CHAPTER TWELVE

Father Stephen was lighting candles at the altar when Sheila and Finn entered St. Michael's Church. The soft glow of the flames cast dancing shadows across the ornate stained glass windows, creating an atmosphere of reverence and solemnity. The scent of incense lingered in the air, a reminder of the morning's mass.

"Father Stephen," Sheila called out softly, not wanting to startle the priest.

He turned, a warm smile spreading across his face as he recognized them. "Deputies Stone and Mercer. What brings you back to our humble church?"

As they approached, Sheila noticed the dark circles under Father Stephen's eyes. The strain of recent events was clearly taking its toll on him.

"We have some questions about the case, Father," Finn said. "We were hoping you might be able to help us."

Father Stephen nodded, gesturing for them to sit in the front pew. "Of course. I'll help in any way I can. These tragedies have shaken our community to its core."

As they settled into the hard wooden seats, Sheila pulled out her notebook. "Father, we've come across a name in our investigation. Does the name Father Wayland mean anything to you?"

The priest furrowed his brow, thinking for a moment. "Father Wayland? No, I'm afraid that doesn't ring any bells. Is he connected to the case somehow?"

Sheila exchanged a glance with Finn before answering. "We're not sure yet. But it seems that Laura Hastings may have met with a priest calling himself Father Wayland shortly before her death, and we have reason to believe Sophie Tournay met with the same person."

Father Stephen's eyes widened. "Oh, my. Yes, I heard about poor Ms. Tournay on the news. That's…concerning. But I can assure you, there's no Father Wayland associated with this church or any in the diocese that I'm aware of."

"What about new priests or visiting clergy?" Finn asked. "Anyone who might have been here temporarily?"

Father Stephen shook his head. "No, we haven't had any visitors recently. It's just been me for the past few months." He paused, a troubled look crossing his face. "Although..."

"Yes?" Sheila leaned forward, sensing they might be on the verge of a breakthrough.

"Well, it's probably nothing," Father Stephen said hesitantly. "But about a month ago, I noticed a few things missing from the vestry: candlesticks, robes. I assumed I'd simply misplaced them, but now..."

Sheila's mind was already racing with the implications. "Father, we're going to need a list of everyone who has access to the vestry."

"Of course," Father Stephen said, his voice heavy with worry. "I hope you catch this person. I can't stand to think that our church might have inadvertently played a role in these horrible crimes."

Sheila placed a comforting hand on his arm. "This isn't your fault, Father. You're helping us catch the real culprit."

He nodded, but he still looked troubled. "I'll be praying you succeed."

As the priest moved away, Finn turned to Sheila. "This could be our break," he said. "If our killer is impersonating a priest, it explains how he's gaining his victims' trust."

Sheila nodded, but her brow was furrowed. "But it also means he could be anyone. We're not just looking for a rogue priest anymore—we're looking for someone with enough knowledge of the church to convincingly play the part. That's a big group."

As they were preparing to leave, an elderly woman walked past them, her wizened face creased with concern as she approached the priest. "Father Stephen, I just wanted to say how sorry I am about poor Laura. Such a tragedy."

Sheila's ears perked up at the mention of Laura's name. She was about to introduce herself when Finn's phone buzzed. He excused himself to take the call, stepping away to the back of the church.

"I'm Deputy Stone," Sheila said, turning to the old woman.

"Francine Albright."

"Did you know Laura Hastings well, Ms. Albright?"

The woman nodded, her eyes misting over. "Oh yes, dear. I'm here most days, you see. Laura was such a sweet girl, always had a kind word for everyone."

Sheila's investigator instincts kicked in. If this woman was at the church frequently, she might have noticed something others had missed. "You're here often, then? Have you noticed anything unusual lately? Any strangers or new faces?"

The old woman thought for a moment, her gnarled hands fidgeting with her rosary beads. "Well, now that you mention it, I did see a priest I didn't recognize a few weeks back. Thought it was odd, as Father Stephen hadn't mentioned any visitors."

Sheila's heart rate quickened. "Can you describe him?"

"Oh, let me think," Francine said, her brow furrowing in concentration. "He was tall, I remember that. Gray hair, very neat. And he had the kindest eyes, like he could see right into your soul. But there was something...intense about him, too. Made me a bit uncomfortable, if I'm being honest."

"Did you speak with him?" Sheila asked, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice.

The old woman nodded slowly. "Just briefly. He asked about confession times, said he was new in town. I directed him to Father Stephen, but..." She trailed off, looking troubled.

"But what?" Sheila encouraged gently.

"He never spoke with me," Father Stephen said.

"I assumed I'd just misunderstood something," the old woman answered.

Sheila was about to ask more questions when Finn returned, his face grim. "Sheila, we need to go. Now."

"What is it?" she asked, sensing the urgency in his tone.

Finn lowered his voice. "There's been another murder. A woman killed in her own home. They think it might be connected to our case."

***

The Kim residence was a hive of activity when Sheila and Finn arrived. Crime scene technicians in white suits moved methodically through the expansive foyer, photographing and cataloging evidence. The air was thick with tension and the metallic scent of blood.

As they stepped inside, Sheila immediately noticed the stark contrast between the opulent surroundings and the brutal crime scene. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over marble floors, now marred by bloody footprints. It was a jarring juxtaposition of wealth and violence.

Dr. Jin Zihao was crouched over a body near the base of a grand staircase. As Sheila and Finn approached, he looked up, his face grim.

"Deputies," he said by way of greeting. "I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."

Sheila nodded, her eyes fixed on the victim. Rachel Kim lay sprawled on the marble floor, her business attire now stained crimson. The young woman's face was barely recognizable, battered beyond recognition.

She was petite, probably no taller than 5'2", with a slender build that spoke of regular workouts and a carefully maintained diet. Her black hair, now matted with blood, was cut in a sleek bob that framed her face, a style that projected professionalism and sophistication. Even in death, her nails were perfectly manicured, painted a subtle nude shade that complemented her olive skin tone.

She wore a tailored charcoal gray suit, the jacket now askew and stained crimson. The outfit was clearly expensive, possibly designer, indicating a woman who valued appearance and had the means to maintain it. A delicate gold necklace with a small diamond pendant lay at her throat, twisted in the struggle but still catching the light.

Despite the damage inflicted by the attack, Sheila could see that Rachel had been an attractive woman, with high cheekbones and full lips. Her eyes, though now lifeless, were almond-shaped, hinting at her Korean heritage.

"She was clearly successful," Finn murmured, taking in the details of Rachel's appearance and her opulent surroundings. "Young, wealthy, probably at the top of her game."

Sheila nodded, a lump forming in her throat. "And now she's another victim. Is the cause of death as obvious as it appears?"

Dr. Zihao gestured to a blood-stained candlestick lying a few feet from the body. "Blunt force trauma to the head. Multiple strikes. The killer was...thorough."

Sheila felt a chill run down her spine. "Just like Laura Hastings and Sophie Tournay."

"Yes," Dr. Zihao said. "The wounds are consistent with the other victims. I'd stake my reputation on this being the work of your Coldwater Confessor."

Sheila turned and peered through the doorway, studying the front door. "No signs of forced entry," she murmured. "So either Rachel knew her killer, or..."

"Or he somehow gained her trust enough to let him in," Finn said.

They exchanged a troubled look. This new detail added another layer of complexity to an already puzzling case.

Just then, a commotion outside caught Sheila's attention. She stepped outside to see a middle-aged man arguing with an officer.

"Please," he said, trying to get to the front door. "I just need to speak with someone in charge." His eyes met Sheila's, pleading for her understanding.

"Let him through," Sheila said.

The officer, a burly man with sideburns, grunted and stepped aside.

"I'm Deputy Stone," Sheila said as the man approached. "And you are?"

"David Larson," he replied, his face etched with worry. "I live next door. Is it true? About Rachel?"

Sheila exchanged a glance with Finn, who was now standing behind her, before responding. "Mr. Larson, I'm afraid Rachel Kim has been killed. We're investigating it now. Did you know her well?"

David ran a hand through his thinning hair, visibly shaken. "We weren't close, but we've been neighbors for three years. She was...she was a good person. Driven, you know? Always working."

"Can you tell us more about her?" Finn asked. "Anything you know could be helpful."

David nodded, collecting his thoughts. "She worked at Elbridge Tech, some big executive position. Always left early, came home late. Lived for her job, I think."

"Was she religious at all?" Sheila asked. "Did you ever see her attend church or anything like that?"

To their surprise, David let out a short, humorless laugh. "Rachel? Religious? No way. She was about as atheistic as they come. I remember she hosted a winter solstice party last year instead of Christmas. Said she preferred to celebrate science over superstition."

Sheila and Finn exchanged a startled glance. This revelation threw their entire theory into disarray. If Rachel wasn't religious, why had the killer targeted her?

"Are you sure?" Sheila asked. "She never mentioned meeting with a priest or seeking spiritual guidance?"

"Absolutely not," David said. "Rachel was all about facts and logic. She thought religion was...well, let's just say she wasn't a fan."

"What about her personal life?" Finn asked. "Did she have many visitors? A boyfriend or girlfriend, perhaps?"

David shook his head. "Not that I ever saw. Like I said, she was always working. The only regular visitor I ever noticed was her dog walker."

Sheila glanced at Finn, who in turn addressed the burly officer. "Hey, Chad, you hear anything about a dog?"

"Yeah, there was one hiding in the bedroom," he said. "Animal control picked him up already."

Sheila turned her attention back to David. "So this dog walker would've had access to the house?" she asked.

David nodded. "That's right."

"You wouldn't know where we can find him by any chance, would you?"