The Second Coming

by J. Fritschi

  He found an average-sized man with the words Crime Scene Investigator printed on the back of his dark shirt. The wood chair from the head of the dining room table was in the middle of the room facing the corner. What the fuck was it doing there? Mike cleared his throat so as not to startle the CSI.

  “Who are you?” the sandy, bushy haired man asked.

  “Detective Mike McCormick,” Mike replied matter-of-factly. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Big Pete appeared like a ship from behind Mike. “Take it easy, Mikey,” he said calmly. “This is Scotty. He’s good people.”

  “Hey, Big Smoothie,” Scotty said. “Who’s the Russell Crowe wannabe?”

  Mike examined the chair and the carpet as he cautiously stepped around it. He peered over Scotty’s shoulder and saw the corpse sitting upright in the armchair. She looked like a wax mannequin of a grandmother with short, curly, silver hair. Her face was frozen with bulging eyes and a half open mouth with her tongue sticking out between her lips. The pungent stench of death and mothballs loomed in the air. Mike raised the crux of his arm to his mouth as he gagged.

  “Maybe you’re in the wrong line of business,” Scotty said.

  “I’ve smelled worse death than you can image,” Mike replied. “I’ll never get used to it.”

  “Mike just got back from Afghanistan,” Big Pete chimed in. “Special Ops.”

  “Oh yeah, I heard about you,” Scotty said reflectively. “A real bad ass, Rambo motherfucker.” He feigned being impressed as he glared at Mike. “I smoke guys like you for lunch.”

  Mike grinned. That was clever. He liked Scotty. Fucking pothead.

  “What do we have?” Mike asked.

  “71 year old female,” Scotty replied. “Strangled to death.”

  “How long has she been dead?” Mike asked as he moved closer to inspect her neck.

  “Judging from the rigor mortis, I would estimate her time of death at approximately 7:00 pm last night.”

  “What did the killer strangle her with?”

  “His hands. He was wearing latex gloves.”

  “How do you know?”

  “There are traces of latex residue on her neck where his hands crushed her larynx.”

  Mike grimaced and held his breath as he leaned down to inspect the residue. He squinted in the darkness and could see tiny specks of white powder on the bruised choke mark. He stepped back and stared at the old lady’s corpse. Her hands were in her lap holding a strand of rosary beads as if she hadn’t even put up a fight. It was like she sat there and let the killer strangle her.

  “Are there any biologicals under her fingernails?”

  “Negative. There are no signs of a struggle.”

  Mike rubbed the stubble on his thick jaw. Why would anyone want to kill a little old lady?

  The window shades to the street were closed and the olive-colored walls cast an ominous shadow over the brown carpeted room. Hanging on the walls were framed prints depicting the birth of Jesus. Mike peered at them with intrigue. One was of Mary and Joseph looking at baby Jesus in the manger. Another was of Jesus surrounded by Mary and Joseph as well as the three wise men, all looking at Jesus in wonderment. One was of baby Jesus with an illuminating face in the manger. All of them were of the nativity scene. Why did she decorate her living room with paintings of the birth of Jesus? There were small wooden crosses nailed on the wall between the paintings

  “Have you found any hairs or fibers?” Mike asked.

  “Nothing yet,” Scotty replied. “But I will. I always do.”

  Mike turned and shuffled out of the living room, lost in contemplation. Who would want to strangle a religious old lady? What was the killer’s motive? The heels of Mike’s boots echoed vacantly on the parquet floor of the foyer. Did the victim know the killer? Did they sit and talk before he wrapped his hands around her neck and choked her to death? Why didn’t she put up a fight?

  The first thing that caught his eyes in the dining room was a framed print of DaVinci’s Last Supper over a buffet table. What the fuck? The dining room table and chairs and the buffet were all simply designed and made of wood. There were no elegant carvings or elaborate designs. Mike inspected the window locks and the glass French doors for any sign of forced entry. They were all locked.

  He pushed his way through the swinging door into the kitchen. It was cold and empty. The wood cabinets and drawers were neatly painted white with polished brass handles and knobs. The off-white tile counter and metallic dual sink were wiped spotless. The room smelled of disinfectant cleanser. The refrigerator droned in the background. Mike checked the windows and side door that led to the driveway. Neither was tampered with. Mike was starting to get the distinct feeling that the victim knew the killer and let him into the house. Everything was too neat and orderly for this to be a break-in or an attempted robbery.

  On the cream-colored wall of the stairway were four small framed paintings of Jesus that ascended the stairs in sequence. The first was of Judas betraying Jesus with a kiss. The next was Jesus being arrested by the Jewish authorities. The next one was the trial of Jesus by Pontius Pilate, then finally Jesus carrying the cross over his shoulder wearing a crown of thorns. This lady really enjoyed her biblical art. Come to think of it, Mike hadn’t seen any photos of the victim or her family and friends; only artwork from the New Testament. What a fucking spooky place to live.

  At the top of the stairs, Mike went down the hall checking the bedrooms and bathroom. Nothing was amiss. All of the rooms were immaculately clean and decorated with the same type of simple, old wood furniture. It wasn’t antique; it was plain like someone built it for a boarding school or abbey.

  There was one more room Mike needed to check, the master bedroom, which was directly above the living room. Mike slowly opened the door, half expecting to find a body hanging from the ceiling. As he cautiously stepped into the room he was in awe of what he saw.

  Painted on the wall above her queen sized bed was a life size mural of the crucifixion of Jesus nailed to the cross. Holy shit! Mike’s eyes opened wide as he folded his arms and admired the mural. Whoever painted it put a lot of work into the details of the nails in his hands, the crown of thorns, and the cut by his ribs. It was amazing. It was one of the strangest things he had ever seen until he looked up at the ceiling and saw a mural of the resurrection of Jesus painted like a fresco at the Sistine Chapel. Jesus was wearing a white robe with his hands reaching out towards Mike and there was light illuminating all around him. Why the fuck was this old lady decorating her house with artwork from the scenes of the New Testament?

  Mike checked the windows and they were all locked down. When he tuned to leave the room, he found her purse hanging from her door knob. He unzipped it and found a small wallet with $46 dollars. It didn’t appear that anything was missing.

  Mike trudged down the stairs. He could hear Big Pete and Scotty talking. The smell of death lingered in the air like spoiled fish. Mike glanced into the darkened living room and motioned with his head for Big Pete to join him on the front porch.

  “Did you find anything?” Big Pete asked.

  “There is no sign of forced entry or any sign of struggle,” Mike said as he lit a cigarette.

  “Do you think he knew her?” Big Pete asked.

  “She either knew him or trusted him enough to let him into her house.”

  “Why would she let a stranger into her house?”

  “The whole house is covered in religious art. Wait until you see the murals in her bedroom.”

  “What does that have to do with letting a stranger into her house?”

  “I don’t know. She strikes me as someone who was probably naïve and would trust someone if they wanted to come in and talk about God.”

  “Maybe, but that doesn’t answer who the killer is or why he strangled her. Do you have any theories?”

  Mike shook his head as he took a long drag off of his smoke. He hated smoking without a drink, but it beat the shit out of the taste of death
that was resonating in his nose and mouth. “I don’t have enough clues yet to form an opinion. Maybe a relative killed her so he could collect his inheritance.”

  “That’s a possibility. What do we need to do next?”

  “We need to talk to the people she worked with and to her friends and family to find out if they know of anyone who would have wanted her dead. We also need to find out who is the beneficiary of her estate. We need to find out who the last person was to see her alive and check to see if anyone in the neighborhood saw anything suspicious.”

  Big Pete nodded his fat head in agreement. “You can start with Mrs. Fleming over there,” he said, motioning to the young lady in the red tank top standing on her front porch. “She’s the one who found the deceased.”

  Mike glanced over and saw the distressed young lady talking on a cordless phone and looking at them with eyes of dread. He wondered how she found the body. Did she see someone coming or going from the house around the time of the murder? What did she know?

  chapter 4

  AS MIKE SHUFFLED across the neighbor’s lawn, he glanced up at the lanky woman with sympathetic eyes. The rims of her eyelids were red from crying. As Mike approached the stairs, she shifted her weight from one side to the other with her arms folded across her chest. There was a look of distress on her face.

  “I’m sorry about your neighbor,” Mike said as he looked up at her with eyes of regret. “I’m sorry you had to see her like that.”

  “I’ve never seen a dead person before,” the lady replied with a hoarse, unsteady voice. “I mean, I’ve seen someone in an open casket after they’ve been embalmed, but I’ve never found a dead body before.”

  “I have,” Mike said. “It never gets any easier.”

  The woman’s eyes were glassy and her chin quivered. “The smell of death and the look of terror on her face…how do you do what you do?”

  “To be honest with you, this is my first homicide investigation,” Mike replied as he put his boot up on the first step.

  “I thought you said you’ve seen dead people before?”

  Mike nodded his head with a grimace. “I fought in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  “So you’ve killed people too?” she asked as she stuck her hands into her pockets.

  “Unfortunately so, but only people that deserved to die.”

  “Nurse Nancy didn’t deserve to die like that. Do you know what happened to her?”

  “She was strangled to death.”

  The woman gasped and began to hyperventilate as she sat down on the top step and tried to catch her breath. Mike slowly climbed the steps and sat down next to her. He watched with a sinking feeling in his heart as she began to sob. Mike placed his hand on her back.

  “I knew I should have called the police last night,” she suddenly said as she wiped the tears from her face.

  “What do you mean? Did you see something?”

  “I think I saw the killer.”

  Mike was stunned. “Where did you see him?” He tried to contain his excitement.

  “I was washing the dishes last night and when I looked out the window, I saw a man standing on Nurse Nancy’s porch.”

  “Do you remember what time it was?”

  “It was after I made my kids’ dinner, so I guess it was between six and six thirty.”

  “What did you see?”

  “There was a man standing on her porch and she opened the door for him.”

  “Did you get a look at his face?”

  “No. His back was to me.”

  “Can you tell me anything about his appearance?”

  “I can’t really remember anything about him.”

  “Do you remember what color his hair was?”

  She pondered for a second. “I think it was blonde or dirty looking.”

  “Did he have long hair or short hair?”

  “I don’t really recall. It wasn’t long.”

  “Do you remember what he was wearing?”

  “I think he was wearing dark pants and a dark shirt that I remember thinking were neatly pressed. I guess that’s why I didn’t call the police.”

  “What made you think you should call the police?”

  “I have never seen anyone visit her before. I didn’t think she had any family or friends.”

  “What type of build did he have?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was he tall and skinny or short and fat?”

  “Not that I can remember. I think he was an average-sized man.”

  “What did she do when she opened the door for him?”

  “They talked for a minute and then he walked inside and she shut the door.”

  “Did you see him leave?”

  “I never saw him leave. That’s why I went to check on her this morning. I was hoping it was a friend or an acquaintance and that I missed him leave, but I had a bad feeling in my stomach.”

  “What happened when you went over to her house?”

  “I rang her doorbell a couple of times and when she didn’t answer I got worried because her car was still in the driveway. I walked around the outside of the house calling her name, hoping that she was working in her garden. I decided to look in through her windows to see if I could see anyone. I was hoping that maybe she was just sick and couldn’t get out of bed.”

  “What did you see?”

  “When I looked through the curtains in the living room, I could see her silhouette sitting in the chair. I was hoping she was asleep so I called out to her and banged on the window. I knew something was wrong.”

  “It’s alright. Take your time.”

  “I turned the knob and peeked my head in to see if anyone else was in the house. I called out and asked if anyone was home hoping that if the killer was inside I would scare him away.”

  “I understand. Can you remember what you saw when you went inside?”

  “I knew she was dead, but for some reason I had to see her for myself. I don’t know why I didn’t just leave and call 911. I wish I didn’t go in that room.”

  “Can you tell me what you saw when you went into the room?”

  “The first thing I noticed was her sitting in her chair holding her rosary beads with that look on her face.” She bit her lower lip and took a deep breath.

  “Do you remember anything else?”

  “I was getting ready to leave when the front door slammed shut. I nearly had a heart attack. I crept back towards the front door half expecting the killer to jump out and attack me. When I peered around the wall into the front, I didn’t see anyone, so I decided to get the hell out of there as quick as I could.”

  Mike let out a deep breath as he gazed up at the blue afternoon sky. “I know the feeling,” he said as he recalled the night raids he performed when he was with the Navy SEALS in Afghanistan. “It’s not easy to face your fear of the unknown.”

  “You know what the worst part is?” She asked. “I feel violated because she was killed next door to my house. The fact that my neighbor was strangled to death while I was at home makes me feel so vulnerable. It could have been me. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel safe here again.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about this happening again. I don’t think this was a random act of violence. I think the killer knew Nurse Nancy. I just need to figure who had the motive to kill her and why.”

  “Why would anyone want to kill a nice old lady like Nurse Nancy?”

  “That’s what we are trying to figure out. You don’t think she has any family?”

  “She doesn’t have any immediate family. She once told me that she never married or had any children because she didn’t want to raise anyone in such a godless world.”

  “I noticed that she has a lot of paintings from the New Testament on her wall.”

  “She used to talk about Jesus being our savior and that one day he would return to save us from the Antichrist,” she explained with disbelief as she shook her head. “She said the Antichrist was already wa
lking among us and we just didn’t know who he was yet. She said she would know his face when she saw it.”

  “She saw the face of evil last night,” Mike said as an afterthought as he gazed at the crowd of people standing outside the cordoned front yard next door. “Did she ever mention anyone from her work or church?”

  “I don’t think so. We didn’t have a lot of meaningful conversations. Most of them were just small talk in passing.”

  Mike slowly got up from the front porch and stood at the bottom of the steps as he reached into his jean pocket and pulled out his business card. “Thank you for all of your help. If you think of anything else or just want to talk with someone, please call me.”

  The neighbor held his card in her hands as she examined it like it held all of the answers. She gazed at Mike with a look of despair. “She didn’t deserve to die like this. Please catch whoever did this to her.”

  chapter 5

  CALIFORNIA, SUNDAY JULY 9th, 2005

  When Father John Carpenter showed up at the rod iron gates of the La Grande Abbey in Chico, California it had been over 60 hours since he left Rome, one year since he left the church and approximately 16 years since he left the United States to go on his pilgrimage for enlightenment in the Himalayans.

  It was a blistering day as he strolled down the pebble covered driveway towards the mission style office building wearing nothing more than faded jeans, sandals and a white, button down shirt with a worn leather knapsack over his slender shoulder. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and ran his hand through his shoulder length, sandy blonde hair. His goatee was a bit scraggly around his full mouth and his translucent blue eyes were concealed from the brilliant sun by a pair of wire rimmed sunglasses. Someone on his flight from New York to San Francisco mistook him for Sammy Hagar who, unbeknownst to Father John, was a rock star.

  When Abbot Paul first saw him, he didn’t have any clue who he was, but when Father John told him his name he knew exactly who he was and enthusiastically welcomed him to stay as long as he desired at his monastery. Abbot Paul, who was a portly man with a partial halo of white hair surrounding his bald head, gave Father John a tour of the grounds while they prepared his cell.