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

him there was a sergeant at Elizabeth Cavendish’s house right then taking her statement, explained about Humberto’s ambiguous legal status, and told him I wanted to interview him in the presence of his putative father, while at the same time conducting a search of the church, the rectory, and the grounds.

When I had finished, he flopped back in his chair. “You sure know how to pick ’em, I’ll give you that. See if you can get the reverend’s permission for the search, will you? It’ll be interesting to know how he reacts. If he says no, we will apply for a court order. I’ll contact social services and discuss the status of the boy. You think he did it?”

I shook my head. “It is very hard to tell at this stage, sir. At the very least we need to eliminate him as a suspect. There are other possibilities…”

He nodded. “The reverend and Sylvie themselves, I should have thought, jointly or severally. Julio Beltran; his story may be very credible, but it may just be no more than that!” He grinned. “We Latinos are a very creative people, you know, John! Am I right, Carmen?”

The smile she gave him had a miraculous quality to it, like water coming out of a stone.

I nodded. “I am sure, sir, and it is early days. There may still be angles we have not yet uncovered. This case has a way of throwing up surprises.”

He laid both hands palm down on the desk. “Good! Exceptional work as always, both of you. Choose your team for the search. Carry on!”

As we were going down the stairs, I phoned Reverend Truelove.

“Good morning, Detective. I have been expecting your call.”

“I figured. Elizabeth called you last night, I guess.”

“Yes. I suppose you want me to come in.”

“Not exactly.” I entered the detectives’ room and rested my ass on the edge of my desk. Dehan dropped into her chair. “I would like you to bring Humberto in to talk to me. I would like you to sit in on the interview. Bring a lawyer if you think you’ll need one.”

“I see…”

“Don’t be a runner on me, Paul. This is not Brazil and we are not gunning for him. Whether he did it or not, he needs help and you need to get his situation straightened out. He is a vulnerable person and he needs protecting.”

“Yes. I understand that, and you are right.”

“I want something else, too, and I am hoping you are going to cooperate with me.”

“What is that?”

“I want to search the church, everything.”

“What do you think you’re going to find?”

I hesitated. “The murder weapon.”

He grunted. “Hmm, I have often wondered about that. There is not much point in my saying no, is there? If I do, you will get a search warrant and the proverbial shit will hit the fan. Besides, I would like you to see I actually have nothing to hide. Yes, go ahead. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

I hung up. Dehan was watching me. I said, “You want to pick a team and search the church? Go over everything with a fine-toothed comb. Use your judgment. We are looking for a bowie knife and a large kitchen knife. Maybe they threw them in the trash, maybe they threw them in the river. Maybe they never had them in the first place. Maybe we will get lucky and they are buried in the garden.”

She stood. “Got it. I’ll get an unmarked…”

I reached in my pocket, pulled out my keys and threw them to her. “Take mine.”

She frowned. “You sure?”

“You’ve driven it half across the country, I think you’ll be alright driving it as far as East Bronx.”

“…Thanks.”

Twenty minutes later, Maria called me from the desk to say that Reverend Truelove and Humberto had arrived. I went to fetch them and led them up to interview room number three. Humberto was smiling a lot, like he thought the whole thing was a great gas. That didn’t surprise me so much. But the reverend was looking more resigned than worried, and that did. I wondered if it was because he thought the spotlight was off him and onto his son.

They sat side by side and I smiled at Humberto. He grinned back at me and made that sound teenage boys make when they’re embarrassed and they laugh, like a braying donkey.

I addressed his father. “Reverend, am I right in thinking that Humberto understands us when we speak English?”

“Up to a point, yes. But his vocabulary is limited.” He spread his hands. “It is limited by his mental capacity.”

I turned to his son. “Humberto, eu sou John. Tu es Humberto.”

He laughed like a kid who just got his favorite toy for Christmas.

I put my hand on my chest, then reached across and put my hand on his chest. “Eu e voce, amigos.”

It was like I had busted a dam. His voice was huge and he bellowed with a total lack of inhibition.

“Deo gratia! E un angelo! E un angelo! Voce angelo. Gratia Maria! Misericordia! Gratia!” And he laughed, rubbing his vast hands all over his face and his head, leaning against his father. “Amigo! Amigo!”

The reverend said, “You probably gather. He says you are an angel, and he is thanking Mary for your friendship.”

“Doesn’t he think of Sylvie as Mary?”

“Any woman whom he favors can become the Sacred Mother.”

“Mater Sancta, Maria…”

I put my hand on my chest again. “Eu, voce, Maria Sylvie, amigos.”

He was still smiling, but now his eyes were studying me. He spoke more quietly. “Angelo, angelo di la guarda. Humberto, angelo di la guarda, santisima madre, fili et pater noster, angelo di la guarda.”

I looked at Paul. “Is he saying that he is Sylvie’s guardian angel?”

“In as much as he is speaking