Devlin and Zamba walked down the center aisle of the Church of the Rebirth heading for the front doors, stepping around a large dark puddle on the tile floor. Zamba was dressed once again in his Caribbean clothes. The business suit had been his way of gaining Sister Nancy’s trust, which he thought was particularly amusing. Everyone knows that men in business suits wreak more havoc than anyone else. His clothes were spotless and Devlin’s were as well, but there was blood splattered everywhere.
“Who says torture doesn’t work?” Devlin asked him.
Zamba cracked a dry smile in response. It was good to see his master’s humor return. The last several minutes had seen to that, although when they started he was in no mood for levity. Not only had the violence been cathartic, but more importantly they were leaving with the knowledge they had come for. Zamba was certain of that; he noted that Devlin wasn’t indulging himself with one of his cigarettes.
“Ironic, sending him to Haiti,” Devlin remarked.
“Truly,” Zamba murmured.
They stopped at the entry doors and turned back for a last look around. They were quite satisfied with their handiwork, although strictly speaking it wasn’t essential to the larger task at hand. Except that after years of frustration, they now were so close to success that Devlin felt the urge to vent his wrath and get it out of his system. In that sense, it was therapeutic.
He was happy again. He clapped his hands and a pair of sunglasses appeared, covering his eyes. Zamba grinned.
“See you in paradise,” Devlin said, and disappeared in a theatrical poof of smoke. Zamba stepped outside and closed the doors behind him.
In the deathly quiet of the church, a steady trickle of blood dripped from the main chandelier, expanding the crimson puddle in the center aisle below. A human leg, torn from its socket, had been tossed up there.
The splash patterns of blood primarily emanated from the wide set of steps before the altar, where the dismembered corpses of four nuns lay in a gruesome pile. One of the bodies had been neatly decapitated. On a pedestal by the lectern, Sister Nancy’s severed head sat on the silver collection plate.