Blessed Are Those Who Weep by Kristi Belcamino Page B

blamed it on the stress of my sister’s kidnapping.
    My world dimmed the day my sister was kidnapped. I’ve fought my entire life to press back the dark shadows that have hovered around me ever since. It has only been in the past few years that I’ve faced my sister’s death head-­on and tried to move past it. Donovan has helped. In so many ways. Not only by being a solid presence in my life, supporting me at every turn, but also by investigating her murder.
    Last year we got a lead on Caterina’s killer that pointed us to a man named Frank Anderson. This man bragged to another inmate in prison that he had killed my sister. By the time we found out, he’d been paroled. We found him by searching the property records of his girlfriend. Both him and his girlfriend were on the lam, but when we arrived at the house, traces of him squatting there were obvious. It is so frustrating to think I was within a hairsbreadth of finding him—­I walked into an empty house seconds after he escaped out a window. He’s been underground ever since.
    Now that he’s loose on the streets, he’s in my sights. I’m not done with him yet. Even though I told Donovan I’d let go of actively investigating him, I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m relieved that Liz hasn’t stopped, either.
    Losing the baby sent me plunging back into the despair that has haunted me every so often in this life. I’m often able to set it aside, but there have been a few times I’ve been immersed in the darkness and barely escaped with my life.
    The last few nights were the first in months that I didn’t fall asleep thinking about Caterina.
    Now all I can think about is Lucy in the arms of a killer.

 
    Chapter 17
    E VERY TIME MY cell phone rings, I jump, hoping it’s Brian with info on that DOA, but the first time, it’s my mom, and the second time, it’s my therapist’s office reminding me of my appointment. I let both calls go to voice mail.
    The afternoon is spent working on a story about a school principal arrested for stalking. Cops are playing coy about telling me who he was stalking. I work with the education reporter, Brent, on the story.
    Finally, we reach a parent who tells us off the record that the principal was stalking another school employee—­the school librarian. It’s not a student, which was what we feared, but still not good for the fool. He can kiss his career in education good-­bye even if he gets off.
    I hand over my portion of the story to Brent and decide to visit the Oakland dojo on my way home.
    Right before I pack up, my desk phone rings.
    It’s Brian from the morgue. He’s dropped the Star Wars shtick, thank the angels and saints. “Alameda.”
    â€œThat’s where the DOA is?” I pause, shrugging my bag onto my shoulder.
    â€œYup. Sliced and diced. Maybe samurai sword.”
    â€œMother Mary.”
    â€œShe had nothing to do with it.”
    â€œMale? Female?”
    â€œMale. Twenty something. Lived alone. No sign of forced entry.”
    â€œGot an address?”
    â€œThat is negative.”
    â€œThanks, Brian. I owe you.”
    â€œSo, what do you think? You think a princess and a guy like me . . .”
    And just when I thought he was over the Star Wars stuff. He’s about to hang up, when the big-­screen TV across the newsroom shows some footage of the Iraq War.
    â€œOne more thing. Can you give me a heads-­up if you guys get any soldiers on ice? I’m looking specifically for active duty. Maybe home on leave from Iraq.”
    â€œI suggest you let the wookie win.”
    â€œThanks.”
    I hope Brian’s Star Wars obsession doesn’t last as long as his Abba music phase did. For about six months, every time I called I had to listen to practically an entire Abba song before he would let me talk.
    I rack my brains. Do I have any sources with the Alameda Police