A chime beeped three times from behind her. She spun around and saw a security panel on the wall, a red light indicating the door she had just opened. The noise in the kitchen stopped, but only for a moment. She heard footsteps then her captor charge from the kitchen. She threw the door open and ran headlong into a screen door. Screaming, she pushed at it and then, seeing the clasp, fumbled with it. “Help! Help me!” she cried repeatedly, hoping someone would hear her, the darkened street mere feet away, houses on the other side, some with lights on, urging her forward. She threw her weight against the door and the clasp gave way. She shoved the door aside, the pounding of footsteps right behind her now. Hurtling herself from the house she ran onto a porch then down several steps to a stone path. She heard him hit the screen door as it bounced back at him. Running as fast as her bare feet could take her, she raced to an opening in a thick hedge surrounding the property, then was hit hard from behind. She smacked the ground, her attacker on top of her, her naked body scraping against the walkway, the rough stones tearing at her flesh. She rolled over as he lost his grip and looked up to see the face of the man from the subway glaring down at her, his fist cocked over his shoulder.
Chelsie awoke to a curious sensation. Darkness surrounded her, and she felt cold. Very cold. She lay naked on something soft and moist. It wasn’t a mattress, it wasn’t the basement floor, she wasn’t sure what it was. She tried to reach out but found her hands bound in front of her. She heard what sounded like a sob from somewhere above her. She looked up and saw what appeared to be the night sky, then something blocked the shaft of light, falling toward her, spreading out as it neared. The bulk of it hit her stomach, taking the wind out of her, the rest sprayed over her flesh, cool and damp. Looking up she heard the sound of a shovel hitting dirt followed by another pile sailing into the hole she lay in. Oh my God! He’s burying me alive! “Help!” she screamed, but it was no use, her mouth taped shut, her hands and wrists bound, she struggled to free herself from her bindings. Shovelful after shovelful hit her, each one slowly immobilizing her further, soon leaving her unable to move her legs, then her upper body.
A pile hit her face and she snorted hard, trying to clear the dirt from her nose, exhausting the air in her lungs. She sucked against the tape, trying to force precious oxygen through, to no avail. She shook her head, attempting to rid herself of the dirt. She opened her eyes and again another pile fell on her face. She shook it off but was hit by another, then another. She tried to hold her breath, but it was no use. Her heart beat harder and harder and she felt the pressure as her body demanded she take a breath. Finally giving in, she took a deep breath through her nose, sucking the dirt into her nasal passages, immediately clogging her airways. The musty scent crept into her throat as she sucked more and more in, desperate for air. Her heart thumped in her chest and she began to feel lightheaded. Bright lights streaked all around her like a Fourth of July fireworks display, despite her eyes being firmly shut. As she slowly passed out, her gasps became less and less frequent, until, at long last, they stopped.
ELEVEN
Eunice lay against her door, her ear pressed to the cold wood, hoping to hear someone, anyone, pass by. She had remained sitting on her couch for the longest time after her attacker abruptly left. In excruciating pain from her broken hip, she eventually managed to reach the nearby phone, only to find it remained dead, the endeavor expending all the energy she had. She yelled for help until hoarse from the effort. Hours later she decided she had to at least get near the door; she would worry about working up the courage to open it to strangers later. It took almost two hours to drag herself by her hands, across the floor to the doorway. She nearly passed out several times, but was determined not to be found by her son dead in two days when he was due to visit her. She managed to get within reach of the door, but the knob proved too high.
It was hours more before she heard two people talking. She recognized the voices as a neighbor couple, Paul and Joanne Russell, who lived across the hall. She banged on the door with the last of her strength. The talking stopped then she heard a knock on the door. “Mrs. Henry, are you okay?”
“No, please call an ambulance and the police,” she cried at the door. “I've been attacked!” She heard them try the door and push against it. Dragging herself out of the way, they managed to open it and enter the apartment.
“Oh my God!” Joanne exclaimed. “Call nine-one-one!” Paul was already on his cell phone and within minutes police arrived, followed shortly by paramedics.
Eldridge sprinted toward the hospital lobby. It wasn’t until the next morning the connection was made with his case. An elderly lady, one Eunice Henry, had been attacked, and the officer who had taken her statement had mentioned in the locker room about the attacker showing a video on a cell phone. Someone familiar with his case had made the connection and contacted him. Arriving in the lobby, he found the protective detail of four officers he had ordered milling about. He flashed his shield, bringing the group not quite to attention, but at least to a respectable at ease. He flipped open a file folder and handed them the suspect’s photo.
“This is him. The last time he was in a hospital, the damned thing blew up, so let's keep an eye out.” He pointed to an officer. “You are?”
“Haynes, sir.”
“Haynes, I want you in the security booth. Get copies of this photo made and have them handed out to every employee in the building.” Haynes rushed off to fulfill his assignment as Eldridge motioned the others to follow him to the elevators. The crowded elevator prevented him from continuing the briefing until they exited. He pointed at two officers as he strode toward Eunice’s room. “I want you two to do a room by room search, every room, including bathrooms, janitor’s closets, everything, and make sure this floor is clear, then I want you at opposite ends of this corridor, go!” The men rushed off as the remaining officer struggled to keep up with Eldridge's rapid pace. When they arrived he stationed her outside the door.
Entering the private room, he saw Eunice Henry comforted by a middle-aged, balding man. He looked up and protectively placed himself between Eldridge and the frail looking woman. “Who are you?”
Eldridge flashed his badge. “I'm Detective Eldridge, Homicide. You are?”
“Jonathan Henry, I'm her son. What's going on?”
“Sir, ma'am, here's the situation. Your attacker is involved in over ten murders in the past week. He's killing everyone he's been able to identify off of a video of a subway attack last year that resulted in the death of one Patricia Arnette. You were there, Mrs. Henry.”
“You saw that happen?” asked Jonathan. “No wonder you’ve been terrified to go out!”
She nodded and smiled at her son. “Yes, I was there and I did nothing. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I was too terrified to do anything.”
“Mother, you're over eighty years old, what could you have done?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I still have my voice, and I didn't use it.”
Jonathan turned to Eldridge. “You said he's killing people from a video, do you mean the one that was all over the news last year that those two morons made?”
“Yes, he used advanced computer software to pull faces from the video. We believe him to be quite adept at computers and this is how he managed to track everyone down who was on that train. We're still piecing it together, it's early on. I can tell you there are only three people still alive who were on that tape. One is the killer himself, the other a reporter that he has been sending videos of the killings to, and you, Mrs. Henry.”
“Aynslee Kai on channel nine?” asked Jonathan, the slight rise in his voice betraying a piqued curiosity. His mother slapped his wrist. Jonathan blushed.
“Yes, I believe that your mother will be his next target as he always sends a video of the murder to Miss Kai before moving on to the next person. Since he didn't succeed the first time with you, ma'am, we expect him to try again.”
“Oh, I don't think he'll be coming for me, dear,” sa
id Eunice shaking her head.
“Why is that?”
“There's a flaw in your logic, young man. It wasn’t that he didn't succeed in killing me. It was that he changed his mind.”
“What?” Eldridge wasn’t sure he understood her correctly. “Please explain.”
“I spoke to him. I knew I was going to die so I asked him if there was anything he wanted me to tell the girl.”
“You did what?” Jonathan stared at his mother, searching for words. “What were you—why did—how could—wait a minute!” He turned back to Eldridge. “He knew the girl on the subway?”
“Yes, we believe he was her half-brother.”
“Aaah, I figured either sister or girlfriend,” said Eunice. “He said that he wanted me to tell her that he wished he had gotten a chance to know her better and that he wished he had helped her.”
“And what did you say?” asked Eldridge.
“I said I would tell her.”
“And then what happened.”
“He walked out of the apartment.”
Eldridge processed this new information. If he changed his mind, then he won't be killing her, which means there will be no video. “There's not going to be a video!” he muttered as he turned on his heel and raced from the room, reaching for his cell phone.
Father O'Neil rose from his knees, made the sign of the cross, bowed, and turned to see he wasn’t alone, a man in a pulled-up hoodie sat in the back row. He looked at O'Neil, rose, and walked toward the confessional. O'Neil hadn't expected to be taking confession at this moment, he had other duties to attend, but none more important. When he reached the booth, the man had already entered. Sitting down, O'Neil prepared himself then slid the panel open.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession and these are my sins.” The man paused. But this was no man. O'Neil recognized his voice from the first word. Jeremiah! His heart pounded, his mouth went dry.
“Please continue, my son.”
He heard a deep breath on the other side of the thin booth. “I have broken the fifth commandment.” Oh no, he did do what they said! “I have murdered my fellow man.”
“And what made you break God's commandment?”
“They did nothing to help my sister, they were sinners for not helping their fellow man.”
“And they are to be judged by God for their sins, not by us mere mortals.”
“But as instruments of God, shouldn't we do what we know He would want? They let her die and they should burn in hell for it!” Jeremiah's voice was getting louder, in the end almost hysterical. Fear gripped O'Neil. Choosing his words with care, he tried to calm him.
“And if God judges that they were indeed sinners that cannot be forgiven, then they will, my son, they will. You can rest easy that if God wills it, they will get a punishment far more harsh than anything you or I could ever mete out.”
He heard a sob from the other side. “They let her die, Father. They just stood there and watched as they killed her. I never had a chance to even get to know her.”
O'Neil desperately wanted to go to the other side of the booth and comfort the poor boy, but he knew he couldn’t, it would be a violation of the confessional. “I know, my son, it was a terrible tragedy. She was taken from us far too soon. And the men who did this will pay for their sins.”
“I was bringing her to meet you, Father. That day on the subway, I was bringing her to meet you!” His voice was almost maniacal. O'Neil's heart leapt in his throat. He had to figure out a way to defuse the tension.
“And it would have been an honor to meet her, my son.” His voice shook. “And one day I will, I will meet her in heaven amongst the angels.”
“Yes, you will meet her.” The sudden calm in the voice terrified O'Neil. “But first, I want you to forgive me for my sins.”
“I-I can't do that, my son, I don't think that you are truly sorry for what you have done. I cannot forgive you your sins unless you are truly sorry and won't commit them again.” He heard something knock against the wood of the confessional wall. “I can however counsel you. Please let me take you to the police, Jeremiah. Please let me help you end this so that no one else gets hurt, including yourself.”
“I don't care if anything happens to me. If I die, then I'll be with her, but only if you absolve me of my sins!”
O'Neil, shaking all over, gripped his rosary. “You know that I can't do that, Jeremiah. Only God can.”
A sigh came from the other side. “Very well.” He heard a loud popping sound followed by splintering wood, then a curious sensation from his stomach. He looked down and saw his black robe rapidly becoming wet. Reaching with his hand, he touched the liquid spreading from his stomach and was shocked to see it was red. As the adrenaline of the situation subsided, the pain took over. He felt himself getting weaker as the confessional door ripped open. Jeremiah stood looking down at him, his tear stained face betraying the horror of what he had done.
“I-I'm sorry, Father, I'm so sorry.” He knelt down beside O'Neil and put his hand over the wound.
O'Neil reached up with his hand and held it against Jeremiah's cheek. “I forgive you,” he whispered before blacking out.
Eldridge’s phone rang as he raced toward the television studios. He snapped it off his belt and flipped it open, putting it on speaker. “Eldridge.”
“Hello, Detective, Vinny here. I've confirmed the DNA from the subway vic, Patricia Arnette and our John Doe, presumably this Jeremiah Lansing, are related maternally.”
“Figured. I think there's little doubt John Doe and Jeremiah Lansing are one and the same.”
“Should have DNA results from the apartment any time now, that will confirm it for sure. We've also been going through the papers and computer found at the apartment, as well as the church computer. We've found extensive Internet searches and video surveillance of the subway system. It looks like he was able to hack the surveillance footage and track the people on the subway that day. As well, he had a copy of the witness list we think was stolen from the defense attorney's computer. Detective, this guy has been working on this for a year. He has surveillance, schedules, everything. This is well planned. It looks like he was just waiting for the final piece.”
“And what was that?”
“It looks like he needed a partner to get himself out of Rikers. We found several postings on known hacker boards putting out a challenge to get a prisoner out and someone took him up on it. Shakespeare is picking him up as we speak.”
“Shakespeare?”
“Yeah, didn't believe it myself. Hopefully he doesn't fu—”
“So this hacker got him out of Rikers?”
“Yes, from the timestamps on everything it looks like he just needed that final piece and then he began eliminating everyone in the order they were most likely to be able to flee. He killed Tammera Coverdale because she was leaving on a business trip, then Logan and Aaron as well as William “Lance” Hanson because their lifestyles were more transient. The cab driver, Mr. Jamar and Abby were pretty stable but moved around the city in their day-to-day activities. He knew Nathan Small and Eunice Henry hardly ever left their apartments, so he eliminated Denzel and Todd first.”
“And all that leaves is Miss Kai.”
“Yes, he seems to have singled her out, probably because he's using her to get publicity for what he's doing. We never see him on anything though and he never has a message attached, so what kind of publicity he's hoping for, I don't know.”
“He doesn't seem to have any fear, hell, he killed Small while under our protection. He may have expected we'd figure it out and then release the information, scaring the shit out of his next victims. I'm almost at the studio, I've gotta go.”
Eldridge flipped his phone closed and pulled up to the entrance behind a squad car already there, the officer leaning on the hood. Eldridge motioned to him and he walked over, leaning down to face him. “Make sure no one blocks the parking garage exit, we're goi
ng to be coming out of there fast.” The officer nodded and stepped back as Eldridge pulled the car into the building’s underground parking.
I see you, Detective! Jeremiah sat across the street in a car he had borrowed from the church, watching Eldridge speak to the cop. He had left the webcam in Greedo's garage to find out who was investigating him, and he had to admit, was quite impressed by how the detective had almost caught him that night. His foresight had paid off however, and he had determined Eldridge's name and then a quick hack of the police computers had given him the rest of what he needed. He had been shocked when they had found his apartment, but it didn’t take him long to realize it was Father O’Neil who had most likely told them.
He felt terrible about killing the Father, he was the first person he had killed he had personally known, the rest all strangers. He had gone there intending to kill the Father, though. Not only had he figured out it must be him that told the police about where to find him, if the Father hadn't encouraged him to seek out his sister, she would still be alive today. And if he hadn't been bringing her to meet him, then she never would have been on that train. No matter how he looked at it, it was always Father O'Neil's fault. But he had doubts. In the confessional, hearing the Father's voice, a voice that had helped him for all these years, was hard. He was happy he didn't have to see the Father's face before killing him, but when he had opened the door to make sure he had hit him, his resolve had wavered. His momentary weakness disappeared as soon as Father O'Neil had said he had forgiven him. For all my sins. The actual words were unimportant. Jeremiah knew the intent of Father O'Neil's last words. They were in the confessional, and the priest had said he had forgiven him. He was dying so he just didn't have time to finish the ceremony. He would do that himself after this was all over. He would do his penance.
Depraved Difference (A Detective Shakespeare Mystery, Book #1) Page 26