Page 72 of Girl, Accused

COVENANT OF SPIRITUAL GUIDANCE AND SUPPORT.

The document spelled out an agreement between First Light Assembly and something called the ‘Baptism of Fire Support Group.’Terms of facility use, financial considerations, confidentiality clauses. Standard boilerplate stuff. But what caught Ripley's eye was the signature lines at the bottom.

For First Light Assembly: Adam Canton, Pastor. Sister Mary Catherine Doyle, Administrator.

For Baptism of Fire: Thomas Walsh, Group Leader.

All three had signed the paper.

A. Canton.

M. Elizabeth.

T. Walsh.

Suddenly, Ripley's mind flashed back to James Harper's murder scene.

The blood message on the wall.

WHOEVER POURS OUT LIES WILL NOT GO FREE.

‘Oh…. Fuck.’

‘Excuse me?’ asked Judith.

Ripley might have forgotten a few things about this job, but she never forgot this sensation. When the pieces crashed together like a collision of planets. When every assumption and theory you had obliterated in light of the smallest piece of evidence.

Like a tiny, perfect cross above the letter ‘i.’

Ripley’s phone materialized in her hand. She made the call.

‘Pick up,’ she hissed. ‘Pick up, pick up,pick up.’

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Ella couldn't put her finger on what bothered her about Sister Mary's outbuilding. It wasn't the concrete walls or the oddly utilitarian exterior that looked more like a bunker than a home for a woman of God. It was something else.

She'd parked near the church's side entrance and made her way around back. The congregation's cemetery stretched between the church proper and the small concrete structure.

Ella knocked on the door.

‘Hello? Sister Mary? Anyone home?’

Silence answered.

The door wasn't locked. It swung inward at Ella's touch. The space inside held none of the sterile chill the exterior promised. Instead, warmth enveloped her, like someone had been here recently.

‘Sister Mary? FBI. I'd like to ask you a few questions. The door was open.’

The outbuilding was essentially one large room with a curtained-off area that Ella assumed contained a bed. A kitchenette occupied one corner. Religious prints covered the walls in a chaotic collage that reminded Ella of case boards in police stations.

She stepped inside, closed the door behind her. The room felt like a time capsule. No television. No computer. The most advanced technology appeared to be a radio that wouldn't have looked out of place in the 1970s. If Sister Mary owned a laptop, she kept it well hidden.

She examined the religious artifacts next. A wooden crucifix that dominated one wall, large enough to make a statement but not so ostentatious as to suggest performative faith. Prayer beads had been draped over a small hook beside it, and there were some devotional candles arranged on a shelf. Most were genres Ella expected to see. Theology, philosophy. But others surprised her. Psychology journals. True crime anthologies.

Ella pulled one from the shelf at random.Confessionsby Augustine of Hippo. The irony wasn't lost on her.

She was about to move on when a glint of gold caught her eye. There, amongst the smaller books, was a Bible. Ella pulled it out. The title readBiblia Sacra Vulgatain faded gold letters.

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