A shiver of disgust coiled in her stomach. Imagine, how sick someone would have to be to prey on those who didn’t have the capacity to fully understand what was being done to them.
“What was the point of the group?” Gerri gestured to another man. This one seemed to know her, his buzz cut so crisp Kinsey guessed he was another man either presently in the military or a former Marine.
“The children were given tasks to perform around the church,” he said. “At least, that’s what we were told. To help them develop life skills that might assist them down the road.”
“Filing paperwork, restocking prayer candles, straightening the pews. That kind of thing.” The woman beside him sounded apologetic. “They weren’t to perform any menial labor, though. No cleaning. We didn’t sign our son up to be taken advantage of.”
It sounded like a good idea to Kinsey. A great way to build a sense of responsibility and a work ethic in an environment meant to be safe and nurturing.
Meant to be.
Kinsey stood as Gerri’s questioning continued, her attention drawn to the door now partially open. She eased around the redhead and made it to the door as it twitched in a guilty flicker. Kinsey slipped out of the room and caught the arm of the man who had been eavesdropping, releasing him as he turned to meet her eyes.
“I’m Dr. DanAllart,” she said, taking in his faded green work clothing and heavy boots. A workman of some kind? “Did you need something?”
The man shrugged, balding pate shining through the long strands of hair he used to try to hide his loss. “No,” he said. “Just feel terrible, that’s all. Father Harry was a good guy.”
“Do you work in the cathedral?” Kinsey learned enough from Gerri to be gentle and patient while not allowing a subject to walk away without answering a question. Best way to keep someone with you, according to the detective, was to ask questions.
“Teddy Sommers,” he said, hazel eyes watery. “I’m the custodian.”
Kinsey allowed him to see her sadness, her sympathy. “You know the kids, then?”
He bobbed a nod, Adam’s apple rising and falling, narrow shoulders curved forward. “They’re great and so’s the program,” he said, a little more forcefully than necessary, as though he felt the need to justify it to her.
“How well did you know Father Harry?” She soothed him through her voice, and though it made her feel guilty to do so, with the subtle power of her mind. Gently, with caution, she leaned on him as he relaxed into her attention.
“I knew him for years and years.” Teddy crossed his arms over his narrow chest, pot belly protruding over the belt of his pants. “No way he hurt those kids, Doc. No way. I’d have seen something.” His gaze flickered to the door and back to her. “But there is someone you should take a look at.”
Kinsey nodded. “The young man from the steps? Gage?”
The custodian shook his head. “Gage doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together,” he said. “That kid couldn’t have killed Father Harry.”
“He had the murder weapon in his possession.” Not to mention the mask from one of the kid’s drawings.
“Gage is just a screwed up nutter,” Teddy said. “But Gordon Truman… I don’t trust him one tiny little bit.”
Kinsey wished Gerri were there suddenly. She was in over her head. But all she could do was push onward. “One of the parents?”
Teddy dropped his arms, her influence losing ground as she grew nervous. “Got a violent streak, that one. Former military, discharged for killing someone. Supposed to be an accident, but. Yeah.” The custodian turned away. “He’d kill Father Harry if he suspected he’d touched his son.”
Kinsey spun and headed for the door. Time for the real detective to question the custodian. And the father who could very well be a murderer.
***
INT. – ST. MARY’S UNDERCROFT – MORNING
Gerri stood in the muted sunlight coming in through the clouded window and listened to Kinsey as her blonde friend filled her in on what the custodian told her. She’d have to question him herself, but after the short meeting she’d had with Truman and his wife, Gerri tended to agree. The man’s intensity had already put him on her radar. Confirmation from someone who knew the man was violent meant Truman ended up firmly on her suspect list.
Several of the parents had already left with their children, all girls. Which twisted so much fury in Gerri’s stomach she wanted to throw up. So, the pedophile liked boys. There was a shocker. Most tended to have a type and she guessed she’d found his. Six young men remained, all with Down Syndrome or autism, all sweet faced and weeping or humming and vacant as their parents held them and waited for Gerri to get back to business.
She turned from Kinsey and refocused on the families. “I know this is hard,” she said, pouring all of her compassion into her voice, her stance, her body language. “And if you’d rather talk to me privately, one at a time—”
“We just want to get this over with.” A round-figured woman with dyed blonde hair and far too much makeup squeezed her partner’s hand. The man’s receding chin quivered as he stroked his son’s hair while the boy cried.
“It was the demon.” Their son’s thick lips quivered, huge eyes red and wet.
“He always wore the mask?” The kids nodded in unison.
“I felt funny after snack break,” the boy said. “I wanted to lie down. When I woke up, the demon was there and he hurt me.” He sobbed, a string of spittle sliding down his chin which his mother wiped away with great tenderness. “Down there.”
“Oh, Billy,” she said, voice full of pain. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
He shook his head, fear in every sharp angle of his pinched face. “Couldn’t,” he said. “He said he’d eat our souls if we told.”
Gerri clenched one fist behind her back, the only outward reaction she allowed herself. She was surprised steam wasn’t rising from her, she was burning so hot. “Did you know it was Father Harry?”
The boy nodded, the other two who could joining him. But, it was Curtis Truman who leaned forward, a chunk of chalk in his hand, and drew a symbol on the floor. It wasn’t until Gerri heard Kinsey curse softly she realized something was wrong.
“He had that on his wrist,” Billy said. More nodding.
Gerri turned to the blonde who had her back to the families, meeting Gerri’s eyes with guilt in hers. “It’s the same symbol from the house,” the detective said.
“Plus one very important element,” Kinsey said. “That totally changes the meaning.” She exhaled, her disappointment in herself not helping any. “The killer either didn’t have time to finish it, or this is a huge coincidence and I know how you feel about those.”
Gerri let it go for the moment, returning her attention to the watching families. “Does anyone know where the mark came from?”
Gordon Truman extended his own hand, face grim, while Gerri stared and the other families pulled back, away from him. There, in black ink faded by time, was the same mark. “It’s a mark of my unit,” he said, gaze not wavering from Gerri’s, though she was certain he knew what admitting to the same tattoo would do to his credibility. “Echo Company, 2nd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment in Desert Storm. Father Harry and I were Marines together once upon a time.”
And he failed to share that information with her. Didn’t do much for his credibility, did it? Nor did the fact he was discharged, according to the custodian.
Gerri felt the hostility building in the room and leaped on it before it could manifest. “Thank you,” she said to the other parents who formed a physical knot against the Trumans, their children held tightly to them. “If you could all wait here, I have more questions for you. Mr. and Mrs. Truman, if you’ll follow me?” Gerri gestured to the door, waited for them to begin moving, before placing herself between the suddenly furious families and the retreating ex-Marine.
Kinsey jumped in immediately, her soothing voice taking over as Gerri closed the door behind her and faced off with T
ruman in the quiet hall. She let her anger show in her face, but held off speaking as the former soldier held her gaze squarely and without regrets.
“I had nothing to do with this,” he said at last, breaking the silence only deepened by the soft, rhythmic humming of his son.
“You do realize,” Gerri said, quiet and intense so he’d understand, the idiot, “the mask could mean anyone raped those kids. But they identified a tattoo you wear.”
That got his attention, all right. Truman’s steady gaze flashed from shock to horror to disgust before he backed away from her a step, looking down at his son while her gut whispered innocent.
At least, of molesting kids. Or his own kid. Hell, she had no idea what to believe.
“Why were you discharged from the military, Mr. Truman?”
He licked his lips. “I killed a prostitute,” he said, while his wife whimpered. “At least, that’s what I was accused of. There was no evidence in the end. But there was a lot of bad press. They discharged me anyway, instead of court martialing me. I’ve worn that stigma ever since.” His pride shone through no matter the betrayal he felt.
She’d look into his story, but for now, her gut believed him. But, speaking of betrayal. “You failed to tell me of your connection to Father Schaefer,” Gerri said. “What am I supposed to think, Mr. Truman?”
“Not that.” His face paled, hand rising to wipe at his mouth. “Never that.” He looked like he was going to be sick.
“Detective,” Maryanne said with a sharp edge to her voice, “how dare you? We all know Father Harry did this.”
“Do we?” Gerri shrugged. “Fine, let’s make that assumption, regardless of the fact we have zero proof beyond a tattoo he shares with your husband. And, presumably, a whole pile of other Marines.”
Truman nodded slowly.
“Tell me something, Mr. Truman.” Gerri held still a moment, choosing her words carefully. “If you weren’t the man behind the mask, if you are truly as angry as you say you are, why should I believe you weren’t the one to kill Father Harry and leave the symbol you wear behind?”
Truman didn’t answer for a long moment. “I had no idea the killer did that,” he said. “Why would I be that stupid?”
True enough.
“Everyone in my unit had that tattoo done, all the same night,” he said. “Twenty-six men. I can get you their names if you want.”
“I want.” Gerri backed up. “But you have a weak alibi with only your wife and son to corroborate you were home that night. And enough motive, Mr. Truman. And unless one of the families in there are in the same position as you, you’re at the top of my suspect list.”
“What about the young man you arrested?” Maryanne clutched at Curtis who writhed in her grip and pulled free while her eyes brimmed with tears. “I thought he did it.”
“Maybe,” Gerri said. “Maybe not.” She made a note to dig into Truman the moment she was out of here. “Don’t leave town, either of you. I’ll have more questions shortly.”
She watched them go, leading their son away, while the bile in the back of her throat burned and burned.
***
***
INT. – ST. MARY’S UNDERCROFT – MORNING
Gerri allowed the last of the families to leave, her gaze on the center of Kinsey’s back. Her friend had turned away ages ago, staring up and out the basement window as child after child recounted the same story. Long after she apologized at least half a dozen times for getting the meaning of the symbol wrong. It wasn’t Kinsey’s fault part of the damned thing was missing in the first place. But, Gerri understood her self-recrimination, because she’d beat herself up just the same in Kinsey’s position, no matter the truth of the situation.
She let her friend stew as the kids spoke.
Two of the autistic kids managed to share enough Gerri had a solid idea of what happened. And how.
Something in their juice box at snack time took away the rest of their faculties. Darkness and the smell of fuel and mildew could be anything, anywhere. The demon mask to hide his face, the tattoo he showed them. The pain. And the terror at being told he would devour their soul if they ever told. Gerri found herself frowning. Why show the tattoo? If he wore the mask to protect his identity, why share that identifying mark?
“So we’d know him,” they said, one at a time, those who were able. “When he came for us again.”
Three of the boys confessed it happened to them at least five times over the course of the six months. The group met twice a week. That meant Father Harry had been very busy.
If it was Father Harry. Gerri didn’t know why she hesitated to believe it was him. She’d called Ray before returning to the room, confirming the presence of the tattoo on his wrist. Another quick shout out to Jackson had him hunting down the rest of the men in the unit. It just seemed odd to her the priest would be so blatant about the mark on his skin while he covered his face with a mask.
Gerri’s eyebrows shot up as Bishop Harrow entered behind the last of the families, his face tight with anger and disapproval.
“You have what you need to disparage the church, I take it?” Was that what he was really worried about? The reputation of an already tarnished priesthood above the well-being of the boys who’d been so horribly abused? Gerri couldn’t help the feral grin that pulled her lips back from her teeth, but she did pay attention to the tight, strong grip on her arm, registering the fact Kinsey stood next to her, holding her at bay.
Barely. By the touch of her tiny hand.
“What can you tell me about Father Harry’s time in the military?” Gerri’s nostrils flared as Kinsey took over.
The bishop shrugged, but softened slightly. “I know little of his past,” he said. “Only that he served in the marine corps for almost ten years before finding his vocation. Father Schaefer was a good man, an excellent priest, always looking out for those who needed it most.” He seemed genuinely distressed by the father’s loss. “Like Gage. And our custodian, Teddy.”
Gerri’s anger dissipated as she redirected her focus. “What about him?”
The Bishop wouldn’t meet her eyes, addressing Kinsey. “It was Father Schaefer who spoke for Mr. Sommers. He’s the only reason I agreed to hire the man. He had no prior experience, had been in and out of alcohol treatment. But, he’s proven a valuable employee.”
Gerri’s radar went off. “Was he a part of Father Harry’s unit?”
“I have no idea, as I said.” The Bishop turned his back on her, only adding to her anger. “Perhaps you should do your job, Detective, and find out. I, meanwhile, have a meeting with the Archbishop to explain to him why this terrible thing is happening in my parish and what we intend to do to help the poor children affected by it.”
Kinsey let out a short burst of air before releasing her grip on Gerri. “At least he’s putting the kids first,” she said.
“Believe what you want,” Gerri said.
Kinsey offered a weak shrug just as the detective’s phone range. Gerri thumbed the green answer tab. “What?”
“Fucking sunshine and roses to you too,” Jackson snarled on the other end.
“You better have info for me every time you call, Pierce,” she said sweetly.
“Lucky I call at all,” he said. “Thought you’d want to know,” such sarcasm, she could barely stand it, “nutjob is on the loose.”
Gerri froze in place, brows pulling together so tight she had an instant headache. “He’s what?” Kinsey frowned up at her, concern apparent.
“He almost killed an orderly when they were transferring him from the ambulance to the hospital,” Jackson said with self-righteous satisfaction in his tone. “Took off. And yeah,” he sighed audibly, “I put an APB out on the loony. But, you gotta see this shit.” He laughed. “Literally. Check your inbox, Detective. You got mail.” Jackson hung up. Gerri hit the message tab, showing three new images. Kinsey leaned in while Gerri spoke.
“Gage broke free of the ambulance and took off,” she said,
the first picture flashing on her screen. She bit back a curse as Kinsey shook her head.
“Is that drawn in feces?” Her friend’s soft voice shook slightly.
“Probably.” Gerri turned the screen toward her, the symbols making her queasy rather than the composition. “Recognize any of these?”
Kinsey swallowed, nodded. “All Aramaic,” she said. Pointed to a familiar one. “That’s the same one from the original crime scene.”
“So, not a mistake?” Gerri stared at it, willing it to alter to the one Curtis drew on the floor, the one she could see out of the corner of her eye, still, at her feet.
“I guess not. Just a coincidence.” Kinsey winced.
“Damn it.” Gerri flipped to the next image, more of the same. And the next. Kinsey took her phone in both hands, sliding back and forth between the pictures before handing it back. “I guess Cici’s treatment didn’t work.”
“Your therapist?” Kinsey reached for her own phone. “I can translate the rest of them, but it will take me a bit.” She paused. “Gerri, you realize this means he might have killed Father Schaefer after all?”
Gerri nodded, heavy with frustration. “Just translate that mess for me, Kins.” She forwarded the three images. “But don’t let Jackson find out, yeah?”
Kinsey rolled her eyes. “I’m just a concerned citizen,” she said.
Sure she was.
***
EXT. to INT. – TRUMAN HOUSE – MORNING
Gerri exited the cathedral, waving to Kinsey before climbing into her car, settling back with a sigh in the cloying heat of the interior. Something felt horribly off, like she was in the middle of a giant comedy of errors turned to a tragedy at every turn. When she finally turned on her car and fired up the air conditioning, Gerri headed not for the precinct, but for the Truman’s.
Exorcized (Episode Five: The Nightshade Cases) Page 6