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gangbanger-wannabes were hanging around.”
    “I can’t imagine kids, even ones who want to join a gang, would do something like this,” Paxton stated. Or at least he hoped they couldn’t.
    “No, but now we’ve got to track them down.” In a rare moment of anger, Ruth gritted her teeth. “But you’ve got to ask yourself—how could four or five kids be harassing a church at midnight? I mean, where were their parents?”
    The sergeant shook his head. “In this neighborhood, you probably don’t want to know. But usually the gangs leave the church alone. Even if any of the kids did try something stupid on church grounds, Father Gonzales liked to handle things himself, because you know, once a kid gets into the system… ”
    Paxton nodded. Yep, once a guest of the penal system, one usually became a frequent flier. But there were questions that needed to be asked, and for some reason, Ruth still seemed too pissed to ask them.
    “You are sure, though, that the priest had no connections to any gangs? The Colombians are known to do some pretty awful crap. Maybe that’s why Gonzales liked to handle things himself? To keep his involvement on the down low?”
    “I know you have to run down any leads,” the sergeant said. “But I am telling you, Gonzales would just say, ‘God keeps his own house in order.’ I’ve been on this beat for three decades, and I gotta tell you, I believed him.”
    Paxton nodded. He knew these old grizzled beat cops liked to seem all fierce and unyielding, but underneath it all, they felt a deep sense of protection for their streets and the people who lived on them. They pounded the pavement to help—even when a neighborhood was going belly-up, like this one. Paxton was sure that the sergeant’s wife, kids, and hell, even grandkids, had begged him to take a desk job, but the guy just couldn’t. He had to stay to help the people he loved.
    They all watched as the priest’s ashen body was loaded into a body bag.
    “Sorry,” the sergeant said, clearing his throat. “It’s just… I knew the guy. He really helped keep drugs off the street. How could anyone do this… to a priest… to him?”
    Paxton really couldn’t argue much as the zipper finally blocked the gruesome sight.
    Ruth shook her head. Her anger had seemingly evaporated, and it was replaced with melancholy,
    “For all of humankind’s capacity for good, we still hold a reservoir to do such evil… ”
    Something about this church, or the death of the priest, was really affecting Ruth.  He’d not seen this much vulnerability in her in the last six months as he had in the last six minutes. She, too, must have sensed it as she shook her head again.
    Ruth’s tone was crisp again. Any lingering emotion was gone. “My understanding is that some money was taken?”
    “Yes,” the sergeant said, returning to his brusque manner. “At best guess, seven dollars from the collection plate. However, the collection plate itself is solid gold, and is worth over four hundred dollars, but it was left.”
    Paxton raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think we can exactly hang our hats on robbery as a motive.”
    “I agree. This seems directed at the priest.” Ruth turned to the sergeant. “Thank you. We will contact you if we have any other questions.”
    The older officer went to move away, but then turned on his heel. “Oh, one other thing. Mrs. Hendes said that the front door was locked when she came in. The techies scanned for prints. It seems that they only found the priest’s. It looks like Gonzales locked himself inside with the bastard.”
    Ruth nodded as the sergeant headed toward the front of the church, but when she turned back to Paxton, she had a concerned look on her face.
    “What?” he asked.
    They moved out of the way as the MEs rolled away the gurney carrying the priest.
    “None of this strikes you as slightly familiar?”
    Paxton was going to reflexively answer no, but thought better of it. What had her mind deduced