Standing in the entryway was a short woman with an asymmetrical haircut and a look of annoyance on her face. She was probably in her late twenties, she wore a black band on her left ring finger, and a black rosary around her neck. Her skin was a pinkish color, from what he could see beneath the heavy lines of black tattoo ink running across her arms and collar bones. She had whiskey colored, angry eyes and kept her arms defensively covering her well-endowed chest.

She was of thicker build, a bit heavyset, with wide hips. Average, nothing to write home about, but she had an air of intelligence that was almost scary. This was the kind of woman who could drink the largest brute under the table without batting an eyelash, but still had enough femininity to do it all in a pair of heels and a tight black number.

“Can I help you….officer?” her tone shifted slightly when she noticed the badge on his hip. She adjusted the square glasses on her face and reassessed the situation in silence. She had a low voice, it was smooth like a straight bourbon, but it seemed to have a lot of pain lingering behind it. He could tell in the way she chose her words with a sturdy contemplation before speaking.

“I thought this place was supposed to be empty after, well….” Brendan’s eyes gazed up to the cross.

“We just got in. Shame about Milton, he was a good man,” she had a bit of a midwestern accent to her voice. It was apparent that this was not going to be an informative conversation. She kept her sentences concise.

“We?”

She stopped and shifted her weight, taking in the tall stranger at the door, “The new priest and myself. Again, what can I do for you officer? It’s late.”

Brendan stepped closer to the door, out of the rain, and lowered his hood. The two sized each other up for a moment, the tension in the air was palpable. He knew she wasn’t going to budge easily on information, if she had any. Something felt off though, the whole situation was making him uneasy.

“How long have you been in town?” he inquired, placing his hands on his hips.

He straighten his back, tried to make himself appear more confident than he was. He had always been on the tall side, but he was lean in muscular tone, so he felt he was lacking in the intimidation factor. This kind of stuff was exactly why he so desperately wanted to switch to the coroner’s department. He hated people. He preferred them dead, the dead never offered opinions or hindered progress. They just were, that was enough.

“I got in Friday morning,” she replied.

“The padre?” Brendan pushed for more information.

“After me, a bit after midnight on Saturday, he took a red eye.”

“Just you two here?”

The woman stepped forward, out into the muggy air. She looked up at the young cop with a fierceness in her eyes. She was almost enjoying this. He was growing aggravated.

“There’s a mutilated woman in your graveyard and right now, ma’am, you’re this close to being shoved into the back of my cruiser,” Brendan snapped

 The woman dropped her arms and took a step back. That air of confidence was swept away like a summer breeze, she placed a hand on her chin and lowered her eyes to the ground. Something had shaken her, just slightly.

“How is that possible…” she whispered under her breath, “I apologize, it’s been a long weekend of repairs and unpacking. What can I do to help?”

Brendan loosened up a bit, “Where have you been all night?”

“In the offices, trying to clean out the mounds of paperwork. This place is really falling apart, and with what you just told me I doubt we’ll be getting it up and running again at this juncture.”

“Where’s the padre been?”

“In the rectory.”

“All day?”

“Yep.”

The two stood for a moment in the downpour, staring holes through each other. A set of footsteps echoed through the small, empty chapel behind the woman. Her eyes shifted slightly before moving back to the officer.

Brendan’s gaze followed hers to take in the pale form of a tall man about his age emerging from the back hallway. He was slender, ghostly, with blonde hair and striking eyes. He was handsome, but crippled and looked sickly. Also covered in a slew of tattoos, the man wore a black button up with rolled sleeves. With a slow pace brought on by an ivory cane in his hand, the man approached with a smile and little concern on his face until he spotted the cop at his door.

“Is everything alright?” his voice was airy, light.

His demeanor was less abrasive than the woman’s, something about him seemed obsessively optimistic, and it wasn’t the Holy Spirit. This was a natural joy that oozed off of him like summer sweat. He was good looking, if not oversaturated with innocence for his age. His silver eyes threw Brendan off guard when the two locked gazes. It was like the moon was trapped inside them, it was off-putting.

“You the padre?” Brendan asked, pulling himself back into the moment.

“Yes,” he replied.

“You aware of the corpse in your front yard?”

“I….uh, no.  I was not aware of a… corpse in my yard, officer.”

The priest looked toward the woman, who had shifted her weight to lean on the door frame. Her eyes never left the cop, but something about her face had softened. Brendan placed his hands on his hips, tried to gauge the authenticity of the two highly unusual church workers before him. He wondered why the woman was caked in a powdery dust, not unlike construction workers, and why the priest’s hand kept shaking with such a powerful tremor when he gripped the cane tightly.

“Looks like a… lady of the evening. Been dead a while, couple of kids wandered through the cemetery and found her. You didn’t hear anything?” Brendan inquired, trying to choose his words carefully.

“No, my apologies I was in the rectory all day, I believe I caught something on my flight over and have been unwell. I heard some stirring but I figured it was an animal, with how little care has been given to the grounds lately there’s no telling what has made a home here,” the pale man replied, “My apologies, again, I’m Father Belmont. This is my sister and my admin, Eleanor. We just got transferred here, no one else wanted to take over due to the unfortunate circumstances of the late Father Milton.”

“Catholics don’t take too kindly to the whole offing yourself thing,” Eleanor added, pulling a carton of cigarettes from her back pocket.

She offered one to Brendan, who politely declined mostly out of suspicion. Her long black fingernails gracefully wrapped around the menthol cigarette and set it ablaze, all the while keeping her eyes honed in on the cop before her with an inquisitive look. Taking a long drag, she exhaled the minty smoke into the humid air and pointed up to the doorframe above her. There was a small security camera with a blinking red light tucked in the entryway.

“I got that put up this morning, it hasn’t been on long but you’re more than welcome to look at the footage to see if anything catches your eye. It doesn’t catch the whole of the yard but it’s got enough width to see the path and the front of the cemetery,” she offered.

As he opened his mouth his radio popped back to life, “Osei, we found another one,” Pell’s voice cracked through the small speakers.

“Fuck, be right here. Send somebody up here to take the new priest and his nun’s statements for me,” Brendan replied.

“Not a nun,” the woman named Eleanor spat. 

He cut his eyes at her, not removing his thumb from the radio’s button, “They’re difficult, send two.”

He tossed his hood back up over his head and turned to head back to the yard.

“Don’t leave town,” he called over his shoulder as he fell back into the darkness of the night. The rain quickly concealed the sound of his footsteps, leaving the two siblings standing in the doorway of the deformed old church.

Eleanor looked back at her brother and lifted an eyebrow, “This is a problem, Jay,” she said, taking another slow inhale of her cigarette. She tossed it to the ground, it sizzled and died on the staircase below her.

“We may be too late,” he replied.

“This is a calling card, they knew we were coming. The question is… what is it?”

“Get up to the belfry and see if you can see the body, maybe we can start narrowing down what did it.”

“You read my mind.”

Brendan watched the two for a moment from the edge of the sidewalk before he made his way back over to the edge of the cemetery. He saw Captain Pell by the back gate, her flashlight waved him forward. He stopped beside her.

“Where is it?” he asked.

“Out by the mausoleum in the corner. It’s… not pretty,” she mumbled.

“You call Peggy? She’s gonna have a field day with this.”

The captain nodded and turned her head back to the far end of the cemetery. They moved forward through the rain. Brendan turned his eyes back to the far end of the yard, looked at the small rectory. There were lights on, a small moving truck was parked at the edge of the pebbled road that led out to the main street.

The two eventually reached the edge of the cemetery. More can lights lit up the moss covered mausoleum.

Brendan turned away, “Oh, God,” he groaned.

“She’s fresh. You can smell it,” Pell stated, pinching her nose.

Another woman, mangled, bruised, body torn asunder, was crucified against the stone cross on the side of the building.

“We should… probably leave a car here for the priest’s safety, yeah?” Brendan asked.

“A priest doesn’t really fit the theme here,” Pell reminded as she flagged down the officer taking crime scene photos.

“No, not necessarily, still I’d hate to get called back out here for two more bodies tomorrow night,” he responded, “You need me for anything else?”

“No. Head back to the precinct and get the morgue prepped for the bodies, it’s late and I’m sure Peggy will want the help.”

“Yes, ma’am.”