by Kenneth Eade
“Something like that.”
“Don’t worry, Angie, I don’t think sleep is a sin. And we’d better get some of it in case our maniac calls tonight.”
When Brent’s head hit the pillow, he struggled to find sleep. As he watched the peaceful sleeping face of Angela next to him, he thought that it was the only thing he had seen during the past several weeks that made him feel good.
Just when it seemed that sleep had finally discovered him, he was awakened by Deputy Salinger’s alarm. Brent donned his bathrobe and ran to the living room, where he put on his headphone and, on Salinger’s cue, answered the phone just as Father Brown appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Hello?”
“One shall not lie with a male as with a woman. It is an abomination.”
Father Brown held his receiver to his ear, and whispered: “Leviticus 18:22.”
Angela walked into the room quietly, fastening her gun belt and carrying her flak jacket.
“I do not bear the sword in vain. I am a servant of God who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoers.”
“Ask if he is prepared to perish by the sword.”
“Mr. Banks, are you prepared to perish by the sword?”
The sound of laughter echoed eerily throughout the room. “I see there is a holy man with you.”
“Ask how he knows.”
“How do you know that?”
“We have met before. Remember, Father?”
Father Brown felt a shiver of fear. Impossible.
“Ask him to identify himself.”
“Who is speaking to me, exactly? Who are you?”
“You have very good counsel. I have many names. And I speak in many tongues. All the tongues of the world. Hen did bady shamu laka ni terra.”
“Ask if he is a demon.”
“Are you a demon?”
“Nay, I am a spirit.”
“What kind of spirit?”
“What kind of spirit?”
“You have the expert counsel. Maybe the good Father can help you decipher my message.”
“What…” The phone died again.
“We have a location!” Deputy Salinger radioed the location.
“Give it to me.” Angela wrote down the address and headed out the door.
“Angie, where are you going?”
“Don’t worry, Brent. I’ll have plenty of company. Stay here with Salinger in case he calls again.”
***
As Angela sped off, she called Tomassi on the special radio frequency that had been established for the task force.
“This is Special Agent Wollard. I am en-route, requesting instructions.”
“Detective Tomassi – meet me at 3947 Seafarer Road. We’re setting up a command post there with the Ventura County Sheriff’s SWAT team.”
“Roger that: my ETA is approximately 20 minutes.”
***
Tomassi was there when Angela arrived, briefing the SWAT Team. Five minutes later, SWAT was breaking down the door to 3920 Seafarer Road. When they got the “all clear” signal, they entered, along with their team of deputies from the Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Department. The occupant of the house was home; just not in the same dimension.
Inside, the scene was all too familiar to Angela – but this time there was only one male body, nude and covered in blood, posed on his knees against the wall as if in he were in prayer. And there was a message on the wall written in blood: Marks 2013.
“Again, your boyfriend. Poor bastard.” Tomassi looked down at the lifeless praying statue.
“Maybe Brent holds the key to finding this guy.”
“I hate compromising investigations, but I have to agree with you. Call Salinger and get him on the line.”
Brent was on pins and needles, worrying about Angela, until she finally called.
“Brent, we need your help. There was another murder; this time only one victim, posed like he was praying, and another message left for you: 2013.”
“2013?”
“What happened to you in 2013?”
“It couldn’t be about me.”
“Your name is in the message.”
“Still: nothing specific about 2013 comes to mind.”
“What about Banks?”
“Nothing that sticks out in my mind about 2013.”
Father Brown motioned to Brent. It looked urgent.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I may know something about 2013. How many victims?”
“One.”
“And the body was posed, like before?”
“As if in prayer.”
Brown looked both worried and excited. “You should be looking for another victim.”
Brent regarded Brown with a furrowed brow.
“Father Brown says we should be looking for another victim.”
“Father Brown – why? Salinger, could you put us on speakerphone?”
Salinger clicked the speakerphone button for Father Brown’s revelation.
“It’s Leviticus 20:13: If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.”
Back at the scene, Tomassi turned to the deputies from the Ventura County Sheriff’s Department.
“I need a full sweep of the neighborhood. If the perp is still here somewhere, let’s get him. Stop and detain anyone you see who looks suspicious and call me.”
Four of the deputies turned at Tomassi’s command.
“Wait: we also need to see if the victim registered for a same-sex marriage.”
“You’ll have to wait until the clerk opens at 8 a.m.”
“Whoever the next victim is, he doesn’t have until 8 a.m.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Angela answered her cell phone on speaker amid the chaos at the latest crime scene. She was standing right next to Tomassi.
“Angie, have you got an identity on the victim?”
Tomassi butted in: “We can’t divulge that information, Marks.”
“Then you’d better bring more mops and buckets, because you’ll be cleaning up another bloody murder scene. I can have Jack Ruder on this in two seconds.”
“Sorry, Marks. You’ll have to wait until it’s released to the public, like everyone else. We’ve got it.”
“Angie? You good with that?”
“Detective Tomassi is the lead detective on this case. I can’t go against his directive.”
“Suit yourselves.”
***
Brent waited for Deputy Salinger to take a bathroom break, then surreptitiously glanced at his notebook while holding up his finger to his lips, giving Father Brown the “shh” sign.
“Got it.” Brent noted the address in his notebook, whipped out his cell phone, and called Jack as he walked back into the bedroom to change.
“Jack, I’ve got an emergency.”
“You sure as hell better have one at five in the morning.”
Brent cradled the cell phone with his cheek, pressing against it with his shoulder as he slipped on his pants.
“There’s been another murder; this time only one victim, but the killer left a bible verse indicating he was after his partner.”
“I’m not sure if they were engaged or what, but they’re not together anymore. This guy’s in real danger. We have to find him.”
Brent gave Jack the address. “Do a full background check on the victim. Find out any significant relationships. We have to track them all down. And meet me at the office as soon as you’ve got a lead. I’m on my way now.”
Brent quickly finished dressing and headed out the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To work, Salinger.”
“Detective Tomassi said he needs you here in case the guy calls back.”
“Father Brown can handle it.” Father Brown smiled and nodded.
“Wait! You can’t leave!”
“It’s my house, Salinger. So, unless you’ve got a
warrant for my arrest or something, I’m outta here. The donuts are in the kitchen.”
Salinger stood up, fidgeted, then sat back down, frowning as he watched Brent leave through the front door.
***
The task force’s forensics team was called to the scene, but the Ventura County Medical Examiner had jurisdiction over the body. Tomassi called Dr. Perez in to consult. He was on his way and would be there in about half an hour.
The Ventura Medical Examiner reported preliminary results of multiple stab wounds as the cause of death, which had occurred approximately one hour before. He walked the crime scene with Tomassi and agreed to have his team delay removal of the body until Perez could examine it.
***
In less than an hour, Jack met Brent at the office. He was proudly shaking a paper in his hand. “I’ve got a list.”
“A list?”
“Brent, this guy was busy.”
“He ever married?”
“Nope.”
“He ever engaged?”
“No. But he had a lot of relationships.”
“Define a lot.”
“Nine. And all in the past two years.”
“Nine?”
Jack nodded.
“Let’s get to work, then. You got phone numbers?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Let’s split ‘em up. I’ll call half and you call half.”
“Good morning, Mr. Smith, there’s a serial killer outside your door waiting to stab you 21 times?”
“Yeah, something like that. Got to get the information to them if we’re going to help.”
“And the cops?”
“Do you have the list in electronic format?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Send it to Angela right away so she’ll have it on her phone.”
“I wouldn’t want to be you when she finds out we’ve been calling these guys.”
“I know, right? I’ll put on another pot of coffee.”
***
After about half an hour of terrifying the men on the list, Brent reached the last name on his – Gerald Portren.
“Mr. Portren?”
There was silence on the line, then: “Mr. Marks? I see the good Father has interpreted my message.”
Brent motioned to Jack, who picked up the extra line. Brent pointed to the name, and made the telephone sign with his hand.
“Is Portren still alive?”
“No, Mr. Marks. He’s been made to pay for his abomination.”
Jack got on his cell phone and placed two calls; one to 9-1-1 emergency and the other to Angela.
“Everyone else has been warned. They’re out of your reach.”
“Mr. Marks, what do you think? If a man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine in the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray?”
A pause, then: “Why have you not shared my lessons with the world?”
“What do you mean?”
“I see nothing in the newspapers or on TV about the punishments; nothing about my messages. The wind blows where it wishes, and you shall hear its sound, but you will not know where it comes from or where it goes.”
The line went dead – as dead as Gerald Portren surely was.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The new murder site was in Oxnard, about ten minutes from the Ventura location. Brent dreaded telling Angela that he had discovered the next victim – now that it was too late to save him – so he had Jack do it. Tomassi called the Oxnard PD to let them know he was on his way, but this time he didn’t intend to wait for their SWAT team.
Tomassi took three SBSD patrol cars, which rolled to the scene with him with lights and no siren. He left Angela and Salas in charge of the Ventura scene. After a quick observation and assessment of the entire surrounding area, the deputies formed a perimeter at Tomassi’s command, and he approached the front door with two of them. It was ajar. Tomassi’s nerves were on the edge, supercharged with adrenalin.
Tomassi motioned to the two deputies for light, and one of them blasted the entry with light while the second raised his shotgun as backup. Tomassi breeched the front door, shotgun ready, looking first to the left, then to the right. He signaled with his head for the deputy to enter after him. He flipped on the lights, making as little surface contact as possible with the switch, so as not to destroy any latent prints. He found himself standing in the living room. A body lay in a pool of blood before him. On the wall, written in blood, were the numbers 12627.
Tomassi knelt down by the dead man and felt his skin. It was warm. He checked his carotid artery for a pulse, even though he knew he wouldn’t find one.
Still silent, and followed by the deputy, Tomassi performed a thorough cursory search of the house. He traversed the blood trail in the corridor, being careful not to disturb any evidence as he examined each room.
As in the first case, the blood trail led to a master bedroom with a blood-soaked mattress, blankets and sheets. There did not appear to have been a struggle, and he was yet to find any evidence of forced entry.
Once Tomassi determined it was safe, he gave the deputies the order to tape off the scene and he put his rubber gloves on. He divided the room into grids and worked outward from the body. The forensics team was still busy at the Ventura location. It was going to be a long day.
As much as he dreaded it, he determined that he would have to call Brent Marks (or at least Father Brown) to get a read on the numbers written on the wall. He figured they were probably more Bible verses. He radioed Deputy Salinger.
“Salinger, is Father Brown still there?”
“Yes, sir. He’s here.”
“Put him on.”
Salinger handed his radio to Father Brown and showed him where to push to talk.
“This is Father Brown. How can I help you, Detective?”
“We have another victim.”
“Oh, my!” Father Brown hung his head dolefully, his eyebrows drawn together as he crossed himself.
“He left another message on the wall, in blood.”
“What does it say?”
“All numbers – 12627.”
“12627? No spaces, colons?”
“No, just 12627.”
Father Brown put his hand on his chin. 12627, 126, 12, 62, 7.
“I’m sorry, Detective Tomassi, but I’m going to need some more time on this one.”
“Take your time, Father. I’m going to be at this for a while.”
He would start with the Old Testament, as that was where the other verses had come from. Father Brown reached into his satchel for his favorite Bible. Given to him by Father Ignatius (a senior Franciscan monk, when Brown was a young man studying in the seminary), it had been a useful guide all his life. But he never thought he would be using it to help solve a crime.
Father Brown carefully flipped through the delicate pages, starting with the first book of the Old Testament – Genesis 1:26-27.
That seems to apply. Let us make mankind in our image – male and female. No, that can’t be it.
It’s not in Leviticus. Maybe the New Testament. What does the New Testament say about homosexuality?
“Romans 1:26-27!” Father Brown beamed, then realized that his sudden burst of pride was a sin, and crossed himself.
“What?” Salinger looked confused.
“Romans 1:26-27! Right here in the New Testament! Deputy, please get Detective Tomassi on the line.”
Brown took the bible from his sack and out of its cloth pouch. He ran his fingers over the gold leaf titles, thought of Ignatius briefly, and turned to the book of Romans.
“Here it is: For this reason God gave them up to dishonorable passions. For their women exchanged natural relations for those that are contrary to nature. And the men likewise gave up natural relations with women and were consumed with passion for one another, men committing shameless acts with men and receiving in themselves due penalty for their error.”
“Father Brown for you, sir.”
He handed his radio to Brown, who could not mask his excitement. It was the predominant feeling in the emotional cocktail along with grief, disbelief and sadness.
“Detective Tomassi? I believe the killer’s next victim will be a woman.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Angela and Rhonda Salas played their investigation by the book as the forensics team completed their tasks at the Ventura scene. There were no signs of a struggle and the victim, as in the other case, appeared to have been killed in bed, then dragged to the living room and posed. On the floor in the living room, they found a wad of paper with torn edges that was covered in blood, and left it there to be photographed, cataloged and secured.
They logged in personal possessions that she had found in the bedroom – a man’s gold watch, a wallet filled with credit cards, and $225.00 in cash, bracelets, camera equipment, and a coin collection. Robbery was not a motive in this case, as in the others. A profile was emerging; unfortunately, at the expense of more lives.
Dr. Perez was just finishing his secondary examination of the body when Tomassi called. Two Sergeants - Dean Johnson and Harold Jenner, who had been assigned to the task force from the Santa Barbara County Sheriff’s Department - lifted 45 latent fingerprints. The Medical Examiner would take foot and finger prints of the victim. The prints were sent off to be matched against the FBI’s database.
“Wollard, can you leave Salas in charge and get over here right away? I need you over here.”
“I’ll be there right away. And I’ll bring Dr. Perez with me.”
“Yeah, I need him too.”
Tomassi escaped the smell of copper and blood at the death scene into the fresh air outside. He opened the door of his car, sat on the seat with his legs dangling out, and rested his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands. He made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a sigh as the frustration and fatigue overcame him.
A Sherriff’s Deputy who was walking by stopped in front of him. “Detective, are you all right?”
He waved him off. “Yes, Deputy, I’m fine.”