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those buildings in the warehouse district,” I said. “Some of them go vacant from time to time. And we’ve got barns.”
    “Which would be on private property,” he said, looking up at me with serious eyes. “What I want to know is how they got him. Like you said, he’s a big guy.”
    “I didn’t find an initial blow that might have rendered him unconscious. There’s nothing to indicate how he was incapacitated. There’s no defense wounds that I can see, and his body is too battered to see any puncture marks from a syringe, even under the light. But that’s how I think they did it. I’m willing to bet I’ll find something in the tox screen.”
    “Or maybe he went willingly with his attackers,” Jack said.
    “It’s a possibility. If he is Reverend Oglesby then all they’d have to do is tell him someone was in trouble and he’d go with them.”
    “What about the brand?” Jack asked, putting the fingerprint card inside an envelope and sealing it up.
    “The brand is the only wound on the body that occurred post-mortem,” I said. “In fact, by the lack of blood and the consistency of the skin tissue around the burns, I’d say it was inflicted a good while after death. Like it was an afterthought, or something they’d forgotten to do.”
    “So it could have happened after they tied him to the tree for us to find.”
    “I’d say that’s likely. Let me get an inking of it for you to take with you. It’s an unusual symbol.”
    I used a warm wax mold to take an impression of the brand, and peeled it back gently. I set it aside on wax paper, and once it dried we could run multiple copies to pass out to Jack’s other officers.
    “I’ve seen enough animals branded in my life to know they used a branding iron for this. They’d have to get it specially made. I should be able to run down some leads on that.”
    Jack’s phone beeped in a series of shrill tones that made me jump, and he pretended not to notice my skittishness as he answered.
    “Sheriff Lawson,” he said.
    I blocked out what he was saying and studied the wax impression. It was a shield with what looked like a sword on the inside, and on top of the sword hilt rested a five-point crown. It wasn’t a symbol I recognized, but it reminded me briefly of something that Richard the Lionheart might have worn during the Crusades. Jack’s back was turned, so he didn’t see how my hand shook when I reached out to trace the outline.
    I took a step back and flexed my hands into fists before walking over to the big stainless steel sink in the corner. I scrubbed with antibacterial soap until I was red and pruny. John Doe was going to have to be put on ice for a few hours. If I didn’t get some rest I was likely to cut off my thumb with my scalpel. I could catch twenty minutes of sleep, sitting in my chair with the lights on, and that would be enough to get me through the rest of the day.
    I was just pushing the body back in the refrigeration unit when I heard Jack say, “That was Officer Cheek again. They found tire tracks at the back of Reverend Oglesby’s house and a couple of drops of what looks like blood. I think we need to go pay a visit to Reverend Thomas and get a better idea of timeline. It looks like we have a dead preacher on our hands.”
     
     

     
     

Chapter Six
     
     
    St. Paul’s Episcopal Church was on Queen Mary Avenue, only a few miles from the funeral home. I rode in the front seat of Jack’s cruiser and fiddled with the heater. My coat was bundled around me and my scarf was wound up over my chin and mouth. I could never quite get warm, but Jack sat beside me in only his flannel shirt, so I figured it must just be me.
    “When did Reverend Oglesby join the church?” I asked Jack.
    He winced and shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. “A couple of weeks after you went into the hospital. I’ve never actually met the man. He’s not one to be seen around town much, and it’s been a while since I’ve sat in a pew on Sunday