CHAPTER NINE
“So we’re looking for a thimble?” Marcus asked.
“Yes,” Kate confirmed. “And hopefully some clue to what it might mean.”
He turned the corner onto Gloria Prentiss’s street. The tires chirped a little as the car passed over a drift of slush at the curb, but Marcus quickly got it under control.
The snow was a little thicker in Greenfield, Indiana, still not much to speak of, but more than the light dusting that decorated Portland and Dayton.
The trees here were almost all evergreen, some of them of the broadleaf variety.
That always seemed odd to Kate. It was like a rendering error had caused summer and winter to resolve at the same time, leaving the harsh bright green of the broadleaf trees to clash with the deeper tones of the conifers.
Every now and then, they came across a deciduous tree that had the decency to shed its leaves, revealing its skeleton of branches.
Upon second glance, Kate decided it wasn’t an improvement.
They were like ghosts lurking among the living, a silent promise that one day, all would join them in the darkness beyond.
The homes were a little less eerie, weathered but beautiful wood-frame Craftsman homes with brick chimneys, shingled roofs, and covered porches on small, well-ordered lots set back from the road.
The neighborhood reminded her of her childhood home in Chicago, christened Mulberries by a much younger Kate who still believed that bad people existed only in stories and life would always work out in the end for good people.
She wondered if that was why Cox selected this neighborhood. Schulz’s home, too, was in a typical middle-class setting, not quite the same as this but in the ballpark. Was Cox once more trying to assault Kate’s childhood memories?
“Here we are,” Marcus said, pulling the SUV into the driveway of a light gray example of the typical Craftsman design, single-story but with an attic and a wide, sloping roof.
Smaller trees grew on either side of the home, and Kate noted with approval that they were proper evergreens—spruces, she believed.
“No other vehicles present,” Marcus remarked. “That’s a good sign. Maybe we’re the only ones here.”
“Fingers crossed.”
They approached the door and tried the handle. Unlocked. Kate was sure they weren’t going to run into Cox here, but she unclipped her handgun just in case they stumbled across a looter or a vagrant.
“Weird that they left the place unlocked,” Marcus noted.
“Yeah,” Kate agreed. “Just keep your wits about you.”
Marcus chuckled and affected a horrible British accent. “Aye aye, guv’nuh.”
She rolled her eyes and tried to hide how good it felt to banter with him.
They entered the house and found a living room that was just as fitting to a retired, elderly schoolteacher as Warren Schulz's home was to a middle-aged, thrice-divorced man.
The furniture was all plush cloth, and a rug sat underneath the coffee table.
The television was modestly sized and set to the side of the living room, allowing the large brick fireplace to dominate the front.
A picture sat on the mantel, a framed photograph of a couple in their early forties with a quartet of children ranging in age from their early to late teens.
The house was clean and dusted. Someone had definitely been here, though it didn’t immediately appear that they’d moved anything.
Kate picked up the photograph and studied it.
“Gloria?” Marcus asked.
Kate shook her head. “I don’t think so. The woman in the photo looks similar, but she’s too tall. Gloria is—was—only five-two.”
“A daughter, maybe?”
“I think so. And grandkids.”
She set the photograph back and headed toward a hallway leading to the back of the house. “The thimble was on the bathroom windowsill. If it’s still here, that’s where we’ll find it.”
“I’m still not sure why you think it would be somewhere else. I’m pretty sure no one thought of those objects as potential evidence until you did.”
“Well, whoever was here after the scene was closed is a neat freak. This house is far too dust-free to have been left this way since Gloria died.”
"Yeah, and the refrigerator is almost empty," Marcus agreed. "What is there hasn't expired. Do we think someone's staying here?"
“Probably not,” Kate replied. “Probably just keeping it tidy until they can sell it.”
"So, no chance we catch Cox squatting?"
Kate smiled ruefully. “Beautiful as that sounds, no, I don’t think so. He’s not that stupid.”
“Sure would be nice if he was,” Marcus grumbled.
“No arguments there.”
They entered the bathroom, which was compact and included a stand-up shower but no tub. The master bedroom had a much larger bathroom with a stepped tub that provided easy entry and exit, but the thimble was here in the guest bathroom.
And it was still here. It shone with the unique dull sheen of unpolished brass, still pointing just a degree or two off of perpendicular to the bathroom door.
Dust frosted the top of the thimble. Actually, the whole bathroom.
It looked like the house’s current caretaker had neglected the guest bathroom.
“That’s the object, huh?” Marcus said, peering at the thimble, which was balanced almost precariously on the thin sill. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Marcus nodded. “So why a thimble?”
Kate crossed her arms and stared at the thimble. “I think those were the items they stole.”
“A thimble?”
“The ceramic cardinal in Warren Schulz’s home, and the thimble in Gloria Prentiss’s home. The music box in Karen de Luca’s home, and the watch in Jordan Prescott’s home.”
Marcus nodded. “I buy that. But what do the objects mean?”
Kate bit her lip. “It could be a reference to God watching everything they do. There’s a Bible verse that says His eye is on the sparrow. I know it’s a cardinal, but it’s not like Cox can wish for the victim to have stolen a ceramic sparrow.”
“But what does the thimble have to do with anything?”
Kate began to pace, but the bathroom was too small for that, so she settled for shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I don’t know. I think that’s the part we need to figure out.”
“Shh.”
Kate turned to Marcus to see a serious expression on his face, his hand lifted for quiet. A moment later, she heard it, the sound of the front door handle turning. Marcus looked at Kate, and the two of them placed their hands on their weapons without drawing them.
“FBI!” Marcus called. “Identify yourself!”
“FBI?” a female voice called. “What the hell is the FBI doing here? Is that your car parked in my mother’s driveway?”
Marcus looked down the hallway. What he saw apparently convinced him there was no danger because he took his hand off of his weapon and lifted it in greeting to the newcomer, evidently Gloria Prentiss’s daughter. Kate took her hand off her own weapon and followed him to the living room.
They were greeted by the woman in the photograph. She was a few years older and a few pounds heavier than she was in the photo, but she was clearly the one depicted in the family photo sitting on Gloria’s mantel.
“Special Agent Marcus Reid,” Marcus said. “This is my partner, Special Agent Kate Valentine.” He flashed the newcomer a wide, slightly sheepish smile. “Sorry to catch you by surprise like this.”
Kate had seen that smile work to great effect on many people over the course of their partnership, and Gloria Prentiss’s daughter was no exception. She relaxed, returned a tentative smile of her own and said, “That’s all right. I assume you’re here to investigate my mother’s murder?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why? She was just a retired schoolteacher. Why would the FBI be interested in her?”
“To be honest, ma’am,” Kate began.
“Olivia,” the woman replied. “Olivia Ferris.” She smiled again, sadly this time. “Formerly Prentiss.”
“Olivia,” Kate continued, “we believe your mother’s murder may be tied into another investigation of ours.”
“What investigation?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.”
Olivia crossed her arms, a typical defensive reaction, though Kate detected surprise more than guilt on the woman’s face. “Was… Was my mother in trouble?”
“No,” Kate assured her. “We just feel her case might be connected to others.”
“Other murders? Like a serial killer?”
“It’s still early in the investigation,” Marcus replied. “We’re here to examine the scene and confirm that it fits with our other case. Or that it doesn’t.”
“Since you’re here,” Kate added, “Can you tell us if there was anyone new in your mother’s life? Anyone she mentioned? A visitor or a new friend?”
Olivia scoffed. “A visitor for mother? Not likely. She was… Well, she was good with kids. Not so much with adults.”
“Was she religious?”
"Lapsed Catholic," Olivia said. Her brow furrowed. Then her eyes widened. "Oh, God. It's not that priest is it?"
Kate and Marcus shared a glance. On one hand, they weren’t authorized to share details about the case. On the other hand, Winters had just put out a public service announcement stating that Cox was disguising himself as a priest to kill people.
“Oh my God.” She brought her hands to her mouth. “I just saw that on the news. That guy, the one who burnt that church in Maine, he’s going around killing people. Oh my God.”
So that cat was out of the bag. Probably a good thing. Maybe people would be more careful. “Did your mother mention anything about a new priest?”
Olivia shook her head. She hadn’t started crying yet, but Kate knew that once the shock wore off, the tears would come. “No. I mean…”
Her eyes shifted to the left. Kate kept her tone gentle but her face stern. “Olivia, if there’s anything you know that could help us find the person who did this to your mother, then you need to tell us. We believe he’s still out there. Other lives are in danger.”
“Oh, God.” Olivia closed her eyes, possibly to pray. Lapsed religious people tended to unlapse really fast when they detected a threat to their lives. “Um… No, I don’t know anything. It’s just… My mother and I weren’t on the best of terms.”