Page 39 of Killer Clone

In any event, Hagen was starting to think they’d find the answers they needed on the internet, not at crime scenes and building sites.

The thought irritated him. If he’d wanted to spend his life in front of a screen, he’d have picked a specialty like Mac’s.

Phil’s thoughts were still with his nephew, though. He toyed with the end of the cigarette butt. “You know, I tried to get him interested in music when he was a teenager. Like some old stuff. I thought he might like Black Sabbath. But he never really got into it.” He scratched his cheek. “There was one thing that helped, though.”

“What was that?”

“Church.”

Hagen stared at him. “Seriously?”

Ander picked up the thread. “I mean…don’t get us wrong. We got nothing against going to church. It just didn’t sound like he was heading in that direction.”

Phil took another drag. “Surprised me too. I took him to a service once when he was about seventeen, and he liked it. Started going to church regularly. I’m not religious myself, but the church seemed to give Otto the outlet he was looking for.”

Ander smiled. “Must’ve made you happy.”

“It did.” Phil sighed. He took a last drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out against the top of the girder before shoving thebutt into his pocket. “I mean, Otto was still very shy. Even in the church, he didn’t mix well with others. But he had a direction and some stability. I figured he was finally coming out of his shell. He even got a job at a funeral parlor. The priest there introduced him to the director who agreed to give him work if he went to mortuary school.”

“Sounds like a job he’d like. You didn’t worry he’d like it too much? Keep him focused on death instead of on building a new life?”

“Nah.” Phil took out his cigarette packet again. He removed another cigarette, changed his mind, and put it back. “I thought being around other people suffering from grief might’ve helped him, you know? Maybe he’d learn to cope with his own grief at last.”

Ander held his pen at the ready. “Was Otto still going to this church regularly?”

Phil nodded. “As far as I know.”

“And what’s the name of the church? And the priest who was helping him?”

“Saint Aloysius. It’s up in Idlebrook, a neighborhood north of downtown. The priest’s name is Ted Barlow.” Phil changed his mind about the cigarette again and stuck it into the corner of his mouth. He lit the end with a cheap plastic lighter. When he exhaled, the smoke hung in front of his face. “Guess I was wrong. Failed him. I just…I just don’t understand why anyone would’ve hurt him.”

He dropped his head into his hands. His shoulders shook.

Hagen stepped back to give Phil space to cry.

Footsteps shifted the dirt behind him. A heavyset man still wearing his fluorescent vest and hard hat walked up to them, took Phil’s elbow, and raised him upright. “You guys are done here, right?

Hagen nodded. The worker wrapped an arm around Phil’s waist.

“Come on, pal. The guys are waiting.”

Hagen watched them go. He was glad Phil wouldn’t be alone tonight.

And he was happy he wasn’t going home to an empty house either.

17

As soon as Stella returned home, she’d sat in the living room and sent pictures of the writing on the wall to the cuneiform expert and the forensic document examiner.

Before getting ready to go out with Mac and her new boyfriend, Stella picked up the last plate from the sink. Bits of omelet stuck to the surface, the remnants of the morning’s breakfast still lingering.

She thought of rinsing it. That was what Hagen would’ve done and expected her to do. Clean the plates before putting them in the dishwasher.

What a waste of time.

When she’d lived in a studio, Stella hadn’t even owned a dishwasher. She ate from takeout boxes and frozen food packets.

Hagen, though, had a dishwasher. A gleaming German thing that was far too big for one person. And as he usually cooked, he expected her to do the loading.

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