“Oops, another assault. And now resisting arrest.” Eve made the grab, twisting Penny’s wrist as the woman dug for her pocket. “Goodness, what do we have here?” she said as she pushed Penny’s face against the wall.

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Soteriology The Meaning of Salvation. Cork Bible Institute Page 5 The Doctrine of Salvation I. The Meaning of Salvation. Salvation means to successfully (set free, release, rescue, liberate) someone or something from impending danger. The very word carries with it a twofold implication: 1. Assmann describes in detail nine different images of death: death as the body being torn apart, as social isolation, the notion of the court of the dead, the dead body, the mummy, the soul and ancestral spirit of the dead, death as separation and transition, as homecoming, and as secret. Death and Salvation in Ancient Egypt also includes a.

Salvation is: By Grace alone (Sola Gratia) Through Faith alone (Sola Fide) Because of Christ alone (Sola Christus) I. God’s Grace in Salvation God’s grace is God’s unmerited favor toward undeserving sinners. It is His sovereign act of love and mercy in granting salvation through the death and resurrection of Christ. Download These Free Christian Tracts. DOWNLOAD THESE FREE TRACTS, BIBLE STUDIES AND BOOKS. Start your own Christian tract ministry! These great witnessing tools can be printed and distributed for pennies a piece! Simply click on the links below, (choose the 'download' or 'save' option in your web browser).

“Why, Lieutenant, it looks like a knife.”

“It really does.” Eve tossed it, hilt first, to Peabody. “This is just turning into a mess, isn’t it?”

“Puta!” Penny whipped her head around, spat in Eve’s face.

“Okay, now I’m no longer entertained.” Eve cuffed Penny’s hands behind her back. “Call for a wagon, Peabody, to take our prisoner downtown. Book her on assaulting an officer, armed, and resisting.”

“Bullshit charges. I’ll be out in twenty minutes.”

Eve took the napkin Peabody passed her, wiped the spit off her face. Then leaned close to Penny’s ear, and whispered, “Wanna bet?”

We won’t be able to hold her very long,” Peabody commented after they’d turned Penny over to a pair of uniforms.

“Sure we will.” Eve took out her ’link, called Homicide. “Jenkinson,” she said when one of her detectives came on-screen. “I’m having a female prisoner transported down. Soto, Penelope. Charged with assaulting an officer and resisting. I’m going to be a couple hours. Jam it up.”

“Got that.”

Eve clicked off, checked her wrist unit. “No time to talk to López or Freeman. Let’s head down and take care of making Lino official.”

“You really just pissed her off.”

“Yeah.” Smiling a little, Eve got behind the wheel. “That was the good part.”

“Maybe pissed her off too much to talk to you, especially if she lawyers up.”

“Oh, she’ll lawyer. I’m counting on it. And that’s why she’ll talk to me about Lino. The lawyer will so advise.”

Baffled, Peabody scratched her head, and at last, long last, bit into her now stone-cold burrito. “Hmcum?”

“How come? Because admitting she knew Lino was posing as a priest, had contact, was friendly with him, should bump her down the list of murder suspects.”

Peabody swallowed. “Are we liking her for it?”

“Not particularly. Not yet. As we’ve just witnessed, she’s hotheaded. It’s hard to see her sneaking into church—where she’d stick out like, well, a whore in church, and poisoning the wine. That’s cunning, and it’s symbolic. She’d just cut his throat and leave him in the alley.” Eve thought about it for a minute. “I almost like that about her.”

Teresa Franco and her husband were already waiting at the morgue when Eve arrived. Tony Franco kept his arm around his wife’s shoulders, his right hand rubbing, rubbing gently up and down her biceps they stood listening to Eve.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I checked on the way in, and they’re ready whenever you are.”

Shadows haunted Teresa’s eyes. “Will you tell me what to do, please?”

“We’re going to look at a monitor, a small screen. If you’re able to identify the body, you just tell me.”

“He never sent pictures. And if he called, always blocked video. In my head—my heart—he’s still a boy.” She looked up at her husband. “But a mother should know her son. She should know him, no matter what.”

“It’s not your fault, Terri. You did everything you could. You still are.”

“If you’d just come with us.” Peabody touched her arm, led the way.

In the small room with its single chair, little table, boxy wall screen, Eve moved to a com unit. “This is Dallas,” she said into it. “We’re in Viewing Room One.” She paused. “Are you ready, Mrs. Franco?”

“Yes.” The hand gripped with her husband’s went white at the knuckles. “Yes, I’m ready.”

“We’re go,” Eve said, and turned to the screen.

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A white sheet covered the body from armpits to toes. Someone, Morris she imagined, had removed the tag for the viewing. Death didn’t look like sleep—not to Eve—but she imagined it might to some. To some who’d never seen death.

Teresa sucked in a breath, leaned into her husband. “He . . . he doesn’t look like Lino. His face is sharper, his nose longer. I have a picture. See, I have a picture.” She drew one out of her bag, pushed it toward Eve.

The boy was early in his teens, handsome, smirky, with dark, sleepy eyes.

“We’ve established he had facial reconstruction,” Eve began. But the shape of the eyes, she noted, was the same. The color nearly so. The dark hair, the line of the throat, the set of the head on the shoulders. The same. “There’s a resemblance.”

“Yes. I know, but . . .” Teresa pressed her lips together. “I don’t want it to be Lino. Can I—is it possible for me to see? To go in, where he is, and see?”

She’d hoped the screen viewing would be enough. Eve realized she’d set it up that way for the same reason Morris had removed the toe tag. To spare the mother. “Is that what you want?”

“No, no, it’s not. But it’s what I need.”

Eve moved back to the com. “I’m bringing Mrs. Franco in.”

Eve led the way out, down the corridor, and through double doors. Morris came in from the back. He wore a suit, the color of polished bronze, without any protective cape.

“Mrs. Franco, I’m Dr. Morris. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“I don’t know.” Clinging to her husband’s hand, Teresa stepped closer to the body. “So tall,” she murmured. “His father was tall. Lino, he had big feet as a boy. I used to tell him he’d grow into them, like a puppy does. And he did. He was nearly six feet when he left. And very thin. No matter what he ate, so thin. He was like a whip, and when he played ball, fast as one.”

Eve glanced at Peabody. “Basketball.”

“Yes. His favorite.” She reached out a hand, drew it back. “Can I, or can you . . . the sheet. If I could see.”

“Let me do that.” Morris stepped forward. “There’s an incision,” he began.

“I know. Yes, I know about that. It’s all right.”

Gently, Morris lowered the sheet to the victim’s waist.

Teresa took another step. This time when she reached out, she touched fingertips to the body’s left side, high on the ribs. And the sound she made was caught between sob and sigh.

“When he was a little boy, and would still let me, I would tickle him here. This way.” She traced her finger in a quick Z pattern. “The freckles, you see. Four little freckles, and you can make a Z.”

Eve studied the pattern—so faint, so light, so vague. Something, she supposed, only a mother would notice.

“See how long his eyelashes are? So long and thick, like a girl’s. It embarrassed him when he was little. Then he was proud and vain about them, when he noticed the girls noticed.”

“Do you know your son’s blood type, Mrs. Franco?” Morris asked.

“A-negative. He broke his arm when he was ten. His right arm. He slipped while he tried to sneak out the window. Only ten, and already sneaking out. You can tell if his arm had been broken when he was a boy?”

“Yes.” Morris touched a hand to hers. “Yes.”

“This is my son. This is Lino.” Leaning down she pressed her lips to his cheek. “Siento tanto, mi bebé.”

“Let me take you out, Mrs. Franco.” Peabody put an arm around Teresa’s waist. “Let me take you out now.”

Eve watched her go,

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