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Previously: Father Brian DeShano alerted authorities to a possible murder after receiving a phone call from the man claiming to be the killer. 

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The morning light splayed a thin layer of gold along the squad car's dashboard. Sheriff Derek Oleson sped along the neighborhood streets, his siren and lights a warning to crossing pedestrians and merging traffic. A mental list of priorities tumbled into place, including an interview with Father Brian DeShano at the earliest opportunity.

Why would a killer call a priest before leaving the scene of a crime? Were they seeking approval, or possibly, absolution? And why St. Matilde's when there were a half-dozen other parishes in the area?  

He was less than five minutes from the crime scene when he spoke into his handset. "Dispatch, put me through to Detective Burke."

Seconds later, his top detective answered, "Detective Burke here, Sheriff."

"Jana, I want the area around the Padget home sealed tighter than a duck's ass. No one, and I mean no one, is to be given access to the body other than emergency personnel. Have they arrived yet?" 

"Just arrived, Sheriff Oleson." Three years on the force and Jana Burke remained a tantalizing enigma to Derek. Other than the fact she lived on the Sioux reservation with her uncle, Tony Buday, the remainder of her life was a total mystery.  

He imagined the lift of her chin and the way she straightened to full height. At five feet eleven inches, she was one of few members of his squad that could look him straight in the eye. "Detective Newstead ordered me to remain on guard outside the house," she said in a voice thick with contempt. "He's going through the Vic's closet and dresser drawers and I'm concerned he'll contaminate the crime scene due to his total lack of experience, Sir."

His latest recruit had bricks for brains and a need to prove the uniform makes the man.

"I'm just a few blocks away. Inform Detective Newstead that I want him waiting at the curb when I get there. And, Jana, get in that house and make sure the EMT's preserve the positioning of the body if possible."

"Right away, Sir."

He cut his siren before reaching the Padget home. Neighbors stood on their porches and lawns, bundled against the bone chill of a fall morning in Minnesota.

Most of them came from the same immigrant stock as the victim -  private and tough as hell. Debra's death, especially if it was murder, would screw with their minds. Interviewing them before shock affected their memories was imperative.

He navigated his black and white Dodge Charger around an ambulance and fire/rescue vehicle, and parked beside the CSU's gray van. The crime scene personnel were waiting for his okay before entering the home as he'd instructed. 

Detective Newstead waited at the base of the wheelchair ramp. He remained silent and refused to approach his superior.

You've got no idea who you're messing with, junior. I'll either make you a better cop or send you running home to momma.

When he reached the rookie's side, Sheriff Oleson hooked his thick fingers into the younger man's arm and applied enough pressure to get his attention. "Here's how it's going to be, Detective Newstead. You're going to oversee external security while Detective Burke and I assess the crime scene. When the press arrives, you are to refuse any comment. Are we clear?"

"Very." 

Derek kept hold of the arm, ever-so-slightly increasing the pressure."I said are we clear, Detective Newstead?"

"Yes, we're clear, Sir."

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When Derek Oleson entered the home, his senses went on alert. In the living room, EMT's packed up the life-saving equipment in preparation for departure.  

One of them pointed down a short hallway. Surprised, and relieved by the absence of the odor of blood, he proceeded to the back of the house.

Most of the body was blocked from view by Detective Burke who stood motionless beside the bed. The old lady's television was on, and he wondered why no one had thought to turn it off. He slipped protective gloves from a pocket and moved into position to be able to see the entire body.

He opened his mouth to speak and decided against it. Officer Burke studied Debra Padget's corpse as if in silent communication with it. He waited out of respect for a process he didn't understand but which had produced gold in past investigations.  

"The CSU's were already set up when I got your call." Her words were devoid of emotion. "Had to pull rank to get them to hold off until you got here, Sir. This ... the condition of the body ... the face ... it just seemed important that you see it first."

"Other than to determine that she's dead, no one has touched the body or anything else in the room?" he asked as he retrieved his notebook.

"Besides Newstead, that's correct, Sir."

"Very good. Now, I'd like a few minutes alone in here, Detective." He registered how she deliberately slowed her steps in an effort to pretend she wasn't glad to get out of there.

Debra Padget's body was posed in a manner suggestive of a casket. The body had been obviously handled, but there were no signs that she struggled with her assailant. It was likely a toxicology screen would show the presence of some sort of sedative.

After replacing Debra's nightgown with a mauve evening gown, white hosiery and heels, the killer had placed her on top of the bed linen. An elaborate wig was the only object of clothing carelessly placed. Derek scanned the room and spotted three hairpiece pedestals but only two wigs on the dresser across from the bed.

The killer had likely waited until last to apply a heavy coat of make-up to her features. Except for her lips. Lightly taped across her mouth was an object Derek Oleson recognized immediately.

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Father Brian wasn't surprised by the Sheriff's urgent request given that he was the only person known to have spoken with the killer. "Father, can you get to Debra's house right away? There's something weird about the body. I need advice, and likely your special skills, to handle the situation."

"Of course, I'm on my way."

He nearly collided with the church secretary entering the door just as he was exiting. "I'm sorry, Norma, I didn't see you coming up the steps."

"That's okay, Father. Where you rushin' to so early in the day?"

It occurred to him that running into her was a stroke of luck. The parishioners of St. Matilde would likely be calling for information when they heard that one of their own had been murdered. It was important that Norma reassure them that every measure was being taken to see that the murderer was quickly apprehended.

Father Brian briefly described the basic situation, avoiding any mention of his conversation with the killer. "I'm sure you can appreciate that it's important to reassure the parishioners, especially the elderly ones."

The secretary pressed a Kleenex against her mouth to stifle a sob. "I'm sorry to leave you with this burden, Norma. I know you and Debra were old friends." His voice was genuinely compassionate. 

"Don't you worry, Father," the woman replied as she adjusted her shoulder bag, "I'll handle things here. And I'll be praying, too, for the cops to catch the dirty devil quickly."

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A van with the call letters of the local television station blocked the priest from parking near the home. As he walked quickly past the news van, he noted a young officer engaged in conversation with the pert, bubbly anchor of the morning news program. Their body language spoke of a more-than-casual acquaintance.

Investigators searched the bushes for evidence and dusted the exterior of all entrances to the home. They glanced up as he moved past them and quickly returned to their jobs when they saw the Roman collar. A checkpoint guard at the home's front entrance searched his list and, finding the priest's name there, let him go past. 

He expected the controlled chaos of professionals competing for space, but the house was quiet. Detective Burke approached as soon as he walked through the doorway. Father Brian recognized her from visits in her uncle's home. He'd always been a bit in awe of her natural beauty, and she looked even more impressive in her uniform.

A warm smile illuminated Jana's features and her handshake was firm. "Thanks for getting here so quickly, Father. Sheriff Oleson asked me to make sure you two are left alone. He's waiting in the victim's - in Mrs. Padget's bedroom." She bent closer to the priest and whispered, "Be prepared, Father, the room holds the residue of si-la-wa-ci-T." 

He reached out and lightly touched her arm. "Thank you, Detective. I appreciate the warning."

Dread of what was waiting grew with each step along the worn, berber carpet leading to the bedroom.

Sheriff Oleson busied himself inspecting the sash of the bedroom window. He nodded briefly in Father Brian's direction and then returned to making notes in his pad. It was kind of the man, Brian thought, to set his own agenda aside and allow the priest some time to absorb what he was seeing.

He had been present at thousands of death-bed rituals in his years as a priest. Most of them held sorrow, some of them joy. Studying Debra's corpse, shock moved quickly to heated outrage at what had been done to a good woman. He flicked a tear from his cheek. "What kind of mind thinks of such an abhorrence, Derek?" he asked, aware of the lawman's close scrutiny.   

Sheriff Oleson brushed a hand slowly over close-cropped gray hair.  "Twenty plus years in law enforcement, Father, and the answer to that question still eludes me. But, the one thing we have now is state-of-the art behavioral profiling. I believe this murder was planned and executed by a sociopath, and I've spent my career studying them."

"Father, I called you here because I hoped you could provide me with an insight into the object taped to Mrs. Padget's mouth. Is it what I think it is?"
  
The hairs stood up on the priest's arms as he bent closer to the body. "It appears to be a communion host," he responded. "Whether it's a consecrated host, or not, I can't tell."

"Would that make a difference?"

"Yes, a profound difference. A consecrated host is believed to hold the living body of Jesus Christ. Outside the ritual of holy mass, access to them is severely restricted. There are very specific instructions on how to dispose of consecrated hosts, Sheriff. My guess is that the killer knows all this and is hoping to achieve maximum shock value."

Derek rolled his pen between two fingers. "How so, Father?"

"The host is going to be treated as evidence and, likely, handled by a number of people unaware of its significance. Any good priest would find that appalling."  

The lawman's attitude flipped suddenly from curious to cold-as-steel. "Any good priest, Father Brian, or just you?"   


to be continued....