her acquaintances. Opposite was Naomi Gersh, who appeared to be engaged in conversation with the others. The photo was so blurred—maybe even taken by a cell phone, from a distance, that it was hard to make out the faces clearly.
Four smart, vibrant women celebrating together in December at a controversial play that would obviously have been offensive to many devout worshippers—and now two of them were dead, victims of torture and mutilation.
“This is Alex Cooper,” I said, answering my cell.
“Hi, Alex. It’s Faith.”
“Thanks for the call. Is everything calm on your end?”
“Just fine, thanks. How can I help?”
“This photograph I forwarded you was taken at the workshop after one of the performances of Double-Crossed. I’m thinking that whoever took it might have more shots from that evening.”
“That’s probably true.”
“One of the detectives visited the theater this morning. It’s quite small, and since there was a party of some sort, there’s a chance some other audience members could have been captured in the images.”
Faith Grant took a moment to follow my thinking. “Why, Alex? Do you think the killer was among the guests?”
“We don’t know. I’m not hiding anything from you, Faith. We’re just trying to run it all down. The newspaper editor tells us one of Ursula’s friends supplied the photo. You said you knew women who were there. Maybe it was the night Chat went to see it. That would help us to start tracking back for information.”
I wanted information from these two other women in the photograph. I also wanted to make sure they were not also in the sights of our killer, that they were not currently in danger of being silenced.
“I see.”
“Of course you recognize Ursula.”
“Yes.”
“And the dark-haired woman on the far left is Naomi Gersh.”
“Okay.”
“The caption says one of the others is an ordained minister. By any chance—”
“Yes. I know who that is shaking hands with Ursula. Jeanine Portland, a graduate of this seminary. She’s wonderful, and I’m sure she’ll be helpful to you. I believe she’s at a church in New England.”
“Can you get that contact information for us?”
“Of course. The front office will have it.”
“So that leaves the young woman next to Naomi.”
“I can help you there, too, but she’s no nun. I’ll swear to that on a Bible.” Faith Grant was laughing. “That’s my sister, Chastity.”
I held the paper right in front of me and examined the picture again. “It doesn’t look anything like her.”
“That was her goth period, Alex. Dyed her hair black and straightened it. Lucky for me it was her New Year’s resolution to lose that look.”
My heart raced. I didn’t want her to hear any concern in my voice. “I need to talk to her, Faith. I need to talk to her as soon as I can.”
“I’ll tell her that when she returns my call. I’ve left her a message explaining that I’d like her to spend the weekend here with me in the dorms.”
“And she hasn’t called back?”
“Don’t sound so alarmed about it, Alex. It’s only been a couple of hours. I told you that Chat’s a free spirit.”
“So you haven’t talked to her since she left the seminary this morning?”
“No. It’s just been a few hours, Alex. There’s nothing worrisome about that.”
“Do you know where she is or what she’s doing that was so important she couldn’t stay to talk about Ursula?”
“I don’t keep her on a leash, Alex. And she isn’t responsible for what happened to Ursula, even if I am.”
“But under these circumstances, Faith—I mean with Ursula’s murder, and the fact that Chat spent time with her too—”
Faith Grant was calm and measured, perhaps even a bit annoyed with me. “Do you do this to your friends, too, Alex?”
“Do what?”
“Manage to put the fear of God in them whenever a child gets lost or a man looks at them the wrong way?”
“I didn’t intend to upset you.”
“I guess my calling, my professional training, is all about trust and belief and—well, faith. You don’t trust anyone very much, do you?”
I didn’t even have to close my eyes to recall the sight and the smell of Naomi Gersh’s body on the portico of Mount Neboh Church, or the treacherous slit in Ursula Hewitt’s throat as she lay in the ancient graveyard at Old St. Pat’s.
“I apologize for that. You know Chat’s habits and, of course, I don’t.”
Two of the women in that snapshot with her are dead, is what I wanted to say. Two of them were outcasts and pariahs, one in her church, the other