The Embassy Suites
Omaha, Nebraska

Maggie allowed Pakula to talk her into staying at the hotel, going back to her suite and as he put it, “taking a load off.” He also gave her strict instructions to stay away from Father Keller, probably regretting now that they were staying in the same hotel, separated only by two floors. It was late and she was meeting Sister Kate for dinner. Otherwise she would have insisted she join him and his team to do some of the legwork. There was a lot to do. Each of the items would need to be dusted for fingerprints and the prints run through the system for matches. Both she and Pakula agreed that The Sin Eater’s e-mail address would surely be a dead end, but he’d have their computer whiz back in the crime-analysis lab give it his best shot.

She hated to admit it but there was a sense of relief—though slight—in being able to watch Pakula and Kasab leave with all the so-called goodies Keller had finally handed over. She felt exhausted, drained of energy. She felt she had lost the battle. Maybe Pakula would track down The Sin Eater, but Father Keller was free to go. And Pakula was right. The mere thought of Keller possibly continuing to kill boys, and her being helpless to stop him, was driving her crazy.

Had she really believed she might be able to trip him up somehow? Get him to admit, to confess his sins? Why should he? There were two men already in prison because Keller had planted enough evidence against them to convict them. He had manipulated and tricked law enforcement, the justice system and the Catholic Church—all of them so he could remain free to continue his twisted mission of “saving little boys.” And the worst part was that she had just contributed to his power. Now more than ever, because of their deal, because of his so-called help, he would feel even more powerful, more vindicated. And if he had, indeed, killed poor Arturo, then he had no intention of going back to Venezuela.

When she returned to her suite she checked her messages but there were none. Not that she expected any from Racine or Gwen, but she had hoped one of them would keep in touch just to let her know what the hell was happening with the D.C. case. Though she was convinced that Father Paul Conley’s death and decapitation were connected to this case—Father Conley was on The Sin Eater’s list, after all—she was also convinced the same person who killed the Boston priest had not killed the other priests. So how did the decapitations of the three—no, four—women in the D.C. area fit into The Sin Eater’s scenario. Or did they? Were there two killers working together but with two different agendas?

She exchanged her trousers for jeans but decided to keep the blazer so she could wear her weapon. Once outside of the hotel, she breathed in the warm summer air, savoring the combination of scents as she wandered along the cobblestone streets of the Old Market, passing by the various shops and restaurants and horse-drawn carriages. As she walked, the smells and sounds changed from chocolate pastry to cigar smoke to garlic to sweaty horse and from horns to clip-pety-clop to a harmonica and guitar. Pakula had told her the brick four-and five-story buildings had once been warehouses built sometime around the 1900s next to the Missouri River and the Union Pacific Railroad for the convenience of shipping. Now tiny white lights lined the tops and the awnings. Street vendors and musicians drew small groups on the corners, giving the area a magical feeling.

She hurried in front of a horse-mounted police officer and followed a crowd across the busy intersection. Almost too quickly she found M’s Pub. Sister Kate had already secured a table on the patio. She stood and waved as soon as Maggie saw her.

“Would you rather we eat inside?” she asked, still standing and ready to move if Maggie requested it.

“No, the breeze feels wonderful. This is perfect.”

Maggie thought Sister Kate looked even less like a nun this evening, dressed in linen shorts, a black knit blouse and sandals. As they sat Sister Kate brushed at her black blouse, looking a bit embarrassed.

“My roommate’s dog,” she explained. “I love him but he ends up shedding all over me.”

“Your roommate or the dog?” As soon as Maggie said it she wished she hadn’t. She’d been spending too much time with male police detectives and FBI agents, but much to her surprise and relief Sister Kate burst out laughing. Maggie joined her.

They both ordered a glass of wine and Sister Kate insisted they have the scallops sautéed in garlic and capped with mozzarella cheese for an appetizer.

“If you don’t mind my asking, is your roommate a nun, too?”

“Yes. Actually I have two roommates, both nuns. We share a house in the Dundee area. It’s the neighborhood just a few blocks east of Our Lady of Sorrow.”

“Where do your roommates teach?”

“I’m the only teacher,” she said, smiling at Maggie’s surprise. “We are allowed to do other things, have other careers, as long as they benefit and promote the order’s mission.” She paused as the waitress brought their wine. “Sister Loretta manages several low-income apartment complexes that our religious order owns. We call her our resident slumlord.”

Maggie laughed again, relieved to feel some of the tension of the afternoon slipping away.

“And your other roommate?” Maggie asked.

“Ah, Sister Danielle creates computer programs.”

“Really?”

“She’s done a variety for hospital medical records departments and secure data systems for women’s centers using all that complicated encrypted stuff. She’s certainly taught me a lot, and she also finds incredible rates for me on airline flights. I have a presentation in Chicago this weekend and she’s found a round-trip ticket for under a hundred dollars.”

“Well, you’ve definitely given me a whole new perception about nuns.”

“I imagine the same goes for FBI agents.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re definitely not what I imagined an FBI agent to be like.”

Maggie raised her wineglass. “Touché.”

“I suppose this case has given you a whole new perception of priests as well?”

Maggie looked across the table at her, studying her in the fading sunlight. Her warm brown eyes were serious now where they had been playful just seconds before.

“It seems this priest scandal has touched every part of the country,” Maggie said, trying to keep from going into her earlier tirade. “Why do you suppose it got so out of hand?”

Sister Kate sipped her wine. “I used to joke that if women were allowed to be priests it would have never have happened, at least not to the degree that it has. But at the same time I do believe some things should be taken care of from within. These priests haven’t just broken man’s laws, they’ve broken God’s laws and should be held to an even higher standard. Unfortunately, in the name of protecting the church some bishops and cardinals completely forgot about protecting the children.” She paused as though thinking about something or someone and then added, “The good news is that there are many more good priests than there are bad.”

Maggie wondered if she was thinking of Father Tony Gallagher. Did she consider him one of the good guys? And if he was involved, if he was helping teenagers carry on some game of execution—a game of good versus evil or perhaps more appropriately evil versus a necessary evil—would Sister Kate suspect it? Would she go so far as to perhaps even protect Father Tony if he was The Sin Eater?

“Justice can certainly be elusive sometimes,” Maggie said, looking for clues in the nun’s eyes and seeing instead only concern.

“I’m sure you grapple with that constantly,” Sister Kate said, and suddenly Maggie realized that she was being studied, too. “How do you deal with it? You seem to have a solid moral core that I’m guessing doesn’t always coincide with the FBI’s moral code of justice.”

Yes, and today had been the perfect example, she wanted to say. Making a deal with Keller, who murdered children, in order to catch a killer, who avenged children, certainly seemed to be one of those instances.

“That’s very true,” Maggie admitted. “There are times when I have to do things I don’t agree with. As I suppose you do, too?”

Sister Kate’s smile disappeared and Maggie thought she could see a sadness in her eyes. “Yes. And there are times when it’s necessary to break a rule or two.”

“Perhaps bend, not break,” Maggie clarified and managed to get Sister Kate to smile again.

“My grandfather used to say that sometimes the end justified the means. At the time I never understood what he meant.”

“Your grandfather in Michigan? The one who instilled your love of all things medieval, including knights in shining armor coming to the rescue?”

“You have a very good memory,” Sister Kate said. “He taught me so many wonderful things about justice, about life. He was one of a kind.”

“You were lucky to have him.”

“And what about you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Were you lucky enough to have anyone to come to your rescue?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Maggie said.

“Maybe it’s a gift. Or a curse.” Sister Kate shrugged as her eyes wandered away to watch the summer tourists strolling across the street. “I can sense those of us who have suffered some sort of abuse as children. There’s always a tough outer shell, but for some reason I can see beyond that.”

She turned back to Maggie and met her eyes. “You were abused as a child, weren’t you?”