Already Dead, page 16
“Hi,” she said, trying not to give away the fact that her heart was still beating rapidly against her ribcage, making a deliberate attempt to physically relax herself. “Are you the Pastor here?”
“Yes, I am,” he said, smiling gently. He was younger than she had expected, perhaps in his forties. “My name is Pastor Williams. And you are?”
“Laura Frost,” she said, not quite sure why she wasn’t using her official title. She hadn’t even made the decision to skip it until the words were coming out of her mouth. “I’m interested in the candles. They kind of drew me in from outside.”
“Ah, our memorial candles.” Pastor Williams stepped closer, approaching the candles himself. His dark hair was only just shot through with gray at the sides, lending an air of distinction to an otherwise weak jaw and large nose. “Yes, they’re very popular with our congregation. Do you know how they work?”
“I don’t,” Laura lied, because she wanted to hear it from him. She was interested in him, this Pastor. Because who would be better acquainted with the idea of candles and what they could represent than someone who actually worked in the church?
“Well,” Pastor Williams said, with the kind of fatherly tone that Laura had noticed most priests tended to adopt, no matter the age of the person they were talking to. He reached out to take a long match from a stand beside the candles and lit it. “They represent the dead, for many of us. Or, rather, our prayers for the dead. When you light a candle, you think about a loved one who is now sadly departed, and you think of their soul in heaven. You pray that they are at eternal rest. You may even pray that you will see them again someday, when your souls are in the same place.” As he spoke, he touched the match to three candles, one at a time.
“You keep them lit after the person has gone?” Laura asked.
“Well, of course,” Pastor Williams said. “We want God to hear those prayers. And it’s very reassuring for us to see that others have loved ones they are thinking of, too. When we approach these candles, we can feel the weight of all those prayers, all that goodwill. See how the flames continue to burn bright and strong? They represent more than just prayer. They represent life, purity, and the strength and brightness of our eternal souls.”
“That’s a lot of meaning to pack into a single flame,” Laura said.
Pastor Williams gave a deep chuckle. “You may think so,” he said. “I believe it’s a kind of purification, keeping them lit. As they burn, they can take our worries with them. For the good of the church and for my parishioners, I like to let them burn as long as they can. To purify us all.”
Three candles, Laura thought. He’d lit just three. No more, no less. Could it be that he was thinking of three people who had been lost in the town recently?
Three young women whose lives had been taken by someone who believed in the power that candles held?
“Did you know Evelina Collins?” she asked softly, watching him with a pasted-on innocence on her face, wanting to see his true reaction, trying not to make him suspicious about why she was asking.
The Pastor sighed sadly, his gaze flickering over the candles. Almost as if one of them was specifically for her. “Yes, I’m afraid I did. She was a regular member here at our services. Poor soul.”
“What about the others?” Laura asked. Another test. She wanted to see if he knew their names. It wouldn’t mean he was guilty, but if he didn’t know who the latest victim was, then he might be innocent.
“Young Ashley hadn’t been to services for a while,” he said, shaking his head mournfully. “We always hope that the lost lambs will come back to the flock, but when something like this happens, it takes away that chance. I hope she’ll find peace, wherever she is.”
“Me, too,” Laura said, actually meaning it. He hadn’t mentioned the latest one, yet. Maybe he didn’t know…
“The worst of them is Cici Powers,” the Pastor said, sighing again. “Not long ago, I remember her standing up here and reading a poem during her father’s memorial service. The poor mother is a widow and now bereft of a child as well. It’s enough to test the strongest of our faiths. But I do believe she is with God now – and her father. That has to be something we can take as small comfort.”
Laura let a respectful silence lie between them for a moment, but she wasn’t done. Far from it. The new facts they had just added to the table were spinning inside her mind. One: all three victims had attended this church at one time or another, which finally gave her a concrete link between both the women and the precise type of candle left with their bodies. Two: this Pastor was also connected to all three of them by virtue of his connection to the church. Three: he was clearly obsessed with the candles, seeing something deep in their meaning.
“Were you here, when it happened?” Laura asked softly.
The Pastor sent a look in her direction, though it was far from a panicked one. “Why do you ask?” he said mildly.
“You’re here now,” Laura said, shrugging. “It was around this time that each of them was found, wasn’t it? Or a little later, perhaps.”
“You may be right, there,” the Pastor conceded. “Yes, I was here. I’m always here. Tending the candles, waiting for someone to come in. You’d be surprised how often we have a visitor this late at night. There’s no telling when someone will need the calming presence of God to reassure them, or to help them through a difficult time in their lives.”
“Always?” Laura asked. “Don’t you ever go home, Pastor?”
“I am home,” he said, giving her a beatific smile. “My apartment is attached to the rear of the church. It’s a solitary existence, but I am never alone. My God is always here with me.”
Laura translated that in her head. The Pastor had no alibi. No one would be able to confirm that he was here on his own at the time that the murder happened. She doubted that anyone was going to accept the word of God as a testimony in court.
It felt kind of weird, accusing a Pastor. But Laura wasn’t naïve. She knew that all kinds of people could be evil – and the church didn’t exactly have a great reputation all the time. She had to do it.
“ Pastor Williams,” she said. “My name is Special Agent Laura Frost with the FBI. I need you to come with me to answer some more questions.”
“Am I going to need a lawyer?” he asked, with the same placid calm.
Laura didn’t know why she was so surprised. He’d probably known she was an agent from the moment she walked through the doors; news traveled fast in a town like this, after all. “You are entitled to one,” she said. “At the moment, you aren’t under arrest, and I’d just like to talk in a more formal setting.”
“Then lead the way,” Pastor Williams said. “I’m more than happy to tell you whatever you need – but I can tell you now, I had nothing to do with these dreadful killings.”
Laura held out an arm, indicating for him to come along with her out of the church and towards her car. “Even so,” she said, and she couldn’t tell whether she was hoping to be right or not.
Because if she was right, then it was yet another example of a figure who should have been trusted betraying that trust and abusing his authority. But if she was wrong…
The killer was still on the streets, and the evening was not getting any younger.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Laura rubbed her forehead, flipping through the pages of the file she’d prepared while Pastor Williams was waiting in the interview room. His record was predictably blank. She had crime scene photographs from the three dead women, designed to shock and awe him into confessing – or at least confront him with what he had done. There was very little else she could take into the room with her.
When interviewing a suspect, Laura always liked to be armed. To have something to put in front of them, facts to read off. It was a good way to corner them, to make them give in or at least make an accidental mistake. But with this case, she had hardly anything to go on. She picked up a few blank sheets of paper to pad out the file, just to make it look as though she had more than she did.
“You wouldn’t have thought it to look at him, would you?” one of the local police officers – Mandy, Laura reminded herself – was saying as she walked by, deep in conversation with one of the men. Not Detective Waters – another one. Laura struggled to place him, but she had no idea what his name was. “All of that going on under the surface. I didn’t even know he was accused of anything before.”
That caught Laura’s ear. “Excuse me,” she said, holding out a hand to stop the two from passing her. “You’re talking about Pastor Williams?”
Mandy nodded. “Yes, we just can’t believe it.”
“What was he accused of before?” Laura asked. “There’s nothing on his record at all.”
“Oh, I think it was informal,” Mandy said, glancing at her colleague for confirmation.
He nodded. “Nothing was ever brought to us, but I heard it was taken to the church. To his superiors. There were a few local women who said he was a bit… you know. Inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate, how?” Laura asked. She needed specifics, not vagaries.
“I’m not sure exactly,” the male police officer said, shifting from foot to foot. “I just heard it was all hushed up.”
“Well, who did you hear it from?” Laura asked, growing increasingly impatient. Were these rumors anything more than rumors? She needed something more concrete if she was actually going to use it.
He cast around, looking for someone else. “I think it was Frank who heard it first. He must be out with your Agent Won. He said the guy is into some really kinky stuff, too – like having hot wax dripped on him.”
“Agent Won?” Mandy frowned, her expression one of total surprise and perhaps a little disgust.
“No, Pastor Williams,” the man said. “He likes it when they use the church candles, apparently.”
“And no one thought to mention this while we were looking for a murderer who left candles burning on his young, female victims?” Laura said, unable to stop the snap in her voice.
“Well,” he said, looking a little taken aback. “I mean, Frank did mention it in passing.”
Laura sighed and shook her head. “Evidence? Names, witnesses? Anything I can actually use?”
“You’d have to ask Frank,” he said, shifting again, actually taking a step back.
“Great,” Laura muttered, brushing past the two of them on her way to the interview room. It was all just hearsay, by the sound of things. They couldn’t use hearsay. It wasn’t helpful. At least she could bring it up as a way to get Pastor Williams to talk, but she’d hoped for a lot more than that.
She needed something that would help her to pin all of this on him and get him to confess, so that she knew she had the right man and could rest easy. So she could go home. Deal with Nate. Get ready for Lacey. Be there for Chris and Amy. Anything but having to watch the clock and wonder if another girl was already dead.
She walked into the room and put the file down on the table, taking a seat in the simple metal chair which she had grown to know as extremely uncomfortable. The only comfort in the matter was knowing that it was just as uncomfortable for the suspect – who, in this case, had chosen not to invite a lawyer along after all, and was sitting calmly with his hands folded in front of him.
“Agent Frost,” he said affably. “Are we to begin our conversation now?”
“We are,” she said, resting her hands on top of the folder and looking at him. “ Pastor Williams, I’d like to ask you again whether anyone can confirm your whereabouts yesterday evening – or the evenings of the Saturday and Thursday just past.”
“I’m afraid there’s no one,” Pastor Williams said regretfully. “I was at the church, on my own. I have only God as my witness.”
Laura took a breath, holding herself back from making some crack about Him not being able to take the stand. “There have been some disturbing accusations against you here in Pacific Cove,” she said, wanting to lead with the angle of what she had just heard.
Now, for once, Pastor Williams blinked. “There have?”
“Yes,” Laura said. She opened the file to one of the blank pages, tilting it towards herself as though she was reading. She wished she didn’t have to use this tactic, because she didn’t believe in following mere rumors. Yes, there was sometimes truth in them – but most of the time, they just hurt people and damaged communities. Still, with so much at stake, she couldn’t leave anything off the table. “Inappropriate conduct towards your female parishioners, for one thing.”
Pastor Williams frowned, though it wasn’t quite as severe an expression as it might have looked on someone else. Given the lack of wrinkles on his youthful skin, in comparison to the gray in his hair, Laura couldn’t help but imagine this was a man who frowned on very few occasions. “I haven’t ever been accused of anything of that sort,” he said. “At least, not that was ever brought to my attention.”
“That’s not the only thing a background check picked up,” Laura said. “This is more of a rumor, but I understand that you enjoy the use of candles.”
“I told you about that in the church,” Pastor Williams said, with a half-chuckle. “I do believe they help to purify the soul. There’s something about sending a prayer up to God and lighting that flame that gives a soul rest.”
“I mean a little more than that,” Laura said. She looked him right in the eye. “These women tell it that you enjoy having hot wax dripped onto your flesh. Is that the case, Pastor?”
Now he looked downright horrified for a moment – and then it lapsed into amusement. “That’s certainly an original rumor,” he said. “Unfortunately, there’s no basis in truth to it. In fact, when I do accidentally get hot wax on myself as I tend to the memorial candles, I usually end up swearing. A vice which I must then apologize most profusely for to my Lord and Savior.”
“I see,” Laura said, though she kept her tone neutral. Better to let him wonder whether she believed him or not than to make it too obvious. “How do you think these rumors came to be?”
Pastor Williams gave her a benign smile, as though he was about to impart some common wisdom to a young parishioner who didn’t have enough life experience yet. “In a small town like this, rumors are currency,” he said. “I’m sure there are things said about most of the people who live here. As a Pastor, I’m more of a target than most. But there’s no harm in it. Idle gossip never amounts to much.”
“ Pastor,” Laura said, shifting and sitting more upright. “I’d like for us to stop wasting time. Tell me what you did to these women, and let’s get them some peace. They can’t rest properly until their murders are solved. Let’s do that for them.”
“I would love to help you with that,” Pastor Williams replied calmly. There was no inflection in his voice, no hint that he had any worry or fear. “But I’m afraid I can’t. I don’t know who was responsible for these reprehensible crimes. I can only tell you that I was not involved.”
Laura looked at him then, measuring. He was unflappable. There were only ever two reasons why someone was unflappable.
Because they were a sociopath and absolutely convinced there was no chance that they were going to get caught, or because they were innocent and knew they would be proved as such in due course.
Whichever option it was, Laura could tell already that there was no way she was going to get anything more out of him unless she had something real to bring to the table. The lack of alibi, the connection to the women, the connection to candles – it all fit. And yet, it was circumstantial. Not enough to even really consider arresting him over. A good lawyer, if he’d bothered to call one, would have him out of here within the hour.
“I’m going to discuss this with my colleagues a little further,” Laura said, getting up. “I want you to really consider the implications of a confession. I know you’re aware of how they can unburden the soul – and in this case, it could also get you a much reduced sentence. Do consider that, and if you decide you’re ready while I’m out, all you have to do is let the officer posted at the door know.”
She left him with those words in his head, just in case she was wrong, and he really was the killer. And she left, returning to the rest of the local police department in their one small room.
“I need everyone to stay alert,” she announced to the room as a whole. “Until or unless we get a confession from Pastor Williams, we need to assume the killer is still at large. No one lets their guard down. Got that?”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
He sat in the shadows, watching the pattern that the candles cast on the floor.
It was a shame that the Pastor had been taken away. It really was. He’d watched it all from back here, where no one ever seemed to notice him. Not even the Pastor himself. He had a kind of talent for blending in with the shadows, not being seen. People would walk by him sometimes like he wasn’t even there, even when he wasn’t hiding on purpose.
The Pastor had always been very nice to him. That was one of the reasons he kept coming back here – for the Pastor’s kind words. He liked to stand at the candles until the Pastor came out and then pretend that he’d only just arrived, just to hear something nice. And sometimes he would hide and listen to the Pastor saying nice things to other people.
You could learn a lot about other people that way.
But, still, he knew it was necessary. The Pastor hadn’t done anything wrong, and someone would figure that out sooner or later. The church was safe in the meantime, because he was here, and he was sure that the Pastor would be able to handle it. And while the police were talking to the Pastor, it meant they weren’t looking for him.
Not that they had done a very good job of looking so far – but he preferred it when they weren’t looking at all. It meant that he only had to hide from the people that he didn’t want to see him. Not from the police as well.
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