“Notre Dame is famous for its gargoyles. Plenty of old churches have them.”

“Do you know why?”

“I know their original purpose is architectural. They divert water from the building itself. That’s why they lean out—to let water fall away from walls so they aren’t damaged by runoff.”

“Correct. But churches also used them for two other functions. Some thought they would scare people into churches—remind them of the hell and damnation that awaited if they skipped service. Others viewed them as guardians, keeping the worshippers safe. There developed, however, a third view. That they were demonic themselves or, at the very least, idolatrous. That’s why they kept churches out of Cainsville.” She rose, rubbing her back. “I should get back to work. Anytime you want to chat, though, I’m around. But if you’re interested in more, you can also speak to Rose Walsh. She’s quite the expert on folklore.”

“I have talked to her a couple of times. We had a, uh, session.”

“I’d be more pleased about that if your tone told me you took it seriously. You don’t believe in the sight, child?” She shook her head. “I bet you don’t believe in the protective powers of gargoyles, either.” A smile and a wink, and she trundled off with her cart.

CHAPTER FORTY

Gabriel insisted on taking me to the interview with Evans. I suppose it fell under the same category as teaching me to use a gun—a dead client would look very bad on his résumé.

I made him drop me off a block away. Having William Evans glance out to see me stepping from Gabriel’s Jag would not be a good way to start the interview.

Evans lived with his wife in River Forest, an affluent suburb west of Chicago. Their house was in an older part, where the houses weren’t obscenely large and you actually had some green space between you and your neighbors. My original plan was to have Gabriel drop me at the nearest bus stop. But this wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where anyone took the bus.

When I reached the Evans home, a middle-aged housekeeper was on the front porch, speaking to a young gardener. She showed me into the study, where William Evans waited.

Evans sat at his desk. He was a thick-set man with an iron-gray, military-short buzz cut, dressed in a golf shirt that showed off biceps that would be the envy of men half his age. Not what I’d expected, given the soft-spoken voice on the phone.

“Ms. Jones,” he said when the housekeeper ushered me in. He strode around the desk to take my hand. “Do you go by Jones? Or Taylor-Jones?”

“Jones. Keeps things simple. But Olivia is even better.”

“Excellent. Please call me Will.” He looked over at the housekeeper. “I’m sorry, Maria. I know you were just leaving, and I completely forgot to mention Ms. Jones’s appointment. Is there any chance you could . . . ?”

She smiled. “I’ll bring coffee.”

He thanked her and waved me to a seat as he took his. We talked about the weather until the coffee arrived. Then he said, “So you’re investigating my son’s murder.”

“I’m not a detective. I’m just . . .” I pretended to be debating how honest I should be, though I’d worked out a game plan already. “Pamela Larsen wants me to take her case to the Center on Wrongful Convictions. She would like them to focus on irregularities in the murders of your son and Jan Gunderson. I don’t want to do that until I’ve checked a few things myself. Otherwise . . .” I shrugged. “It gives the wrong impression.”

“That of a naive, socially advantaged young woman who believes her parents cannot be guilty simply because she doesn’t want them to be.”

I could feel the weight of his stare on me as he studied my reaction. I struggled not to squirm. I don’t like shrinks. They’re always assessing you, and even if their assessment seems wrong, you can’t help but wonder because, after all, they’re pros. Skilled scuba divers into the murky waters of the unconscious.

“Yes,” I said. “I want to know what I’m giving them and to agree that there is some modicum of doubt.”

“There is.”

When I glanced at him sharply, he said, “I believe there is some doubt. I believe you are correct to look closer at Christian Gunderson. I believe I know a reason why Christian may have murdered his sister.”

As determined as I’d been to play my cards close, his chuckle said I’d failed miserably.

“Did you expect mind games?” He shook his head. “I’m too old for that. If we’re being honest, I was always too old for that. Too impatient. I believe it is possible Christian Gunderson killed my son. Only possible. Perhaps not even likely. But that possibility has haunted me for twenty-two years.”

I met his gaze. “But it wasn’t haunting you a year ago? When Gabriel Walsh told you he was working on Pamela Larsen’s appeal?”

His smile didn’t falter. “Touché. The truth is that I don’t like defense lawyers, Olivia. I particularly do not like Gabriel Walsh. More than one family with Peter’s Angels has had to deal with the man, and it was a very unpleasant experience. Some lawyers defend criminals because they believe in the system and trust that it will convict the guilty. Others do it because the rewards assuage those jabs of conscience. A few, though, do it because they have no pricks of conscience. They see it as a game.”

“So you withheld the information because you dislike Gabriel Walsh.”

“No. I was quite willing to give it—if he pushed. I wanted to feel confident that he’d use it. When I rebuffed him, though, he lost interest, which suggested he didn’t really see Christian as a viable suspect. I feared that if I gave him what I had, he’d misuse it.”

“And you trust me to use it properly?” I said.

“I’ve done my research on you, Olivia. When I spoke to a mutual acquaintance, she couldn’t sing your praises highly enough. You weren’t merely a debutante taking a monthly shift in the soup kitchen. You worked hard. You care about people. I wondered what you were doing with Gabriel Walsh. I believe I see it now, though. He is beneficial to you, is he not? To your investigation?”

“He is.”

“Good. Make use of him, then, but please, be careful. He is not a man to be trusted. Also, I would ask that anything we discuss here not get back to him.”