Sacred Sins

uncomplicated time might be left of the weekend. “After I tie things up, we can go back to your place and …” He bent down and nipped her earlobe.
    “Ben, we can't make love all the time.”
    With his arm around her, he walked to the car. “Sure we can. I'll show you.”
    “No, really. There are biological reasons. Trust me, I'm a doctor.”
    He stopped by the car door. “What biological reasons?”
    “I'm starving.”
    “Oh.” He opened the door for her then went around to the driver's side. “Okay, so we'll make a quick stop at the market on the way. You can fix lunch.”

    “I can?”
    “I fixed breakfast.”
    “Oh, so you did.” She settled back, finding the idea of a cozy Sunday afternoon appealing. “All right, I'll fix lunch. I hope you like cheese sandwiches.”
    He leaned close, so that his breath feathered over her lips. “Then I'll show you what people are supposed to do on Sunday afternoons.”
    Tess let her eyes flutter half closed. “And what's that?”
    “Drink beer and watch football.” He kissed her hard, and started the car as she laughed.
    He watched them huddled together in the car. He'd seen her in church. His church. It was a sign, of course, that she should come to pray in his church. At first it had upset him a little, then he'd realized she'd been guided there.
    She would be the last one. The last, before himself.
    He watched the car pull out, caught a glimpse of her hair through the side window. A bird landed in the branch of the denuded tree beside him and looked down with bright black eyes, his mother's eyes. He went home to rest.

Chapter 12

    “I THINK I found a place.”
    Ed sat solidly at his desk, hammering away two finger-style at his typewriter.
    “Oh, yeah?” Ben sat at his own, the map of the city in front of him again. Patiently, he drew lines with a pencil to connect the murder scenes. “A place for what?”
    “To live.”
    “Umm-hmm.”
    Someone opened the refrigerator and complained loudly that their A & W had been stolen. No one paid any attention. The staff had been whittled down by the flu and a double homicide near Georgetown University. Someone had taped a cardboard turkey onto one of the windows, but it was the only outward sign of holiday cheer. Ben put a light circle around Tess's apartment building before he glanced over at Ed.
    “So when are you moving?”
    “Depends.” Ed frowned at the keys, hesitated, then found his rhythm again. “Have to see if the contract goes through.”
    “You having someone killed so you can rent their apartment?”

    “Contract of sale. Shit, this typewriter's defective.”
    “Sale?” Ben dropped his pencil and stared. “You're buying a place? Buying? ”
    “That's right.” Ed patiently applied Liquid Paper to his last mistake, blew on it, then typed the correction. He kept a can of Lysol spray at his elbow. If anyone who looked contagious walked by, he sprayed the area. “You suggested it.”
    “Yeah, but I was only—Buying?” To cover his tracks, Ben pushed some excess paper into his trash basket on top of the empty can of A & W. “What kind of dump can you afford on a detective's pay?”
    “Some of us know how to save. I'm using my capital.”
    “Capital?” Ben rolled his eyes before folding the map. He wasn't getting anywhere. “The man has capital,” he said to the station at large. “Next thing you know, you'll be telling me you play the market.”
    “I've made a few small, conservative investments. Utilities mostly.”
    “Utilities. The only utilities you know about is the gas bill.” But he studied Ed with an uncertain eye. “Where is this place?”
    “Got a few minutes?”
    “I've got some personal time coming.”
    Ed pulled his report out of the typewriter, cast a wary glance over it, then set it aside. “Let's take a drive.”
    It didn't take long. The neighborhood was on the outer and rougher edges of Georgetown. The row houses looked more tired than distinguished. The fall flowers had simply given up for lack of interest, and stood faded among tangles of unraked leaves. Someone had chained a bike to a post. It had been stripped down of everything portable. Ed pulled up to the curb.
    “There it is.”
    Cautious, Ben turned his head. To his credit, he didn't groan.

    The house was three stories high, and narrow, with its front door hardly five paces from the sidewalk. Two of the windows had been boarded up, and the shutters that hadn't fallen off tilted drunkenly. The