Angie cleared her throat. “There was a black Lexus SUV with tinted windows parked across the street from Lara Pennington’s residence when we interviewed her,” she said. “It pulled off as I caught sight of it. I didn’t see the plate, but Pennington had been watching the street from her window and seemed afraid.”
Buziak stared at her a moment. “You didn’t get a plate?”
“No, I didn’t get the plate,” Angie repeated coolly.
Maddocks turned to overtly stare at her, as if asking why she had not informed him of the Lexus.
She added, for his benefit, and to get in her own dig, “I only noticed the vehicle because I was waiting for Detective Maddocks to finish walking his dog.”
His eyes narrowed sharply at her. Someone behind her whispered something.
“All right,” Buziak said. “Also of significance, our so-called pastor, Markus Gilani, has a record and has served time. He was charged for driving while impaired eleven years ago. He had a minor with him in his vehicle. She was giving him oral sex when he struck and killed a female cyclist. Leo and Holgersen will be paying our pastor another visit. Now, I’m going to hand over to forensic psychologist Dr.Reinhold Grablowski, who I’ve brought in as a consultant on this case.”
Again, murmurs rippled through the audience, and behind Angie, someone groaned.
The dark-haired man with the Lennon glasses came to his feet. He pressed a key on his laptop. The screen came to life with a Geographic Information System map of greater Victoria.
CHAPTER 31
Merry banged on the door to Harbor House, shivering and hugging herself against the cold. Pastor Markus opened the door, and his eyes went wide.
“Merry? What ... on earth are you doing here? We’ve already allocated beds for the night, if—”
“I don’t need a place to stay. I just need to see you. Can I come in?”
He glanced furtively down the street, then, voice lowering, he said, “You shouldn’t have returned here. I told you, it’s natural that you might feel ... things, because of what I helped you go through, but I’m a married man. A man of God. Verity, my wife, is pregnant at last,” he said. “I’m going to be a dad now.”
“Fuck, it’s notthat! It’s about those girls! It’s about what happened before. To me. There’s a fucking monster predator out there. He’s back, and he got that Cemetery Girl, and might have gotten Faith, and he’s been out there for a fucking long, long time.”
“Come inside,” he said quickly, probably more to quiet her down than anything else, because she was starting to get hysterical and she knew it, and she couldn’t control herself.
He led her through the kitchen and into his small back office. He told her to sit near the heater, and he brought her a mug of hot tea. She cradled her hands around the ceramic mug that had been printed with the wordsRepent thy sins, and thou shalt be forgiven. She sipped, still shaking, from something far deeper than cold. He fetched her a sweater from the thrift store box.
“Give me your coat,” he said, holding the sweater out to her.
She shrugged out of her wet coat and into the sweater. He hung the coat by the gas heater. He looked agitated.
“I heard the cops came to see you about Faith,” she said. “What did you tell them?”
“Nothing.”
“You didn’t tell them about me? About the red crucifix onmyface five years ago?”
“No. I respect my kids, the residents—”
“What happened to me, and to the girl in the cemetery, it’s connected. It’s him. He’s back.”
“You should go to the police, Merry—”
“And tell them what? That I was a runaway foster reject, a meth-head junkie? That I was so high I can’t even remember exactly what happened that night? I recall his eyes, and those words, and waking up in the ravine. And then seeing the red crucifix on my forehead when I looked in the mirror. And I knew I was sore and bleeding, but I wasn’t one hundred percent sure ofanythingthat had happened apart from that. I thought I could have been tripping out.”
“Merry,” he said gently. “Have you been using again?”
“Not yet.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Why did you really come to me, Merry?”
“I shouldn’t have,” she spat out bitterly. “I thought you could help. Now I know for sure you won’t tell me, but Ineedto ask—have there been any others like me that you know of? Do you know of any street kids over the past years who spoke of a bad john, or a possible sexual assault associated with a crucifix? I want to know exactly how long he’s been around, been doing this.” She set the mug down and dragged her hands over her wet hair. “Fuck, I’m scared. I didn’t know who else to talk to. He could be reading my stories in the paper and know that I was one of his victims. He could have been watching me all this time.”
