Free A Perfect Grave by Rick Mofina

washing up and he noticed we came up short on one, about say what, two-three weeks ago, right, Reg?”
    Longbow, who had a ponytail that nearly reached his waist, nodded.
    Cataldo exchanged a poker glance with Genert, who saw the hint of a smile in her eyes.
    “Do you have any idea how the knife in the set disappeared?”
    Sailor shook his head.
    “Could’ve been accidentally swept into the trash?”
    Cataldo nodded to the big Hobart dishwasher.
    “What about that?”
    “Already checked it for strays. Found a spoon. No knives,” Sailor said.
    “Maybe someone took it?” Cataldo asked. “Any idea who?”
    “We provide three meals a day to about two hundred people a sitting. Some are regulars. Some come once then you never see ‘em again. You do the math.”
    “Gentleman,” Cataldo said, “thank you for helping. We’re not sure what we have here, but it’s critical these details remain confidential. Circulation of this information would constitute obstruction of justice.”
    “Ma’am,” Sailor said, “Reggie here’s a mute and I generally don’t talk to people. Outside of running the show back here, this is the longest conversation I’ve had in months. And I’m going to end it by saying I hope in my clean and sober heart you find Sister Anne’s killer before we do. That woman was a saint.”
    Cataldo hurried outside, reached for her cell phone, and punched Grace Garner’s number. When Grace answered, Cataldo said, “It appears the knife used to kill Sister Anne came from the shelter.”

Chapter Twelve
    W as he closer to the murderer?
    The line for dinner at the Compassionate Heart of Mercy Shelter began forming after 5:30 P.M. When the doors opened at six for the one-hour evening meal, it had grown to several dozen people.
    Defeated old men in worn, stained clothes, teenagers with pierced faces, young mothers with small children, ex-cons, addicts, and drifters.
    Was Sister Anne’s killer here, among them?
    Jason Wade adjusted his Mariners ball cap, pulled up the collar of his jacket, thrust his hands into his pockets, joined the line, and waited. The smell of hot food wafted from the window.
    He’d missed getting down here for lunch, but was thankful that he was able to ditch Cassie at the paper. It gave him time to chase the story his way, alone, while dodging the messages Cassie had left on his cell, like the latest: “ Where are you, Jason? I want to meet up with you, call me. ”
    He’d spent the afternoon digging in Sister Anne’s neighborhood. He’d door-knocked in the eastern fringes of Yesler Terrace and Jefferson Terrace and tried to bring Tango’s tip about a possible link to gang payback into play.
    But he got nothing.
    He also burned up minutes on his cell phone working cop sources.
    Again, nothing. And he couldn’t reach Grace.
    All Jason had was Sister Anne’s name, a lead that a knife had been used, and about three hours to deadline for the first print edition. He didn’t have a strong angle to advance the story and his stomach tensed when he spotted a TV news crew down the block going live. Jason envisioned Eldon Reep watching the report in the Mirror newsroom then demanding: “ What’s Wade got? Have we heard from Wade? ”
    The clock was ticking on him.
    An emergency siren wailing in the distance pulled Jason’s attention back to the line as it began filing into the shelter. It was evident from murmured conversations that most everyone now knew that a nun with the shelter had been murdered.
    “Good to see you.” A white-haired woman wearing a print top, with a silver cross around her neck, greeted each visitor by grasping their hand.
    Jason held hers, leaned closer, then dropped his voice. “Sister, I’m a reporter with the Seattle Mirror and I am terribly sorry about the news.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I’d like to spend a moment here to get a sense of the mood. It’s inspiring that you’ve kept the doors open, considering.”
    “God helps us persevere.”
    “Did