Sacred Sins

calendar. The second murder occurred on the day we celebrate Mary's birth.”
    “He's picking the days she's—excuse me—Mary's honored by the Church?” Ed stopped writing long enough to look up for an acknowledgment.
    “The third murder falls on the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary. I've added a Church calendar to your file, Dr. Court. I don't think the odds for three out of three rate a coincidence.”

    “No, I agree.” Tess rose, anxious to see for herself. She picked up the calender and studied the dates Logan had circled. Dusk was falling. Logan switched on the light and the beam shot over the paper in her hands.
    “The next one you have here isn't until December eighth.”
    “The Immaculate Conception.” Logan puffed on his pipe.
    “That would put eight weeks between the murders,” Ed calculated. “He's never gone more than four.”
    “And we can't be sure he's emotionally capable of waiting that long,” Tess added in a murmur. “He could change his pattern. Some incident could set him off. He might pick a date personally important to him.”
    “The date of birth or death of someone important to him.” Ben lit another cigarette.
    “A female figure.” Tess folded the calendar. “The female figure.”
    “I agree that the stress he's under is building.” Logan put his pipe down and leaned forward. “The need for release could be enough to make him strike sooner.”
    “He's probably dealing with some sort of physical pain.” Tess slipped the calendar into her briefcase. “Headache, nausea. If it becomes too great for him to carry on his normal life…”
    “Exactly.” Logan folded his hands again. “I wish I could be more helpful. I would like to discuss this with you again, Dr. Court.”
    “In the meantime, we have a pattern.” Ben crushed out his cigarette as he rose. “We concentrate on December eighth.”

    “I T'S only a crumb,” Ben said as they stepped out into a chilled dusk. “But I'm ready to take it.”

    “I didn't realize you were Catholic.” Tess buttoned her coat against the wind that was whipping up. “Maybe that'll be an advantage.”
    “Used to be Catholic. And speaking of crumbs, are you hungry?”
    “Starved.”
    “Good.” He slipped an arm around her. “Then we can outvote Ed. You're not in the mood for yogurt and alfalfa sprouts, are you?”
    “Ah…”
    “Ben'll want to stop and get a greasy hamburger. What the man puts in his system is revolting.”
    “How about Chinese?” It was the best compromise she could come up with as she slipped into the car. “There's a great little place around the corner from my office.”
    “Told you she was classy,” Ed said as he took the driver's seat. He fastened his safety belt and waited with the patience of the wise and determined for Ben to follow suit. “The Chinese have the proper respect for the digestive system.”
    “Sure, they keep it stuffed with rice.” Ben glanced over his shoulder and saw Tess already spread out on the backseat, her file open. “Come on, Doc, take a break.”
    “I just want to check over a couple of things.”
    “Ever treated a workaholic?”
    She glanced over the file, then back again. “I may decide I have a craving for yogurt after all.”
    “Not Tanya Tucker!” Ben pushed the reject button before the first bar of the song was out. “You had her this afternoon.”
    “I wish.”
    “Degenerate. I'm putting on some—ah, shit, look at that. The liquor store.”
    Ed slowed down. “Looks like a five-oh-nine in progress.”

    “A what?” Tess straightened up in the back and tried to see.
    “Robbery in progress.” Ben was already unhooking his belt. “Go back to work.”
    “A robbery? Where?”
    “Where's a black and white?” Ben muttered as he reached for the radio. “Dammit, all I want's some sweet and sour pork.”
    “Pork's poison.” Ed unlatched his own belt.
    Ben snapped into the radio. “Unit six-oh. We have a five-oh-nine in progress on Third and Douglas. Any available units. We have a civilian in the car. Ah, damn, he's coming out. Requesting backup. Perpetrator's heading south. White male, five-ten, a hundred eighty. Black jacket, jeans.” The radio squawked back at him. “Yeah, we're on him.”
    Ed revved the engine and rounded the corner. From the backseat, Tess stared, fascinated.
    She saw the husky man in the black jacket come out of the liquor store and head up the street at a jog. The minute he turned his head and saw the Mustang, he broke