The Tenth Order (8 page)

That was the first thing Adrianna said all night that Jackie agreed with. Friskin’s picture was one of the first thing’s she’d seen when she arrived at the hospital, and there was no denying the man was uncommonly handsome.

“So he didn’t ‘rub you the wrong way?’” Jackie asked.

Adrianna leaned across the table. “Look, just between us girls, the man was hotter than a candle lit at both ends, but dumb as a stone. I mean, yeah, sometimes he gave me the creeps. A lot of the time, actually, but come on…a guy like that, whaddya going to do? You look the other way and hope things get better.”

“You thought you could change him?”

“That, or I’d change I guess. That I’d come to love him.” Adrianna leaned back and sighed. “But none of that ever happened. We’ve been married for five years, and I can’t think of the last time we made love. We’re practically strangers now.”

Jackie glanced at the over-sized Packers shirt Adrianna was wearing.
Guess she’s getting comfort from someone.
“So you haven’t seen any unusual behavior from your husband lately?” The detective asked.

“Ex-husband. And yeah, he’s been acting kinda nuts the past couple weeks. And that’s saying something, cause the guy’s always a little wack-a-doo, you know? Complaining about head-aches, constant night sweats…that kind of stuff.”

Drugs for sure
, Jackie thought. “Have you seen your…er,
Mr. Friskin
take any pills lately?”

“Hunter? Hell no, he doesn’t trust that kind of stuff. He’d yell at me whenever I took an aspirin for a headache. He said my ‘natural painkillers’ would kick in if I was patient.”

“Okay, can you think of anything else that might have contributed to Mr. Friskin’s attempted suicide? You’re sure it wasn’t stress at work?”

“Please,” Adrianna said. “With Hunter’s history? Stress at work is nothing, he’s just happy to have a job.”
Jackie smiled politely, and added a few notes to her expanding pile. Her coffee had grown cold, and Adrianna’s nasal voice was starting to get on her nerves.

“Well Ms…Fultano, right?”

Adrianna nodded happily.

“I think we have everything we need,” Jackie closed her notebook. “Please, if you think of anything else don’t hesitate to call.” She handed the woman her card and rose from her chair.

After Adrianna left, Jackie stayed behind and reviewed her notes. What they showed was something more interesting than an assault gone wrong. To begin with, Jackie was pretty sure Adrianna had played fast and loose with the truth concerning her relationship with Friskin.
She stayed with him because he’s hot? Right.
And the whole headaches and night sweats that Adrianna had snuck in at the end? They were classic signs of drug use…but the toxicology screen said he was clean. Adrianna hadn’t lied about that—not even an Advil in Friskin’s system.

Jackie yawned and rubbed her eyes, then spread her notes across the table. It was an organization trick she had learned in the academy, designed to help mental-blocks. Somewhere in this mess were the seeds to Friskin’s motives. Jackie just had to find the right pieces.

A sudden knock at the door made her start. Russ poked his head through, “Jack, you got a sec?”

“Yeah, I know I said we’d take off after this, but there’s something here,” Jackie motioned at the scattered sheets. “I know there’s more to it, I just have to put it together.” She looked up from the mess and gave Russ a tired, tight-lipped smile. “Why don’t you take off? I’m going to be at this for awhile. I’ll bring in whatever I have tomorrow and you can take a look.”

Russ opened the door wide and stepped through. “Yeah, about the ‘staying awhile’ part…”

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to love this.”

Jackie frowned. “Wanna help me out here?”

“Just got a call from dispatch.”

“…and?” Jackie said warily

Russ grinned. “
And
, they just got a report of a double homicide down by that old cathedral—Saint Catherine’s.”

Jackie groaned. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me? Can it wait?”

Russ’ grin widened. “No, I think you’re going to want to check this out.”

“I doubt it.”

“Trust me. The report says both victims were strangled to death.” Russ paused to make sure Jackie was listening, then blanched as Jackie gave him her death-stare. “Well, they said—”

“Let me guess. Necks broken and bruises in the form of a hand-print?”

“You already heard?”

Jackie sighed and started packing up her notes. “Give me a sec to clean up and we’ll get going.”

Russ nodded and made to leave.

“Oh, and Russ?” He turned and looked at her. “Better call your wife. We’re not going home anytime soon.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Hunter fled the church with no idea where to go. He was back at the place he had started a few hours ago, outside the church, lost in a neighborhood he barely knew. With the exception of the priest’s cassock, everything was the same. For a second Hunter entertained returning to the hospital, but didn’t want to face whatever assault charges would be waiting—not to mention being forced back into cuffs.

He could go home. The idea had appeal; he could grab a change of clothes, fill his duffel bag, and be out in a few minutes. Hunter looked up and watched the hazy, winter sunlight slowly spill across the city. It was probably too early for Ade to leave for work, but if he started walking now he could be there by late morning.

It was tempting, especially the clothes part, but something warned him that going back to any part of his past life would be a mistake. Escaping his old pattern—the rotating jobs, the hateful co-workers, his dead-end marriage—was the only silver lining of the last twenty-four hours. If he returned, Hunter didn’t know if he’d ever leave again.

So instead he wandered the city.

Usually, Hunter worked late hours at the funeral home, and would sleep-in until nine or ten in the morning. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been awake at dawn, and never in Denver. Walking through the empty streets in the ill-fitting robe, Hunter was surprised to find how beautiful the city was when barely touched by morning. All the hard edges, the trash-littered corners, the pitted streets, seemed to glow in the early light. An empty bus stop, a trampled weed struggling in the cracked sidewalk—they had a quiet, almost surreal beauty.

His headache was gone, had been for hours, but Hunter’s mind was still fuzzy. The visions felt a thousand years away, almost a different lifetime. Hunter’s fingers began to tingle, and he tightened his hands, forcing his digits to go numb.

I need a drink,
he thought. Usually Hunter stayed away from the stuff—Adrianna used to tease him mercilessly that she could drink a big man like him under the table—but there was that whole thing, “No time like the present.” And for the first time in awhile, that was all he really had—time.

He stopped and tried to get his bearings. There, only a few blocks away and looming in the early morning shadows, was Saint Catherine’s. Hunter had spent the last hour walking a long, lazy circle, but hadn’t gotten anywhere. Cursing, he pointed himself in the opposite direction, intent on putting some distance between him and the priest—and that’s when he noticed the bar across the street.

Well, you
did
want a drink
.

Hunter glanced at the tall towers of the cathedral, weighing the risk of staying in one place too long. He doubted the police were giving him much consideration—Hunter wasn’t paranoid enough to believe his little cloak and dagger routine at the hospital had caused a city-wide man hunt—but it didn’t hurt to be safe. Just the thought of returning to the hospital was enough to taste bile in the back of his throat. But then he thought about Adrianna and the bombshell she dropped last night. Divorce…God, it made him want to strangle her fat neck. After he had stayed with her this long, put up with her insults, her shopping habits, the cheating—all so she could leave him when he was at his lowest.

Fuck it. You’ve earned a drink.

Crossing the street, Hunter realized he didn’t even know the time. Were bars open this early? But he’d forgotten what part of the city he was in, and when he pushed on the door it opened easily.

The inside looked like every bar Hunter had seen, mostly those on TV. It consisted of a long wooden bar and a few chairs and tables scattered haphazardly across the chipped, wooden floor. The windows admitted a dirty, brown morning light, and a pool table in the corner looked, if not
clean
, at least serviceable. Hunter waited to see if he needed to be seated, then, noticing the bartender’s odd looks, made his way to bar and lowered himself to a faded red stool.

“Morning,” Hunter said.

“Morning,” the bartender replied, his lips twitching.

Hunter glanced around the dingy room. “You’ve got a nice place here. Been open long?”

The bartender’s amusement spread into a long, lazy grin. He put down the glass he had been cleaning and moved closer. “Yeah,” he said. “Been in my family for sixty years.”

“Shit. Sixty, really? Man, I wish
my
family had left me something like this.”

The bartender, whose grin had grown even wider when Hunter said “shit,” just shook his head. “Jesus, Lou is never going to believe this.”

“Believe what?” Hunter smiled in reply to the bartender’s grin, not really aware of the joke but enjoying the unusual sense of camaraderie.

“A priest. In my bar. Saying ‘shit.’” The bartender slapped his hands on the counter and laughed.

Hunter, realizing he was the butt of a joke, felt his grin vanish. “Uh, yeah. Guess I’m not used to being in a bar, you know? Parish life…they keep us on a short leash.”

“I’ll bet,” the bartender laughed, wiping his eyes.

“So,” Hunter looked around awkwardly. “What does a priest have to do to get a drink?”

The bartender finally stopped laughing and shook his head. “Father, it’s on the house. Name it.”

“Oh no, that’s cool.”

“I insist. My brother’s never going to believe this.”

“Well, if you insist…” Hunter didn’t press the point, the thought occurring that he had no way of paying for the drink if the bartender changed his mind. “Brandy, if you’ve got it.”

“Brandy? Father, I know you don’t get out much but—”

“Beer then,” Hunter said quickly, hoping to stave off more questions.
Just take whatever he’ll give you and shut up
.

“Sure. Beer it is.” The bartender walked over to the cooler, still shaking his head and chuckling. When he returned Hunter thanked him politely, then turned and began to drink, hoping the bartender would take the hint and give him some privacy. The bartender, his smile disappearing when he realized his joke was done, frowned, then went back to the sink and continued cleaning.

As Hunter nursed his beer—
A domestic? I’m not funny enough for imported?—
he took another glance around the bar. In the corner, converging around a slightly crooked pool table, was a pair of college students who looked like they’d been at it all night. The two boys had wide, dark smudges around their eyes, and
leaned
more than played on the table. One of the two, a kid wearing a burgundy sweatshirt with the initials DU, was rubbing his temples and speaking softly to his friend.

Not far from the students was an old man seated by himself at a small table, drinking something brown with ice. The man’s hands shook slightly as he lifted the glass to his lips, and he closed his eyes as he took each sip. He reminded Hunter painfully of his father.

There were a few more guys crowded at the end of the bar, wearing construction gear and looking like they were already running late for work, and in the opposite corner of the pool table…Hunter’s mouth suddenly went dry.

In the opposite corner of the pool table was the most beautiful woman Hunter had ever seen.

She sat by herself, but had the easy confidence of all beautiful women who know they don’t
have
to sit by themselves. She was wearing a modest green blouse and black skirt, but somehow she made the conservative outfit uncomfortably sensual. Hunter’s gaze was drawn repeatedly to the way the shirt hugged her breasts; the tight, seductive lines the skirt formed as it outlined her slim legs. Auburn hair ran halfway down her back, falling full and thick along her graceful neck. And her eyes— deep black pools that drew Hunter like…

Black?
Hunter shook his head.
No
. The woman turned while he was staring, catching his eyes
, and Hunter felt the blood rush to his cheeks.
H
e watched as she ran her eyes up and down his body.
How could I have missed that? Her eyes are green as a summer meadow
.

Smiling, she stood and walked languidly over, never breaking eye contact. Her gait was smooth, her hips swaying gently as she placed one foot in front of the other. Hunter thought his eyes would dry out if he stared much longer. Reaching him, she smiled and took the adjacent stool, holding out her hand. “Morning. I’m Karen.”