Two years later people started getting nailed to crosses. He steps closer to the tattered newspaper and breaths slowly through his nose. He soaks in the words in front of him. Rose connected the Rudiger of the past with the serial killer of the present. She knew about the scar on his ear. She recognized him on the security tape.
The Jesus Killer.
That’s what they’re calling him. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t want to kill Jesus, after all. He wants to
bring Him back
.
Rudiger leaves his wall of fame and goes to the door on the south end of the small structure, throwing it open and letting the daylight pierce the innards of the hangar. He feels like an insect whose rock shelter was just removed by a curious little boy. Exposed. Naked.
A breeze rustles through the high dry grass and licks his sweaty torso, cooling him. He thinks about the task before him.
He has all the supplies he needs. He has shelter and privacy. Tools. Food and water. Six wooden beams.
Peace, the priest in that D.C church had said. You need to find peace.
The Peace Accords start in three days. Rudiger was certain this time he had chosen correctly.
In a few days it’ll all be over. He’ll be done. People will remember him until the final days of existence.
He turns back inside to resume his work, letting the door blow closed behind him. The daylight disappears from inside the tomb once again, leaving Rudiger in a darkness he is growing more and more accustomed to.
WASHINGTON D.C. SUBURBS JULY 21
“THAT ONE?
Really?”
Jonas looked at the couch on the floor of the showroom, considering it as he would someone else’s dog that wouldn’t stop licking itself.
Anne heaved out a sigh. “What’s wrong with it?”
Jonas ran his hand along the curved leather arm, letting his fingertips graze the large copper buttons attached to the seam.
“Kinda busy for my tastes.”
“White bread is busy for your tastes. Live a little, Jonas. Put some style in your life.”
“I thought that’s what you were for.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine, put some style in
my
life. Buy this beautiful couch so I have something nice to sit on when
I come over.”
“I thought that’s what
I
was for.”
“Christ, you’re exasperating.”
“I know.”
“Good thing I love you.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Jonas scanned the piece of furniture with his gaze, which then ended up resting on Anne’s legs. He raised his eyes and took her in fully into his mind, letting this woman swirl through his senses all at once. She did love him, and he loved her.
How the hell did
that
happen?
“Maybe this is how it starts,” he said. “First you convince me to buy a couch because you tell me I need style. Then it’s a new kitchen table, new bed, maybe new car. Next thing I know you’re moving in.”
She swung her head around and a piece of her long black hair whipped like a horse’s tail.
“Is that what happened with the others?”
Jonas shook his head. “No one else ever wanted to bring more than an overnight bag to my place.”
She laughed quietly, closing her eyes as she did. Her next question came with her eyes still closed as if she didn’t want to read his reaction.
“Is it such a bad idea?” she asked. “It’s a horrendous couch.”
“No, stupid.” Her eyes squeezed tighter shut. “Us moving in together.”
He looked over at her.
“No, Anne, it’s not such a bad idea. Not at all.” She opened her eyes.
“Well, then.”
“Well, then.”
She smiled and leaned in to flip over a tag hanging from the left arm of the couch.
“It’s nearly four thousand dollars,” she said. “I can’t afford that.”
“Let me buy it. I want to give it to you.”
“That makes it sound like a venereal disease,” Jonas said. “Which I think would be more attractive than this couch.”
“Fine,” she said, spinning delicately on her toes. She began walking toward the door and he followed her. “Just don’t think my offer will stand once we walk out the door.”
He reached her and ran his fingertips down the back of her thin silk shirt. “We shouldn’t be inside on a day like this anyway.”
She turned around and kissed him. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We don’t have to talk about this now. We have enough going on at the moment.”
It was an abnormal July day in Virginia. The sun had scurried away any trace of haze and humidity, and the air felt crisp, almost cool. Jonas breathed it in, knowing with certainty in another day or so the atmosphere would be back to its normal wet blanket of insufferable nastiness.
“I can’t believe you convinced me to go shopping when we leave for Denver in two days,” he said.
“I can’t believe I convinced you to go shopping at all.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “God, I have so much to do before I leave.” He liked to think he was playing an instrumental role in developing a potential lasting peace between two parties whose hatred ran long and deep. But he was still mired waist-deep in dinner-party seat assignments and speaking order.
The details are what kill you, he thought. “It’s not punishment, you know.”
He grabbed her hand as they walked. “What isn’t?”
“All the shit work you’ve been doing in preparation for the Accords. It has to be done. The Senator isn’t punishing you.”
“I know.” Jonas wasn’t sure he believed it, though.
With Rose Fitzgerald’s death had come a deluge of media attention, and within two days Jonas’s involvement in the case and connection to the suspect was widely circulated. The Senator wasn’t pleased with the distraction to his peace accord efforts, and Jonas had been told in blunt terms he was no longer to be involved in the investigation unless subpoenaed. So much for being a hero.
Jonas was happy to comply, but, even though three months had passed, the Senator remained chilly towards him. It didn’t help that the press loved Jonas. Jonas Osbourne had become a minor celebrity despite having really done nothing but narrowly escaping death from the hands of a serial killer. Twice.
“After next week it’ll be the Senator’s name on everyone’s lips and not yours.”
“It’s not fame he wants,” Jonas replied. “He just doesn’t want the focus shifted away from what’s important, which is making actual progress in Denver.” He squeezed her hand as they passed store after uninteresting store in the outdoor mall in the D.C. suburbs. “Besides, you’re a bigger name than I am.”
As if on cue, Jonas noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Something pointed at them. Instinctively, he stepped in front of Anne in the direction of the movement, shielding her.
A man with a camera tracked them for a few seconds before getting back in his car and slowly driving away. More media, Jonas thought.
“They like me because I have a wacky job,” she said. “And you’re hot as hell,” he added.
“Yeah, that doesn’t hurt.”
They were a
known couple
, Jonas and Anne. The ex-Ranger Chief of Staff and the exotic psychic criminologist. It was too much not to attract attention during a slow news cycle, particularly when the commonality between the characters in the story was a serial killer.
He slowed and pretended to look interested in a cargoshorts display at an Eddie Bauer storefront.
“So, any leads?” he asked. “Leads? Leads on what?”
He shoved his right hand into his pocket and looked at her sideways. “You know...the case.”
“Jonas, you know you can’t be asking me that.”
“It’s not like you can’t discuss it with me.”
“First, it’s
exactly
like that. Second, you are under strict orders from your boss—a U.S. Senator—not to involve yourself to any degree with the Rudiger case. You might want to be a hero, but you don’t get to be one this time.”
He turned and felt his face warm with frustration.
“Look, it’s been three months.
Three months
since we spoke to Rose together. Three months since he’s killed.” The guilt still gnawed at him daily, as he knew it did to Anne. If Rose had gone straight to the FBI offices, she would still be alive. As would the two agents. “Three months since my hand was slapped and I’ve been forced away from the case. And since that time, I have not once asked you about it, even though we’ve seen each other nearly every day.”
“And night,” she added. “Exactly.”
“Yes,” she said. “I have to admit you’ve surprised me. You’ve had to rely on the tabloids to get your information.” He took a step closer to her. “Look, I know I can’t help.
I realize that. I know there’s a whole taskforce set up to find him, and you’re working with them.”
Her words came playfully. “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”
He pressed on. “I know you think something might happen in Denver. That’s why you’re going with me.”
“It’s not because I can’t stand to be without you?”
“Maybe there’s some kind of connection. Something to do with the Middle East and his time in Jerusalem? What are you guys looking for in Denver?”
“Jonas...”
“Anne, c’mon.”
“And what would you do with the information I told you?”
“Nothing. I swear. Look, we leave in two days. My mind is exploding with all the shit I need to remember to do before we leave. But I’ll be honest with you, I can’t stop thinking about...”
“Him?”
“Yes, him.”
“What do you think about?”
Jonas started walking again, slowly, with no real destination. Anne walked along his side.
“I know him. I
know
him. I’m the only person he’s tried to kill twice and lived through it. I...I don’t know. It’s almost like—”
“Like you have a bond?”
He looked at her. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“You do have a bond, Jonas. You have a deep and intimate bond. And a horrifying one. Rudiger places some degree of importance on you, perhaps because you were there when he first...”
“First what?”
She looked around and saw only the typical complement of milling shoppers. She pulled him into a Starbucks.
“Get me a coffee,” she said. “And then what?”
“And then we’ll talk.”
HE ORDERED
two espressos and they walked to a small outdoor courtyard where a collection of empty park benches stood in formation. They chose the one farthest from the shops and sat.
“Let’s be clear—we’re only doing this once. Right?” He nodded.
She took a sip of her coffee and considered her words. “Rudy Fitzgerald, aka Rudy Sonman, aka Rudiger Mortisin definitely seems to have some form of developmental impairment.”
“Wow,” he said. “Breaking news.”
“Look, if you’re going to be an ass—”
He held up his hands. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Please. Continue.”
She studied him for a moment, as if waiting to see if any more quips were forthcoming. Then she continued.
“Best guess is Asperger’s Syndrome.”
“That’s what CNN said.”
“Someone in the task force leaked that to CNN—that’s the only reason they mentioned it. Be that as it may, it makes sense given what we know about his mental capabilities, his intense focus on certain subjects. Like religion. And his asocial behavior. Asperger’s is basically a high-functioning form of autism.”
“But he held jobs. He was in the Army.”
“Like I said. High functioning. There’s been strong anecdotal evidence that Jeffrey Dahmer had Asperger’s. Maybe Ted Kaczynski. Most people with Asperger’s have similar characteristics—lack of eye contact, socially inept, emotionally disconnected. Usually brilliant in one form or another.”
“Like an idiot savant?”
“In a way. Or just able to process things much faster. Apply greater focus. Rudiger has been able to find private cell phone numbers, put something on your desk at work undetected, not to mention his ability to rearrange words in his own head. He is incredibly resourceful. He can’t be underestimated. The man’s not just psychopathic—he’s likely a genius.”
“And he’s a physical threat. Guy is built like an Olympic athlete.”
“One trait he doesn’t seem to share with most who have Asperger’s is the ability to handle change. He handles it quite well, which isn’t common. But aside from all of this, which alone might have been enough to allow him the homicidal tendencies we know he has, there’s the matter of his abduction.”
“When he was twelve.”
“He was sexually abused, starved, and beaten for two months. His ear nearly cut off and crudely stitched back on. All of that comes from the doctors who examined him, because he never spoke about it to anyone, except that one time to his sister.”
“Who told us about the Preacherman.”