Angel Fire - Lisa Unger [87]
He could feel as he entered the church that the side door to the garden had been left open. He could feel the outside air inside, and smelled the sweet scent of the flowers from the garden. He walked to the doorway but could not bring himself to step outside, remembering when he had fallen in the blood just weeks before. He pulled the door closed and walked to the altar, sat on the stool there to practice his guitar.
So soothed and rapt was he by his own playing that he almost didn’t hear the phone ring back in the office. He thought certainly by the time he reached it, the caller would have hung up, but when he answered, Lydia was on the line.
“Juno?”
“Yes, Lydia, hello.”
“Juno, I have a question for you. The boy you last attempted to heal, what was his name?”
“It seems like a long time ago,” he answered.
“I saw the name when I was searching the Internet before all this started, but I can’t remember it now. Do you recall it?”
“Yes, yes, it was … Robbie. Robbie Hugo.”
“Was he the only person you tried to heal that died?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to his parents?”
“Well, his mother, Jennifer, was a parishioner here. Her husband was not a religious man. I don’t remember his first name or even ever meeting him. She went to Colorado sometime after the boy died and I assume her husband went, as well.”
“Do you know anything else about them?”
“Not really. I’m sorry.”
“Juno, do you have a volunteer or parishioner at the church named Vince A. Gemiennes, someone who might not have been on the list your uncle gave us?”
“Well, I’m not sure who’s on that list. The name does sound familiar. You’ll have to ask my uncle, he’ll know better.”
“Can you get him?”
“He’s preparing for mass,” Juno answered, an odd reluctance overtaking him.
“Juno, this is pretty important.”
He knocked on his uncle’s door and when, after a moment, there was no answer, he pushed it open. “Uncle?” He walked into the room and put his hand on the bed which was made and cold as ice.
He returned to the phone. “Lydia, he’s not here. It’s very odd.”
“Okay, Juno, there should be a squad car in front of the church. Go outside and tell them there’s a problem. If there isn’t a car out there, go inside, call 911, lock the doors, and don’t move until the police get there. Do you understand me?”
“Yes. Lydia, what’s happening?”
“Sit tight and I’ll be there as fast as I can. I just have one thing I need to do first.”
Juno ran, as best he could, twice jamming his foot against he didn’t know what. The world so familiar to him seemed suddenly like an obstacle course where malicious, hard objects moved themselves into his path to impede his progress. When he finally reached the door, he called out for the police. But he got no answer.
Simon Morrow was fuming. After the body found in the Savroy’s garden had been taken to the ME’s office, Morrow had come to the hospital to sit outside Benny’s room and wait for him to wake up. Retarded or not, he was involved. There was a body buried in his garden, for Christ’s sake. And that bitch had made him seem like the biggest idiot in the world for thinking Benny was a suspect. He was a fucking suspect. And Morrow fully intended to be the first person to get the information out of him.
He leaned his head back against the cool plaster and tried to get comfortable in one of the metal-and-vinyl, stiff-cushioned chairs that lined the waiting-room walls. In the background he could hear the quiet rushing back and forth of nurses on soft-soled shoes, the occasional tone that issued from the intercom before a doctor was paged to the ER.
He was tired. He’d barely slept last night.
He had been in the office late, sorting through old records, remembering his last few years on the job. He wanted so desperately to be the one to solve this case. He wasn’t a forensic expert or a victimologist or one of those special high-tech detectives that they had on all the TV shows these days. He was just a regular cop who came of age in the department on the street. He walked the grid, assembled the clues, and made