by Blake Pierce
“You know,” she said. “I think it helped more than I thought it would.”
He’s not a victim, she thought. What if he’s not targeting these leaders out of revenge or hatred? What if he loves them? What if he’s glorifying them through these mock crucifixions? What if he thinks they deserve the same death as Christ as a way to praise and worship them?
“Thank you so much for your time,” Mackenzie said.
She then turned on her heel and headed out the door. On the way to her car, she pulled up an email Harrison had sent her earlier in the day, just before she’d left Washington. The email was brief and to the point: just a name and phone number.
The contact information for the Biblical expert she had requested.
She placed the call before she was even back behind the wheel of her car as a sense of urgency started to flood her heart, replacing the dark sickness she’d felt just moments ago.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
She was back in DC just after eight o’clock. She got off of the expressway and bypassed FBI headquarters and her apartment altogether. Instead, she headed toward Park View, where she had set up her next meeting immediately upon leaving Barbara Francis in Alexandria. She allowed herself enough time to grab a quick drive-thru meal before heading to a small church she’d never heard of before.
She parked in front of Park View Church of Christ and headed straight for the ancient-looking front doors. Park View Church of Christ did not have the glitz and glamour of a Blessed Heart or Living Word, or even St. Peter’s. It was a simple one-story church that was about the size of a modest house. It looked to have been built in the forties or fifties, complete with a steeple and actual bell in the top.
She found the front door unlocked, as she’d been told it would be. She walked through a small foyer and into a quaint sanctuary. Roughly fifty pews lined the floor and ornate but tasteful stained glass windows were situated along the walls. At best guess, Mackenzie assumed that the place could hold no more than three hundred people on any given Sunday.
At the front of the room, an older gentleman was painstakingly wiping down the top of an old grand piano. He looked up as she came down the center aisle that ran between the pews and gave her a small wave. He set his cloth down on the piano bench and met her halfway down the aisle.
“Agent White?” the man asked.
“Yes. And you’re Benjamin Holland?”
“I am! It’s good to meet you.”
They shook hands and Mackenzie found that she liked Benjamin right away. She knew very little about him—only that the bureau had relied on him twice in the last ten years when they had needed someone to decipher clues that they had believed to be Biblical in nature. Benjamin Holland had come through in both instances, giving them enough information to bring a suspect in on one of the cases, and proving that there was nothing Biblical at all about certain clues in the other instance.
“So tell me how I can help,” Benjamin said. “I’ve been following the story on the news and have been quite heartbroken. I knew all of those men; Reverend Tuttle and I had a habit of grabbing breakfast together nearly every Thursday morning for the better part of three years not so long ago.”
“Well, for starters, I was wondering what you might be able to tell me about any instances of murder in the Bible that was done for the purpose of glorification.”
Benjamin thought for a moment before he started walking to the front of the sanctuary. “Come with me for a moment, if you don’t mind,” he said. “I’ll show you why I asked you to meet me here.”
Finding this an odd answer to her question, Mackenzie followed along anyway. He led her through a door in the front of the sanctuary that led to a small room behind it. A few folding chairs propped against the wall indicated that it was a gathering place of some kind—maybe a place for potluck dinners or prayer meetings.
Another door awaited beyond this room. Benjamin opened it up and stepped inside, flipping on a light switch as he entered. Mackenzie found herself walking into a room where every wall was a bookcase. And every case seemed to be completely full. In the center of the room, there was a single couch and an old scarred coffee table. A Bible sat on the coffee table, opened up to a passage in Luke.
“This is my favorite room in all of Washington,” Benjamin said proudly. “It’s not mine, but I and three or four other leaders call it our own. Just about any answer I could ever need about life—spiritual and not—can be found in here. Have a seat, please.”
Mackenzie sat down on the couch, looking around. She couldn’t even venture a guess as to how many books were in this room. She saw Bibles in different translations and versions. She saw huge devotionals, memoirs and guidebooks, and so much more.
“Now,” Benjamin said, standing by a shelf to his left. “In regards to your question about murder as a means of glorifying God. It can be answered a few different ways. It really all depends on who is asking. See, if you’re asking from the perspective of someone who is deeply rooted in the law-driven religion of the Old Testament, I can give you lots of examples. But if you’re more interested in the teachings and example of Christ, then it becomes much harder to answer.”
“But it’s the same book, right?” Mackenzie asked. She did not like feeling uneducated, but her lack of knowledge in Biblical teaching was shining through in that moment.
“It is,” Benjamin said. “But you see, if you’re leaning more toward Christ, then you must understand that his crucifixion was the answer to all of those burnt offerings and dead livestock on the alter rituals of the Old Testament. The Old Testament is rife with murder, some of it even ordained by God himself. So yes…much of the murder there was done in reverence of God. The stoning of women, the killing of firstborns, and on and on. But then Christ comes along and dies for mankind’s sins. He is the final sacrifice of a loving God.”
“I see,” Mackenzie said, although she was still struggling with it. “And given that the killer is using crucifixion as a symbolic thing, I’m assuming he’s more centered on the teachings of Christ that Old Testament law. Would you agree?”
“I would. I find it even more telling that he’s not skewing the crucifixion. Usually when you see the cross of Christ depicted in hate crimes, they are inverted or upside down—almost like a mockery. But this guy is sticking to true New Testament form.”
“Was there anyone else in the Bible who was crucified?”
“Well, it was a common punishment that the Romans carried out, but we only actually see one in great detail in the story of Christ. It might be worth pointing out that when the apostle Peter was crucified under Emperor Caesar, he asked to be crucified upside down because he did not see himself as worthy of being tortured and killed in the same way as Christ.”
So maybe this guy is glorifying those he kills, Mackenzie thought. Maybe he’s showing them the same respect and reverence as Jesus Christ.
“Another thing I wanted to ask you,” Mackenzie said. “And I know it’s a long shot, but certainly worth a try.” She pulled out her cell phone and brought up a map of the DC area. On it, she had already previously marked the coordinates where each murder had taken place, highlighted by a small red marker.
“These are where all of the killings occurred,” she said. “Can you look at them and tell me if there might be any sort of Biblical significance or pattern?”
Benjamin studied the map closely, pulling a pair of bifocals from his shirt pocket and placing them on his head. “The first murder was here, at Blessed Heart, correct?” he asked.
“Yes. Father Costas.”
Benjamin traced the routes between the markers on the nap with his finger. “There’s certainly no obvious pattern here,” he said. “However, if this man is pulling so hard from the narrative of Jesus, I can’t help but wonder…”
With that, he gave the phone back to her and walked to one of the bookshelves. He scanned a few titles before selecting one and pulling it down. It was a paperback with some wear and tear on it, a th
in volume that he brought back to the couch.
“There is this trail of sorts that many scholars and greedy tourist traps over in Israel refer to as the Jesus Trail,” he said. He flipped through a few pages in the book, stopping at a point a little over halfway through. “Right here,” he said, pointing to it.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not exactly well-versed in religion or much of the Bible. Can you explain what I’m looking at?”
“Certainly. See, there’s a stretch of land in Israel that is believed to be the main thoroughfare Jesus Christ traveled while teaching. The so-called Jesus Trail starts at Nazareth and ends at Capernaum. As you see here,” he said, tapping at a map on the page he had turned to, “the Sea of Galilee borders a portion of it.”
“And this trail is well known?”
“To some,” Benjamin said. “People who do the Biblical tour of Israel often check it out. It’s about forty miles long and is littered with a few important places in terms of the life of Jesus.”
“So why does it end at Capernaum?” Mackenzie asked.
“There’s a passage in the Book of Mark that says, And when he returned to Capernaum after some days, it was reported that he was at home. Based on scripture, many think that Capernaum was essentially a sort of home base for His teachings.”
“And why are you showing me this?”
“Well, it’s the only notable trail that we know of for certain that Jesus walked,” he said. “And now that I’m seeing the Jesus Trail and the path that this killer seems to be on…”
He handed the book to Mackenzie, to allow her to judge for herself. She placed her cell phone map on the page opposite the Jesus Trail. She studied the Jesus Trail map first—a north-bound line that shifted slightly to the south as it stretched from Nazareth, past Cana and Arbel, coming to an end at Capernaum.
There were numerous points of interest along the Jesus Trail but only four murder sites along the killer’s path: Blessed Heart, Cornerstone, Living Word, and St. Peter’s. She used her GPS tracking to provide an accurate path between the points she had flagged on the map and was nearly knocked over by what she saw.
At the start of the Jesus Trail, there was an inverted U-shape along the path, connecting Nazareth to a town called Mashhad. On her map of the murder sites, the route between Blessed Heart and Cornerstone matched the shape of the trail almost perfectly. Then, from Cornerstone to Living Word, there was a slight slant to the northeast—the same as the Jesus Trail between Cana and Lavi.
This is it, she thought as she followed the digital line between Living Word and St. Peter’s. Oh my God…
And just as she had assumed, the somewhat jagged and crooked line that continued on the Jesus Trail headed in the same direction.
She double checked again before getting too excited, but she knew this was it before she was done.
Blessed Heart and Nazareth line up.
Cornerstone and Mashhad line up almost perfectly.
Living Word is a little off from Lavi, but not much.
St. Peter’s lines up with Arbel—and the route even takes the exact same strange little jagged turn on both maps.
“This is it,” she said. “It’s too perfect to rule out. The killer is following this map.”
Benjamin was continuing to look back and forth between the maps, nodding. “Yes, it certainly seems so.”
She pinched and scrolled her phone map, enlarging the area. “So I just need to know what churches are beyond St. Peter’s—within about a twelve-mile radius. Do you have a map or listing of that sort of thing?”
“Not a complete one, no…”
“Wait, never mind,” she said. She pulled up the options menu on her map app and asked the program to show her listings for churches in the selected area.
Nine listings popped up. She carefully mimicked the last portion of the Jesus Trail route on her screen with her finger. When she came to the end of the imagined trail, she found her finger hovering over two churches.
“Would you agree that these two churches would serve as somewhere near the location of where Capernaum would be?” she asked.
“I’d say so,” Benjamin said.
Mackenzie got to her feet, still holding the book. “Would you mind if I took this with me?” she asked.
“Not at all. And please…do let me know if I can be of any further help.”
“I will. But you’ve already been more help than you know.”
“I’ll be praying for you, Agent White,” Benjamin said as he escorted her out of the library.
“Thank you,” she said, truly meaning it.
It was odd, but for perhaps the first time in her life, she was able to take some solace out of knowing that someone was actively praying for her.
She did her best to hold on to that peace as she headed back toward FBI headquarters.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
She tried calling McGrath on her way to headquarters, hoping to fill him in before she got there. She got his voicemail and didn’t bother leaving him a message, as she’d likely see him within an hour or so. When she reached the building twenty minutes later, she parked in the visitors’ lot rather than the garage, sure that she’d be headed back out within several minutes.
She rushed inside and headed for the elevators. The doors slid open and before she got on, she was surprised to see Harrison and Yardley stepping off.
“Agent White,” Yardley said. “You look anxious. What’s going on?”
“Is McGrath in his office?”
“No, he’s back over at the Third District Station,” Harrison said. “Ellington is with him, too.”
She weighed her options and decided driving back out to the Third District would be a waste of time. “Can you two come up with me for a second?” she asked. “I think I’m on to something and I need all the bodies I can get.”
They took the elevator up to her office, where she pulled up the same map she had on her phone, but this time on her laptop screen. She then laid out Benjamin Holland’s book on the desk, opening it to the map of the Jesus Trail.
“What’s this?” Harrison asked, studying the map.
“One second,” Mackenzie said, pulling out her phone again. This time, she called Ellington instead of McGrath, feeling certain there was a better chance that Ellington would answer if he saw that it was her. She sent a FaceTime call request rather than a standard call, wanting to be able to show him the maps along with Yardley and Harrison.
As she had hoped, Ellington answered on the second ring. There was the usual second or so of hesitation and then the screen popped up. She smiled at the sight of his face as he smiled at her.
“Hey, that background behind you looks familiar,” he joked. “You back at headquarters?”
“I am. Look…is McGrath nearby?”
“Yeah, he’s in a meeting with one of the detectives. Need me to get him?”
“Yes, please. How are things going with Simmons?”
Ellington was on the move, heading to wherever McGrath was. He held the phone in a way that still allowed her to see his face, just from an angle.
“Things are getting shaky. The more we learn about him, the more McGrath is coming around to your side of things. Simmons is clearly not our guy. If I had to make a guess, he’ll be released within a few hours. And hopefully recommended to a damned good shrink. Who the hell confesses to something like this just for attention?”
That was a whole separate conversation that had nothing to do with the current case. So Mackenzie let it go.
“Okay, he’s in here,” Ellington said. “Just a second.”
Ellington lowered the phone, leaving Mackenzie, Harrison, and Yardley to listen to murmured conversation for several moments. After a bit more jostling around, Ellington’s phone once again featured his face. She saw McGrath standing behind him. He looked tired and irritated—a version of McGrath that Mackenzie did not like at all.
“You got something?” McGrath asked, straight and to the point li
ke always.
“Yes, I think I do. I spoke with Benjamin Holland and he and I figured out something. There’s this thing called the Jesus Trail out in Israel. You ever heard of it?”
“No,” McGrath said. “Please enlighten us.”
Mackenzie did just that. She had Harrison hold her phone to make sure she was able to point out the exact similarities in the Jesus Trail and the path the killer seemed to be traveling down. She wasn’t even halfway through it before she heard McGrath utter a hushed and rather awed: “Holy shit.”
Given the situation, she found it a rather ironic curse.
“So what church is going to serve as Capernaum on his DC-oriented trail?” Yardley asked.
“There are two candidates,” she said. “There’s Monument Baptist and the District Church of God. They’re close enough together that they could both be the next on his list. I highly recommend that we have someone stake out those locations. Maybe even have someone stationed outside of them until we get our killer.”
“Damned good work, White,” McGrath said.
She let the compliment sink in but didn’t take the time to appreciate it. She could feel herself slipping into a groove, the kind of rhythm she usually felt when she was just beginning to really wrap her mind around a case.
“Okay, I’d like to speak with Ellington alone, please.”
McGrath tolled his eyes on the screen. “Fine,” he said. “Yardley and Harrison, meet me down here at Third District PD. I’m not sure where your next post is, but we need to figure it out.”
Yardley and Harrison gave little nods of salutation had headed out. On her phone, Ellington’s face came back into view. He looked happier than he had when he’d originally answered it five minutes ago.
“You need a partner?” he asked.
“If you’re busy down there, stay. Maybe you should stay until they release Simmons. Someone needs to be the voice of reason.”
“And where are you headed?” he asked.