A Revelation of Death

by Alexa Padgett

  “Please, Cici.” Sam managed to choke past the fear ballooning in his throat. “Please don’t.”

  There was the church. Finally. He clipped the curb and bounced into the parking lot. He unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed his phone from where he’d tossed it in the cup holder while he drove. The cruiser popped the curb and bounced into the lot behind him, the officer’s scowl turning to wide eyes as Sam met Devon’s gaze.

  Sam motioned him to come on as he opened the car door, grabbing his keys and slamming the shift into park. He yanked the keys and half jumped as the car finished rolling to a stop with a hard clunk.

  Sam hadn’t done the new transmission any favors with his driving, but he’d worry about his vehicle later.

  “Cici, I’m coming in. Devon’s with me.” He called back to Devon over his shoulder. “Call in back up.”

  “Already did. When I thought you were a meth head with a death wish,” Devon panted. “What’s going on? Why are we back here?”

  “Not sure. Be prepared for an active shooter.”

  42

  Sam

  Every limit is a beginning as well as an ending. ― George Eliot

  * * *

  Devon gulped but drew his weapon. His hands shook a little. Sam empathized, but he was more concerned about Cici than Devon entering a building with his first real credible threat.

  He shoved open the large, wooden church door, crouching, Glock out, to cover Devon. Nothing moved. He’d dropped his phone onto the tile entry. With a swift glance around to ensure they were alone, Sam scooped up the phone. He turned to the right where the offices were.

  The door there was locked.

  “You okay?” he asked into his phone.

  “Yes,” Cici said.

  “Any more banging?”

  “No. We heard footsteps and the l-lock jiggled, but then we heard the sirens.”

  “He may have run, then, but I need to sweep the building. I’ll make sure Kurt’s well. Do not open the door until I give the all-clear.”

  “Okay.”

  The escalation of the rapist’s behavior suggested he was dangerous enough to hurt anyone who ended up in his path—even a tweedy, thin pianist.

  Sam pocketed his phone without ending the call. He wanted to know if Cici needed help. He and Devon prowled through the atrium, the sanctuary, and the bathrooms. No one was there.

  “Where is he?” Sam asked, gaze still darting around, trying to peer into each corner.

  “Here,” Devon called.

  The tall, spare man lay on the floor of the sanctuary, near his piano. The bench was shoved under the gleaming black legs of the concert instrument, as if Kurt struck it on his fall. His glasses were askew—twisted to the point where they would break.

  Devon nudged him with his booted foot and Kurt groaned. He rolled over and stared up at Sam, his gaze unfocused. After another beat, he scrambled upright, smoothing a hand down his blue sweater vest and tugging at the collar of his white, button-down shirt. His vest bore a hole, most likely from the edge of the piano bench. Sam winced in sympathy at the bruise that must already be forming there. His gray corduroy slacks were rumpled.

  “There was a…a man. He held a cat carrier.” Kurt frowned and shook his head, as if trying to compute a math problem that would never add up.

  Neither the man nor the carrier was still outside the sanctuary, but its use would explain how the cat ended up in the church’s courtyard.

  Sam squatted down in front of Kurt, taking in the man’s mismatched pupils and the large bump on his forehead near his receding hairline. Kurt tried to get his glasses settled on his nose to peer up at Sam through the lenses, but the frames were too wonky.

  “We’ll get an ambulance here to take you to the hospital.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not. I have some questions—”

  Two more cruisers squealed into the parking lot and voices burst into the atrium before three more officers darted into the space.

  “Devon, can you all finish securing the building and the grounds? Big Joe is probably out there, and the police rigs will have worried him.”

  “You got it. I’ll go find him now.”

  Devon, who was a congregant here at Cici’s church, understood Big Joe’s special needs and would treat him with the gentle kindness he deserved and needed.

  “What happened, Kurt?”

  “I saw…” He trembled. “A man. He was outside, near the courtyard. I saw him through the window in the sanctuary. So I went to the nearest door, planning to ask him if he was lost. My only other thought was he had the time wrong for the memorial service.”

  That door was next to Cici’s set of offices. He’d been so close. Too close.

  “I thought his hair was dark, but when he turned…after I called him…He wore a dark ski mask. Dark long-sleeve shirt and pants. As I opened the door, he shoved it, hard, and it caught me.”

  Kurt raised his hand to his head and winced. “Yeah. Figured I must have a lump. Hurts like the dickens.”

  “Anything else?” Sam asked.

  Kurt started to shake his head, winced, and muttered, “My shoulder. I clipped the bench on the way down.”

  Just as Sam suspected. He stood and pulled out his phone. “Cee?”

  “I’m here. What’s going on? What happened to Kurt?”

  “He’d got a bump on the head, probably a concussion. I need to get him situated.”

  “Yes. I understand.”

  Sam spoke to one of the uniformed officers, who called an ambulance. Devon found Big Joe cowering in the back of the tool shed.

  “He didn’t see anything,” Devon said in a low voice as he held Big Joe’s arm. “But he heard us drive hell-bent into the parking lot and now he’s scared.”

  So was Sam.

  “He wanted some lemonade. He said Cici keeps some for him in the kitchen.”

  “Yeah, good. Do that. I’ll talk to him as soon as I finish with Kurt and check on Cici and Mrs. Sanchez.”

  “They’re here?” Devon asked, voice raising even higher than his eyebrows.

  Sam’s mouth settled in a grim line. “I’m pretty sure the perp was after one or both of the women,” he said.

  “In a church?” Devon’s shock morphed into a wave of deep-seated anger. “Aw, hell no.”

  He winced, turned to the image of the crucifixion and crossed himself, head bent as he muttered first an apology and then the rosary a few times.

  “Devon, pray later. We need to find out if the guy’s still on the premises.”

  Devon’s head popped up, his face set with determination. “Got it. I’ll take care of Big Joe and get some of the guys out back, search the property and meditation garden.”

  “Thanks.”

  Finally, Sam put his phone back to his ear as more officers pulled into the parking lot. Sam counted five rigs. SFPD was probably racking up some serious overtime pay today. Three incidents were not good for the security of the city. Two of them were directly related to their murderer.

  The man was escalating his attacks. But Sam couldn’t understand why. If he’d laid low, left town, the investigation might stall. What set him off—what made him so angry?

  He needed to call the OMI tech to find out where they were on Patti’s computer. And Jenny’s and Marietta’s. He knew, from his conversation last night, all three women played against or messaged privately with Octoboi817, HostileNM723, or another user, OrcThief016.

  Based on the ISP location, those three accounts might well be the same person. That’s part of what Sam needed to know. Just as he needed to understand which interaction or altercation with which woman led the killer to this point.

  Unfortunately, Sam discovered Jenny’s body at the dam this morning. While not surprising, his heart ached at the senselessness of her death. That meant Sam really needed to find Marietta. ASAP. Because if the killer was scared or angry, he was going to take out those negative emotions on the girl.

  And Sam wa
s not okay with the possibilities brewing in his mind.

  “Let me into your office.”

  Sam waited a moment, then heard the click of a lock sliding from the coupling. Mrs. Sanchez’s wide, frightened gaze met Sam’s.

  “Por Dios, a killer, in the house of God.” She clucked and crossed herself before her hand fluttered upward to pat at her graying hair. “Aiieeee. Too much excitement for my old bones. First, he comes to Patti’s memorial and now this.”

  “You aren’t hurt?” Sam asked.

  She shook her head, her eyes alight. She might be scared, but Mrs. Sanchez also adored gossip, and with the events of the day, she played an integral role in today’s juiciest details. “Frightened. I think I’ll sit at my desk.”

  She fumbled for the edge of her chair and collapsed into the seat. Sam didn’t miss her hand sneaking toward her phone, where it sat on her desk.

  “Did you see anything?” Sam asked. But he knew the answer before Mrs. Sanchez spoke—the woman adored being the first to know and tell something.

  “Nothing more than the few details I shared with the artist lady earlier.”

  From her glum tone, the lack of ability to identify the person-at-large disturbed Mrs. Sanchez to no end.

  “Where’s Cici?”

  “She’s trying to calm the blasted cat. It’s been yowling for the last ten minutes.”

  Sam marched to Cici’s office door. Seeing her there, holding the cat, stroking its fur, soothed Sam. His entire body loosened at the sight of her long, dark hair, her wide, uncertain hazel eyes. Sam’s heart rate slowed to molasses-in-winter speed.

  Until the cat arched its back and hissed.

  “Ouch,” Cici cried. The cat hit the carpet at a run, angling for the door.

  Sam slammed the office door closed before the feline managed to dart out into the hall.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, but her expression was strained. “It’s a scratch. The cat was so sweet until you showed up. How’s Kurt? Big Joe?”

  “They’ll be all right.” Sam eyed the feline. “Didn’t like Raynor either. Maybe it’s trained not to trust men.”

  “Or to run from them,” Cici suggested.

  “Point. If the guy wanted women, having his cat target and lure them… Smart.”

  Cici’s face rearranged into frustration. “Did you see the sketch?”

  Sam shook his head. “I’ll do that, stat. Anything come to you when you saw his likeness?”

  Cici shrugged. “I told you, I feel like I know him, or have seen him, but maybe I only think so because I saw him in my nightmare.”

  Good point. And another dead end.

  “What did you want to tell me about the cat’s collar?” Sam asked. His breathing and heart rate finally settled down enough for him to get out a full sentence.

  She pointed. Her hand bore a long, thin, red mark. The cat scratch. At least it hadn’t drawn blood. Sam followed her index finger to the small hole in the cat’s collar.

  “Hell,” he said.

  “So, you agree?” Cici asked.

  “That tiny camera we found at the Urlichs’ residence. It would fit here.” Sam peered in closer, his heart trying to leap up his throat.

  “Looks like there is a camera there.”

  43

  Sam

  It is far better to be often deceived than never to trust; to be disappointed in love, than never to love. ― Mary Wollstonecraft

  * * *

  Sam crouched down. The cat hissed again, but it wobbled and it missed its swipe at Sam’s nose. It fell to the side with an angry yowl.

  “See?” Cici asked, concern lacing her tone. “There’s something wrong with him.”

  Sam slipped on some gloves before he managed to unclasp the collar and peer at the tiny lens. He pulled off the front piece of plastic and the back end fell into his hand.

  “Definitely a camera.”

  Sam pulled out one of his ever-present baggies and shoved the equipment into the bag. He sealed it and pocketed the baggie.

  Sam pulled out his phone and pulled up Jeannette’s number. “I need your help,” he said.

  “What the hell, Sam?” she grumbled. “I’m at the spa. You know, relaxing on my vacation time.”

  Sam laid out the facts of the original case and the subsequent bodies, finishing with the details about the cat, the collar, camera, and note.

  Jeannette whistled. “I’m in my car. I’ll be there in ten minutes. And you owe me, big time, for this.”

  “A massage?” Sam asked.

  “Hot stone one. With some other stuff. As soon as I figure out how being touched and covered in goo could possibly be relaxing,” she said.

  “You got it,” he said with a chuckle.

  Cici, for her part, ignored Sam’s banter and petted the thick fur, speaking in low tones to the animal, which continued to breathe in shallow spurts.

  “I need to take him to the vet,” Cici said.

  “Let’s go.” Sam scooped up the animal, which again tried to claw at him. Sam dodged its claws and managed to get the cat under its armpits, carrying it like a sluggish, wiggly sack of potatoes.

  He led Cici to his SUV. As he passed Devon, he explained where he was going.

  “The ambulance will be here in a minute for Kurt. We’ve checked the perimeter. Techs are on their way. Thanks to the rain, we should get a footprint.”

  “Knock on all the houses on all sides of the church. Use the sketch from Jody and ask if people saw him, specifically, or anything strange or suspicious. I called in my friend from my agency. She should be here soon and she’ll direct all further investigation until I return. I’ll be in touch.”

  The car doors were unlocked. Holding the cat made opening Cici’s door difficult.

  “I got it,” she said, coming to the same conclusion. She climbed in and reached for the cat. Sam settled it in her lap. This time the cat didn’t open its eyes, and its breathing was even more rapid.

  Sam passed Cici his phone. “Call Joan Meraldo.” She was the vet who’d done Rodolfo’s emergency surgery a few months ago when he was shot with an arrow. Cici pressed some buttons and finally got to the phone number. She called and explained the situation.

  “Joan said to go straight to the back. They’re prepping for a stomach flush.”

  Sam grimaced. Neither the cat nor the vet or her techs were in for a good afternoon.

  By the time Sam pulled into the parking lot, the cat seemed more unconscious than alive. Sam scooped it out of Cici’s lap and rushed into the building. Joan took one look, grabbed the animal and started barking out orders.

  Unfortunately, Sam couldn’t remain in the waiting room even if Jeannette would be on-site to handle the crime scene, and he didn’t want Cici alone, unattended either. Not after that note. And not knowing what the man was capable of doing. He prodded Cici into his vehicle, and they headed back to the church.

  “This case is mushrooming worse than about anything I’ve ever dealt with,” Sam muttered as he drove. Adrenaline no longer flowed through his veins, and exhaustion slammed into him like a battle ax to the chest.

  “I need to wrap up at the church, so I can head back up to the preserve.”

  Cici’s fingers lay listless in her lap. “You found Jenny,” she said, not waiting for Sam’s agreement. “She must have been the woman from my dream the past couple of nights. Did you…did you—”

  Sam reached over and squeezed her fingers. “We haven’t brought up Marietta.”

  “Oh.” Her fingers twitched.

  She waited until he pulled into the clogged parking lot, the lights still flashing from the many police vehicles there. Sam flashed his badge and was waved into the lot.

  “Do you think she’s one of his victims?” she asked.

  Sam swallowed around the painful glob of emotion that had taken up residence in his throat. “After that note? Definitely.”

  44

  Sam

  The truly faith
less one is the one who makes love to only a fraction of you. And denies the rest. ― Anaïs Nin

  * * *

  They arrived back at the church to find Jeannette talking to one of the uniforms. Her badge was clipped to her belt and her face glowed with that fresh look Sam had seen on TV after women got facials.

  Jeannette clasped Cici’s elbows and stared into her face. “You’re okay?”

  “A scratch to add to my collection,” Cici said, showing off the new slice on her arm.

  Jeannette shook her head in wonder. “You get in more scrapes than anyone I’ve ever met. And that includes law enforcement daredevils.”

  Her gaze skittered up to Sam’s. “I’ve called Bresdeen to brief him on the current status. He wants to talk to you as soon as you have a minute.”

  “About?”

  Jeannette rolled her eyes. “The newest details of this case. The escalation of behavior by the perp. If the local guy stymied your investigation. The fact that you work for the Special Criminal Investigations Unit, not SFPD.”

  Sam’s lips flattened. “I didn’t know that’s who I worked for.”

  Jeannette shrugged. “Neither did I until Bresdeen said it. I have a feeling the name is fluid.”

  “Meaning it changes based on his needs.”

  “And ours. I’ll finish up here, though the guys have a pretty good grasp on the situation. I talked to your witness, and he’s been transported.”

  Sam turned to Cici, not wanting to leave her. But she waved him off. The listless sag of her shoulders told him how exhausted she was while the not-quite-meeting his eyes told him she wasn’t happy.

  “I wouldn’t go back out there if I could help it.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll touch base with you when I can,” Sam said.

  She nodded. When he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, she clutched him for a moment, clearly in need of reassurance. But, then, being Cici, she stabilized and let go.