Then there was the one about to become a priest, Oliver, who had been in a mental institution, not once but twice. Why in the world would the church take someone into the priesthood who was so obviously unstable? Even though the Catholic clergy was in trouble these days, it didn’t make sense that they were scraping the bottom of the barrel so deeply that they had to take nutcases into the priesthood.
Oliver had not only tried to slit his wrists as a child, but had become completely undone after the discovery of Ryan Carlyle’s body. He’d grown silent, nearly a recluse, and had ended up in the loony bin for several weeks. Then he received “the calling.”
Sure.
Another question mark. Another person who had to be interviewed.
Along with Shannon Flannery, her brothers and Mary Beth’s family.
Restless, Paterno tried to open the window, but it was painted shut. Frustrated, he leaned against the window ledge and tried to imagine what Mary Beth Flannery’s death had to do with a little girl who had been kidnapped in Oregon.
The girl Shannon Flannery had given up for adoption.
It was all tied together, he just had to figure out how. And he would, he decided.
Stretching one arm over his head he heard his spine pop from too many hours seated at his desk, too many long minutes held in one position while the wheels of his mind turned.
What he did know was that the fires that had been ravaging the area three years earlier, all started by an unknown arsonist the papers had dubbed the Stealth Torcher, had stopped with the death of Carlyle. Seven buildings set on fire. One death. Paterno checked his notes—a thirty-two-year-old woman by the name of Dolores Galvez.
The phone rang and he scowled. He didn’t want to be disturbed as he tried to work things out. Yanking the receiver to his ear, he bit out, “Paterno.”
“Hey, Tony, guess what?” Ray Rossi asked. “Those prints taken off the backpack? We got a hit from NCIS.”
“Let me guess. They belong to Travis Settler.”
“Bingo,” Rossi said. “Give the man a prize.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing that matched. We figured the other prints were probably the kid’s.”
“Probably,” Paterno said. “I’ll talk to him.”
Her truck slid to a stop in front of the garage.
Shannon, who had been at her desk, sorting through bills, heard the engine and flew out the door as Oliver, dressed in slacks and a golf shirt, hopped out of the cab. Khan was beside himself with excitement and ran up to be petted.
“Sorry it took so long,” her brother said. “I had a little trouble getting Mother motivated.”
“Mom?”
“She’s on her way.” He picked up a stick from the yard and threw it, spinning it end to end across the gravel lot. Khan was after it like a shot. “I needed a way back into town,” Oliver explained.
“I would have taken you.”
“Mom wouldn’t hear of it. Oh, wow…” Squinting, he gazed at the shed and exhaled on a long sigh. “Intentional, I heard.”
“Yeah.” She heard the purr of her mother’s t
ank of a Buick approaching. Bracing herself for another scene, she watched as Maureen O’Malley Flannery, her bright red hair looking as if she’d just walked out of the beauty parlor, herded her car to a stop not far from Shannon’s truck.
Great, Shannon thought, knowing that the visit wouldn’t go all that well.
She wasn’t wrong.
As she ushered her mother past the rubble and into the kitchen, she heard all about “poor Mary Beth” and “I can’t imagine what your brother’s been thinking” and “Have you seen the doctor again? How’re you feeling?” Shannon offered instant coffee and Maureen gave her a look.
“At this time of day?” she asked. “I think I’d rather have some iced tea, if it’s not too much trouble.” She took a seat at the round café table.