I dug through the box and shoved some plastic baggies in the back pocket of my shorts, along with a little black leather pouch that had tweezers and other small motor skill tools in it to collect evidence. I could take photos from my phone. That was pretty much the extent of our equipment. I didn’t even want to think about how we were going to transport the body.

“Nah, we’re comfortable finding our way around,” Jack said. “But let me know how involved you want us to be once we start. We don’t want to step on any toes. You’re welcome to take over at any time.”

“No, this is best,” Joe said. “Leon deserves someone with experience. And I don’t have that. Thank God.”

Jack nodded and put his hand on the small of my back, and we walked around the side of the church and away from the crowd.

Chapter Four

The church was deeper and more sprawling than it looked from the front, and it rose up in elevation, so by the time we made it to the courtyard that connected the church and the clergy house my shirt was sticking to my back and I was breathing heavy.

The courtyard was protected by a black wrought iron fence overflowing with bright purple bougainvillea. It should’ve been a peaceful area. Shaded and serene. A place for reflection. The gate stood open and we passed under the arch. Wild vines scraped the top of my head and caught in my hair as we walked beneath it. The courtyard was small and private with benches placed in the shaded areas. It was sandwiched between the church and a small plain house in matching stucco.

A statue of a saint stood rigid and fierce in the center of the courtyard. I would’ve been scared to face my sins too if I’d had to stare at him for very long. He held a sword and a shield as if ready for battle. Maybe he was. There were a lot of demons in this world to fight.

I hadn’t grown up Catholic, and it had been a while since I’d stepped foot in a church of any denomination. I’d spent a lot of years angry at God, and questioning why I’d been dealt such a shitty hand. Getting word that my parents had driven over a cliff in a double suicide, finding out they’d been under investigation by the FBI for using the soldiers returning home in caskets to smuggle illegal goods, and then discovering my dad was still alive and into some very shady shit had been about all the reality I’d been able to stand over the past couple of years.

I did thank God for Jack. I’d have been lost without him through all of that.

“That’s definitely a dead body,” Jack said, coming to a stop beside me. “And an interesting one at that. Don’t ever tell anyone I don’t know how to show a woman a good time.”

I ducked my head so no one would see me smile. I had a feeling the priests wouldn’t see anything amusing. In truth, we didn’t see anything amusing either, but gallows humor was pretty typical at crime scenes. And we’d seen enough atrocities over the years in this business that we had to laugh. It was a hell of a lot better than breaking down in tears.

The frail body was precisely laid out just below the statue of the saint in a funereal pose. His ankles were crossed, one on top of the other, and his arms were crossed over his ribs. A knife with an ornate hilt stuck from the center of his chest, and a black cloth lay over his face.

“Jesus.” My eyes widened at the sight of the knife. It took a lot of strength to stab someone in the heart. It was pretty much the last place you should try to stab someone unless you were trying to make a statement. I was guessing that the killer had wanted to make a statement with Leon.

The courtyard was clear of everyone except three priests in black robes. They stood like sentries, their backs turned toward the body, as they kept watch.

“Damn, those priests are creeping me out. They haven’t moved an inch since we walked into the courtyard. They haven’t even made eye contact.”

“Geez, Jaye. We’re at church. Don’t swear.”

“Relax, it’s not like we’re inside the church. Besides, damn is in the Bible. It’s not like I said shit.”

Jack shook his head. “You are headed straight to hell.”

“If we’re not headed there already after what we did in that bathroom last night then the Devil needs to reevaluate some things.”

“You shouldn’t talk about sex in church either.”

“You’ve got a lot of rules all of a sudden now that we’re married.” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him. “Why can’t I talk about sex? We’re married. Churches love married sex.”

“Jesus,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his growth of beard.

“I’m pretty sure that was blasphemy. For shame, Jack Lawson.”

He arched a brow and nudged me with his elbow. “I wouldn’t want you to spend eternity in hell by yourself. I take my wedding vows seriously.”

Jack approached the priest standing closest to the body. He was probably somewhere between forty and fifty, but it looked like his life had been a hard one so he could’ve been as much as ten or fifteen years younger.

His walnut-colored skin was deeply creviced and his eyelids bagged so much that I wondered how he kept his eyes open. He was dressed simply in black vestments and a white collar. His hands were clasped in front of him, and the only sign of agitation or discomfort he showed was the index finger that tapped in a steady rhythm against his other hand.

“Are you Father Fernando?” Jack asked, extending a hand.

The Father shook hands briefly and pulled back. “No, I’m Father DeCosta. Joe said that Americans would come take care of Leon.”

“We’re going to do our very best.”

“I’m Father Fernando,” another priest said, stepping forward. “And this is Father Xavier. He’s visiting from the mainland for a little while before he’s sent to his own church.”

Fathers Fernando and Xavier were dressed identically to Father DeCosta. Father Fernando was quite old, his hair white and his body frail. He was a small man, but carried himself in a way that made his seem bigger than he was, and he wore a heavy gold cross around his neck.

Father Xavier was the youngest of the three, probably late twenties, and his sandy hair was thinning on top. He wore round wire-framed glasses and looked like he was scared of his own shadow. Or maybe he was just afraid of Father Fernando.

“I disagree with Joe on this,” Father Fernando said. “This is clearly an attack against the church. Leon was simple the vessel the message was delivered in. This is not the work of one of our people. I can guarantee whomever did this has already left the island. You won’t find what you’re looking for here. Leon was a holy man. And we should honor him as such and put this all behind us. He needs to be mourned and buried properly within the rules of our faith.”

“We’ll make sure the body is well taken care of,” I said.

“Who found Mr. Stein’s body?” Jack asked.

“Father DeCosta and I found him together.” Father Fernando was apparently going to be the spokesperson for the trio. “We hear confession half an hour before each Mass and we stumbled upon him on our way. Of course, we were quite surprised and must have made some noise because Father Xavier heard us and came rushing outside. And the parishioners arriving at the church must have heard us too, because they came around the side of the church to see what was happening.”

Most people we interviewed offered more information than what we asked for. It was a way to deal with the nerves by filling the silence. I’d learned from watching Jack that if you were quiet long enough you learned all kinds of things about people.

“Is the body just like you found it?”

“I believe Alexandra and her son Dominic might have moved him. That’s Leon’s granddaughter and great-grandson. They knelt down beside him and shook him a bit to see if he was really gone. And of course, I placed the cloth over his face as a sign of respect. But he’s generally how we found him.”