Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #4: Books 13-16 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [story read aloud .txt] 📗

“I’m sorry, Dehan. I didn’t intend to slap you down. I’m sorry it came across that way. Lenny almost killed several people through jumping to assumptions. In the end, he was killed, and had he not been killed, he would have been wrongly prosecuted, and possibly sentenced to life in prison, through cops jumping to conclusions that seemed obvious, but were wrong. I agree with you that the evidence against Sam is almost overwhelming. But when I ask myself if I know that he did it, I have to answer that I don’t. Do I know that Helen didn’t do it? No, I don’t.”

She crossed her arms and looked down at the spray bouncing off the blacktop. “How tall is she?”

“Five ten, maybe five eleven.”

“Is she strong enough? How would she know about Samuel’s workplace…?”

I burst out laughing. “I don’t know, Dehan! That’s why we need to talk to her!”

“OK! OK! I get it!”

“Come on, this is in for the duration, we have to make a dash for it.”

As I said it, the door behind me opened and Maria, the desk sergeant, leaned out. “Detective Stone, there’s a call for you.”

“Who?”

“Father Arundel.”

“Who?”

“Father Arundel, of the Blessed Sacrament Church.”

Dehan screwed up her brow. “Isn’t that the church opposite the Reynolds’ house.”

“Yeah.” I turned back to Maria. “I’ll take it at my desk, Sergeant.”

Dehan followed me to the detectives’ room. We both sat and I put the phone on speaker.

“Father Arundel, Detective Stone here. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I am very glad to hear from you, Detective. Your desk sergeant feared you might have left already.”

“We were on our way to the Reynolds’ house, just opposite you.”

“Oh, indeed? Well, it was about that that I was calling, Detective.”

“You have some information that might help our investigation?”

“Not exactly, but uh… Samuel is here, in the church, right now, with his sister…”

I waited. I could hear his breathing. “Father? Are you all right?”

“It’s, uh… He’s here with his sister, Helen…” His voice was unsteady. “And he is up at the altar, holding a kitchen knife to her throat, and he says he will kill her if you do not come immediately and do God’s will.”

Dehan and I were staring at each other across the phone. Mo had stopped what he was doing at his desk and was staring over at us both. I said, “He wants me to go to the church and do God’s will?”

“That is correct, Detective.”

“And what is God’s will? What is it I have to do?”

“Well, what is God’s will and what Samuel believes is God’s will may not necessarily be the same thing. However, I have no doubt he will tell you just as soon as you get here, which I hope will be sooner rather than later, Detective Stone.”

“We’re on our way, Father. Keep talking to him, and try to sound calm, like everything is OK.”

“Very well.”

Dehan raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Have faith, Father. Everything is God’s will.”

I hung up and we stood. Mo’s mouth was slightly open as he watched us. I studied him for a moment with a slight frown. “Have you much experience with hostage situations on church altars, Mo, where you are required by the hostage-taker to do God’s will? Any advice for me?”

He shook his head and his bottom lip wobbled slightly.

“Damn!” I said. “I was sure you were my guy. Catch you later, dude.”

As we were reaching the door, he said, “Yeah, later...”

We ran down the steps and through the rain to the Jag. I backed out of the lot and skidded left onto Storey Avenue, then accelerated through the downpour toward Rosedale. Dehan said, “You want backup?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t want to spook him. But hold that thought. Things could change pretty fast.”

“How do you want to handle this?”

“Try to help him relax and come down. He’s having a crisis. Let’s help him through it. We’ll talk and find out what’s going on in his mind.”

“He wants to talk to you. What do you want me to do?”

“Stay close. If things get out of hand, call for back up. Don’t draw your piece unless you’re absolutely sure he’s going to hurt Helen—or somebody else.”

She nodded, then glanced at me sidelong. “You might be able to draw a confession out of him.”

“You never know.”

I skidded onto Rosedale and then sped north with hazards flashing and leaning on the horn. Dehan asked, “Haven’t you got a siren?”

“Yeah, I’m using it.”

“Jesus, Stone! Get a damned siren!”

The tires complained turning right into Watson, but the Jag clung to the road like freaked cat on a tiled floor. Then I jumped the lights onto Beach Avenue, took my hand off the horn and cruised to a stop outside the church. The iron gate was open, as were the big, wooden doors set in the stone, Tudor arch.

We ran through the rain and up the stone steps into the vast, domed interior. It was more like a small cathedral than a church, with great, towering arches reaching high into the vault above, and a domed copula over the altar. Behind the altar, the wall gleamed with gold leaf, and a vast crucifix suspended from the wall, with that symbol of Man’s eternal suffering, the tragic figure of Jesus, nailed, weeping and bleeding to the wood. All around him, rich, elaborate statues and paintings adorned the walls and recesses, and candles flickered, illuminating his eternal punishment for that which he had never done.

I couldn’t see Samuel or Helen, or the priest. I called out, “Father Arundel?” and my voice echoed and seemed to roll around the vast nave. Among the echoes, another added itself to the