By Mariah Stewart
Former FBI agent Sam Delvecchio brings the willing talents of a profiler to his new place as a Mercy road origin operative–and now not a second too quickly. His first task, the cold-case homicide of an area soup kitchen volunteer, has all of the telltale symptoms of a serial killer’s paintings. That grim suspicion is proven while FBI agent Fiona Summers stocks the main points of 2 different killings with eerie similarities to Sam’s case: The our bodies in all 3 instances were rigorously posed. And while a fourth sufferer is came upon, the 2 investigators notice they’re pursuing an analogous twisted quarry.Local parish priest Kevin Burch, Mercy road founder Robert Magellan’s cousin, acknowledges the posings for what they're: The killer is staging the church’s seven Acts of Mercy (“Feed the hungry, dress the bare . . .”) with the our bodies of his sufferers. yet as Sam and Fiona race to avoid the ultimate 3 murders, taunting messages from their objective result in the main chilling cognizance of all.
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Extra resources for Acts of Mercy: A Mercy Street Novel
Sam drove back to the motel, and waited for Mallory’s call. ” Trula wiped down a counter where she’d rolled out dough for a peach pie. “Sam? ” Mallory swiped one of the peaches and took a bite before Trula could stop her. “I’d love to have someone on the staff with his credentials, someone who has a deep understanding of criminal behavior. ” Trula searched a cabinet, noisily moving pans from one place to another. She found what she was looking for—a glass pie plate—and closed the cabinet door. “Yeah.
Lynne’s husband had been murdered under very odd circumstances, and the cop in Mallory couldn’t help but be enticed by the challenge. Even now, she couldn’t stop herself from reading through the file again: the body of Ross Walker, a construction supervisor, had been found behind the soup kitchen where he and Lynne volunteered one night every week. The torso had been stabbed repeatedly and left posed, seated against the fence with a very large hamburger from a fast food restaurant stuffed into his mouth.
He isn’t a baby anymore. ” Trula wiped away tears. “He’s a toddler. He’s probably walking and talking, maybe even going to preschool somewhere. He’s grown so much, learned so much, since we saw him. ” Trula began to peel the peaches, her knife working furiously. “Someone has that boy and knows he isn’t theirs. ” “Assuming he’s still alive,” Mallory reminded her. “He’s still alive,” Trula said. ” She slammed an angry fist on the counter. ” Mallory sighed. “All those years I was a cop, I saw things … things that most people can’t even imagine.