12

Piper pulled up to her grandmother’s house around noon with take-out sushi. Her grandmother, isolated in her own world, had barely any friends and even fewer relatives who kept in touch. Piper was her lifeline—without her, her grandmother often neglected to eat, lost in the solitude of her days.

“Grandma?” she called out.

Her grandmother’s voice carried from the patio. Piper followed and came out to the backyard, which showcased the sprawling golf course.

The HOA had decreed that no homes in the area could be more than one level to preserve the view. The sky unfolded like a vast, clear canvas.

Piper eased into a chair at the outdoor table, the cool breeze ruffling her hair. Across from her, her grandmother clicked her laptop shut. The sight of her grandmother’s gnarled fingers, succumbing to the early stiffness of age, gave her a tug of sadness.

“You really don’t have to bring food all the time like I’m helpless, dear.”

Piper passed over a container of sushi and chopsticks. “I don’t want you overexerting yourself in the kitchen. I’d rather you take it easy.”

“You’re too young to spend your time with an old woman. You should be out there looking for a good man to spend your life with.”

“It feels like it’s not worth it sometimes.”

“What happened to that man your friend set you up with?”

She shook her head as she put a piece of sushi in her mouth.

“He mentioned a book I like, and I started talking to him about it and he got uncomfortable. It was like he didn’t want his date knowing as much as him.”

Her grandmother moved the laptop aside with a knowing grin. “To some men, everything is a threat.”

Piper exhaled and stared up at the blue sky. She used to lie out here on the golf course when she was a kid, hoping there was someone staring back at her up in the stars. The idea that they were alone in the universe never sat well with her. Someone had to be there—God, aliens, someone.

She shoved another piece of sushi in her mouth and stood. “I have to run. I’ll be back for dinner.”

“Where you going?”

“Apparently church.”

Piper went back to the police station and waited by the elevators. There was a line, and she preferred getting exercise anyway, so she took the stairs the three flights down to the Dungeon.

The custodian, Henry, was near the elevators getting something out of a utility closet.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello yourself, young lady.”

She entered the Dungeon and stared at the three desks arranged inside. It looked like college students occupied the space.

Better than a cubicle, I guess.

She looked at the whiteboard. Everything that had been up about Lazarus’s previous case had been taken down and the board wiped cleaned.

In the center of the board now were two striking images: Sophie’s school portrait and a snapshot of Ava Mitchell, her arm lovingly draped around her younger brother, both radiating joy. Surrounding these were contrasting images: pre- and postmortem photos of Ava’s brother and his girlfriend, grim crime scene snapshots, and in one corner, unsettling digital renderings of the long pig and the bloody chef. Sophie’s mother and brother were captured in a single, poignant photo. It showed Emily Grace clutching her son close, his face alight with a broad smile even as he wriggled in her embrace.

Piper’s experience with cases of cannibalism or similar fetishes was nonexistent. To her, it felt as distant and improbable as lightning striking: a bizarre anomaly in some far-off place. The absence of cannibalism at the crime scenes bolstered her belief that this case was something else.

The sound of the elevator doors opening broke her train of thought. Lazarus entered, sharing a brief exchange with the custodian before stepping into the room.

“It’s like riding an elevator to the gallows, ain’t it?” he remarked.

“I’ve seen worse.” Piper turned from the haunting images on the board and perched on the edge of her desk. “I need a favor. I need you to find someone for me.”

“Who?” Lazarus asked.

“Emily Grace was hooked on oxycodone, and probably had a dealer.”

Lazarus pondered for a moment. “No criminal or drug treatment record on her.”

“Addiction’s a hidden disease,” Piper said, “and people can be masters at hiding their diseases.”

He nodded. “I’ll find ’em for you.”

“Thanks.”

He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and put it on. “You wear that Gospel guppy around your neck every day, Danes? You a woman of faith?”

“I am.”

“Good,” he said while straightening his tie. “’Cause I don’t know how to talk to these people.”

The church sat outside downtown Vegas up on a hill overlooking the valley below. As Lazarus drove up the hill, the silhouette of the church came into view against the backdrop of the midday sun. The building was brown and off-white, and the wooden cross at the top looked like a skeletal remnant.

“I know this church,” he said as they parked in front. “The Good Lord dropped the roof on some of his worshippers ’bout ten years ago. They rebuilt it and came right back worshipping what saw fit to crush Grandma and Grandpa under wood and brick.”

“I can see why you’d want me out here talking to these people.”

Piper followed him up to the church. He stood out front with his hands on his hips, staring at the cross.

One of the doors was held open by a brick on the floor. A man worked on something down the hallway, and he noticed them and came out. He looked haggard, tired, with dark circles under his eyes. He smiled warmly.

“I was surprised you called from Vegas. Usually they ask the local police to do whatever they need done,” the man said.

“I like to look people in the eye when I’m speaking to ’em.”

“I know exactly what you mean. It’s a lost art with all this technology mucking up our brains.”

“Amen to that, Reverend.”

He glanced at Piper and said, “Reverend Jack Husso. Nice to meet you.”

“You as well.”

He looked at Lazarus. “So you said you needed to talk about one of my congregation?”

“You have somewhere we can sit?”

“Sure. Come in.”

They followed him into the church.

It was still and quiet, not even creaking wood. The stained glass windows, probably majestic at some point, looked like faded mosaics now. The pews were worn out. The entire place smelled like dust. Piper liked the old church.

Behind the podium was a small door that led to some offices. The reverend went into one that had a nameplate on it that said “Reverend Husso.”

Two chairs were set before his desk, and he motioned for the pair to sit. He sat behind the desk. There were photos up on the walls, the reverend with various figures from around the city. Paintings of scenes out of the Bible.

“So, what can I help you with, Detectives?”

“She’s a lawyer.”

“Oh,” he said, looking at Piper with just a hint of disappointment in his face.

“How well do you know Jayden Camden?” Lazarus said.

“Fairly well. He’s been coming here for seven years. Quiet man, keeps to himself. Have you been out to see him?”

“I went to his apartment. No one was there, and all the blinds were drawn. There’s no employment listed for him. What does he do?”

“He’s on disability. He can’t work. Occasionally the church helps him out with some cash here and there.”

Lazarus grinned.

“What is it?” the reverend said.

“You should ask him what he spends that money on.”

Reverend Husso looked like he took offense, and Piper quickly spoke up. “Does he have any family that you know of?”

The reverend took his eyes off Lazarus and turned to her. “His mother, but other than that I don’t think he’s close to anyone.”

Lazarus said, “I noticed a few convictions on his rap sheet.”

The reverend watched him a moment. “Detective, whatever it is you’re looking at him for, you’re wrong.”

“And why’s that?”

He ran his fingers softly over the desk. “You a man of Christian values, Detective?”

“I was raised as such, but I’m not, no.”

“Then you may not understand the power of redemption.”

“Oh, I understand power, Reverend.”

“How do you mean?”

“There’s eight billion people in the world, which means there’re eight billion perspectives all fighting for power.”

“You don’t sound like someone raised with Christian values.”

“Values are like laws: created by the people they benefit most.”

Piper tried to interject, but Lazarus quickly got in, “Christian values began with slaves in Rome who pushed charity, humility, and kindness ’cause those values empower the weak.”

The reverend smiled and said, “Luckily we’ve come a long way since then.”

“You certainly have. You take the most hardened atheist and you ask him ‘What’s morality?’ They’ll spit words like charity, humility, kindness—all Christian values. It doesn’t even cross their minds there’s other types of morality. The Romans thought a man was entitled to kill his family if he desired. A Viking who refused to rape and murder was told they wouldn’t be allowed into Valhalla. Their morality wasn’t more wrong than ours, just different.”

The reverend looked him in the eyes. “Sometimes, Detective, the people that have the most faith reject it the hardest.”

“You got me wrong, Reverend. I don’t reject it. I’m a great admirer of Christianity. When even atheists are Christian, I’d say Christianity’s just about won the power game, wouldn’t you?”

Reverend Husso gave a weary smile and said, “Someday, Detective, you’ll find that cold logic isn’t enough of a reason to get up in the morning.”

Piper glanced between the two men.

“We just want to talk to this man, Reverend Husso,” she said, trying to get the conversation on track. “He has information we think might be useful. We’re not looking to get him into any trouble unless we have to.”

The reverend gave a single nod. “I think you’re barking up the wrong tree, but if you think it’ll help to talk him, I won’t stop you.” He brought a notebook near and took a pen out of a cup on his desk that had “World’s Best Dad” etched on the side in a child’s handwriting.

“This is his mother’s address,” he said as he wrote. “It’s where he stays.”

“What about his apartment?” Lazarus asked.

“He’s just running out his lease. He’s on the sex registry and can’t stay there anymore because there’s children in the complex now. But you already knew that.”

He slid over the piece of paper with an address and name on it. Lazarus glanced at it and then folded it and put it in his pocket.

“Appreciate your time, Reverend,” he said, rising.

They began to leave when the reverend said, “Detective Holloway ... the scriptures tell us that a man who dwells in unbelief stumbles in darkness. Just something to keep in mind.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Reverend. We’re creations without a creator. We’re all stumblin’ in darkness.”