Day 1, 1600
> The trip was short, but when the duo reached the church, the service had > already started. They went in, making as little noise as possible, and sat > on the last row of the benches. Zenya looked around. The place was filled > to capacity, with quite a number of youngsters. Mary Ritchie's friends, she > supposed.
Jordan felt uncomfortable sitting at the back of the Church. He always did, no matter what the occation. He supposed that it was because of his religion. I'd probably feel this way in a Mosque, a Hindu temple (whatever they happen to call them), or watching a satanic ritual, he mused to himself. No matter how similar we seem, he thought, there are fundamental differences that we should keep to ourselves.
The Minister spoke at some length about Mary Ritchie's life, and Jordan supposed that he either knew her quite well, or was a good BSer. The Ministry didn't strike him as a profession that would attract people who were good at insincerity, so the former was quite likely. He wondered what impace Mary's death would have on the community. Certainly a great one if we don't find this bastard and prevent the next murder.
> When the service was reaching the end, the priest asked the family > and friends of Mary to pay their last respects to the victim. > Mary's family led the way, with her parents and siblings, followed > by relatives then friends.
Jordan hung back watching the line form as the first people filed past the coffin. Jordan saw some other people waiting for the line to develop before walking over to the end. An older couple reached the end just as Jordan decided to head for the end of the line himself.
The grey haired man turned to his wife, and Jordan read his lips as he said *This is my fault.*
His wife shook her head and replied, but Jordan wasn't positioned to see her lips.
Jordan glanced around for Zenya, but she had dissapeared. He quickly debated what he should do, and decided to approach the couple. A few people had gotten in line behind them, and he decided to use the direct approach.
Jordan walked over, pulled out his ID, and showed it to the couple, "Excuse me, I'm Agent Stern from the FBI and I was wondering if I might have a word with you?"
The couple glanced at each other and then the man said, "Sure, Agent Stern." He stepped out of line and stood at the end of a row of pews. "How can we help you?"
"I apologize for intruding, but I noticed you telling your wife that this was your fault. I assume you're referring to the murder?"
"She doesn't agree with me, but I do consider this to be my fault. My name is Joe Gantry, I'm a former police detective from Denver."
"I recognize your name from the files we were given. You were the lead investigator."
Gantry nodded, "And if I'd caught the bastard, this wouldn't have happened."
"Joe's convinced it's the same killer," his wife spoke up.
"I'm sorry, Agent Stern, this is my wife Kate."
Jordan extended his hand and she gripped it firmly. Jordan took a moment to size the couple up. They were probably in their early 60s, Joe probably took early retirement from the Denver PD, he thought. Both had grey hair and wore glasses.
"We were close in '78," Joe said, "We had a good psych profile of the killer, and some physical evidence as well."
"Then he dissapeared," Jordan prodded.
"Without a trace. I stayed on the case for almost 6 months after the last murder, but the evidence ran out and any trail got very cold. It's like the killer just dissapeared."
"Did you come down to Santa Fe just for the funeral?"
"No. We moved here when I retired from the Denver PD almost 5 years ago. My son lives just outside of Santa Fe, and the weather is better than Denver," Joe said.
Jordan made a note of the Gantry's address and phone number as Kate rattled it off. "I may be in touch if we have any questions on the old files."
"I'd be happy to help in any way I can. Would you mind if I were to drop by sometime and look at the files? I might remember some things that are not in them."
"Not at all," Jordan said extracting his card and jotting his cell phone number on the back, "Call and we can arrange a time."
Joe took the card and followed his wife to the end of the rapidly retreating line filing past the coffin. Jordan watched them walk away and debated momentarily following. He decided not to. He'd walked past enough coffins to not feel any real compulsion to walk past this one. As far as he could tell, the dead didn't care either way.
He looked around and determined that Zenya was not in the Chapel any more. That left two choices, outside and snooping around the Church. Jordan headed for the door and stepped into the heat outside. It had been a balmy 70 degrees when they left Washington, but Santa Fe was a warm 90 degrees. He stood aside and watched the coffin be carried from the Church and slid into the back of a herse. They'd catch the bastard this time, he thought.
The car pulled away, and he caught sight of Zenya a short distance away talking on her phone. He walked over as she was hanging up. "What's up?" he asked.
Zenya jumped a bit, startled by him walking up behind her. They quickly filled each other in. Then Zenya asked, "Where should we go next?"
"I think I'd like to see the victim's apartment, and see if we can trace her route that morning," Jordan said.
"Sounds good. You want to drive?"
"Why don't you," Jordan said tossing her the keys.
NRPG:
Syndie: Over to you.
Jeff: Stern and Gorky may eventually join Jones where the body was discovered. Keep in mind that the murder may not have been committed where the body was found. Or he may work his way back to the apartment. I have a feeling there's something significant there.
Sau Woon and Peter: Might the pregnanacy thing be and excuse to talk to Mary's doctor?
BTW: there was more character development in this post than I had hoped. The next one will be more straight forward, promise.
Respectfully submitted, Alton Reich SA-4 Jordan Stern, Team Leader ZULU -- Alton & Elizabeth Reich [email protected] "Ani l'dodi, v'dodi li - I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine" --The Song of Songs