Page 40 of Girl, Accused

The defensiveness that had tightened his features moments before gave way to admiration. It wasn’t the wide-eyed awe of someone witnessing a grand illusion, but the quieter recognition of expertise. He regarded Ripley with a new expression, reassessing the woman who'd bloodied his face and now dissected his character through the topography of his thumb.

‘How’d you know about the clarinet?’

‘Lucky guess.’

Ella studied Caldwell’s thumbs herself, and she could see the toughened skin and bitten nails. But desire for marriage? That little nugget was beyond observable evidence. Ella didn’t want to know how Ripley did it. Better to let it remain one of her inscrutable talents.

Caldwell stuffed his hands under the table, probably wondering what other secrets his body was giving away. ‘It was demolition, not welding.’

‘Point is, two people are dead, Jeremy. And if you want to get married one day, you can’t do it from inside a prison cell.’

‘Well, you can,’ Ripley said, ‘but you wouldn’t want to.’

'So if you know anyone who might have done this, it's in your best interests to tell us because you're our number one suspect.'

Silence stretched. Caldwell's throat worked as he swallowed. Then he glanced up at the ceiling, like he was asking permission before confessing.

‘There was... a man. At a support group I attended.’

Ella's heart kicked against her ribs.Finally. ‘What kind of support group?’

‘For... people with religious experiences. People who'd heard voices, had visions, that kind of thing. The line between divine revelation and psychosis can be... blurry.’

‘You’re not kidding. And?’

‘The groups were led by this guy. Very charismatic. He could talk the hind legs off a donkey, but there was something about him. Something off.’

‘Off how?’

‘Well, at first, he seemed okay. Standard testimony stuff. But after a few meetings, he crept into no-no territory. There are some things we don’t talk about.’

‘Like?’

Caldwell’s eyes saw something distant. Something beyond the room. ‘First it was things about cleansing, purification. Things that might make you think it was 1940 again. Then he started talking about confessions.’

‘Confessions? How do you mean?’

'Things people have revealed to him during confessional. Priests aren't supposed to do that. Then he'd use those people as examples and say they deserved to burn in hell.'

A chill walked down Ella's spine. The hairs on her neck stood at attention. This was it. This was the lead they needed.

‘What was this guy’s name?’

‘He didn’t have one.’

Ella cocked a brow. ‘He didn’t have a name?’

‘I mean, he did, but he never told us what it was. He called himself Lazarus.’

‘What’d he look like?’

‘Wide. Like a tank. Jet black hair, always greased. Well-dressed. Always wore a brown suit.’

‘Tattoos? Identifiable marks?’

Caldwell wet his lips. ‘None that I remember.’

‘Got it. And he was a priest, you say?’

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