“He ever put a move on you?”

“What?” Once again, Magda clutched at her cross.

“You’re a very attractive woman, and you worked together closely.”

“He was a priest.”

“He was a man first.”

“No, he did not make a move on me.”

Eve angled her head. “But?”

“I didn’t say ‘but.’ ”

“You thought it. Magda, he’s dead. Anything you tell me may help us find the who, and the why. I’m not asking to get my rocks off.”

Magda heaved out a breath. “Maybe I felt there was something, that he might have thought about it, or wondered. It feels wrong to say this.”

“You got the vibe,” Eve prompted.

“Yes, all right, I got the vibe. He might have looked at me now and then more like a man does, who’s interested, than a priest should. But that’s all. He never suggested, or touched me inappropriately. Ever.”

“Could there have been someone else?”

“I never got that impression.”

“Okay. Other than you and Marc, who did he spend time with?”

“Fathers López and Freeman, of course. Father Freeman especially. They were both into sports-playing and watching-and Father Freeman often helps us out here, too. And he, Miguel, made time for the kids, for his parishioners, even just people in the neighborhood. He was outgoing.”

EVE AND PEABODY WENT BACK TO THE CHURCH.

“Are you thinking the Solas woman changed her mind about being grateful?” Peabody wondered.

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Poison skews female. She went to church here, would’ve known the setup, or could have found out. She’s not on the list for the funeral, but it wouldn’t have been hard to get in and out. Not my favorite theory, but we’ll check it out.”

“Solas himself could have arranged for it. Maybe we should check his communication from prison.”

“We’ll do that.”

“But you don’t like that theory either.”

“Not top of my hit parade. A guy gets his ass kicked, he wants physical, violent payback. A bigger ass-kicking.” Eve crossed the vestibule and walked into the church proper. She watched the tall man with dark skin genuflect, then turn.

“Good morning,” he said in a rich baritone that echoed theatrically.

He wore black sweats and a short-sleeved sweatshirt. Eve wondered, if she hadn’t studied his ID photo already, if she’d have made him for a priest, the way the kids playing ball had made her for a cop.

She wasn’t entirely sure.

“Father Freeman, I’m Lieutenant Dallas. My partner, Detective Peabody.”

He was compelling in his photo, but more so in person, to Eve’s mind. Tall, muscular, strikingly handsome, with large, liquid brown eyes, and an athletic way of moving. He met them in the center of the aisle, held out a big hand. “It’s a lousy way to meet anyone, Lieutenant. Detective. Chale-Father López-said you’d probably come by to talk to me. Would you like to go to the rectory?”

“Here’s fine, unless you’re expecting some business.”

He smiled, went from handsome to hot. “Things are usually quiet in here this time of morning. I thought I’d go for a run after early Mass, but I… I didn’t have it in me. I ended up coming here. A little alone time to think about Miguel, to say a few prayers.”

“You used to run with him in the mornings.”

“Yes. Most days we’d take a run together, around the neighborhood. I guess that’s why I came here, instead of taking our loop. It just…”

“Yeah. You were close.”

“We were. We hit it off, enjoyed debating, long discussions-about everything under the sun. Church law, politics, why the Yankees traded Alf Nader.”

“Yeah.” Eve jabbed a finger at Freeman. “What were they smoking?”

“Idiot weed, if you ask me, but Miguel thought it was the right move. We argued that one for hours the night before I left for Chicago.”

It struck him, showed on his face, that he remem-bered it was the last he’d seen or spoken to Flores. “We watched the Yankee game on-screen in the parlor, the three of us. Chale went up during the seventh-inning stretch. But Miguel and I sat and watched, argued the trade and the calls, everything else, and killed six brews.”

“You can do that? Drink brew.”

The faintest smile played around Freeman’s mouth. “Yes. It’s a good memory. It’s a good one to remember. How we watched the game and argued about Alf Nader.”

Freeman turned to look back at the altar. “It’s better than trying to imagine what it was like, what it must’ve been like when he died up there. The world’s full of terrible things, but this? To kill a man, and to use faith, his calling as the weapon.” Freeman shook his head.

“It’s hard to lose a friend,” Eve said after a moment.

“Yes, it is. Hard, too, not to question God’s will.”

Eve thought God took a lot of blame, when to her mind it came down to one human being choosing to slaughter another. “You said ‘loop.’ You had a usual jogging route?”

“In the mornings? Yes. Why?”

“You never know. Where did you habitually run?”

“We’d head east to First, then go north to East 122nd. Turn back west, to Third Avenue, south from there to finish the loop. He often-or sometimes both of us-might stop at the youth center before coming home. Toss a few baskets with the kids.”

“When’s the last time you ran together?”

“About a week ago. The day before I left for Chicago. I had an early shuttle, so I didn’t run that morning.”

“Did he meet anyone along the way, have words with? Or mention anyone he’d had trouble with?”

“Nothing like that. Well, we might see people we know leaving for work, or coming home after a night shift. People who might call out hello, or some comment. People who live or work along the route. Mr. Ortiz, for instance. We passed his house every day, and in good weather, Mr. Ortiz walked in the mornings, so he might be out.”

“Mr. Ortiz. The one who died.”

“Yes. He’ll be missed. I’ll miss seeing him on my run, just as I’ll miss having Miguel running with me.”

“Did Flores talk to you about anyone, or anything, that troubled him?”

“We all wrestle with faith, and our purpose. We would, when we felt the need, discuss in general terms the problems of someone who’d come to us. How we could best help.”

When Eve’s ’link signaled, she nodded to Peabody to take over, and stepped away.

“Father, what about Mr. Solas? We’re told they had an altercation.”

Freeman let out a sigh. “Yes, Miguel was incensed, furious when we learned Barbara had been abused. We’re told to hate the sin, not the sinner, but there are times that’s very hard. He did have an altercation with Mr. Solas, and that altercation was physical. The fact is, Miguel knocked Solas out, and might have done more if Marc Tuluz hadn’t stopped it. But Solas is in prison.”

“And Mrs. Solas?”

“She’s in counseling, as are her children. She’s making progress.”

Eve stepped back. “We may want to take this to the rectory after all. Is Father López in?”

Obviously puzzled, Freeman checked his wrist unit. “Yes, he should be. He has neighborhood calls shortly.”

“Then we’ll meet you there.”

Peabody waited until they stepped out. “What’s up?”

“Dental records are in. We can stop pussyfooting around.”

Rosa escorted them into López’s office, where he sat at his desk and Freeman stood by the small window.

“You’ve learned something,” López said immediately.

“Confirmed something. The man who died yesterday wasn’t Father Miguel Flores.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.” Placing his hands on the desk, López pushed out of his chair. “I was there. I saw him.”

“The man you knew as Flores assumed that identity. We believe he assumed it sometime between June and October of 2053, and had some facial surgery to enhance the facade. As the actual Miguel Flores hasn’t been seen or heard from in that time, we speculate he’s dead.”