The official process worked with callous efficiency. Uniformed men crowded around the Creek, their faces washed white by the harsh spotlights hooked to the Chief's truck. Pictures were taken for record purposes and the scene was cordoned off to the public.
Albert made the sign of the cross as the woman was hauled into a body bag by his team from the County's coroner's office. It seemed appropriate as the latest victim was dressed in a nun's regalia. He turned to the Chief, face grim, as he asked, "Were you able to ID her?"
"No," McCarthy replied with a raw voice. "And no one has been able to. There's no Parish nor is there any Convent in Glasgow Creeks. The churches here are Pentecostal."
Albert cocked a brow. "The town has a thing against Catholics?"
"No, God, no," McCarthy frowned. "We just haven't had one around after the old Parish got burned twenty years ago."
