Exorcized (Episode Five: The Nightshade Cases)

by Larsen, Patti

  Gerri sat back. “You think James Richards was—is—possessed?”

  “I don’t know.” Dante breathed the words, forcing her to tilt her head to hear him. “But, I do know Father Harry went from calm and assured to concerned very quickly. And, after an hour of chanting and praying, following the ritual, he asked me to remove the parents so he could continue with the exorcism.”

  Gerri was raised Catholic, though her mother was far more religious than she had ever been. She remembered a few things from Sunday school. “I thought the family was supposed to be present during an exorcism.” Leave it to Gerri to find that part interesting enough to research when she was a teenager.

  Father Dante bobbed his head in a nod. “I was surprised, too,” he said. “The presence of family usually assists the possessed in reclaiming control of their body and casting out the demon.” He paused, licked his lips. “Whatever Father Harry had in mind, whatever he saw in James Richards, he chose to deal with it outside our normal training.”

  Interesting. What would possess Father Harry—no pun intended—to go off-book?

  “That’s all I know,” Father Dante said, tears trickling silently down his cheeks. “Five minutes, Detective. I was out of the room five minutes. Things went quiet almost as soon as I left. I waited for Father Harry to call me back in, but he never did. I finally went against my orders and went inside.”

  “And found him dead?” Gerri jotted her final notes as Father Dante nodded in absolute misery.

  “As you saw him upstairs.” He covered his mouth with both hands this time, a tiny sob escaping. “Who would do such a thing to such a wonderful man?”

  Gerri didn’t mention the symbol. Clearly Father Dante had no idea what it meant, or that the killer was accusing Father Harry of being anything but a dedicated priest.

  Instead, she stood and turned to Officer Mills. “Please escort Father Dante back to the diocese,” she said before pivoting back as he stood and offered his hand. She shook it. “I’ll be in touch this afternoon. I’ll have further questions for you, if that’s all right?”

  He nodded quickly. “Of course,” he said, wiping at his face. “Thank you, Detective.”

  She watched him go, letting her heart slow, her mind work as she stood there in the slowly building heat of the small kitchen. Her gaze settled on a patch of linoleum in the corner, peeling upward, stained yellow, as she thought things through.

  While her churning instincts whispered to her.

  Innocent. The young father was innocent, at least of this crime. But, did he know about the pedophilia? If Father Harry was even guilty. Gerri chided herself for jumping to that conclusion. She knew better, and false accusations had ruined lives before. Still, she had to investigate.

  With a thin line of sweat beginning a slow trickle down her back, she shrugged her shoulders inside her dress jacket and headed out into the hall for the living room.

  Mommy and Daddy dearest were next.

  ***

  INT. – RICHARDS HOUSE – MORNING

  The moment Gerri walked into the tiny living room in the Richards’s home, two things were made absolutely clear to her. One, the mother was the most religious of the two. And, there was no way she was going to convince either of them their son’s mental illness was anything but demonic possession.

  The first came from her initial glimpse at Maria Richards who clutched her rosary and muttered Hail Marys to herself over and over again. She must have stalled there in her prayer cycle from what Gerri could tell, while the detective’s eyes took in the multitude of images of Catholicism. A huge cross hung on the wall over the small television set almost as a counterpoint to the giant poster of Mary hanging over the couch where the pair sat.

  The second came when Edward Richards opened his mouth.

  “That boy is pure evil,” he said as his wife shook and rocked next to him, mouthing her prayers like they’d save her somehow, “and has been from the moment the devil quickened my wife’s womb.”

  Because jackass here had nothing to do with knocking up Maria.

  The wife wailed softly, half-turning away from her husband who, nonetheless, kept a firm arm around her shoulders.

  Officer Purcell’s tight jaw and the lines around his gray eyes told Gerri he’d been subject to the pair for long enough. She tilted her head toward the door, almost smiling at the relief in his face. He shook his head at her, faint jowls jiggling, exhaling a soft swearword on his way past her.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Richards.” Gerri dug deep for patience, not her typical virtue. “My name is Detective Geraldine Meyers.”

  “We told the officers everything.” Looked like Edward was the talker in the family while Maria’s trembling fingers slid over her beads, one after the other. “Ain’t got nothing else to say.”

  Good, then. “Your son may have killed a priest, Mr. Richards.” She normally went a little softer with families in positions like this. But she was about ready to smack the both of them for the way they treated their own child.

  Maria cried out in Spanish before shaking her head with enough violence one of her large curls bounced free of its bobby pin. “Never,” she said in heavily accented English while Edward’s thin lips tightened into a straight line. “Jimmy is a good boy, a good boy.”

  “He’s a demon and we both know it.” Edward’s arm tightened visibly.

  “No, Eddie, please.” She snuffled snot, weeping.

  Jesus. Gerri tapped one booted foot. “Have either of you ever suspected Father Schaefer of being inappropriate with your son?” She choked on the word “abuse” for some reason. But they both got her meaning the moment she said it.

  Maria surged to her feet, lunging at Gerri with a wild look of fury on her face. “How dare you?” She spewed a long train of Spanish at the detective while her husband glared coldly from the couch.

  “Father Harry,” he said, when his wife wound down and turned away, “was a God-fearing, church-ordained priest who served the community with his heart and soul.”

  Didn’t answer her question.

  “No, Detective,” Maria said. “Father Harry didn’t touch James like that.” She almost spit the words out. “Now, get out of our house until you learn to respect God enough not to ask such questions.”

  Gerri pulled in a fast breath to respond, but her phone vibration saved her from telling the woman where she could take her attitude and how deep she could shove her head, obviously already buried in the sand of ignorance.

  Need me? How Kinsey was able to sound plaintive through a simple text Gerri had no idea.

  Can’t, she sent back, looking up as the phone buzzed again a heartbeat later.

  Just let me talk to the priest.

  Now, how the hell…

  All over the news, Kinsey texted.

  Of course it was. And took a chance. St. Mary’s, she texted back.

  Got it. I’ll check it out this afternoon.

  Feeling better knowing her friend would disarm Father Dante with her sweet nature, but that she should now be worried about her job, Gerri jammed her phone in her pocket, facing off with the parents. Maria had retaken her seat next to her husband and both glared at her as though she were unclean.

  “Meyers.” Binks poked his head into the living room. “Got something.”

  She abandoned her effort to talk to the Richards’s. Maybe she’d sic Jackson on them. The more she thought about it, the better that sounded until she was grinning evilly at Binks as he hunched over in the narrow hall outside the room. His long nose twitched, glasses slipping down the bridge. He’d shed his booties and hood, his coveralls unzipped part way, a faint sheen of sweat on his upper lip. Downstairs was really starting to heat up. She could only imagine what the second floor felt like at this point.

  “We’re done,” he said. “A few hairs and prints, we’ll run everything. No unusual blood drops anywhere, so I’m doubtful we’ll find anyone’s but the vic. Oh, and the genitals look like they were hacked off with some kind of saw
.” He said it the same way he might observe it was supposed to rain later. “But, I did find this.” He held up a plastic dish. She had to peer closely at the small container to even spot the film of white dust on the bottom.

  “What is it?”

  Binks tucked it into his case, shrugged. “You’ll know when I know,” he said. “We found it in what looked like the edge of a footprint near the window.” He strode past her, Chase trotting down the steps in pursuit. “I’ll send the photos over, but looks like it might not have been the kid.”

  Gerri nodded, thinking. If someone broke into the house during the exorcism, through the window… she headed for the outside. And, wasn’t surprised to find the aforementioned news vans practically blocking the street. A chorus of shouts from reporter’s throats were a buzzing blur in Gerri’s ears. Of course those vultures would show up here, at the scene of a priest’s murder. She could read the headlines now. Exorcism gone wrong, possessed boy kills priest.

  Trash. She hated the news and purposely avoided the eyes of the reporters held back by a thin line of officers at the street. Gerri had done her time on the front lines, thanks.

  She spotted Binks and Chase outside the boy’s bedroom window, already on that lead, and decided to stay out of their way. Gerri would return in a few hours when the parents were downtown—Jackson would be a good decoy—once the reporters were gone, and have a look around on her own. Meanwhile, she trusted the CSI team to gather the evidence they needed to find the truth.

  She didn’t know why knowing there might have been an intruder last night made her feel better. But the thought the kid might have killed the priest broke her heart. Normally, she wouldn’t let her feelings in the way. This kid, though. It sounded like he didn’t stand much of a chance.

  The detective headed for her Charger parked on the street, shoulders already bunching against the coming onslaught of microphones as the eager reporters pressed into the line of officers holding them back.

  “No comment,” Gerri said in her normal, gruff voice, as one woman broke through and stumbled forward, so quickly the detective reached out on impulse to catch her and hold her steady. She beamed up at Gerri, a glint of excitement in her eye as she stuck her microphone in Gerri’s face.

  “Kara Tremaine,” the bleach blonde said, “Channel 8. What really happened in that house, Detective? Did the boy kill the priest?”

  Gerri grit her teeth. “No. Comment.” She released the reporter and turned her back, frustrated by the interruption. Welcome quiet engulfed her as she slammed the car door, though the muffled rise of voices eventually came through again as her ears adjusted.

  Not caring if she ran anyone over, Gerri called Jackson from her car as she pulled away. “Question the parents,” she said.

  “Fuck that,” he growled at her. “They’re nuts.”

  “Perfect,” she said. “Just do it, Pierce.” And hung up. Couldn’t help snorting laughter while she drove off, knowing she’d ruined his day.

  ***

  EXT. to INT. – ST. MARY’S CATHEDRAL OF THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION– MORNING

  The St. Mary’s Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception was a massive, towering monstrosity right in the heart of Silver City. One of the first buildings erected, it had burned down and was reconstructed three times since the city was founded, bigger and more elaborate each time. Gerri did her best not to feel intimidated as she parked across the street and crossed to the wide steps. Going to church never appealed to her. She’d abandoned the practice to stay home Sundays with her father while her mother took her younger brother and sister along for the brainwashing joyride. Still, she’d attended enough as a kid a part of Gerri always felt guilty walking into a church, even more so one as big and physically imposing as this one.

  The point, she guessed.

  She only made it up two steps before a sack of cloth and stink hurtled himself out of the shadows of one of the pillars and came toward her, hands outstretched, long, matted hair and beard swinging.

  “Repent and seek the Lord,” he said in a voice that could have been announcing Hollywood blockbusters instead of his crazy act. “For the days of the evolution are coming and only those who embrace the Word and the Light shall attain His glory.”

  She stepped sideways out of his path, nostrils flaring at his stench. A pair of young women hurried past on their way inside, though the man ignored them and focused his brilliant blue eyes on Gerri. He was much younger than she first guessed, maybe twenty under all that filth. And cracked right down the middle.

  “Thanks for the warning.” She reached behind her for her cuffs, ready to call him in. “You need a place to sleep it off, buddy?”

  “Behold,” he boomed at her, “the marks of the races shall appear on their flesh and the sinners who wear false faces shall be revealed.”

  That made her pause, no matter how nuts he sounded. Races? Marks on their bodies. She had a sudden flashback to the Starlet Lounge, to Curtis Alexander and Russell Sterling. And, most recently, to Ian Moore.

  “Who’s doing the marking?” Did this guy know something? As if. He was just a whacked out homeless dude. But something about the shine of his eyes, the intensity of his focus, made her pause and ask.

  “The demons themselves,” he whispered suddenly, closing the distance between them. “Like the one inside you, Detective.” She started, badly, taking a step away, heart pounding. But, before she could ask him what the hell he thought he knew about her, he cackled a laugh so broken and insane, Gerri shoved her worry aside and jerked loose her cuffs.

  “Downtown it is,” she said, reaching for him. “Then a nice padded room and three pills a day.” This guy would probably need a whole bottle to start with.

  “No, please, leave him!” She turned as the homeless man shrank back from her, muttering to himself, as a thin, balding man with a round paunch dressed in faded green work clothing hurried toward her. He reached out with real compassion, pulling the filthy wreck of humanity toward him. The homeless man whimpered, tucking his head against his savior’s shoulder, while Gerri debated what to do. “He’s harmless, I swear. I’m sorry if he came across as dangerous.” The older man patted his shoulder. “Gage just doesn’t know any better anymore.”

  “Mr. Sommers.” This was turning into a party. Gerri stepped back another pace as a slim man in a black suit, white neck tab clear under the large gold chain draped around his neck, nodded to the green-clad guy with a serious expression. “Please, take Gage out to the kitchen and get him something to eat.” Gerri watched them go with unease, but the older man was already extending one hand. “Detective, my name is Bishop Peter Harrow, auxiliary bishop for the Los Angeles diocese. Father Delacruz told me you’d be coming to see me.”

  Gerri let the other two leave her sight without argument as they disappeared around the side of the building, but not her mind. “You in the habit of allowing dangerous people with obvious mental disabilities to live on your steps, Bishop Harrow? When he’d be better off in a facility that can care for him?”

  The Bishop sighed, running one hand over his balding head. “What better place for him than in the arms of God, Detective? Forgive me,” he sounded tired and looked it, too, as he turned and gestured for her to follow him inside. “It’s been a most trying morning.”

  Trying. Hell of a way to think about it.

  Gerri paused in the foyer of the cathedral, the gaping doors to the interior of the sanctuary beckoning her further. She ignored it, paused with the Bishop who smiled and nodded to a woman in a wimple. She hurried by before Harrow addressed Gerri again.

  “Before you ask,” he said, “Gage is a member of this congregation, under the protection and guidance of Father Harry Schaefer. He’s a schizophrenic who refuses treatment. And, while I would prefer the young man be in one of those facilities you mentioned, Father Harry disagreed. Something I’ll have to take into consideration now that he’s gone.”

  Gerri would do some digging of her own into the homeless man. For
now, she had a tough question to ask the Bishop. Though she’d hit the Richards with it easily, it was harder to come out and ask while standing in the hushed environment of the cathedral.

  But, she had to ask, didn’t she? As it turned out, she didn’t. Not when a man and woman, a young man between them, stormed into the foyer and over to the Bishop.

  “We’re laying charges against the church,” the man snarled, poking Harrow in the chest with one finger while the woman hugged the weeping kid to her. “Father Harry molested my son.”

  ***

  INT. – JULIAN BLACK’S MANSION – MORNING

  Kinsey stepped out of her car, parked off to the side out of view of the main house. She preferred to stash her convertible out of the way these days, since her uncomfortable run-in with Julian Black. He’d practically kicked her out of his house, taking back the key Simone gave her and having his nasty little butler escort her off the property as though she were trespassing and not an invited guest.

  Since it was Julian’s house and not Simone’s, Kinsey had gone. Simone’s apology and the return of the key didn’t make the blonde anthropologist feel any better. Nor did the occasional glares Julian cast her way when she was there to work. But she was careful to ensure she only did her research when Simone would be present and avoided Julian at every opportunity.

  Still, it was hard to do so when the gate at the end of the drive gave her away every time she arrived. Kinsey sighed in relief the days Julian drove off in his flashy Ferrari, clenching her teeth against her nervous stomach the days it sat in the curve of the driveway.

  Today, she’d snuck in while a delivery van was pulling out, feeling like a score. If she could slip inside and get to the research lab without running into Julian or his creepy little butler, Kinsey would call it a win.