Twenty years later, detective Harry Fletcher is still haunted by the personal demons associated with the church cover-up. After his misdeeds are covered up by church leaders, she climbs to the roof of her house and jumps to her death, right in front of her shocked brother, Charlie. In this chilling tale of suspense, revenge, and evil, a police detective wrestles with his moral conscience while attempting to stop a serial killer avenging his sister’s death.Sophie Fields is a little girl tortured by her memories of Damien Smith, a much-loved and respected church elder with a secret lust for the unmentionable. As Fletcher and his new partner battle each other in a test of ideology and limits of the law, the real demons show up and change everything. Although he sees justice in Charlie’s crusade, the killer seems to be taking out others not responsible for his family's destruction. But as it becomes clear who the main targets are, Fletcher finds himself in the midst of a moral quagmire. It is Fletcher’s job to track and stop the crazed killer. After losing his faith, his wife, and now his partner, Fletcher learns that Charlie Fields has come back to town with one mission: to kill everyone responsible for his sister’s death.

Sophie Fields is a little girl tortured by her memories of Damien Smith, a much-loved and respected church elder with a secret lust for the unmentionable. It was better than the finest drugs and more intoxicating than the sweetest liquor. He was soaring when he’d shot the Reverend and his wife, when he’d slashed the prostitute’s throat and eyes and spleen, and finally, when he’d snapped the elderly couple’s necks like fragile twigs. When he took control of another human being and ended their life, he felt more empowered than ever before. Yet, killing was fast becoming his most favorite past time. He would do whatever necessary to complete his task, but he didn’t intend to deliberately kill anyone else. No, today he would take out Jones, and only Jones. Jones would be at work today, and Charlton didn’t want to run into another situation like when the Reverend’s wife had walked in. He’d done some checking on Morgan Jones, and had a good idea of his routines. He’d been waiting for this day, preparing for this day, for twenty years. He took a shower, brushed his teeth, shaved, combed his hair, and dressed in a semi-fine business suit. Charlton Fields rose promptly at seven, and went about his morning rituals like a man on a mission.

A Murder of Saints by Chris Miller