The Evil Inside

14

A crowd had gathered around Sedge’s grocery store.

Police tape, of course, prevented onlookers from coming too close. An emergency vehicle stood near the front door, helping the police create a shield to stop the curious from looking in.

John Alden, after conferring with one of the medical examiners, looked up to see that Sam was there with Jenna at his side.

He walked over to them and lifted the tape.

“It’s not what you think-you can see for yourself. And this is a courtesy, just so that you don’t get conspiracy theories running around in your mind,” John asked.

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” Sam asked in reply.

“You’re thinking the old guy was murdered, that he was being shut up just in case the D.A.’s office decided to charge Malachi with the Earnest Covington murder. But Milton Sedge wasn’t murdered,” John said.

“Okay. Then how did he die? Heart attack? What happened?” Sam asked. It was just too damned convenient that Sedge-the one voice to stand against the boys who claimed to have seen what they hadn’t-was dead.

“Damnedest thing-well, he was an old coot, you know. And I couldn’t believe it myself at first, but he was done in by olive oil.”

If John Alden weren’t so grimly serious, Sam would have been tempted to laugh. As it was, he couldn’t speak for a moment.

“Excuse me?” Jenna finally said.

“Bad shelving, and being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” John explained. “He was having a special on those gallon tins of olive oil. Extra-extra-virgin olive oil. We have a large Italian community up here, you know… Sometime this week, they’d done up a display with tin on top of tin. He must have jounced against the stack, and the tins and the shelf and everything came down. I just talked to the medical examiner-he received a lot of good head wounds, but it is possible that his old ticker stopped when all those gallons upon gallons crashed down on him. They’re heavy as hell, especially for an oldtimer like Sedge-test them yourselves one of these days.”

“I’ve held a gallon of olive oil, John,” Sam said.

“Well, then you imagine dozens of those suckers coming down on you,” John said.

Sam glanced to the side. A group of Sedge’s employees had gathered there. They were sobbing softly, from some of his cashiers-nearing retirement themselves-to his younger stock and bag boys and girls.

He walked over to the crowd. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

One woman let out a loud wail and fell into his arms. She took him by surprise, but he put his arms around her to pat her gently on the back. “So sorry,” he said again. “There, there,” he said ineffectually, but it seemed to help.

The woman tried to compose herself. “It was all my fault!” she wailed.

“Mabel!” another of the elderly cashiers protested. “Honey, it was not your fault. Mr. Sedge wanted that display, and he told everyone exactly how he wanted it set up.”

“No, no…” Mabel moaned. “I left. I left. I walked to the back and said that it was all closed up and I was leaving. And I told him to come lock the door. I should have waited. We should have left together!”

Sam kept trying to console the woman, but he felt a new spark of anger and suspicion. He held Mabel at arm’s length. “Mabel, you’re saying that you left him alone in the store, with the door open?”

“Oh!” She started to sob again.

“No, no, Mabel, this wasn’t your fault!” he said quickly and lifted her chin. “Was the store empty when you left?”

She frowned, looking at him. “Well, yes. I mean, well, yes, I think so. I did the call over the announcement system. I asked everyone to check out, and announced that we were closing. I turned off the lights-except, of course, we have the safety lights. And the lights were still on back in the office, but it gets kind of dark in here-shadowy, at least. Oh, that’s it! He didn’t see that he was going to run into the display. Oh! Oh, no, it could have been a child. But the shelving was behind the tins…” She broke down in tears again.

“There, there,” Sam said.

Jenna had come to stand quietly beside him. He looked at her helplessly.

She slipped in, putting her arms around the woman. “Mabel, none of this is your fault, and you get that out of your head.”

“He missed his wife, honey,” another woman said hopefully. “At least he’s with her now.”

“Yes, that’s true, that’s true…” Mabel agreed, but then she sobbed again. “But he loved his kids and his grandkids!”

“But he’s with his wife, and he probably missed her terribly,” Jenna said.

Jenna managed to get Mabel into the arms of another of the women.

She grabbed Sam’s sleeve. “I want to see the body,” she told him.

He frowned, staring at her.

“Sam, I’m an R.N. Not a pathologist or anything, but I’ve been around an emergency room a time or two. I want to take a look at the body.” She looked up at him with her green eyes earnest and clear.

He nodded, caught her hand and made his way to John Alden.

“You really want to allay my suspicions-and those of anyone else, should questions arise, which you know they will,” Sam said. He added, “Please.”

John started to let out a sigh of exasperation, but then he looked at Jenna, and he seemed to hesitate, perhaps remembering the fact that she’d brought in the horned god costume that yielded results.

He groaned. “What? What? What now?”

“I’d like to see him, please,” she said.

John scowled. “The medical examiner has cleared us to have the body taken to the morgue.”

“I’ll only need a minute or two,” Jenna said.

“What now, what now?” John demanded.

“What now-you’re a good cop. And, of course, that doesn’t mean that you have to agree to do any favors for me. But, come on, John. You don’t want me having to question you later, or say that you were willing to accept the obvious with no question.”

“Pain, royal pain, in my ass,” John told him.

“But I’m right sometimes,” Sam said.

“You got two minutes. And be careful-hell, I don’t want either of you dead or crippled by olive oil.”

Then John called to the officers who were holding the line at the door. “Let them in!”

Inside, techs were still marking off positions. It was obvious, though, that the rush had been to attempt to save a man’s life, not preserve the scene. Towels had hastily been spread on the floor to keep emergency help from sliding into mayhem themselves, and the offending cans had been tossed everywhere.

But a path had been cleared to the body, and Sam watched as Jenna carefully made her way to Sedge’s bloodied and crumpled form.

“Excuse me?” the medical examiner, who had been writing on a chart, asked with a frown.

“Alden’s permission, Doctor,” Sam said. The M.E. lifted an eyebrow, but he didn’t protest.

“We’ll be taking him out in just a minute,” the doctor said.

“There will be an autopsy,” Sam said.

“Of course. Accidental death,” the M.E. assured him. “And that didn’t take a medical opinion. Just look at what happened here. Of course, that’s not official. As you said, certainly, there will be an autopsy.”

Jenna didn’t touch the dead man. She went down on her knees, heedless of the conditions around her, and studied the injuries. As she looked down, she felt a strange ripple down her spine. She looked up.

And the dead man was there, looking down at her and at his broken body, incredible sadness in his eyes. He looked from his mangled form to her eyes, and he formed a single word with his ghostly lips.

“Murder!”

Jenna looked back to the corpse. Then, true to her word, she was up in a minute. She smiled her thanks to the M.E. and the techs that had paused to watch her.

“R.N.,” she said weakly.

“Honey, he’s way past that!” one of the techs said.

“Yes, I can see that,” Jenna assured the woman.

She walked to Sam, nodding, and they headed back out.

John Alden was right in front, still trying to soothe the crowd while writing in his notebook.

“See-death by olive oil,” he said, and there was no humor in his voice.

“Yes, definitely, the tins killed him,” Jenna said. “There was no sign of a heart attack, although, of course, I’m not an M.E.”

“No, you’re not,” John said firmly. “But why do you say that?”

She arched her eyebrows, playing for time as she sorted out what she had seen in her mind. She wasn’t going to tell John Alden that the dead man’s corpse had been standing over his earthly remains.

“Well, on the one hand, there were deep contusions and lacerations on his head. It would be like being beaten to death,” she said. “And, in my mind, his coloring-I’d expect different coloring from a heart attack. What time are they estimating time of death? I’m going to say early last evening.”

John stared at her, perplexed.

“Well?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, on cursory inspection, that’s what the M.E. believes. He must have had the accident when he was closing up,” John said.

“Who found him?” Sam asked. “The store is closed on Sundays.”

“His son came when his dad wasn’t at church. We’ve sent him on home. He has to tell his wife and kids. And…it wasn’t good for him to be hanging around here,” John said, sympathy in his voice. “Now, I called you. I let you see the situation-and the body. Can I get back to work?”

“Yes. Thanks, John,” Sam said, pausing before adding, “Oh, and, hey, by the way, if it’s an accidental death, why are you here? I thought you only worked homicide.”

Alden hesitated, looking at him. He sighed. “With the mess going on in Salem, naturally I’m going to be called to the site of any accidental death. And Sedge’s son called it in as a homicide. Since he might have been called as a witness in the one of the current murder cases, I decided I was going to stick with it and investigate it thoroughly. Happy?”

“You bet I am,” Sam said. “Thanks.”

“Thanks,” Jenna added as Sam set his hand on her back, leading her from the crowd. Local stations were setting up cameras. Sam saw that a cable channel was already live and he knew from experience each one of them was hoping for a sensational scene. If it bleeds, it leads. But if it wasn’t sensational, it wasn’t national.

Jamie, Jackson and Angela were once again around the kitchen table at Jamie’s house; they’d been watching the news. Jenna told them what had happened at the store.

She was surprised when Sam’s fist hit the table. He didn’t seem to give in to frustration frequently. “He was murdered. Death by olive oil. Like hell-it was murder by olive oil. Someone was in that store, and someone beat him to death with those cans.”

“Coincidence?” Jamie asked.

“I don’t believe in coincidence. Especially not when it’s this convenient,” Sam said.

“I don’t believe in coincidence, either,” Jackson agreed and began firing off questions that Sam answered wearily. No, the door hadn’t been locked. One of his longtime clerks had been the last to see him. No, Jenna was damned sure that he hadn’t died of a heart attack when the tins had started to fall. He’d been discovered by his son, who had called it in as a homicide.

Jackson’s phone rang as they were sitting there. Seeing it was Jake, he put the phone on speaker.

“Interesting news that might not have been easy to find, unless, of course, you thought to look in all the right places,” Jake told them.

“Quit gloating and tell us what you’ve got,” Jenna said.

“First, I found-public record, Jackson-articles for the Old Meeting House when it was founded, and when it was designated a house of worship. They requested more tax exemptions and conscientious objector status for some members, and a petition that was signed by most of the membership. Now, who didn’t sign, that I don’t know. That was something I had to dig for, so I’m thinking most of them signed it, assuming it was a private petition. I’ve emailed the list to all of you-including you, Sam. Your contact info was easy enough to find.”

“Thanks,” Sam said glumly.

“No problem,” Jake said cheerfully. “And here, children, is something that you should know.”

“Spit it out, Jake!” Jenna warned.

“Be nice, Miss Duffy! All right, your two prospective buyers are in business together.”

“What?” Sam said, staring at Jenna with disbelief.

“Oh, yeah. There’s a lot of ‘doing business as’ going on in both of their lives, but Andy Yates and Samantha Yeager are in business together. One of his company’s companies is called Magic Madam. In any other state, it might have been a cleaning service-I think Magic Madam and Her Gals is the name of a cleaning corporation somewhere in Georgia. Sorry, never mind. Anyway, seems like the money to start up came from Yates. He’s the investor and she’s the workforce.”

“Well, Andy Yates did say that he knew her and that she was an impressive woman,” Sam said drily.

“Well, she is impressive-I’m just not sure what her impression is!” Angela said.

“Ah, think about it,” Sam said. “With the right guy…you never know.”

Jackson glanced at him. “You mean someone with a repressed home life and a wife who’s kind of a delicate flower but longs to be supermom and probably has no time for her husband?”

“Yep. Exactly what I was thinking,” Sam said.

“Jake, you’re brilliant!” Jenna said.

“I’m even more brilliant. I looked up the school’s football team. And I can tell you this. On the afternoon that Peter Andres was killed, Councilman Yates and his son were at one of the school’s major football matches-in Revere. There’s a newspaper picture of the councilman with his arm around his son after the school won against Lynn, Mass. I tried all the timing-the kid was in the game all day, and the whole team, along with Dad, celebrated at a restaurant in Peabody that evening. That accounts for daddy Yates, baby boy Yates and even Joshua Abbott for at least ten hours, and, according to the medical report, Peter Andres was killed between two in the afternoon and six in the evening.”

Jenna looked at Sam, who appeared frustrated. “Thanks, Jake, you’re still brilliant, you know, despite that.”

“Well, thank you there, Miss Duffy. I’m still on the list of members belonging to the Old Meeting House.”

“Jake,” Sam said, “what I’d like you to find out is if you can cross-reference members with people who have children in the school. We’ll be heading there tomorrow when the police go in to question the kids and drama department.”

“I’ll be on it. Should have more answers for you later in the day.”

When they hung up, Sam glanced around. “I wish he was my researcher.”

Jenna smiled. “Jake’s the best,” she said. Her mind, however, was reeling with what the researcher had told them. She didn’t want to share her suspicion yet, not until she had done a little sleuthing on her own. With Sam, despite the fact that he seemed to have accepted her and the others, she wanted facts. “So, Sam Hall, Esquire, where do we go from here?”

Sam drummed his fingers on the table. “I say it’s time to pay another visit to Madam Samantha. The clerk said that she was working during the Covington murder and the Smith family murders. I still want to talk to her again. Obviously she knows much more than she’s shared so far. We could try to catch up with the councilman, but it’s Sunday, and I bet Mrs. Yates won’t let him let any of us near him at this point. That leaves Madam Samantha.”

“I could go to church,” Angela suggested.

They all looked at her.

“Well,” she said. “No one knows me yet at the Old Meeting House. If it’s a fundamentalist group, I’m willing to bet that they meet all day.”

“I can go with Angela,” Jenna said. She didn’t really want to go, but she wanted to make sure that Sam didn’t rope her into going with him. She needed to do what she wanted to do on her own, at first. She had a hunch, and if her hunch was right, the crime-scene photos might prove it.

“No, too many people know that you’re working with me. None of the church members would have seen Angela yet, so she could go,” Sam said. “Except, of course, I think you’ve all had your pictures in national magazines at one time or another.”

“If they recognize me, they’ll kick me out,” Angela said.

“All right. Angela, you head to church,” Jackson said.

“What about Joshua Abbott?” Jenna asked. “He was one of the people wearing the horned god costume at the ball last night.”

“We’ll get to Joshua tomorrow at school,” Sam said.

“You could try to speak with him today-his mother never threatened you,” Jenna pointed out.

“Ouch!” Sam said. “All right, I can try to get that in today, too. If not, I’ll have John Alden make sure he breaks up the two-David Yates and Joshua Abbott-tomorrow. Even if we’re considering them cleared, they know something. Call it a hunch.”

“A hunch, huh?” Jackson said, smiling. “Just messing with you. I can do my part and try to get to the rest of the Abbott family.”

“I’d like to speak with Milton Sedge’s son,” Sam said. “But I don’t want to intrude so immediately on his grief, especially since none of us can do so now in an official capacity. This evening, maybe. John Alden isn’t going to give me any help with that. He’s convinced it was an accident that killed Milton Sedge. But I don’t want to sit around, either, and with what we know now, I think that Madam Samantha could answer a few more questions.” He looked at Jackson. “Madam Samantha definitely has a bold edge to her, and she seems to like to taunt men. Jackson, you and I will go to see if we can’t get in for more readings.” He grinned at Jenna. “No offense-you’re not her type.”

“No offense taken,” Jenna assured him, relieved. She hesitated.

“Madam Samantha, Joshua Abbott-and Sedge’s son,” Jackson said.

“Sam, do you have the police photos taken at all the murders?”

He shook his head. “Just the Smith family crime scene.”

“Then I think I’ll pay a visit to the police station. Can you call John Alden for me? At his level, he’s probably typically off on Sundays-probably rushing home after having been called in this morning.”

Sam groaned. “If you want the photos, I should go with you.”

“Maybe it’s best if I just go,” Jenna said. She smiled. “John Alden is a good guy, like you said. I think he’ll help me. You call, I’ll talk. I have a hunch. I just want to see something. I’ll go to the station, see the photos, and then I’ll just hang around on the street and watch Will’s form of magic. We can meet up there.”

The bored clerk still liked Sam. She probably knew exactly who he was by then, but she still seemed to like him.

And she still turned him down.

“You know, we’re in full swing here these days,” she noted. “Halloween is just two days away. You’ve got to understand. Madam Samantha is in the highest demand. She’s doubled her rates for these last few days, and we’re still turning people away. I can’t possible slip you in today.”

“She must come out to breathe… Maybe I could take her for lunch, coffee, drinks…something?” he asked hopefully.

“And I haven’t had a chance for a reading at all,” Jackson said.

“No. No, no and no-and I’m so, so sorry!” the girl said. “Look, I do readings too, you know.”

Sam was thinking quickly of something courteous and politic to say in return when a client in Gothic attire came out from behind the curtain. Madam Samantha followed, stopping dead when she saw Sam and Jackson.

“I was just telling them how busy you were,” the clerk said.

Madam Samantha smiled slowly. She pointed at Sam. “You. You, come with me.”

“Go get her, buddy,” Jackson whispered lightly to Sam. “I’ll talk to the charming clerk for a bit and see if I can’t still verify our tarot reader’s whereabouts, see if there was any way she might have slipped out during the murders.”

Sam followed the sultry “psychic” to the back. He was curious that she had decided to see him. She knew who he was, and she had to know he was trying to trip her up. What the hell was it that gave her so much confidence?

They went back to her curtained area. She took her seat behind her table with its crystal ball and tarot deck. She indicated the chair in front of the table.

“Getting tired of Red already?” she asked him.

“Maybe,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure you out.”

She lifted her hands and offered him one of her overtly sexual smiles. “What’s to figure out, Mr. Hall? I’m an open book. You want to accuse me of murder because it’s always the sexually unabashed and brassy woman who turns out to be the murderer. Come now, Mr. Hall, you’re a renowned attorney! You know the world doesn’t work that way. I was here, right here. I have a dozen witnesses to testify that I was working when the Smith family was killed. What? Do you think you’re in Salem and you can use spectral evidence? My astral self went out and committed murder while I was here, in the flesh, with a dozen clients?”

“No,” Sam said. “I believe that you didn’t kill the Smith family.”

“Then?”

“I want to know about your partnership with Andy Yates.”

She lowered her eyes and smiled slowly. “Hmm. Yes, well, someone dug deep to find out about that.”

“Business agreements like that are public record,” Sam reminded her.

“Yes, but…never mind. We weren’t trying to hide assets from the government or anything. Yates just wanted it all…well, he’s a councilman.”

Sam leaned forward. “You’re the talent, I take it.”

“I think you know that.”

“And he’s the money.”

“He does do well,” she said.

“But you both tried to buy the Lexington House. Wasn’t that a conflict of interest?”

She shrugged. “One of us might have gotten it.”

Sam frowned, leaning back. “So why would Councilman Yates loan you money? Were you having an affair with him?”

She smiled. “Well, you see, that’s none of your business.” She rose, walking around the table and leaning against it so that her legs were pressed against him. “I should just tell you to go to hell. I obviously am innocent of the Smith murders, and the police have a kid in custody who was covered in blood. But I do like you. I like your scent, and I like your size, and I even like your face, Mr. Hall. Still, I am getting bored of all this.” She leaned forward, hands on her knees, pressing her cleavage tight. “Next time you call me, it had better be to get laid, or I’m not going to talk to you again.”

She stood. “Now get out.”

Sam smiled and rose. “Madam Samantha, you’re right about one thing.”

“You really do want to get laid by someone who offers real excitement?” she asked.

“I’m a good attorney. I’ll find a way to bring you into the courtroom.”

“Really? But you don’t have a witness anymore, do you? Poor Mr. Sedge was found dead today in a pool of olive oil!”

“I can see your concern.”

“I’ve been here, working. You know that yourself.” Her anger had returned to her face with a vengeance.

“Before I was an attorney, in law school, I went and got my private investigator’s license, and I know a lot about breaking alibis,” he said pleasantly.

“Call me when you want to sleep with me, honey. You don’t even need to buy dinner,” she said, and winked.

“Oh, honestly, I don’t think that will be the case,” he said pleasantly, and he walked back out to the main shop room.

Jackson was leaning over the counter, smiling as he chatted with the clerk. He arched an eyebrow at Sam. Sam thanked the clerk and paid his bill for Madam Samantha’s time.

He and Jackson walked out of the shop.

“The place does have a back door,” Jackson informed him. “But Madam Samantha was fully booked with clients when the murders occurred at Lexington House.”

“And when Earnest Covington was killed?”

“Not quite as packed, but still here.”

As they stood on the street, he noted a couple walking by hand in hand. They were both dressed as vampires-she was beautiful, and he was handsome. They made a cute couple; the costumes were exactly alike, except that his had pants and hers had a long black skirt.

It struck him that many people loved masks and costumes because they were able to be different people by wearing them. And, in fact, people could be each other.

“Jackson, what if…what if there were two people involved?” Sam asked. “Such as two people who were having an affair? That would explain the costume. If the killer was seen in costume, and the plan was to commit several murders, it would be natural to suspect that it was the same person. A costume takes away an identity. That’s what we’ve been going on all along. But what if there were two people involved-maybe two people who were having an affair?”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” John Alden told Jenna. “I mean, I can’t believe it. You’re Sam’s friend, Jamie’s niece…and damned good-looking, but still, I can’t believe I’m doing this!” he said.

Jenna laughed. “You’re doing it because you’re a good officer of the law, John.”

“What do you think you’re going to get from the crime-scene photos? You’ve seen the blood spray, so you know the murders were vicious and horrible.”

Jenna nodded. “I know. I’ve never seen the victims in situ.”

“Tell Sam I don’t think I’m going to answer the phone anymore when he calls,” John said, sliding open a desk drawer.

“I will not, because it’s not true,” Jenna said.

John groaned. “I love Salem. I love my home. I love the Wiccans, the shops, the people who shake their heads at the Wiccans and still appreciate all the tourism they bring in. I love the historians, who also shake their heads at the Wiccans, except for those who are themselves Wiccans. I haven’t had my badge that long, and I’ve explained that the chief wants this investigated and properly so. I want this to be solved, and over.”

Jenna smiled at him. “See? And that’s why you’re helping me,” she assured him.

He laid out a number of folders, pulling the photos from them.

“I told you-they’re a gruesome sight.”

“Yes,” Jenna said. The photos depicted tremendous carnage. She had to study them carefully. And she thought that she found what she was looking for-even though she hadn’t actually known what she was looking for when she started out. But if all their suspects had an alibi for one of the murders, it seemed now that she might have discovered why.

“John, look at the ones of Peter Andres.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s not as much overkill.”

“What are you talking about? He’s hacked to pieces.”

“Hacked-just to make sure he’s dead. Now, look at the photos of Earnest Covington.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s- Well, he’s far worse.”

“The killer was escalating. Isn’t that the kind of thing you all preach about at the FBI? Or in your behavioral units?”

“Yes, sometimes. But I don’t think that it’s true in this case.”

“You’re losing me completely.”

“I think we’re looking at two different killers,” Jenna said.

John’s thick eyebrows shot up. “Two killers,” he repeated. He nodded grimly. “People thought they saw old man Smith when Peter Andres was killed, but eyewitness accounts are remarkably unreliable. Everyone knew that Smith hated Peter Andres-Andres wanted Malachi taken away from his parents. Andres believed that living with Abraham Smith was like living with an abusive parent, even if Smith didn’t technically beat the kid.”

“I wasn’t really suggesting that Abraham Smith killed Peter Andres…” Jenna said.

“But it’s possible. He had motive. And he certainly owned an ax!”

“You didn’t find an ax at the murder scene, did you?”

John scowled. “You’d know if we had. Right, right, the bloody ax was at the Smith house. Andres was a scythe. Maybe Abraham Smith killed Peter Andres-and his son knew it and just went crazier and crazier because Peter Andres was his one hope, his one salvation…and his father had killed him.”

“As far as I understand, several witnesses saw Abraham Smith on the day Peter Andres was killed,” Jenna said. “And, as you said, and as I believe, people are basically decent. It’s the odd man out who usually causes death and mayhem. And if Malachi Smith was going crazy with fury against his father, why kill Earnest Covington first?”

“Maybe Earnest saw the kid getting ready to kill his folks,” John suggested.

“No, that didn’t happen,” Jenna said, thinking about her experience in the Covington house.

John wagged a finger at her. “And how do you know that, Jenna? A ghost told you so?”

“John, be rational,” she said, not about to share the workings of her inner mind with him. John Alden certainly had to know something about her official work and their team, but she’d never tried to explain to him that she could see ghosts. “Covington couldn’t have possibly seen Malachi-or anyone-from inside that parlor of his. And if he’d been outside, Malachi would have attacked him there, right? Besides, Earnest Covington’s door was open. He had just gone back in his house and was killed while thinking about his son. The evidence shows that.”

“The evidence in your mind!” John said.

“We know that the costume worn by Peter Andres’s killer came from the drama department at the school,” Jenna reminded him.

“Abraham Smith could have gotten a hold of it.”

“I doubt it! He would have been reported at the school-he, as in any member of the Smith family. Malachi Smith was out of school then, and pretty much so despised,” Jenna reminded him.

“I’m not buying your explanation,” John said.

“Well, Abraham and Malachi as both being murderers doesn’t makes sense to me.” Jenna stood. “John, I know I’m pushing it, but could we get copies of these photos?”

“I’ll think about it,” he told her. “Sam has already been shown photos regarding the Smith family. Malachi hasn’t been charged in the other murders yet, and I don’t know if Sam will pursue warrants and subpoenas on the other murders yet-he doesn’t have an eyewitness to support him anymore.”

She leaned on the desk. “There’s the horned god costume, John. He’ll pursue the whole thing. I know he will.”

John groaned. “I’ll think about it-until a warrant comes or I decide! Damn, but you can tell you’re Jamie O’Neill’s relation-cuter, but a damned bulldog. Please, let me have the rest of my Sunday? God’s day of rest, you know?”