“No,” he says. “It shouldn’t be.”
He walks to the window.
Pulls the blind back one inch. Peers into the street like he expects something to be waiting.
“Tell me everything you remember about that chapel,” he says.
I freeze.
I knew this was coming.
“I told you?—”
“Tell me again. Exactly.”
So I do.
I talk about the pew.
The songs I used to hum.
The way the candles smelled.
The door that never quite shut.
I sometimes saw the shoes out of the corner of my eye.
Damien stiffens at that.
“What kind of shoes?”
I blink. “I don’t know—just… black ones. Clean. Laced tight.”
He nods once.
Walks to the safe.
Punches the code.
Pulls out a black envelope.
Inside are three photos.
He fans them out like a deck of cards.
The same shoes.
Worn by three different men.
Three different victims.
All watched someone before they broke.
I stare at the photos.
And my stomach turns.
Because one of the men?—
