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be delivered back to the same location an hour later. The same receptionist had signed off on the pickup as for the delivery.
    That seemed strange, but when I asked the dispatcher about it he just shrugged. The courier’s pay was a low hourly base with a per-item delivery count determining the remainder. Even if the courier noticed that the letter was to be delivered to the same place where it was picked up, and he probably did when he scanned it into his handheld, he’d do it anyway. The rationale behind the letter’s origin wasn’t his problem, and the delivery meant another dollar in his pocket.
    On my walk home, I pondered the varied nature of the deliveries—inter-office mail, regular post, taped to a shower door, and courier using Kommen’s own account number. Two things became clear.
    First, Enigma had at-will access to the innermost workings of Richardson’s life. I’d got that already, but using Kommen’s corporate account number for this delivery and having it physically picked up at the law office showed significantly broader access than I’d imagined. There weren’t many with access to both Richardson’s shower door and his attorney’s office downtown.
    Second, Enigma was bedeviling Richardson with item one. The deliveries had been orchestrated to that end. There was no other reason to use such a variety. Enigma was toying with the good reverend like a cat torments the mouse it will eventually kill.
    No wonder Richardson’s aura had fried with panic. He could feel hot cat breath in his whiskers, but he couldn’t squirm out from under its paw. Howard Richardson was being punished.
    * * * *
    I was just toweling off after a shower when my phone rang. It was Colin.
    I looked at the bedside clock. It was six o’clock. “Do you always work this late on Fridays?” I asked.
    “More often than I’d like, Mr. Morgan,” he said. “I don’t mind today, though. I’ve arranged Monday interviews for you, first at the church, then with Ann Richardson and James’ wife, Leigh. I've got the details here if you want to write them down.”
    “Hang on,” I said. “I just stepped out of the shower and don’t have anything to write with.” That was probably more information than was professionally appropriate, but it was fact.
    “Oooh,” he said softly. He hesitated, and I could imagine him looking over his shoulder to make sure no one else was within earshot. “I’d have worried if you had a pen in the shower, Mr. Morgan.”
    I chuckled. “That’s good. Please call me Russ.” If we were going to talk about my showers, we deserved to use first names.
    “Okay.” He paused again. “Russ. That sounds nice.”
    Now he was flirting. It felt good. “It’s a good enough name, I guess.”
    Colin’s voice dropped to a whisper. “No, I meant the shower thing.” I felt my body respond. Fuck. No, wait—wrong word.
    I laughed to hide my embarrassment at wanting him. “You’d better stick to the appointment details, or you’re going to get us both in a lot of trouble, young man.” And it might be worth it.
    I wrote as he spoke. The church headquarters was down south, almost to Castle Rock. I could meet the office manager, Marianna Stokes, at eight o’clock, then Rev. Richardson’s secretary, Gladys Everton, at nine. He gave me numbers in case anything came up. I’d have to leave at six-thirty to make sure I got there in time.
    Neither Ann nor Leigh wanted to come downtown to Kommen’s office, so I was to meet with them at their respective homes in Highlands Ranch. According to Colin, they didn’t live far apart. I’d check everything online anyway, now that I had the addresses.
    As I finished writing, Colin chatted about the weather forecast for the weekend. I could see him being an outdoors kind of guy, biking or hiking maybe. It was a nice visual.
    I wanted to ask him what plans he had for his weekend, but managed to resist the temptation. Instead I just thanked him, maybe with a little more