Something about the tone in her voice inspired Christina to take the conversation down a side road. “What about you? Were you a supporter?”

Andrea’s eyes flickered upward. “I’m his wife.”

“Come on, Andrea. Don’t give me that Pat Nixon my-husband-right-or-wrong stuff. Did you support him?”

“I’ve known Daniel since the sixties. We didn’t get married until much later. I was an activist in my own right. The day we both marched with Dr. King in Selma -that was also the first day we kissed. In fact, in those days, I was probably more active than he was.”

“So you knew what you were getting into when you married him.”

“Of course. It was part of what made me fall in love with him.” She paused. “I’ve always supported his political activities.”

“Is there something else, then? Something you don’t support?”

Andrea hesitated. Her body seemed to retract, to withdraw into her chair, just as she had done back in the office. “I have always been a supportive wife. Free-thinking. Open to new ideas. But some things… some things are just… wrong. Worse than that. Evil.”

Evil? According to Ben, it was the same word Kate McGuire had used with Father Beale. Just before she was killed. “What are you talking about, Andrea?”

“N-nothing in particular. I was just speaking generally…”

“Don’t give me that. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“No, really…”

“Tell me, Andrea.”

“I-don’t-” She spun her head around, as if hoping the waiter might come to her rescue. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Andrea, listen to me. Ben and I are Daniel’s attorneys. We’re trying to help him. But we can’t do our job if there are important things we don’t know. It’s absolutely crucial that you tell us everything-everything-that might relate to these murders. If we know about it now, we can prepare accordingly. Minimize the damage. If we get bushwhacked at trial, the damage could be irremediable.”

“It has nothing to do with the murders,” she insisted. “It has nothing to do with anything. I was just-just-” She gasped slightly. “Nothing.” She picked up her wineglass and downed at least half of it in a single swallow. “Where’s my pasta, anyway?”

Christina tapped her fork against the table. Rarely had she felt so frustrated during an interview. She was certain this woman knew something she and Ben needed to hear about before trial. She was also certain this woman was never going to tell her what it was.

“All right,” Christina said, trying another approach. “We’ll avoid the specifics. But-is it something that might’ve turned some of the church members against Daniel?”

Andrea’s head was trembling. “It’s-possible. I mean-I don’t really know what you mean-I don’t-I-”

“Is it something that turned you against him?” Christina knew she was pushing-probably too hard. But the questions had to be asked. “Tell me the truth, Andrea. Is it something that turned you against him?”

“It’s… so… hard…” Christina felt as if Andrea were squeezing each word out of a narrow toothpaste tube. “I’m his wife. I mean-that’s what I am.” She spread her arms wide, her face strained, as if she was trying to explain the most complex matter with a hopelessly insufficient vocabulary. “I will always be his wife, no matter what. And we’ve shared so much-there was so much I could put up with. Effortlessly. So much I could tolerate, with barely a shrug.”

Her voice broke down. Her head hung low, barely hovering over the table. “But there comes a point when it’s more than just disappointment. More than just… obscenity. There comes a point when it is… betrayal. Betrayal of everything I hold most dear. And that’s the one thing I could not forget. Or forgive.” Tears sprang out of the corners of her eyes. She took her cloth napkin and wiped her face. “Not then. Not now. Not ever.”

Manly crouched down among the azaleas, waiting for his prey.

His friend had informed him that there was some sort of meeting on Wednesday night; all the doctors and their staff would be there. All who played a part in the mindless murder of babies. So he just needed to be patient. And he could do that. Willingly. Because he knew what he was doing was important, that it mattered. He was defending the martyred, fighting for a holy cause. It was only right to expect to make some sacrifices. Like the sacrifice of time. To boredom.

His boredom didn’t last long. After waiting barely half an hour, he saw a tall, slender woman in a midlength skirt moving past him. He was glad; women in skirts were always more vulnerable. They knew it and felt it. It would make what he had to do all the easier.

She must’ve parked in the north parking lot. By the faint blue glow emanating from a street light, he saw chestnut-colored hair, slim hips, ample bust. It was Dr. Laurie Fullerton, if he wasn’t mistaken. The chief of staff at the clinic. The abortion doctor.

His eyes glowed with excitement. He’d scored the jackpot.

He waited until she was just past his hiding place, then pounced. He knocked her forward, face first. Her chin thudded into the concrete, stunning her. Before she had a chance to react, he rolled her over onto her back. Straddling her, he stuffed a dirty sock into her mouth.

“Listen to me, bitch,” he said, his hand clutched tightly around her throat. “We can do this easy, or we can do this hard. It’s not gonna be pleasant for you, either way. But if you try to make any noise, try to scream or shout, it’s gonna be so much worse you’ll wish you were dead.”

Dr. Fullerton was still conscious. Her eyelids fluttered and her chin was bleeding, but she was awake, alert, aware.

“I got a message for you. And I want you to carry it back to all your buddies at the clinic. Stop killing God’s children! Got it?”

Fullerton nodded her head.

“I’m on a crusade, lady. I’m trying to save four thousand babies a year, while you and your friends get paid to be their executioners.”

Some muffled noises were audible beneath the sock. Fullerton was trying to do something-to protest, to deny, to plead for help. Whatever it was, no one heard it.

“Now I’m going to have to hurt you,” Manly growled.

Fullerton twisted her head furiously back and forth.

“It’s not something I want to do. It’s what I have to do. What I’m called to do. We don’t like violence, but sometimes it’s necessary. Just as the Crusaders had to slaughter the Saracen hordes.”

Fullerton continued shaking her head, faster and faster. Her face was transfixed with fear. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Manly bellowed. He brought his hand back and slapped her hard across the face. “It’s your own fault! You have no one to blame but yourself!”

The tears flowed faster now. Fullerton was pleading, begging for mercy, in every possible way except verbally. But it didn’t help. Manly brought his arm around, this time fist clenched, and smashed it down on her jaw.

Even with the sock stuffed in her mouth, her cry of pain was audible. Her eyes clenched shut. She writhed and twisted under his weight. But he was far too heavy for her. She was powerless.

“It’s going to get worse now,” Manly muttered. “I can’t let you off with just a warning.”

No, no, no! Fullerton screamed behind the gag.

“Did those four thousand babies get a warning?” Manly asked. He pressed his knees down into her chest. “Did anyone give them a second chance?”

Fullerton mustered all her strength, trying to break free. But she didn’t even come close.

“Time to pay for your sins,” Manly said. “You, and everyone like you.” He reared back with his fist, this time even higher than before. He tightened his muscles, readying himself to make the maximum impact. He leaned back to get more height…

And the instant he reduced the weight pinning her down, Fullerton whipped out her right hand. She was holding something; it made a hissing sound. A second later, Manly felt an intense burning in his eyes.