In Death 27 - Salvation in Death

Why the hell did people have to have parties all the damn time? Food and drinks and gifts and decorations and agendas, all lined up on lists and talked over incessantly to the last stupid detail.
    Another ritual, she thought, slowing her pace. All the trappings, the timing, the words or music, the scheme.
    The killer had to be part of that ritual. Had to have been in the church at the moment Lino drank the sacramental wine. Had to watch the death—ritual death. A familial connection of the Ortiz’s possibly. But that felt wrong, disrespectful to the old man, unless . . . unless the sin, the crime Lino committed had been in some way connected to Ortiz.
    Ran by the Ortiz house every morning, she remembered. Was there a purpose there?
    Otherwise, a less intimate connection. Family friend, neighbor, longtime customer, employee.
    Turning it over in her mind, she stepped into her bullpen and saw Baxter flirting with Graciela Ortiz. No question about it, she mused, the body language, the eye gleams all said testing sexual interest. Then again, to her way of thinking, Baxter would flirt with a hologram of a woman.
    “Officer Ortiz.”
    “Lieutenant. I stopped by, but the detective told me both you and your partner were out.”
    “Now I’m in. My office is right through there. Go on in.”
    “Detective,” Graciela said and gave Baxter one last blast with green, liquid eyes.
    “Officer.” His grin widened, unabashed when he turned it on Eve. And pounded a hand like a happy heartbeat on his chest. “You’ve got to love a woman in uniform,” he said to Dallas.
    “No, I really don’t. If you’ve got time to hit on subordinates, Baxter, maybe I need to review your caseload.”
    “Dallas, sometimes a man’s just got to make time.”
    “Not on my clock. But since you’ve made all this time, you can use it to do a search on all John Does, deceased, in Nevada, New Mexico, and Arizona, six to seven years ago.”
    “All? Jesus, you’re a hard woman.”
    “I am. Be grateful I’m adding age between twenty-five and forty.”
    She turned as he muttered, “Oh, in that case,” and walked into her office. “Officer.”
    “I wanted to speak to you in person regarding the interviews with family members and friends. There was nothing I didn’t expect—shock, sorrow, even outrage. Father Flores was, as I told you, very popular. Well, when we believed he was Father Flores.”
    “And now?”
    “More shock, sorrow, outrage. In fact, as he married, buried, baptized many of the family over the past five years, you can add a lot of concern. Some of my family is very traditional, very orthodox. There are questions as to whether the marriages are sanctioned in the eyes of God and the Church. Which Father López assures us would be the case. Though he and Father Freeman have offered to renew all the sacraments, for those who wish it. Frankly, Lieutenant, it’s a big freaking mess.”
    She shook her head. “I like to think I’m a progressive sort of person. Practical. But I confessed to that man, and received Communion from him. And I feel . . . violated, and angry. So I understand what many of my family are feeling now.”
    “His death stopped the violation.”
    “Well, yes. But it also revealed it. If we’d never known . . .” She shrugged. “We do know, so I guess it’s just what we all decide to do about it. My mother thinks we should look on the positive side. Have a mass renewal of vows, of baptisms. And a big party. Maybe she’s right.”
    “There were a lot of people at the funeral who weren’t family members.”
    “Yes. I’ve spoken to some of them, the ones we’re close to, or Poppy was close to. It runs along the same lines. I don’t know how helpful any of it is to your investigation.”
    “You saved me some steps.” She considered a moment. “You have several relatives, I imagine, who are about the same age as the victim. Round about thirty-five.”
    “Sure. We’re legion.”
    “Plenty of them were living in the area when they were kids, teenagers. And plenty of them members of the church.”
    “Yes.”
    “Any of them former members of the Soldados?”
    Graciela opened her mouth, closed it again. Then blew out a breath. “A few, I suppose.”
    “I need names. I’m not looking to cause them trouble, not looking to dig at them for what they did in the past. But it may connect.”
    “I’ll talk to my father. He wasn’t part of that, but . . . he’ll know.”
    “Would you rather I