In Death 27 - Salvation in Death

haven’t been to the house in Mexico for a while,” Roarke commented. “We should take the time.”
    Eve cocked her head. “Have we been everywhere you’ve got a house?”
    Obviously amused, he tipped back his beer. “Not yet.”
    She’d figured. “Maybe we should make the complete circuit before we repeat any one place too often.” She dug into the nachos again, piling on salsa that carried the bite of an angry Doberman. “Why don’t you have one in Ireland?”
    “I have places there.”
    The salsa turned her mouth into a war zone. She scooped up more. “Hotels, businesses, interests. Not a house.”
    He considered a moment, then found himself mildly surprised by his own answer. “When I left, I promised myself I’d only go back when I had everything. Power, money, and though I likely didn’t admit it, even to myself, a certain respectability.”
    “You’ve hit those notes.”
    “And I did go back—do. But a house, well, that’s a statement, isn’t it? A commitment. Even if you’ve a home elsewhere, having a house creates a solid and tangible link. I’m not ready.”
    She nodded, understanding.
    “Would you want one there?” he asked her.
    She didn’t have to consider, and she wasn’t surprised by her answer. Not when she looked at him. “I’ve got what I want.”

4
     
    AFTER THE MEAL, EVE DUMPED THE FLORES data on Roarke so they could separate into their connecting offices. In her little kitchen she programmed coffee, then took it back to her desk. She stripped off her jacket, shoved up her sleeves.
    Curled in her sleep chair, Galahad stared across at her with annoyed bicolored eyes.
    “Not my fault you’re too spooked to go outside.” She sipped her coffee, stared back. Time passed in silence. Then she stabbed a finger into the air when the cat blinked.
    “Hah. I won.”
    Galahad simply turned his pudgy body around, shot up his leg and began to wash.
    “Okay, enough of this cozy evening at home stuff. Computer,” she began, and ordered it to open the Flores file, then do a second-level run on the list of people with confirmed access to the tabernacle.
    Chale López, the boxing priest, born in Rio Poco, Mexico, interested her. She didn’t get a suspect vibe from him, but something about him gave her a little buzz. He’d had the easiest access to the wine—and as a priest, wouldn’t he be more likely to recognize a fake than a—what was it—layman?
    But she didn’t get the vibe.
    Nor could she poke her way through to motive.
    A sexual thing? Three guys sharing a house, a job, meals, leisure time. Could get cozy. And that couldn’t be discounted.
    Priests weren’t supposed to get cozy—with each other or anyone else—but they did, and had throughout the ages.
    Flores hadn’t been a priest. Five, nearly six years, vow of chastity? Would he, a good-looking, healthy man, have no interest in sexual gratification or have self-serviced for that length of time to keep his cover?
    Unlikely.
    So . . . López catches him banging a parishioner, or hiring an LC, whatever. Anger and righteousness ensue.
    Just didn’t play through for her.
    López was forty-eight, and had gone into the seminary at the age of thirty. Wasn’t that kind of late in the day for a priest?
    Flores —wherever he was—had gone in at twenty-two, and the third guy—Freeman, at twenty-four.
    But López—sad, sincere-eyed Chale López—had boxed for a few years professionally. Welterweight, she noted, with a solid twenty-two wins, six of them knockouts. No marriages (were they allowed that before the collar thing?), no official cohabs on record.
    There was a short gap in his employment records. About three years between dropping out of the boxing game and entering the seminary. Something to fill in.
    She started with Rosa O’Donnell, then picked her way through her portion of the Ortiz family attending the funeral. A few pops, but nothing unexpected, Eve thought, when dealing with an enormous family.
    What did people do with enormous families? All those cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews. How did they keep them straight?
    How did they breathe at any sort of family function?
    A couple of assaults—no time served—for the Family Ortiz, she noted. One Grand Theft Auto, short time. A few slaps for illegals and other minor bumps. A handful of sealed juvies. She’d get those open, if and when.
    Some had been victims along the way. Robbery, assault, two rapes, and a scatter of domestic disturbances.