He smiled again at that, just a little. “You can probably eliminate the infants and toddlers, of which there were scores.”

“I don’t know. Toddlers are pretty suspicious. We’ll need to take a look at Flores’s room at the rectory. As soon as I can, I’ll see about moving Mr. Ortiz from the scene.”

“Thank you. I’ll wait at home.”

Eve led him out, locked the door, then told the closest uniform to bring in the second police witness.

While she waited, she circled Flores again. Good-looking guy, she mused. About six feet-hard to tell body type with the funny robes, but she’d scanned his official ID. That had him weighing in at a trim one-sixty.

He had even features, a lot of dark hair with a few glints of silver running through it. Smoother, she thought, than López. Leaner, younger.

She supposed priests came in all types and sizes, just like regular people.

Priests weren’t supposed to have sex. She’d have to ask somebody the root of that rule, if she found it could apply. Some priests also ignored the rule, and got their jollies, just like regular people. Maybe Flores didn’t care for celibacy.

Who would?

Maybe he’d diddled the wrong person. Angry lover or angry spouse of lover. Worked particularly well with young people, she mused. Maybe he liked to poke into the underage well. Vengeful parent.

Or-

“Lieutenant Dallas?”

Eve turned to see a hot number in sedate black. Petite would be the word, Eve supposed, as the woman hit maybe five-five in her black dress heels. Her hair was jet black as well, sleeked back into a quiet knot. She had huge, almond-shaped eyes in a kind of simmering green.

“Graciela Ortiz. Officer Ortiz,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

“Officer.” Eve came down from the altar. “You’re related to Mr. Ortiz.”

“Poppy. My great-grandfather.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. He lived so well, and long. Now he’s with the angels. But Father Flores…”

“You don’t think he’s with the angels?”

“I hope he is. But he didn’t live long, or die peacefully in his bed. I’ve never seen death like that.” She took a breath, and there was a shudder in it. “I should have acted more quickly, to preserve the scene. My cousin and I-Matthew is with Illegals-should have acted sooner. But I was closer. Matt was in the back of the church. I thought-we all thought-Father had had some sort of attack. Dr. Pasquale and my uncle, who is also a doctor, tried to help him. It happened very quickly. In minutes. Three, four, no more than that. So the body was moved, and the scene compromised. I’m sorry.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Graciela relayed the events, set the scene as López had.

“Did you know Flores?”

“Yes, a little. He married my brother. I mean to say he officiated at the marriage of my brother. Father Flores also gave time to the youth center. I do the same, when I can, so I knew him from there.”

“Impressions?”

“Outgoing, interested. He seemed to relate to the street kids. I thought he’d probably been there and done that in his time.”

“Did he show any interest in any particular kid or kids?”

“Not that I noticed. But I didn’t run into him there often.”

“He ever move on you?”

“Move… No.” Graciela seemed shocked, then thoughtful. “No, no moves, no sense he considered it. And I never heard of him breaking that particular vow.”

“Would you have?”

“I don’t know, but my family-and there are a lot of them-is very involved in the church and this is our home parish. If he was going to move on someone, odds are the someone would’ve been related or connected to the Ortiz family. And family gossip runs pretty hot and strong. My aunt Rosa housekeeps for the rectory and not much gets by her.”

“Rosa Ortiz.”

“O’Donnell.” Graciela smiled. “We diversify. Is it homicide, Lieutenant?”

“Right now it’s suspicious death. You might talk to family members, get their impressions.”

“Nobody’s going to be talking about much else for days,” Graciela commented. “I’ll see what I can find out from those who knew him better than I did.”

“Okay. I’m going to have your great-grandfather released from the scene. You and your cousin should take that detail as soon as we’re clear.”

“We appreciate that.”

“Where’s your house?”

“I’m with the two-two-three, here in East Harlem.”

“How long on the job?”

“Almost two years. I thought I wanted to be a lawyer, changed my mind.”

Probably change it again, Eve thought. She just didn’t see a cop in those sizzling green eyes. “I’m going to get my partner, and we’ll clear the casket. If anything regarding Flores occurs to you, you can reach me at-”

“Cop Central,” Graciela finished. “I know.”

As Graciela clicked out on her funeral heels, Eve took one more scan of the crime scene. A lot of death for one small church, she mused. One in the coffin, one at the altar, and the one looking down on both from the really big cross.

One dies in his sleep after a long life, one dies fast-and the other gets spikes hammered through his hands and feet so they can hang him on a cross of wood.

God, priest, and the faithful, she thought. To her way of thinking, God got the worst deal of the three.

I can’t decide,” Peabody said as they walked around to the rectory, “if the statues and candles and colored glass are really pretty or really creepy.”

“Statues are too much like dolls, and dolls are creepy. You keep expecting them to blink. And the ones that smile, like this?” Eve kept her lips tight together as she curved them up. “You know they’ve got teeth in there. Big, sharp, shiny teeth.”

“I didn’t. But now I’ve got to worry about it.”

The small, unimposing building that housed the rectory had flowers in a pair of window boxes-and, Eve noted, minimum security. A standard lock, those flower-decked windows open to the spring air, and no palm plate, no security cameras.

She knocked, then stood on long legs in simple trousers, on feet planted in worn boots. The pale gray blazer she’d shrugged on that morning covered her weapon harness. The frisky May breeze fluttered through her short, brown hair. Like her legs, her eyes were long, a whiskey brown. They didn’t sizzle like Graciela’s-and were all cop.

The woman who answered had an explosion of dark curls tipped with gold around a pretty face. Her red-rimmed eyes scanned Eve, then="1ned Eve Peabody. “I’m sorry, Father López is unable to take visitors today.”

“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.” Eve drew out her badge. “And Detective Peabody.”

“Yes, of course. Forgive me. Father said to expect you. Please come in.”

She stepped back. She wore a red carnation on the lapel of her black mourning suit-and both over a beautifully curved body. “It’s a terrible day for the parish, for my family. I’m Rosa O’Donnell. My grandfather… It was his funeral mass, you see. Father is in his office. He gave me this for you.” She held out an envelope. “You asked him to write out what Father Flores did today.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“I’m to let Father know if you need to see him.”

“No need at this time. You can tell him that we’ve released Mr. Ortiz. My partner and I need to see Father Flores’s room.”

“I’ll show you upstairs.”

“You cook for the rectory,” Eve began as they moved from the tiny foyer to the stairs.

“Yes, and clean. Some of this, some of that. Three men, even priests, need someone to pick up after them.”

The stairs rose straight to a narrow hallway. The walls were white and adorned here and there with crucifixes or pictures of people in robes looking benign or-to Eve’s eye-sorrowful. Occasionally annoyed.

“You knew Father Flores,” Eve prompted.

“Very well, I think. You cook and clean for a man, you come to know who he is.”

“Who was he?”

Rosa paused outside a door, sighed. “A man of faith, and humor. He enjoyed sports, watching them, playing them. He had… energy,” she decided. “And put much of that into the youth center.”