A Righteous Kill by Kerrigan Byrne

important news. Luca wrote: Attack not random. Perp had previous knowledge of victim. How much more did he know than her name?
    “I turned around. I saw a man coming toward me, but he was wearing a black hood and it was so dark. There were no lights on that side of the station, and he was back-lit by the gas pump area.”
    She looked at the bandages on her hands which rested in her lap. “To be honest, I didn’t really pay attention as he approached. I put my cookie in my purse. I figured it was one of my students, a customer, or an acquaintance that recognized me and wanted to chat. That happens sometimes. I was preoccupied with thoughts of work and being hungry. I was a little impatient.” She shrugged. “I didn’t even try to make eye contact or anything. I thought if I was aloof, whoever it was would just say a quick ‘hi’ and I could be on my way.”
    Her eyes sought Luca’s. Apparently, she hadn’t missed his eyebrow raise when she’d said customer. “When I said I had to work, I meant I had some pottery to throw. I have a wheel at my apartment and I do my best work at night. The Christmas season is my busiest time of year. Plus, I have a downtown gallery show in December, and I wanted to finish some pieces for that.”
    “I understand,” Luca nodded. He hoped his skepticism didn’t show on his face. As much as a part of him wanted to believe her, the possibility that she actively hid the truth from her brother and family still existed. “Can you describe what the man was wearing? Was it a hooded sweatshirt or coat? Possibly with a brand?”
    She chewed her lip. “At first, I thought it was a duster or a long coat, you know, but it ended up being a black cassock.”
    “A what?”
    Rown cleared his throat. “A cassock is the robe of a Catholic cleric. Some of them don’t have hoods. Some of them do.” He looked at the two names so far on Luca’s legal pad and frowned. “It’s pretty easy to get your hands on one. You don’t have to be a priest.”
    Luca wrote the word next to what little description he had. “So, the hooded man called your name and walked toward you. Then what?”
    “He punched me.” Instead of pain or fear, Hero’s voice conveyed sheer amazement. “Like, in the face.” She lifted her chin where an angry bruise was gaining some vibrant color. It stood out even more against her white skin. “I’m shocked it didn’t break my jaw, but it knocked me out.”
    Luca flinched for her. “You lost consciousness?”
    She nodded. “When I woke up, I was in the back of a long van, you know, like those child-molester vans? But without any seats.”
    Luca smiled at her descriptive metaphor. He wrote: Knowledge of fighting techniques? Boxing? Accurate punch to the jaw causing a jolt to the brain and spine resulting in instant but unstable unconsciousness.
    Also known as “the button.” This guy took risks.
    “Can you remember any details about the van, or its interior? The route you took to the river?”
    “There were no windows—” She halted. Her breath rattled out of her lungs as tremulously as a long-time smoker’s would.
    Luca waited patiently. This was always the hardest part of a victim interrogation. His humanity would war with his duty as an investigator. Forcing a victim to revisit their crime sometimes felt like perpetrating it. Alternately, wading through the often unreliable memory of a mind that was actively trying to suppress a trauma had to be the most maddening part of his job. Either way, he struggled.
    Then, he’d feel like a complete douche for even considering his own frustrations.
    “Take your time,” he said.
    “I was already tied up when I opened my eyes,” she blurted. “My arms were stretched wide and—my wrists and ankles were tied. It was too dark to see anything.” She started moving her feet, as if to prove to herself that she could. “I didn’t believe it, at first. I thought for a second that it was some strange sort of prank or