Free Dirty Harry 05 - Family Skeletons by Dane Hartman

if I push it.”
    “Don’t bother,” Harry said, adjusting to the idea. If he really needed a gun, he had no doubt he could get one where all the criminals did—underground. That song and dance over with, Harry got back to the main topic on his mind. “You seem to know a hell of a lot about Indians,” he said by way of introducing the subject.
    Collins wanted to fence words some more. “You know a lot about guns.”
    Callahan didn’t want to play. “What was all that about the Order of the Orenda?”
    “It’s the name of their quasi-religious group,” Collins said, tooling up to the Common. “Orenda is the Iroquois name of the spirit that lives inside everything. Did you see that horror movie called The Manitou?” Harry shook his head. “It was based on the Algonquian word for the same spirit. Naturally the filmmakers added a lot more blood and guts.”
    “Naturally,” Harry said sourly. “But what do these kids see in something like that?”
    “They figure it does Unitarianism one better by going back to the source of true American beliefs. Since the Indians were here first and so noble and put upon, they think their religion was more pure.
    “Unfortunately, these kids aren’t Indians. They’re middle-class Irish, Italian, and English. They tend to get a little carried away.”
    “What do you mean?” Callahan pressed on.
    “Ah, the whole thing about the purity of death and the blood brother shit and the Happy Hunting Ground concepts. It has a tenuous but bothersome connection to the Halliwell girl.”
    “Who?” Harry asked as they passed the Boston Playboy Club on their right and went up to Tremont Street.
    “Oh yeah, I forgot I didn’t tell you,” Collins answered. “Judy Halliwell. She was the girl who was murdered on the Beacon Hill rooftop last night. I thought you said you knew.”
    “No,” Harry corrected as they took a left to pass the Savoy Theater. “I just read in the papers that the victim was an avid volunteer at the Unitarian Church offices. When I saw Morrisson and the girl Christine come out of there today, I made the connection. By the way, what did Morrisson say about the attack? Did he have a reason?”
    “He denied the whole thing. Refused to make a statement. Said there was no girl.”
    “OK, what about the Halliwell girl, then? Where does she come in?”
    “Well,” said Collins, pulling in front of the Unitarian offices and stopping the car. “The murderer killed her, one of her cats, and another boy named John Monahan. As near as we can tell, Monahan was a mistake. He told his roommates at the dorm where he lived that he was going to a movie at the Charles Street Theater complex. That would put him in the general area of the crime. We’re almost sure he just passed by, heard something, and went to investigate. It was another horror number, by the way.”
    “What was?”
    “The movie. A horror movie called Just Before Dawn.”
    Harry had heard of it. He didn’t care. He stayed away from that kind of garbage. “We’ve got enough horror of our own,” Callahan reminded the detective. “In reality. How does the Halliwell girl fit in?”
    “It’s that virgin sacrifice thing,” Collins finally admitted. “I mean, the cat getting croaked; that could signify the soul of an animal released. And the rooftop; it could fill in as the sacrificial altar. Finally, there was a piece of information we didn’t release to the papers. The Halliwell girl was raped.”
    “Evidence of semen?” Harry asked.
    “No,” Collins shook his head. “The killer must’ve been spooked by Monahan’s arrival. According to the coroner, her hymen was broken, then the guy pulled out.”
    “So she was a virgin.”
    “Until last night, yeah. And she probably stayed that way until after she died.”
    Harry swore aloud. Several times. Collins nodded in commiseration. They were not only dealing with a murderer but with a necrophiliac.
    “All I can say, Inspector, is that you picked a hell