He labored the last four words so that they resounded against the thick stone walls, like the end of an impactful sermon.

“It would,” I said. “That’s why we are here. We would like you and Mrs. Martin to come with us to the precinct. There are a couple of issues which…” I paused and shook my head. “Well, however Detective Dehan and I look at them, we just can’t make them square up.”

His expression was impatient. “It is very inconvenient. I have work to do, so does Sylvie. Really, Detective Stone, we have been more than patient and accommodating, but sincerely, this is bordering on…”

“Patient and accommodating?” I said it without any particular inflection.

He frowned, “Well, yes…”

“We are investigating the murder of one of your parishioners and, as I understand it, a friend of yours.” I turned to Sylvie. “Your husband and the father of your daughter. I’m struggling to see where patience and accommodation come into it.”

He closed his eyes and heaved another sigh. She looked down and fiddled with her thumb. He said, “The investigation was dropped eighteen years ago, Detective. We did not ask for it to be reopened. We have all… moved on!”

I ignored him. “Will you both please accompany us to the station?”

The reverend’s face flushed. “Have we any choice?”

Dehan nodded. “Sure. You can refuse. But I wouldn’t recommend it, because then we can either arrest you on suspicion of murder or take you into custody as material witnesses. So maybe the best thing is to cooperate with us. I am assuming, Reverend, that we want the same thing here, to catch the person who murdered Mr. Martin. Am I wrong?”

Sylvie answered. “Of course you are not wrong. It’s just very painful to revisit all this stuff, just as we were…”

There was a scuff and a footfall behind us. I turned to look. Humberto was standing silhouetted in the glare from the doorway. His voice was almost a whisper, but it carried, reverberating against the high, stone walls.

“Donna… Donna Maria plena di graza…”

Reverend Truelove glanced at him and then waved him away. “It’s all right, Humberto. Go back to your room. Everything is fine.”

Humberto reached out his left hand toward us. The fingers of his right went to his large lower lip. “Venite, Donna. Venite com migo. Ven…”

Sylvie smiled. It was a sad expression. She shook her head. “I can’t come now, Humberto. I have to go with these people.”

He must have picked up something in the tone of her voice, or in our demeanor. Whatever it was, he knew something was wrong and let out a deep, guttural noise that seemed to come from down in his belly. He pouted his thick lips and shook his huge head.

“No… No… Noooo…”

It was like a tantrum coming on in a four year-old, only Humberto was well over six feet and must have weighed well over two hundred and sixty pounds. Reverend Truelove scowled at us. “Excuse me.” He moved toward Humberto, reaching out for him with both arms. “Humberto, come. Go back to your room…”

The noise Humberto let out then was horrific. It was like a wounded grizzly roaring at the mountains. It reverberated from the rafters down to the stone flags and bounced off the walls, filling every corner of the church. It was not a word, but an inarticulate cry of immoderate, irrational pain. He stamped his huge feet and his arms started flapping as the reverend tried to take hold of him, and next thing, he was bellowing at the top of his voice, “El Diavolo! Malefico! Malefico! El Diavolo e la Diavola! Malefica! Malefica! None llevare! E la mia donna!”

The reverend struggled to keep Humberto’s arms down and block his way, but his size and strength made it hard, and Humberto kind of plowed through him, driving him back as he pushed toward Sylvie. A spasm of grief flashed across her face and she stepped toward him.

“Humberto. It’s all right, honey! These are friends.” She hurried around the pews and made her way down the central aisle, reaching for him.

Humberto pushed the reverend aside and enfolded Sylvie in his arms. “Donna! Donna Maria plena di graza! Diavolo malefico! Diavola! Diavola malefica! None llevare. E la mia donna!”

His face had folded up like it had melted in the heat of the sun, and now he had tears streaming down his face. Sylvie looked small and fragile in his massive arms. He’d gone quiet, except for a few shuddering sobs, and she was soothing him, whispering to him that we were just friends.

We joined them. The reverend was looking uncomfortable. I studied his face a moment. “You got somebody who can look after him for a couple of hours?”

He nodded. “If you can give us a few