Page 17 of Go Home
“It seems unlikely.I talked to the detective heading up the Bangor scene.He didn’t want to give too much away but, on the q-t, he said don’t waste the calories.”
“Father Tom’s got no military background?”
“Zero, unless there’s some Northern Ireland connection we’re not seeing.We should try and rule that out, I guess.I’ll get onto that.You ok to cover CCTV and door-cams?”“
“Will do.”
They made a good team, a well-oiled machine, communicating with fluid grace and sharing the workload.Kate cherished the little moments when that was obvious, and she tried to hold onto them when the PTSD was rattling the bars.It was all-too-easy to forget it, or take it for granted.
The waffle-rush had died down, the kids drifting away, numbed by the sudden ingestion of fat and sugar.A short, heavy man – Hugh or Remy, she guessed – was picking up paper plates and discarded forks from the ground around the truck, muttering crossly.
Marcus grabbed a sticky plate, folded it and put it in the man’s litter-sack.
“Whatever they’re teaching them,” the man said.“It’s not respect.”
“Too right,” said Marcus.“Kids today.”
He introduced himself and Kate.
“I’m Remy.That’s Hugh.” They received a curt nod from a tall, thin, distinguished-looking man with a high forehead and half-moon spectacles.He looked more suited to a concert hall than a waffle truck.
“We’re trying to find out why anyone would have hurt your friend,” Kate said.
“Because people are sick,” said Hugh, with unexpected bitterness.“They’re sick, and they’re fed a diet of sick shit, wall-to-wall, twenty-four-seven, news reports, films, music, Netflix, a whole chattering, gibbering cacophony of voices celebrating everything that’s ugly about the whole frickin’ human race.”
“Right,” said Marcus, carefully.
The other guy, Remy, flashed them a slightly sheepish look.“He’s upset,” he said.“We all are.”
“What’s worse,” Hugh said.“Is people like you, pandering to it.‘The Purifier.’Seriously?You think we’re in a Marvel comic?A good man died, you know.It really happened.It’s not content.It’s not clicks.It’s the senseless loss of a decent, kind, human soul.”
“I think we’re missing some information,” Kate said carefully.“What’s this about a purifier?”
“Oh really, sweetheart?You don’t know?”
“Hugh,” said his companion.“Give the lady a break.C’mon.”
In answer, Hugh searched for something on his phone, then handed it, wordlessly, to Kate.
It was the social media feed of the local news outlet.A post began with the headline: PURIFIER”S CRYPTIC CLUE.
It gave details about the three Bible verses encoded on the hymn sheet.In light of the killer’s obsessions – the worship of false gods, the redeeming power of fire and sacrifice – it said Federal agents had dubbed him “The Purifier.”
“This is nonsense,” Kate said, handing the phone back.“We haven’t called the killer anything.”
“And if we were going to give him a handle,” Marcus said.“I mean, come on…”
“I’ll get it taken down.It’s the last thing we need,” Kate said.She looked straight at Hugh.“Sir, I can assure you that it’s nothing to do with us.We’re working out of the local PD building, and I can only guess someone there has taken too much of an interest, or… Whatever it is, it’s not how we operate, so I’m sorry this has happened on top of your friend’s death.”
There was a long silence which ended when Hugh started wiping down the counter.Apology accepted, apparently.
“Can you tell me about the pétanque group?”Kate asked.
“Started, what?Seven, eight years back, I think?”Hugh said, looking at Remy for confirmation.“Father Tom used it as an ice-breaker when he first moved in.He wasn’t exactly a star player.Enthusiastic, shall we say, rather than talented.”
“In other words, not as good as Hugh,” said Remy, with a wink.
“How big is the group?”Marcus asked.
