Bolton sat on the altar in the gilded red priest’s celebrant chair. He’d moved it forward a bit to prop his feet on the chancel rail while agents and several cops sat in the front
four pews, most holding pens, paper, or tape recorders at the ready.
“Glad you could make it,” Bolton said.
“Don’t do that,” Angie said, glancing at his shoes.
“What?”
“Sit on the altar in the priest’s chair with your feet on the rail.”
“Why not?”
“Some people would find it offensive.”
“Not me.” He shrugged. “I’m not Catholic.”
“I am,” she said.
He watched her to see if she was joking, but she stared back so calmly and firmly that he knew she wasn’t.
He sighed and got out of the chair, placed it back where it belonged. As we headed back for the pews, he crossed the altar and climbed into the raised pulpit.
“Better?” he called.
She shrugged, as Devin and Oscar took their places in the pew ahead of us. “It’ll do.”
“So glad I’m no longer offending your delicate sensibilities, Ms. Gennaro.”
She rolled her eyes at me as we took seats in the fifth pew and I once again felt an odd flush of admiration for my partner’s faith in a religion I had long ago abandoned. She doesn’t advertise it or announce it at every turn, and she has nothing but scorn for the patriarchal hierarchy that runs the church, but she nevertheless holds firm to a belief in the religion and ritual with a quiet intensity that can’t be shaken.
Bolton was quickly taking a liking to the pulpit. His thick hands caressed the Latin words and Roman art carved ornately in its sides and his nostrils flared slightly as he looked down on his audience.
“The previous night’s developments include the following: One, a search of Evandro Arujo’s apartment yielded photographs discovered under a floorboard below a steel radiator. Sightings of men fitting Arujo’s description have tripled since seven o’clock this morning, when the daily papers carried two photographs of him—one with goatee, one without. Most sightings seem baseless. However, five alleged sightings have occurred in the lower South Shore and two more recent sightings in Cape Cod, around Bourne. I have deployed agents who searched the upper South Shore last night to head for the lower edges and the Cape and Islands. Roadblocks have been installed along both sides of Routes 6, 28, and 3, as well as I-495. Two sightings put Arujo in a black Nissan Sentra, but again, the validity of any of these sightings is always suspect in the wake of sudden public hysteria.”
“The Jeep?” an agent said.
“As yet, nothing. Maybe he’s still in it, maybe he ditched it. A red Cherokee was stolen from the parking lot of the Bayside Expo Center yesterday morning, and we’re working under the assumption that this is the car Evandro was spotted in yesterday. License plate number is 299-ZSR. Wollaston police got a partial plate number yesterday off the Jeep they chased, which matches.”
“You mentioned photographs,” Angie said.
Bolton nodded. “Several photographs of Kara Rider, Jason Warren, Stimovich, and Stokes. These photos are similar to the ones sent to the victims’ loved ones. Arujo is, beyond any doubt now, the prime suspect in these killings. Other photos found are of unknown people who we must assume are intended victims. The good thing, ladies and gentlemen, is that we may be able to predict where he’ll strike next.”
Bolton coughed into his hand. “Forensic evidence,” he said, “has now unequivocally determined that there are two killers involved in the four deaths of this investigation. Bruises on Jason Warren’s wrists confirm he was held by one person while another sliced his face and chest with a straight razor. Kara Rider’s head was gripped tightly by two hands while two other hands shoved an ice pick into her larynx. Wounds to Peter Stimovich and Pamela Stokes confirm the presence of two killers.”
“Any idea where they were killed?” Oscar said.
“Not at this time, no. Jason Warren was killed in the South Boston warehouse. The rest were killed somewhere else. For whatever reason, the killers felt a need to kill Warren quickly.” He shrugged. “We have no idea why.
The other three had only minimal amounts of hydroclorophyl in their systems, which suggests they were only unconscious while the killers transported them to the site where they were killed.”
Devin said, “Stimovich was tortured for at least an hour, Stokes for twice that. They made a lot of noise.”
Bolton nodded. “We’re looking for an isolated murder site.”
“Which leaves how many sites?” Angie said.
“Countless. Tenements, abandoned buildings, environmentally protected wetlands, a half dozen small islands off the coast, closed prisons, hospitals, warehouses, you name it. If one of these killers has been lying dormant for two decades, we can assume he’s planned everything in detail. He could have easily outfitted his home with a soundproof basement or suite of rooms.”
“Has there been any further proof to suggest the killer who’s been lying dormant may have been killing children?”
“No definitive proof,” Bolton said. “But of the one thousand one hundred and sixty-two flyers you received, covering over ten years, two hundred eighty-seven children are confirmed dead. Two hundred eleven of those cases officially unsolved.”
“How many in New England?” an agent said.
“Fifty-six,” Bolton said quietly. “Forty-nine unsolved.”
“Percentage-wise,” Oscar said, “that’s an awfully high number.”
“Yes,” Bolton said wearily, “it is.”
“How many died in ways similar to the current victims?”
“In Massachusetts,” Bolton said, “none, although there were several stabbing victims, several with hand perforations, so we’re still studying those. We have two cases of violence so extreme it could bear match-up with the current victims.”
“Where?”
“One in Lubbock, Texas, in eighty-six. One outside of Miami, in unincorporated Dade County, in ninety-one.”
“Amputation?”
“Affirmative.”
“Body parts missing?”
“Again, affirmative.”
“How old were the kids?”
“Lubbock was fourteen and male. The one in unincorporated Dade was sixteen and female.” He cleared his throat and patted his chest pockets for his inhaler, but didn’t find it. “Further, as you were all apprised last night, Mr. Kenzie provided us with a possible connection between the murders of seventy-four and those of the present day. Gentlemen, it looks like our killers have an ax to grind with children of EEPA members, but we haven’t, as yet, connected the group to Alec Hardiman or Evandro Arujo. We don’t know why, but we must assume the connection is primary.”