“I appreciate the time,” Jack said. “We’ll work as quickly as possible so as not to interrupt your schedules.”

“We’ve cancelled the evening Mass considering the circumstances. We’re heading to console Maria during her time of need. She’s been quite ill and might suffer a relapse.”

I watched them go and then looked at Jack. “Priests can’t lie, right?”

“I wouldn’t say can’t lie. Everyone has the ability built in. But no, they’re not supposed to lie. Much less three priests lying for each other.”

“That’s what I figured. I think I’m impatient to get this over and done with.”

“Babe, we can always tell them no.” Jack laid a hand on my shoulder and I sighed. I really didn’t want to do this. I needed a break. “We can leave it in Joe’s hands and go back to our cabana and not resurface for the next two weeks.”

It was a tempting offer, but I knew what we had to do. “No, I’ve already seen the body. We’ll follow it through as far as we can.”

He squeezed my shoulder and we got to work. I snapped pictures with my phone of the scene while Jack combed the area for evidence. But with as many people who’d been in the area it was going to be hard to figure out what was what.

“I’ve got blood on the edge of the gate,” he said. There was a fence and gate that mirrored the one we entered through on the opposite side of the courtyard. He took a picture and then swabbed the area, putting the sample in one of the plastic baggies.

“Where does that exit lead to?”

“There’s a path that winds down to the cemetery. And then back to the front of the church. No prints that I can see, but it’s a crushed shell path. We’ll take that way down and see if there’s any more blood.

I knelt down beside Leon and looked him over, taking more close up pictures of the way his hands and feet were crossed. Rigor mortis hadn’t started to set in, so he was still pliable. I bagged his hands in case Leon had had the opportunity to fight back and we were able to collect DNA.

“A guy is a week shy of his hundredth birthday and someone decides he’s worth killing,” I said. “Why?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? Makes you wonder why they didn’t let nature take its course.”

“Do you think it’s like Father Fernando said? A tourist already back on the mainland?”

“Not one bit. This is the community church. How many people come to Mass while they’re on vacation? Of those people who do come, how many would know about this courtyard? The killer is someone familiar with the area and familiar with the victim.”

I removed the black cloth from over Leon’s face. Then I patted him down gently, checking all his pockets, and withdrew a worn leather wallet. I handed it over to Jack.

He flipped open the wallet and riffled through it. “An ID belonging to Leon Stein,” he said. “A small amount of cash, a couple of credit cards, and a torn piece of paper with the name Juno Jackson and a phone number.” Jack dropped the wallet in one of the plastic baggies.

“Not a robbery then. He’s not dressed like he has money.” I fingered the worn fabric of his cotton dress shirt. “The wallet is intact and his wedding ring is still on his finger.”

I looked up around the neck and noticed the gold chain, a small round medallion of a patron saint hanging from it. I used my index finger to carefully lift it so we could get a better look.

“Who’s that?”

“Saint Joseph,” Jack said. “Looks like Leon wanted the extra protection.”

“Looks like he needed it.” I checked to see if there was any bruising around the neck while I was in the area and then opened the eyelids to see if there were any broken capillaries or signs of asphyxiation. The dagger through the heart was most likely the cause of death, but it was always good to see if anything had led up to that moment. The human body was capable of telling a really great story if you looked close enough.

“There are no outward signs of a struggle or physical abuse, but he’s got a couple of scrapes along the side of his face, probably from where he fell. And believe me, we’d be able to see every mark of struggle like a road map if there’d been one. A guy with skin as papery and fine as this guy’s can’t even withstand a small bump without bruising or tearing the epidermis. You can see what I’m talking about on the back of his hands.”

I removed one of the plastic baggies and ran a gloved finger along Leon’s hand, still crossed over his ribs. The skin was spotted with age, but dark blue bruising was evident where he’d obviously bumped it on something.

“All it would take to make a mark like that is a knock against a doorframe or a countertop. I’ve seen a lot of elderly injuries where they don’t even know they’re hurt, and then they look down and they’re covered in blood.”

“Getting old sucks.”

“This guy was almost a hundred. Think how many years it’s been since he’s had sex. To me, that’s the most depressing thing about getting old.”

“That’s why it’s best to use it as often as possible before you lose it.”

“What about this guy?” I asked, pointing to the statue the body was positioned under. “Do you think that has any significance?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Or it could be just window dressing to complete the scene.”

“What saint is that anyway? He’s terrifying.”

“Saint Miguel. Or Saint Michael. He fights off Satan’s army. And a bunch of other stuff I don’t remember.”

“How come you know so much about the saints?”

Jack grinned, the dimple in his cheek making an appearance. “I dated a lot of Catholic girls. I learned a lot.”

I arched a brow and then rolled my eyes. Jack had pretty much “dated” most of the available women in a tri-state area. As long as I was the last in the line, I didn’t care about his history. I was mostly grateful he’d had all that practice. He knew things.

“I appreciate all the research you did on my behalf.”

“Hey, I knew you’d look my way at some point. I wanted to be ready when the time came.”

“Do you think other couples flirt with each other over dead bodies?”

“Maybe. If they spend most of their time around dead bodies like we do. But I wouldn’t bring it up to a therapist. It could be cause for concern.”

“Good call.” I removed the necklace and bagged it and then I focused on the dagger. “Interesting hilt,” I said. “Looks old. Some of the engraving is worn away so it’s a smooth, but it looks like an eagle.”

The eagle was carved at the end of the hilt, but the hilt itself looked like it was made from a polished ivory or bone. I didn’t have a ruler to measure the hilt, but it stuck out of his chest a good four or five inches.

“Hold him steady,” I told Jack. I got a good grasp on the hilt and removed the knife.

“Whoever did this has some strength behind them. Stabbing someone in the heart isn’t as easy as it looks on TV. It’s always better to go for the soft tissue areas.”

“Is that writing on the blade?” Jack asked.

I took a closer look and sure enough something was inscribed on the blade. “I can’t make out what it says. We’ll need to look at it under better light, but it doesn’t look like English. That blade is probably close to ten inches. Very unusual.”

“We don’t have a lab, and I doubt Joe’s going to authorize the expense of sending it off to a bigger city for examination. We can do some Internet searching and send a photo to any of the known collectors. If it’s as old as it looks it might not be too hard to identify.”

“He’s still in primary flaccidity, but rigor is starting to set in because of the heat. It can speed up the process. But I’d say his death is less than two hours old. That works with Father Fernando’s statement of when he found the body. It’s just after six o’ clock.”

I looked at the area around the body and then lifted Leon’s shirt and looked at his back. “He was definitely killed here. There’s no sign that the body was moved and blood has started to settle in the lower parts of the body.”