Unholy Shepherd, Robert Christian [fastest ebook reader TXT] 📗

“I have, sadly,” the priest replied. “I’ve kept abreast of the local news. Though, actually, it was your companion, there, who first brought them to my attention.”

Both men turned their heads to Maureen. She felt the color in her face drain and her feet back up one step.

“Don’t judge her, Detective,” Father Patrick said, reaching out and touching the detective on the shoulder. “I assure you, I just happened to run into her after each occurrence, and in my work, I’ve found that people are simply comfortable talking to me about things that are disturbing them.”

Detective Benitez gazed at the old man, and it appeared to Maureen that he was trying to study the man, like a poker player looking for a tell. Father Patrick’s face, however, betrayed nothing. He was going to keep their private conversations to himself it seemed.

“So, Detective,” Father Patrick said, leaning himself casually on a nearby table, “I suspect you have found something in your investigation that you feel I may be able to help shed some light upon.”

“What do you know about Commiphora gileadensis?”

“Though I am familiar with Latin, Detective, I’m afraid I’m not fluent.”

“Balsam? Or, if you like, Balm of Gilead.”

“Ah, of course,” Father Patrick exclaimed with a muted laugh, “I suppose it is rather obvious when you think about the name. Yes, it’s a plant from the Middle East, I believe. Balsam is the primary ingredient in chrism.”

“Exactly,” said Detective Benitez. “Thing is, we found quite a bit of the stuff on one of the bodies. The coroner’s office originally thought it was an accelerant used to start the fire, but lab reports confirmed it was a mixture of balsam and olive oil. It seems that the murderer covered the body and wood in the stuff before lighting them on fire.”

“Anointing them, you mean,” the priest said, the joviality of his voice disappearing.

Manny nodded as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his notebook. “Father, the two boys were children of two of your parishioners. How well do you know Tom Lowes and Sandra Locke?”

“Lowes and Locke,” the priest said thoughtfully. “Yes, I’m familiar with both of them. They have attended St. Mary’s as long as I’ve been here, and I’m sure even before that. They almost never missed a Sunday. Quite devout Catholics, both of them. Fixtures in the confessional, which I must say is relatively rare in this day and age. Mr. Lowes is a member of our lay council and the Knights of Columbus, if memory serves. And I’m mostly familiar with Mrs. Locke because of her son. One of the first things I learned about my congregation upon my arrival was of the surgery that saved his life. There were many prayers for that little one, I can assure you. Some people called him difficult, but the boy’s soul was so gentle. I had no troubles with him in our First Communion classes.”

“Was Jacob Lowes in those classes, too?”

“Yes, now that you mention it. In fact, they just celebrated their First Communion at Mass about a month ago.”

“Father,” said Manny, finishing his notes and looking back up at the priest. “It’s come up in our investigation, that it appears Tom Lowes and Sandra Locke were involved in some sort of conspiracy to defraud the county of a substantial amount of money.”

“How terrible.”

“What would you say if I told you that it appears that the bodies of these two boys were staged in a manner suggesting an Old Testament sacrifice?”

“I would say that it’s a horrifying thought. Though, now that you mention the holy oil, I could see why you would think that.”

“Do you know of the reference in the Bible?”

“Of course I know it. Leviticus, chapter six. Though I don’t generally hold with the burning of sacrifices as the best method for atonement.”

“We’re working on the theory that there is someone else involved with the defrauding of the county,” the detective continued, mirroring the priest’s lean on the table, “and they are using both victims’ beliefs to send a message through these murders. They might even be someone else in the congregation.”

“I confess, Detective, I don’t intimately know everyone in my congregation, but I consider myself a fairly good judge of character. And I can’t think of anyone in my flock who could be capable of something like this.”

“Well, not to disregard your analysis of people, but is there any way that someone from the church could steal a large quantity of holy oil from your stores?”

“We keep it locked up in the sacristy. Although, I’m not sure we keep enough on hand at any one time to cover a burning body in the way you’ve described. And truthfully, my junior priest, Father Preston, handles the ordering and stocking of things like that. He’s in my office working on his sermon for this Sunday. I’ll go grab him and have him take you into the back to discuss the inventory.”

Father Patrick retreated around the corner to the side hallway. Detective Benitez blew out of his lips and paced back and forth in front of the door.

“Do you think Father Patrick had something to do with this?” she asked, surprised that she found herself even caring.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “We’re looking for a person with intimate knowledge of the Bible who might be tied to this church. But he’s being more than helpful, and I don’t want to think ill of a priest. Of course, I don’t have to ask how you feel about him.” The detective flashed his infuriating smirk at her.

She scrunched her nose in response.

“Oh, come on,” he said, “it’s pretty obvious that you like him. And what was that about dinner plans?”

“It’s not like that. It’s just talking.”

“Hey, I’m not judging. Everyone needs someone to talk to.”

The sound of a pair of footsteps coming around the corner prevented Maureen from replying, much to her relief.

“Detective,” Father Patrick said as he came into view with the young