lives there.”
“You haven’t seen him since?”
“No.”
“Did Dina ever speak to you of these things?”
“No, Pastor. Never.”
“How is your daughter faring of late?”
Evelyn’s hands began to tremble. For a moment, the words seemed locked in her throat. Then: “My baby is dead, Pastor Roland. Last week she took pills. She took her life, as if it were hers to take. We put her in the ground over in York, where I’m from.”
The shock that went around the room was tangible. No one spoke.
Roland reached out, held the woman, putting his arms around her big shoulders, embracing her as she unabashedly wept. Charles stood and left the room. In addition to the possibility of his emotions overcoming him, there was much to do now, much to prepare.
Roland sat back in his chair, gathered his thoughts. He held out his hands and they all linked together in a circle. “Let us entreat the Lord for the soul of Dina Reyes, and the souls of all who loved her,” Roland said.
Everyone closed their eyes, began to silently pray.
When they were finished, Roland stood. “He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted.”
“Amen,” someone said.
Charles returned, stood in the doorway. Roland met his gaze. Of the many things with which Charles had trouble in this life—some of them simple tasks, many of them things most take for granted—working on a computer was not among them. The Lord had blessed Charles with the ability to navigate the deep mysteries of the Internet, an ability with which Roland had not been graced. Roland could tell that Charles had already found Winterton, New Jersey and printed out a map.
They would leave soon.
15
Jessica and Byrne spent the afternoon canvassing the Laundromats that were either in walking distance or within reasonable SEPTA distance from Kristina Jakos’s house on North Lawrence. In all, there were five coin-op laundries on their list; only two of which were open past 11 pm. As they approached a twenty-four hour laundry called the All-City Launderette, unable to resist any longer, Jessica asked the question.
“Was the press conference as bad as it looked on TV?” After leaving St. Seraphim she had stopped for a take-out coffee at a mom-and-pop on Fourth Street. She had caught the replay of the press conference on the TV behind the counter.
“Nah,” Byrne said. “It was much, much worse.”
Jessica should have figured. “Are we ever going to talk about it?” “We’ll talk.”
As frustrating as it was, Jessica let it go. Sometimes Kevin Byrne put
up walls impossible to scale.
“By the way, where is our boy detective?” Byrne asked.
“Josh is shuttling witnesses for Ted Campos. He’s going to hook up with us later.”
“What did we get from the church?”
“Only that Kristina was a wonderful person. That the kids all loved her. That she was dedicated. That she was working on the Christmas play.”
“Of course,” Byrne said. “There are ten thousand gangbangers going to bed tonight perfectly healthy, and a well-loved young woman who worked with kids at her church is on the marble.”
Jessica knew what he meant. Life was far from fair. It was up to them to exact whatever justice was available. And that was all they could ever do.
“I think she had a secret life,” Jessica said.
This got Byrne’s undivided attention. “A secret life? What do you mean?”
Jessica lowered her voice. There was no reason to. She just seemed to do it out of habit. “Not sure, but her sister hinted at it, her roommate almost came out and said so, and the priest at St. Seraphim mentioned that she had a sadness about her.”
“Sadness?”
“His word.”
“Hell, everybody’s sad, Jess. That doesn’t mean they’re up to something illegal. Or even unsavory.”
“No, but I’m going to take another run at the roommate. Maybe poke around Kristina’s things a little more closely.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
the all-city launderette was the third establishment they visited. The managers of
“You haven’t seen him since?”
“No.”
“Did Dina ever speak to you of these things?”
“No, Pastor. Never.”
“How is your daughter faring of late?”
Evelyn’s hands began to tremble. For a moment, the words seemed locked in her throat. Then: “My baby is dead, Pastor Roland. Last week she took pills. She took her life, as if it were hers to take. We put her in the ground over in York, where I’m from.”
The shock that went around the room was tangible. No one spoke.
Roland reached out, held the woman, putting his arms around her big shoulders, embracing her as she unabashedly wept. Charles stood and left the room. In addition to the possibility of his emotions overcoming him, there was much to do now, much to prepare.
Roland sat back in his chair, gathered his thoughts. He held out his hands and they all linked together in a circle. “Let us entreat the Lord for the soul of Dina Reyes, and the souls of all who loved her,” Roland said.
Everyone closed their eyes, began to silently pray.
When they were finished, Roland stood. “He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted.”
“Amen,” someone said.
Charles returned, stood in the doorway. Roland met his gaze. Of the many things with which Charles had trouble in this life—some of them simple tasks, many of them things most take for granted—working on a computer was not among them. The Lord had blessed Charles with the ability to navigate the deep mysteries of the Internet, an ability with which Roland had not been graced. Roland could tell that Charles had already found Winterton, New Jersey and printed out a map.
They would leave soon.
15
Jessica and Byrne spent the afternoon canvassing the Laundromats that were either in walking distance or within reasonable SEPTA distance from Kristina Jakos’s house on North Lawrence. In all, there were five coin-op laundries on their list; only two of which were open past 11 pm. As they approached a twenty-four hour laundry called the All-City Launderette, unable to resist any longer, Jessica asked the question.
“Was the press conference as bad as it looked on TV?” After leaving St. Seraphim she had stopped for a take-out coffee at a mom-and-pop on Fourth Street. She had caught the replay of the press conference on the TV behind the counter.
“Nah,” Byrne said. “It was much, much worse.”
Jessica should have figured. “Are we ever going to talk about it?” “We’ll talk.”
As frustrating as it was, Jessica let it go. Sometimes Kevin Byrne put
up walls impossible to scale.
“By the way, where is our boy detective?” Byrne asked.
“Josh is shuttling witnesses for Ted Campos. He’s going to hook up with us later.”
“What did we get from the church?”
“Only that Kristina was a wonderful person. That the kids all loved her. That she was dedicated. That she was working on the Christmas play.”
“Of course,” Byrne said. “There are ten thousand gangbangers going to bed tonight perfectly healthy, and a well-loved young woman who worked with kids at her church is on the marble.”
Jessica knew what he meant. Life was far from fair. It was up to them to exact whatever justice was available. And that was all they could ever do.
“I think she had a secret life,” Jessica said.
This got Byrne’s undivided attention. “A secret life? What do you mean?”
Jessica lowered her voice. There was no reason to. She just seemed to do it out of habit. “Not sure, but her sister hinted at it, her roommate almost came out and said so, and the priest at St. Seraphim mentioned that she had a sadness about her.”
“Sadness?”
“His word.”
“Hell, everybody’s sad, Jess. That doesn’t mean they’re up to something illegal. Or even unsavory.”
“No, but I’m going to take another run at the roommate. Maybe poke around Kristina’s things a little more closely.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
the all-city launderette was the third establishment they visited. The managers of
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