Azrael by William L. Deandrea Page B

supposed to be examples to put the fear of the Sickle into you-know-who.”
    “Where the hell did you get a stupid idea like that?” Trotter demanded.
    “Relax,” Albright told him. “Nobody leaked. I do have a brain, you know.”
    “Brains can be dangerous. What’s different is that the last I saw her, she was about to be tucked away safely in a secure mansion. I don’t think anyone could have gotten to her without her help.”
    “I’ll get right on it. Anything else?”
    Trotter took a second to think. “No,” he said at last. “Not now. Just get me up-to-date on anything they’ve turned up on this. I’ll get back to you later.”
    “Good-bye, sleep,” Albright said.
    “You want to sleep, become a politician. Meantime, the place is going to have cops all over it in a minute, and I want to be available to welcome them.”
    Trotter hung up the phone and found himself squinting into a flashlight, the glint of a badge, and, he supposed, a gun.
    “Police officer,” the police officer told him. “Out of the booth. Hands up.”
    Trotter complied. “High enough?” he asked.

PART THREE

Chapter One
    T HE REVEREND WILL NELSON looked out at the congregation with a feeling of satisfaction. He was always aware that he was the custodian of the faith and trust that had been earned by the men he substituted for, and he tried never to mishandle that trust. He even, like a banker entrusted with mere money, endeavored to make it grow while in his care.
    It was a nomadic life, but the job he did was an important one. God bless Donna for understanding. More than once, the preacher he filled in for couldn’t return for one reason or another, and the congregation had asked him to stay. He knew Donna would love to settle down somewhere, establish a household where she could decide what drawer to keep the hot pads in. It was the one sadness of an otherwise perfect marriage that Donna couldn’t have children, but wherever they went, she taught Sunday school and came to know and love the children of each new town. It was always a wrench for her to say good-bye.
    But Will just couldn’t accept it. Everyone had his work to do for the Lord, and his was very special. When it was time for him to stop wandering, the Lord would call him to his One True Home.
    Currently, he was minding the store for the Reverend Mr. Nethercott, who’d led the Kirkester congregation for twenty-seven years. Mr. Nethercott was in New Hampshire, at the bedside of his son, who had been hospitalized since February when he’d received a serious head injury during a skiing accident. Will had spent some time in that part of the world himself. He prayed daily for young Nethercott’s recovery.
    Will was pleased to note that attendance had held steady during his tenure in Mr. Nethercott’s place. Attendance today was even greater than usual, it seemed.
    Of course, tragedy would do that, and there had been tragedy here. Tragedy in human terms, at least. It was one of the few unresolved questions of his theology: Why is it that humans, even Christians, who should know better, are incapable of seeing the reunion of a soul with its Maker as the joyous event it should be? Even he, who had counseled many of the bereaved, sometimes felt twinges of doubt, tiny but real. At times like that, he called upon his Faith. It had seen him through war, and it would see him through doubt, however small.
    The Hudsons were here today, even young Regina, who hadn’t been here in ages. They were back from New York, where they’d attended the poor Stein girl’s funeral. Young Jimmy was still shattered by the loss, but he was young, and his Faith was strong; he’d prevail. God willing.
    The pressure seemed to be telling on Mrs. Hudson. She looked paler than ever, in her black clothes, and she trembled during the sermon.
    He preached on Courage and Humility, Christian virtues he judged were essential at times like these. Humility to submit to the will of God, and Courage to