Angel Fire - Lisa Unger [92]
As he slid his cell phone from the inside lapel pocket of his suit jacket, he heard cars pull up the gravel driveway. From the window he could see Jeffrey Mark and Lydia Strong walk up to the door. He walked down the hallway to greet them.
“Chief, what are you doing here?” Jeffrey asked.
“I was following up on a hunch that proved to be right,” he answered, trying not to seem smug. “What are you doing here?”
“We got a tip on a vehicle and it led us here. Why didn’t you call for backup?”
“I wasn’t sure there was anything,” he answered. “I came here to ask some questions of this guy Bernard Hugo. I just remembered he was working as a caretaker at the church on and off for the last few months.”
“Is he here?”
“No.”
“But you came in here without a warrant? Jesus.”
“Relax. I didn’t touch anything.”
“That’s not the fucking point,” shot Jeffrey. “If anybody finds out you were here, you’ll lose anything you’ve found in court and this guy will walk. You wanted to handle this without the FBI, and then you pull a stunt like this that could put your whole case in the toilet. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about stopping a guy who has probably killed three, maybe four people, Mr. Mark. Watch your tone. I’m not a rookie. The door was open and there was a notable stench. I had probable cause to enter.”
Jeffrey stared at Chief Morrow as the four police officers around him shifted uncomfortably and looked away. He reined in his anger at Morrow’s carelessness. And when he spoke again, his voice was more restrained. “Fine. It’s your case, Chief. Let’s see what you got.”
Simon Morrow was moved to silence by rage as he walked them to evidence he had found.
“Holy shit,” said Jeffrey, as he entered the room.
If insanity had a bedroom, this would have been it. The metal gurney where Bernard Hugo had removed the hearts of his victims was scrubbed clean and stood in the middle of a room that looked to have been a baby’s nursery. Beside it was a tray of surgical implements—scalpel, bone saw, and other horrible metal tools Jeffrey couldn’t name but hoped would never be put to use on his body. Powder-blue curtains hung on the window frame, and a wallpaper border with ducks and balloons could still be seen edging the ceiling. The rest of the wall was covered, however, with newspaper articles and photographs. The maniac collage that papered the walls included images of Lydia from the media, articles written about her and by her, covers from her books, articles about Juno, about the death of Robbie Hugo, baby pictures, some of the very articles that Lydia had clipped from the newspaper at the beginning of her interest in this case. Over it all, the rantings of a demented mind were scrawled in blood. Jeffrey saw immediately the message they had found on Lydia’s bedroom mirror among the rest of the deadly graffiti, including: Sinners must die … I am God’s warrior and evildoers shall feel my wrath.… She will bring the message of God.
“Holy shit,” Lydia said as she walked in the door.
“His name is Bernard Hugo,” said Chief Morrow, “and he’s been a volunteer caretaker on and off at the church for the last six months. He used to be an orderly at the hospital, but after his son died and his wife left him, he lost it, stopped going to work, got fired.”
“I know. His son died after a failed heart transplant,” said Lydia; “Juno visited him, supposedly attempted to heal him. And the boy died hours later.”
Morrow thought on it a second. “You’re right. I had forgotten about that.”
Lydia wanted to jump on him. How could he have not made these connections earlier? But she knew it wasn’t really fair. The whole thing was so insane.
“The guy doesn’t even have a speeding ticket, you know?” Morrow said, as if reading her mind. “There had always been rumors about him, according