The priest turned his head around. His red eyes were startling against his pale pink face. His collar was dark where it was stained with tears. He turned back to the body and then rose slowly. Backlit by the sharp morning light his black robe looked flat, like a silhouette. He walked toward them as though he were in a trance. Then he removed a jacket from a hook behind the door, went back to the dead man, and laid it across his body.

As he did, Aideen had a chance to study the body. The victim had been tortured, though not out of vengeance. There were no burn or knife marks on his torso. His eyes, ears, breast, and groin appeared to be intact; only his limbs had been worked over. He'd been tortured for information. And his windpipe had been smashed; to kill him slowly, as opposed to a blow to the head. Aideen had seen this before, in Mexico. It wasn't pretty, but it was prettier than what the drug lords did to people they tortured for betraying them. Strangely enough, it never stopped other people from betraying the Mexican seńorios, as they called them. The dead men and women always believed that they were the ones who would never be caught.

The priest turned back toward the women. "I am Father Alcazar," he said.

María stepped toward him. "My name is María," she said. "I'm with Interpol."

Aideen wasn't surprised that María had told him who she really was. The killings were escalating. This wasn't the time to go undercover.

"Did you know this man?" María asked.

The priest nodded. "He was my brother."

"I see," María said. "I'm sorry we couldn't have gotten here sooner."

Norberto Alcazar gestured weakly behind him as fresh tears spilled from his eyes. "I tried to help him. I should have tried harder. But Adolfo-he knew what he had gotten himself into."

María stepped up to the priest. She stood as tall as he did and looked flush into his bloodshot eyes. "Father, please-help us. What had Adolfo gotten himself into?"

"I don't know," the priest said. "When I arrived here he was hurt and talking wildly."

"He was still alive?" María asked. "You've got to try to remember. Father, what he said! Words, names, places-anything."

"Something about the city," Norberto said. "About a church. He said a place or a name-Amadori."

María's eyes burned into his. "General Amadori?"

"It could be," Norberto said. "He… he did say something about a general. I don't know. It was difficult to understand."

"Of course," María said. "Father, I know this is difficult. But it's important. Do you have any idea who might have done this?"