“Would you guess the killer is someone with a religious obsession?”
“Might be. The marks must have a specific meaning to the person who did it, and he’s sending a message to someone. It could be that a clergy member abused the killer. Something going on in his mind about that experience eventually triggered him to move into acts of violence.”
“Could the killer still be a churchgoer today?”
“Yes, or he could have left because of the abuse. Or he might actuallybea clergy member.”
Okay, I hadn’t gone to that place yet, but as soon as I did, Tom Nolan’s face flashed in my mind. I needed to factor Horton’s words in when I spoke to Nolan later and also find out what other clergy were affiliated with St. Tim’s.
“What if,” I said, the thought forming as I spoke, “the killer saw these women as martyrs of sorts? Or... even sinners who needed to be punished?”
“Anything’s possible, but remember, you might be talking simply about someone who’s mentally ill and has his own narratives going on, ones with no basis in reality. He could simply be hearing voices and think God is telling him to do what he did.”
To my dismay I heard Marc’s GPS announce that he’d arrived at his final destination.
“Do you need to go?” I asked him.
“Yes, but call me later if necessary. And keep me posted, will you? You’ve got my curiosity piqued.”
“Will do.”
“And, Bailey, watch your back, okay? You’re out there, he knows who you are, and you never know what can trigger one of these guys. Have you thought about asking law enforcement for protection?”
“Uh, okay, let me consider that.”
I probably wouldn’t, though. I didn’t feel like a target, and Killian needed every hand on deck to search for the killer.
I thanked him again before I hung up and took a different route back, picking up the Adirondack Northway until the exit for the village of Lake George. Five minutes later I was at St. Tim’s.
As I parked I caught a glimpse of a dark-haired man emerging from a side door of the gray stone church, and I scrambled out of my Jeep, thinking it might be Nolan departing the premises. To my surprise it turned out to be Cody Blaine. I watched as he strode toward the parking lot with eyes fixed on his phone. He’d probably stopped by to make funeral arrangements, I realized.
At last he raised his head and spotted me. We locked eyes, and he held my gaze as he crossed the blacktop in my general direction, aiming for his silver Lexus.
“I’m really sorry for your loss,” I said as he reached his car. Up close, his pale handsome face was an ashy shade of gray, as if grief and exhaustion had taken their toll. What was that phrase J.J. had used about him?Too cool for school. He certainly didn’t appear that way at the moment.
“Thank you,” he said. Fatigue bled into his voice, too, but there was nothing hostile in his tone. He hesitated, studying me. “Look, I should apologize for the other night. For confronting you that way. All I wanted was for people to help me locate my wife.”
“No apology necessary,” I answered, relieved that he wasn’t holding a grudge.
“Is it true that you were the one who discovered Shannon?”
He seemed to be working with bare basics the sheriff had shared with him, clearly too busy and distraught to be reading my posts now.
“Yes, with another reporter.”
“So you did what I asked that night. You tried to find her.”
“I wish I could take more credit, but I was only following a lead. I’m glad I did, though.”
“Do you have any idea at all who the caller was?”
“None, unfortunately. Whoever it was used a voice adapter.”
“The fucking bastard. I wish I could kill him with my bare hands.”
“Had Shannon ever mentioned the retreat center to you? Do you know if she’d stayed there when she was growing up around here?”
“I can’t recall it ever coming up.”
