pick up on that. Though I found it interesting she called the Sisters of Mercy windows ‘her’ windows.”
She rolled her shoulders. “Think Preacher could be our guy?”
“Could be. Geographically it works. The whole God’s wrath thing works. At this point he’s looking better than anyone we’ve interviewed so far. One thing bothers me, though. He didn’t hurt her.”
“Come again?”
“Why would the same guy who killed Father Girod run off without harming her? The situations were similar.”
“Don’t know. Could Gallier be lying?” Bayle offered.
“Always a possibility. But why would she? All he took was her necklace, one she admitted wasn’t worth much. Certainly not enough to make an insurance claim. Besides, her story hangs together. We even have the bloody piece of glass.”
“True. But she could have planted it. Manufactured the whole tableau.”
“Could have.” He looked at her, curious. “But again, why?”
“People do crazy things for attention.”
It was true, though in this case it seemed far-fetched. He told her so.
She laughed and pulled out of the parking area. “Keeping me grounded, Malone. I like that.”
“Here to help.” He pointed down Carrollton Avenue as they approached it. “Why don’t we swing by the Riverbend? Preacher’s been known to hang out there. On the way, I’ll give Vicky over at Sisters of Mercy a call, see if Preacher has any history with them.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Friday, August 12
Noon
Preacher liked to hang out on street corners and share the Word. His particular fire-and-brimstone version of it, anyway. But there’d been no sign of him around the Riverbend that morning. Malone and Bayle checked with each business—all of them familiar with the street evangelist from having shooed him away from their doors many times.
A maniac shouting about frying in the eternal fat vat tended to hurt business.
Preacher was also known to hop the Carrollton Avenue streetcar and treat the captive commuters to his doomsday message. Invariably, the driver would boot him off; undeterred, he would simply catch the next one to come along.
He would make a day of it—until the NOPD arrived.
Again, nobody had seen him.
* * *
Mira Gallier was waiting for Malone when he arrived back at the station. He noted that she had cleaned up and come alone. “Sorry,” he said, approaching her. “Have you been here long?”
She shook her head. “Just got here a couple minutes ago. Did you find him?”
“No luck yet. If it’s Preacher, he’ll show up.” He motioned for her to follow him. “Looks like you’re feeling better.”
“I’m not shaking anymore.” She held out her hands. “See? Rock solid.”
“That was pretty fast. Good for you.” He sat her in an interrogation room. “Can I get you a soft drink, coffee, anything?”
“No, thanks. How long do you think this will take?”
“It’s all up to you. Depends on how long it takes for you to ID him.”
Malone had called ahead and had a six-pack of photos prepared for her inspection. The single sheet consisted of mug shots of six similar-looking men, three of whom had tattoos on their faces.
He laid the page on the table in front of her. “Take all the time you need.”
Turned out, she didn’t need more than a moment. “That’s him,” she said, pointing to the grainy photo.
“You’re certain.”
“Positive. Is that Preacher?” When he nodded, she gazed at the picture for a long moment. “He’s one creepy dude.”
“That he is.” Malone cocked his head. “Ironic that he spends twenty-four/seven warning people to repent and be saved, but he’s so friggin’ scary most folks would choose hell over a minute in heaven with him.”
She smiled. “Wasn’t quite as creepy when I gave him twenty bucks last night.”
It was the first time he’d seen her smile. It lit up her face, altering her angular features, making her beautiful.
“I guess that’s it, then?” she said
She rolled her shoulders. “Think Preacher could be our guy?”
“Could be. Geographically it works. The whole God’s wrath thing works. At this point he’s looking better than anyone we’ve interviewed so far. One thing bothers me, though. He didn’t hurt her.”
“Come again?”
“Why would the same guy who killed Father Girod run off without harming her? The situations were similar.”
“Don’t know. Could Gallier be lying?” Bayle offered.
“Always a possibility. But why would she? All he took was her necklace, one she admitted wasn’t worth much. Certainly not enough to make an insurance claim. Besides, her story hangs together. We even have the bloody piece of glass.”
“True. But she could have planted it. Manufactured the whole tableau.”
“Could have.” He looked at her, curious. “But again, why?”
“People do crazy things for attention.”
It was true, though in this case it seemed far-fetched. He told her so.
She laughed and pulled out of the parking area. “Keeping me grounded, Malone. I like that.”
“Here to help.” He pointed down Carrollton Avenue as they approached it. “Why don’t we swing by the Riverbend? Preacher’s been known to hang out there. On the way, I’ll give Vicky over at Sisters of Mercy a call, see if Preacher has any history with them.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Friday, August 12
Noon
Preacher liked to hang out on street corners and share the Word. His particular fire-and-brimstone version of it, anyway. But there’d been no sign of him around the Riverbend that morning. Malone and Bayle checked with each business—all of them familiar with the street evangelist from having shooed him away from their doors many times.
A maniac shouting about frying in the eternal fat vat tended to hurt business.
Preacher was also known to hop the Carrollton Avenue streetcar and treat the captive commuters to his doomsday message. Invariably, the driver would boot him off; undeterred, he would simply catch the next one to come along.
He would make a day of it—until the NOPD arrived.
Again, nobody had seen him.
* * *
Mira Gallier was waiting for Malone when he arrived back at the station. He noted that she had cleaned up and come alone. “Sorry,” he said, approaching her. “Have you been here long?”
She shook her head. “Just got here a couple minutes ago. Did you find him?”
“No luck yet. If it’s Preacher, he’ll show up.” He motioned for her to follow him. “Looks like you’re feeling better.”
“I’m not shaking anymore.” She held out her hands. “See? Rock solid.”
“That was pretty fast. Good for you.” He sat her in an interrogation room. “Can I get you a soft drink, coffee, anything?”
“No, thanks. How long do you think this will take?”
“It’s all up to you. Depends on how long it takes for you to ID him.”
Malone had called ahead and had a six-pack of photos prepared for her inspection. The single sheet consisted of mug shots of six similar-looking men, three of whom had tattoos on their faces.
He laid the page on the table in front of her. “Take all the time you need.”
Turned out, she didn’t need more than a moment. “That’s him,” she said, pointing to the grainy photo.
“You’re certain.”
“Positive. Is that Preacher?” When he nodded, she gazed at the picture for a long moment. “He’s one creepy dude.”
“That he is.” Malone cocked his head. “Ironic that he spends twenty-four/seven warning people to repent and be saved, but he’s so friggin’ scary most folks would choose hell over a minute in heaven with him.”
She smiled. “Wasn’t quite as creepy when I gave him twenty bucks last night.”
It was the first time he’d seen her smile. It lit up her face, altering her angular features, making her beautiful.
“I guess that’s it, then?” she said
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