Ghost Writer - Pandora Pine Page 0,68

kept returning to. “Whoever it was that killed Brooks sure as hell had the devil in him.”

“I also can’t help thinking about that house being the source of evil.” Cope scanned each line of the text, using his finger as a marker. “I don’t see any hidden messages, just song lyrics this time.”

While Cope had been going over the lyrics, Jude had Googled them. “The name of the song is A Mighty Fortress is Our God. It was written by Martin Luther back in the sixteenth century. Thanks to these lyrics, I think we can narrow down the identity of Brooks tormentor.”

“Explain to me how that’s possible with the words of a five-hundred-year-old song.” Cope wore a confused look on his face.

“A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing; our helper he, amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing,” Jude read from his phone.

“I’m still confused. What in those words tells you who did this to Brooks?”

“The line about mortal ills. It made me think about mortal sins.” Jude paused for a few seconds. “What religion assigns classifications to sins?”

Cope gasped. “The Catholics. Mortal and venial sins.” Cope shook his head. “You think a priest did this to Brooks? Tortured and killed him?”

Jude nodded.

“Why?” Cope seemed to be working it out in his head.

“Maybe Brooks committed a mortal sin in the eyes of the Catholic Church. Those were the big ones. Sins that sent you right to hell unless you repented and meant it.” Jude didn’t understand how any of this worked. Sins that were more serious than others. Eternal damnation or forgiveness as the result. In his Navajo culture, dying and going to the underworld, no matter what, seemed so much easier by comparison.

“What are the mortal sins? Is it like sloth, gluttony, greed?” Cope looked like he wasn’t totally sure.

“No, those are the seven deadly sins.” Christ, how many friggin’ rules did the Catholics have? Shaking his head, Jude glanced down at his phone. “According to this webpage, some of the mortal sins are murder, rape, suicide, abortion, and breaking the Ten Commandments.”

“What are the rest of them?” Cope was shaking his head.

“It doesn’t say.”

“What do you mean? Look it up on another website.” Cope grabbed his phone and started tapping the screen.

“You don’t understand. The church is deliberately vague on the rest of the list.” Jude knew the exact reason why, too.

Cope looked as if he was going to be sick to his stomach. “Jesus, I get it now. It’s so they can add others in later, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure theologians of the day would disagree, but yeah, that’s exactly what I think. They knew other sins would crop up as time went on, so they built a mechanism into the system to account for that.” Among others, this kind of sneaky shit was the reason Jude hated organized religion.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Cope was wringing his hands together so hard, his knuckles had gone white.

“This could just be me being overly sensitive.” Jude didn’t think that was the case, not at all.

“Say it.” Cope’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“I think Brooks was gay. I think his tormentor knew it and used that fact against him.” He hoped he was wrong, but Jude didn’t think that was the case.

“Conversion therapy?” Cope’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Jude nodded. It made him sick to his stomach just thinking about it. The idea that people thought the gay could be beat out of someone was just as ridiculous as thinking physical violence could turn a brunette into a blond.

“Hold on a minute. Conversion therapy started in the early 1940s. Geneva killed herself in 1917. The dates don’t match up.” Hope glittered in Cope’s eyes.

“Just because the process wasn’t known by the modern name, didn’t mean it wasn’t happening.”

Cope sat down hard in the leather sofa. “Is that it, Brooks? Were you gay and this monster made you pay for it?”

Cope’s question was answered with silence.

Jude took a seat on the sofa next to Cope. He pulled his husband to lie against his chest. “We need to talk to Geneva as soon as possible.” There was no way around it. Hopefully, she would be able to give them the information Brooks couldn’t or, more likely, wouldn’t.

31

Copeland

Cope and Jude never had the opportunity to pick up where they left off the night before. They’d both been too tired and emotionally worn out to do anything more than crawl into bed in exhaustion and fall asleep.

Last night’s conversation had