On Harrow Hill

“She wants it to go away. Under normal circumstances, she’d be happy to be seen as a prosecutor of religious hate crimes, defender of the God-fearing, et cetera. But these aren’t normal circumstances. Not only is the logic of the thing nutty, Stryker’s staff is already buried under an avalanche of heroin-fentanyl deaths, some of which appear to be opportunistic murders. Her caseload is twice what it was last year, and that’s double what it was the year before.”

“So what does she want from you?”

“She’s desperate for us to find Tate, announce a motive for the killings that has nothing to do with religion, make sure no more figure eights appear on local churches—and get it all done before Gant can whip this mess up into a political hurricane.”

“Is that all?”

Morgan sighed. “I know, I know. But I can understand the pressure she’s under. Add a religious angle to a murder case, and everybody goes crazy—especially the media. All of a sudden, it’s not just one more homicide in a nation that has fifteen thousand every year, plus seventy thousand drug deaths and half a million tobacco deaths. It’s anti-religious terrorism! Raise an army of the righteous! Beat back the Devil! Send money to Silas Gant!”

He fell silent. The agitation in his eyes had shifted to something that looked like hatred.

A moment later, he blinked as if to erase a dangerous thought, turned to his desk, picked up two sheets of paper, and announced with a sudden change of tone, “We have copies of the texts sent from Billy Tate’s phone—one to Selena Cursen, one to Chandler Aspern. Which do you want to see first?”

“The one he sent first.”

“That’d be the one to Cursen,” said Morgan, coming over to the couch and handing it to him. “The originals from the carrier identify Tate and Cursen only by their cell numbers. We substituted their names for sake of clarity.”

Gurney read the text exchange.

Tate: lena, u there?

Cursen: ANGEL???

Tate: where am I?

Cursen: ANGEL?????????

Tate: i was on the roof, what happened?

Cursen: OMG OMG OMG

Tate: what happened?

Cursen: LIGHTNING!!!

Tate: what lightning?

Cursen: RAVEN SAID YOU DIED

Tate: died where?

Cursen: THE CHURCH WHERE THE LIGHTNING STRUCK

Tate: where did they take me?

Cursen: RAVEN SAID PEELS

Tate: peales funerals?

Cursen: ILL COME GET YOU!!! NOW???

Tate: no not now, have to think, this is big very very very big

Cursen: WHEN DO I SEE YOU???

Tate: soon, don’t tell, nobody at all

Cursen: NOT EVEN RAVEN???

Tate: not yet when i see you we can decide who to tell but nobody now

Cursen: MY ANGEL

Tate: I’m the dark angel who rose from the dead—our secret, right lena?

Cursen: OUR SECRET MY ANGEL COME HOME SOON

Gurney read it a second time, then a third.

Morgan was watching him closely. “Any reaction?”

“Who’s Raven?”

“She’s like a younger version of Cursen. Lives at her house. A follower or apprentice. Maybe part of a threesome with Cursen and Tate.”

“She was in the village square when Tate fell off the roof?”

“Apparently. I didn’t see her, but that doesn’t mean anything. Things were pretty crazy. She probably came to watch him spray that garbage on the steeple.”

“Okay, let me see the text to Aspern.”

This one was terser, but more intriguing. It was a single message with no reply.

Tate: dead man has a plan

mega score 4 u

easy peasy

c u 2nite

dont shoot

haha

B.

Gurney also read this message three times. At first, he had an urge to confront Aspern with it, since the man had just denied ever receiving any messages from Tate. Then he thought of a possible innocent explanation. Aspern could have assumed the oddball message had been sent to the wrong number and ignored it. And perhaps it was, in fact, sent to the wrong number. In any event, there was no solid basis for assuming he’d lied.

Gurney shared these thoughts with Morgan and added, “The text’s intended recipient might be in doubt, but its content points to the existence of an accomplice. Or at least an intended accomplice.”

Morgan nodded. “Someone Tate knew well enough to sign the text with just his initial.”

“Someone,” said Gurney, “who has a phone number similar to Aspern’s, assuming that Tate made a one- or two-digit mistake typing it in.”