“Sunday morning dawned hot and sunny—perfect time to hide in my shitty apartment and lose myself in the Wheel of Time series. But murderers don’t catch themselves. Instead, I reviewed my notes on Jay Brandon, donned my monkey suit, and hit the road to suck the marrow from the bones of our dead case. The Saint Benjamin Soup Kitchen used to be a house, and not a pretty one. The ramshackle split level was wedged between a daycare that looked condemned and a body shop, their shared fences tagged wit...h enough spray paint to make the wood a half-inch thicker. The sign for the soup kitchen was clean, though. It was a nice big cross with a white cloth draped over its arms, like it was inviting new arrivals to come in for a hug. I didn’t think the neighborhood toughs were sparing the crucifix out of kindliness. There was a paint can on the sidewalk next to it and the cross looked damp. They didn’t care about the fencing, but the sign had been repainted recently. Probably earlier that morning.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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