Authors: Nic Widhalm
Hunter leaned into the smooth leather of the car seat and released his clenched hands. Fine, let Karen play it her way. Why not? He’d spent his whole life running, so now, well…maybe it was time to let someone else do it for him. Besides, maybe he could finally get some answers. And if not, he’d find another way to escape. He had done it before.
Hunter felt the last bit of tension leave his shoulders, and he relaxed against the leather seat.
Now, if only he could get a change of clothes.
CHAPTER SIX
By the time Jackie pulled up to the cathedral, the first rays of dawn were peaking over the distant, snow-capped mountains. They spilled across the battered cathedral like golden syrup, and Jackie couldn’t help feeling a little nostalgic. She had never been much for sentiment, but she had grown up in this church and still had fond memories of the old building.
Each Sunday morning, when she was just a girl, her parents used to dress her up and take her to Saint Catherine's. There had probably been multiple priests, but Jackie only remembered the one, an old man with a tendency to ramble during his sermons. Jackie hadn’t cared, though; as a child every nook and cranny of the ancient church was a new mystery. While her parents would sit patiently in their Sunday best, listening to the priest wax eloquent over the nature of sin, Jackie’s eyes would travel every inch of the wooden pews, taken by their simple beauty. The twelve Stations of the Cross were similarly engrossing. Most kids were scared by the ultra-realistic depictions of the Crucifixion, but Jackie found them oddly comforting. The stained glass windows as well, with their portraits of martyred saints and righteous angels, smiting sinners with their flaming swords. It was like some kind of beautiful, scary,
tall
museum.
But, like most of her Catholic friends, Jackie had grown up and away from the church. And now, the crumbling ruin—a ruin that was still holding services—seemed less a beautiful museum, and more a relic of a by-gone era. The tall arch of the doorway had cracked in several places, and sported large iron pad-locks at night. The stained-glass windows were dusty and smudged with bird droppings, and small piles of trash had piled along the outside corners.
Jackie sighed as she exited the car. “What the hell happened to this neighborhood?”
“Same thing that happens anywhere,” Russ said, climbing out the passenger side and joining her on the steps. “Time and neglect. Eventually they take everything.”
“Wow. You’re a real bucket of fuckshine in the morning, you know that?” Jackie walked through the open doors and was greeted by the same police officer from the hospital. “Christ, you again?”
“Hey, show a little respect, huh?” Russ motioned to the large statue of Jesus on his left.
“Right,” Jackie nodded respectfully to the statue. “Anyhoo,” she turned to the officer, “tell me what we’ve got.”
“Couple cold ones, Detective,” the officer, a tall young man with an overbite, moved toward the back of the church. Jackie and Russ followed. “Honestly, I’m not surprised to see some corpses out here, ya’ know?” The officer said. “I mean, with
this neighborhood? S
hit, it’s amazing we got a call at all.”
“Any idea who phoned it in?” Jackie asked.
“Yeah, one of the priests called 911 an hour ago. Said he found a couple bodies in the alley out back.” The officer pushed open a back door and the group exited from the nave of the cathedral into a dim hallway that seemed to stretch for miles.
“Jesus,” Jackie said quietly, eying the corridor. Russ frowned, and Jackie mouthed “Sorry.”
The officer continued down the hallway, took a few turns, and led them to a large wooden door with several of the iron locks Jackie had seen outside. “Anyway,” he said. “The first guys on the scene took a look at the bodies and figured they’d call in everyone who’d worked the hospital murder.” The officer unlocked the bolts and pushed open the heavy door with a grunt. “Detective, you’re not going to believe this.”
You’d be surprised after the night I’ve had
, Jackie thought.
The alley itself wasn’t anything special, just a run of the mill backstreet full of the same trash and human refuse as most places in this part of town. But as Jackie stepped out of the church and into the pale morning light, she was struck by a sense of déjà vu. There, lying in the center of the alley were two bodies with twisted necks and large, finger-shaped bruises.
“Jesus,” Jackie said, and for once Russ stayed silent.
She moved to one of the corpses, close enough that she almost gagged on the sweet, putrid stench wafting from their decaying bodies. “Look,” she pointed at the victim’s stomach. “That seem right to you?”
Russ came over, wrinkling his nose at the smell. He was careful, Jackie saw, to keep his freshly-polished shoes out of the puddles that dotted the alley. He frowned as he examined the body. “Looks like his chest was caved in”
“Give the detective a gold star,” a voice said over Jackie’s shoulder. She turned to meet a brightly dressed man wearing latex gloves and a pair of too-large glasses.
“Shit, I guess they’ll let anyone in here,” Jackie smirked, offering her hand to the man, who quickly pulled back his latex gloves before she could touch him.
“Please. I have no idea where your hands have been.”
“Russ, you believe this guy? Gone for six months, and he’s still acting like a psycho.”
Russ turned from the corpse, and nodded at the extravagantly-dressed man. “Minella. Nice threads,” Russ motioned at the Hawaiian shirt and neon green slacks. “Hope we’re not interrupting your golf game.”
“We can’t all look like we came from a J. Crew catalog,” Minella nodded at Russ’ chocolate wing-tips and crisp, pressed slacks.
Russ grimaced and turned back to the corpse. “Yeah, well…anyway. Do we have any idea what caused the damage?”
Minella smiled, but it never reached his eyes. “His solar-plexus was completely crushed,” he said, addressing Jackie. “Phenomenal, really. At first, we assumed he’d been crushed by some kind of heavy object—either dropped or placed deliberately—but you see the rips in his shirt?”
Jackie studied the corpse. Its dirt-crusted shirt sported several long tears. “Yeah?”
“Those aren’t from a rock, or anything else large enough to crush a man’s chest. Those were formed by a shoe, Detective Riese. And not by repeated blows either. This is a
single footprint
.”
“Julian, you’re seriously telling me
one kick did this?
”
“That’s not what I’m telling you, that’s what the
data
is telling you
. It’s not what killed him, though” Minella knelt next to the body, excitement in his eyes. He removed a pen from his shirt pocket and pointed at the corpse’s neck. “You see these marks?” He gestured at the bruises ringing the throat.
“Don’t tell me.”
“They’re—”
“I know. They’re fingerprints.”
Minella’s face crumbled. “Who told you?”
“The fucking birds,” Russ said. He looked around the alley. “So, who moved the bodies?”
“James and Donaldson were down here first, they said they’d have a complete write-up by the time you get back to the station. They were going to handle the whole thing, but,” Minella shrugged, “the captain said we should call you guys. So…you going to tell me what’s up?”
“Later. Right now I want to talk with that priest, the one who called it in,” Jackie stood up. She motioned to Russ, “Why don’t you stay here and make sure James and Donaldson caught everything.” Nodding, Russ moved to the bodies, pulling a small notebook from his jacket pocket.
“Come on,” Minella said. “You’re
really
not going to tell me?”
Jackie started back toward to the cathedral. “If you’re that interested, why don’t you run the fingerprints on that poor bastard’s neck.” Minella grumbled behind her, but Jackie ignored him, pulling open the alley door. The officer who had shown them the way was waiting, leaning drowsily against the wall.
“Oh, I’m sorry, are we boring you? Is it nap time?”
“What? Oh,” the young man blinked his eyes and looked at the detective sheepishly. “Sorry, long night.”
“Tell me about it. Now, why don’t you try being useful and show me the priest that phoned this in.”
The officer nodded quickly and led her down the long corridor, passing several doors until they arrived at an elegant entranceway of rich, brown wood.
“Here you go. Escorted him here an hour ago. He was bitching about cooling his heels upstairs and wanted to know if it would be alright to wait here. I didn’t think it would be a problem so—”
Jackie held up a hand. “It’s fine. Why don’t you wait by the alley in case Detective Hasfeld needs me. I think I can find my way back from here.” The officer nodded and turned to leave.
“Wait,” Jackie called out. The young man turned back, looking at Jackie inquisitively. “Officer…”
“Blake, ma'am.”
“Blake. Right. Look, back there—I shouldn’t have come down on you so hard.”
“Oh,” Blake blinked. “It’s fine, really, you were tired.”
“Still. You did good today.” Blake smiled brightly, his overbite flashing with pride.
“Thank you, Detective. Coming from you that really…I appreciate that.”
Jackie nodded, and motioned for him to go. The officer turned sharply and walked back down the hall.
Nice kid
, she thought,
but oh those teeth…
She shook her head, then knocked on the wooden door. After a minute, she opened the doors and let herself in.
Jackie hadn’t expected it, what with the condition of the old cathedral, but the library was in surprisingly good shape. The enormous chamber (it could have easily swallowed Jackie’s apartment) was filled with a soft, muted light, and surrounded by panels of finely burnished cherry-wood. Row upon row of book-shelves marched in long chains across the room, leaving spaced gaps filled with deep leather chairs. All in all, it looked more corporate bookstore than library.
“Hello?” Jackie said softly. “Father, er—” She closed her eyes in disgust; she had completely forgotten to ask the priest’s name. “Father?” She said again, her voice unusually timid. This place reminded her strongly of her childhood, of the meek, soft-spoken kid who would sit in the back of Sunday School too afraid to ask questions. Jackie cleared her throat.
I’m not that kid anymore. Find the priest and get out before you start reliving your first kiss with Paulie Figgins.
Peering around the giant bookshelves, she almost screamed when a small, haggard-looking old man turned a corner and nearly plowed into her. “Oh, excuse me, I’m so sorry,” the man said with an embarrassed grin. “I’m used to having this room to myself.”
Jackie drew a slow breath to calm her racing heart, and extended a hand. “No problem, Father. Detective Jackie Riese.” The priest took her hand and shook it weakly. The gesture seemed to pain him slightly, and he grimaced when she finally released his grip.
“Please to make your acquaintance,” the priest said.
“I’m a little embarrassed to say, but I didn’t catch your name.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. How rude. Anthony Valdis at your disposal. Er…” Valdis flushed. “Sorry,
Father
Anthony Valdis. The church is rather strict about the title.”
“Of course,” Jackie cocked her head unconsciously, studying the little man. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the soft light, he didn’t look as old as she’d initially thought. He couldn’t be more than fifty—fifty-five if he was a day. The illusion of old-age had come from his white, almost translucent skin, and wispy gray hair. He wore glasses with the nonchalance of a lifetime user, and his robes pinched awkwardly at the waist. Though he was thin at the shoulder and legs, his gut protruded from his gown like a soft, round beach ball, and his dress was worn and slightly tattered at the sleeves and hem. Altogether, he gave the appearance of one who had spent his life either with a computer or a book close at hand. Jackie found the whole picture oddly comforting.
“Father, I’m sorry to intrude on you like this, and I’m sure you’re tired of answering all these questions—”
“Oh,” Valdis’ smile faltered. “You have more questions?”
“I know. I’m sure James or Donaldson probably kept you talking for hours, but I need to do some follow-up for another case.”
Valdis frowned. “Another case? There’s more than one of these—accidents?”
“Accidents?” It was Jackie’s turn to frown. “Father, those men were murdered. We’re still working on the specifics, but you saw the marks on their throat. Those aren’t from an ‘accident.’” Jackie’s voice had risen, and she stopped and rubbed her eyes. Too much coffee, too little sleep.
“I was…ah, I was trying not to rush to any premature notions,” the priest said.
“Never-mind all that. Why don’t we have a seat and I’ll try to make this as quick as I can.” Jackie placed her hand friendly but firmly on Valdis’ shoulder, and led him to one of the large couches in the middle of the room. Sitting in the opposite chair, Jackie saw the priest had brought along the book he had been holding. A large, leather-bound work with yellowed pages and worn edges.