Deadly Disclosures

by Julie Cave

  “At the end of creation, God warned our first parents, Adam and Eve, that disobedience to His one and only rule would result in the tragedy of death. Humanity actually had the choice to live in the reflection of a glorious Creator in a perfect, joyful, and fulfilling life that would never end.

  “But you know what? We ruined it. Adam and Eve directly disobeyed God’s command and immediately had destroyed the perfection that God had created. So here is your first answer — we live in a world with death and suffering because it is no longer perfect. And the reason for that is because we all have disobeyed God’s commands. We reject God and choose our own kingship over His authority. Because we sinned, we created an environment where what was once perfect now experiences suffering and death as normal. We were warned, but we rejected our Creator’s warning.”

  Andy glanced around at the congregation. “That leads us onto the next question: do you think God cares about your suffering? Does He even love you? I know He does. I know He does because He sent His Son to earth to suffer on our behalf. Despite the fact that we disobeyed God, He still desperately wanted to bring reconciliation. In order to do that, He needed to punish the wrong things we were doing because He is a perfect, holy, and just God. So He sent His precious Son, who suffered unspeakably and died on the Cross to make that payment of justice on our behalf. God poured out His wrath and punishment on Jesus for every wrong thing that’s ever been done. Can you imagine watching your own child go through so much pain, but then also to take out your anger on them? God did it because He loves us so immensely. And He promises over and over again, throughout the Bible, that He will never leave us and that He will always be with us, and He makes an even more amazing promise. If you truly believe that you do wrong in the eyes of God, and you accept that Jesus sacrificed Himself in your place, then you will live with God for eternity in heaven! Life on this earth may be full of grief and sadness, but you can look forward to eternal life with God in heaven.

  “We live in a world of tragedy, but God offers us an eternity of hope. Hope based on His truth.

  “None of us will ever be able to cope with tragedies like this. This is because God tells us that death is our enemy. Death is an enemy, but Jesus Christ conquered death! I hope that you can somehow realize that God does love you and care about you, and that you can lean on Him at this terrible time.”

  Andy paused and gathered his thoughts. “There is much more I’d like to tell you, but I don’t have time. If you want to talk to me after the service, I would welcome it.”

  Thomas endured the rest of the service, remembering why he had eschewed church long ago. It was just a bunch of meaningless words, designed as a crutch for people who were suffering. He watched at the end of the service as people shook Andy’s hand and thanked him and hugged him. As the church emptied and people went home, Thomas waited.

  Andy did a double take when he walked up the aisle and found Thomas sitting in semi-darkness.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” he asked, astonished.

  Thomas stood and shook his hand. “My niece,” he said. Nothing more needed to be said. He sat down, with Andy in the next pew.

  “Thomas, I’m sorry. I am surprised to see you here. Was the message I shared helpful to you?”

  “Andy,” said Thomas wearily, “you know I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in that pie-in-the-sky stuff.”

  “I know. So how are you handling all this?” Andy asked.

  “You know what? Tragedy’s always been there,” said Thomas. “Through evolution, the weak have died and the strong have survived. I would say that many of the atrocities in the world have been caused by people who didn’t know right from wrong. It’s just our human nature. Some of us are good. Some are bad.”

  “I don’t buy that argument at all,” rejoined Andy. “How does an atheist explain right and wrong? Where do you think the concept of good and bad comes from, if there is no absolute authority?”

  “It’s up to each individual to determine right and wrong, in conjunction with societal acceptance,” said Thomas. He suddenly felt enormously weary. “I don’t think any atheist or Christian would agree that society condones what happened here.”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t have this argument now, Thomas; you must be in dreadful suffering. Would you like to talk another time?” Andy asked in concern.

  “It’s okay, Andy; I stayed here to listen to you. Go ahead and answer. Surely neither Christians nor atheists condone this tragic event.”

  “Certainly not. But what if the kids who did the killing firmly believed that they were right in their actions? Where does a society get its value system from?”

  Thomas didn’t reply because in actual fact, he didn’t know.

  “I’ll tell you where,” said Andy. “Our society got its values and morals from Christianity, and therefore from God. That’s why we think killing and stealing is wrong. That’s what the Bible teaches!”

  “In answer to your original question,” said Thomas, trying to take control of the conversation, “there is no answer. I don’t think that filling people’s heads with fairy tales does them any favors.”

  “Right, because we evolved by random chance and because there is no meaning to life since we are born, then we die, and then nothing. Am I right?”

  “I guess so,” said Thomas.

  “Well,” said Andy, “I feel enormously sorry for you. I don’t know how you cope during stress or trauma if you accept that miserable outlook on life as truth. I can’t imagine the despair you must feel when you think that we must suffer through this life, and then die. What’s the purpose? You must think everything is utterly meaningless!”

  Andy stood while Thomas sat in silence. After a while, he said, “I’ve got to go, Thomas. I’d be really happy to keep talking to you about this rather than debate you on TV.”

  “Maybe,” mumbled Thomas.

  Andy gave him a brief pat on the back as he strode by and out the doors of the church.

  For the first time in his life, Thomas couldn’t get past a tiny nagging worry in the back of his mind. What if I’ve got it all wrong?

  Chapter 15

  What a week, Dinah moaned to herself as she locked the door to her apartment late Friday night. The living area was dark and empty, and Dinah resolved to set it up nicely before she made her final decision.

  The refrigerator was noticeably devoid of food but was well stocked with wine and vodka. Dinah wondered if she should eat. She glanced down at her pants that hung loosely on hipbones that were beginning to protrude. Perhaps she would order a pizza.

  Once that decision was made, she sat on the couch and turned on the television for background noise. In front of her was a recently opened bottle of the finest New Zealand sauvignon blanc. Piled next to her were photo albums, ones she hadn’t looked at in years.

  When the pizza arrived, she began to look through the albums. She had one motive in mind — these albums would spur her into decisiveness. She knew that she couldn’t look through these photos and continue to want to live.

  Dinah began at the wedding album, with Luke in a starched suit and her in a white dress, as they faced the cameras with joy. Dinah remembered how she had felt in those days. Her future with Luke seemed to stretch on forever, like a golden beach that caressed the horizon. Sure, she knew there might be problems — everyone faced hard times. She felt confident facing them all with Luke.

  The next album contained a number of holiday snaps: skiing at Aspen where they’d maxed out their credit cards and laughed at the rich people who took themselves too seriously; taking a cruise to Alaska; lying on the beach in the Bahamas. There were photos of Dinah the day she was accepted into the FBI academy, wearing a brand-new FBI cap and flak jacket.

  Dinah took a long drink and ate a slice of pizza, lost in memories of training down at Quantico, the recruits pushed physically and mentally to get rid of the ones who wouldn’t make it. Dinah knew she’d make it, and go even further than that. In fact, sh
e knew she could reach the very heights of the bureau because she was smart and hardworking. And she had fulfilled her dream — she was the agent they spoke about in hushed whispers around the water cooler. Now she was barely hanging on, a disgrace and embarrassment to the bureau. They still spoke about her around the water cooler, but with concealed laughs instead of awe.

  Dinah drained her glass.

  Next came the most painful albums of all — where Sammy had joined their family. There was the very first one, where a tiny wrinkled newborn baby lay in the arms of his exhausted and proud mother. There were countless photos of Sammy smiling for the first time, sitting up for the first time, playing with his new fluffy mobile, standing, walking, his first birthday. There were photos of his toothless gummy grin, the silly Superman suit they’d found somewhere, his blue eyes that could see straight to your soul, his chubby little arms and legs.

  Dinah realized she was crying. She touched Sammy’s little face, frozen forever in time staring with bewilderment at the candle on the cake, and whispered, “Mommy misses you.” The void in her heart ached unbearably.

  She couldn’t bear to look at more. She closed the album and knew that looking at the albums had achieved what she had wanted. It had galvanized her into action.

  Dinah finished the bottle of wine and took her service gun from its holster on the bedside table. Back on the couch with a fresh bottle of wine, she stared at its cool lines. She had never viewed the gun as more than a trusty tool to use on the job until the last year or so. During the last 12 months, it had seemed to her to be an option; more than that, it seemed to be a solution. It would be easy and it would be over in seconds.

  Still, the thought of the sheer violence of a gun made her a little uneasy. It would be messy and undignified. If it went wrong, the results could be catastrophic. She finished her glass of wine and stared at it. Here was another option, she realized. She could drink a couple of bottles of wine and take some sleeping pills. If it didn’t work, she reasoned, she would wake up with her stomach pumped and a pounding headache.

  The important thing, Dinah thought, was not to decide how she would do it right away. First she needed to put into action a plan. There were several other things she wanted to do first. She wanted to write letters to Luke and Sammy to apologize for not being stronger. She wanted to assure Ferguson that it wasn’t his fault. She wanted people to know that you couldn’t lose your whole family and be expected to live. It was worse than a broken heart. Her spirit had been shattered and her soul destroyed.

  Dinah stood and the world spun. She was well past drunk, she realized as she staggered to her bedroom. On the whole, she was pleased with the night’s work.

  She had a plan and it would culminate with blessed release from this world.

  • • • •

  Dinah suddenly woke a second before the alarm clock shrilled, and for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. She stared into the darkened room, and slowly it came back to her. First, the memory of deciding between the gun and the wine, and second, the formulation of her plan to end her life. Instead of feeling dread or horror at the thought, she felt relief. It was time, she realized, to move forward and make the hard decisions in life.

  Dinah stood and the room spun crazily, in tune with the turmoil in her stomach. She waited for it to pass and knew that she was still slightly drunk. She took a long, hot shower and felt marginally better, then made herself a tall, strong coffee. At the hall stand, where she picked up her pocketbook and fastened her holster, she looked at herself in the small mirror.

  Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, with dark circles. Her skin was pale, almost gray, and her face was so thin that she looked gaunt. She looked awful, she knew.

  She strode to her car and spent several seconds fighting back nausea before she drove away. The drunken feeling was slowly dissolving into a shocking hangover. Blood pulsed in her temples, causing pain to radiate throughout her head.

  Dinah had to fight to concentrate on the road. Three or four hours of sleep — particularly after consuming so much wine — were not enough; her eyes were heavy and her mind jumbled. If she had a car accident now, she knew she would be over the legal limit and her career, lingering as it was, would be swiftly terminated.

  She arrived without incident at the medical examiner’s office and saw that she was 20 minutes early. Ferguson had not yet arrived. Dinah decided to rest her aching head on the steering wheel and relax for a few moments.

  The next thing she knew, she was woken by a sharp rap on the car window. Ferguson peered in, his face creased in a frown. She plastered a smile on her face and got out of the car.

  “Morning,” she said brightly. “I got here early and decided to catch up on a bit of sleep.”

  Ferguson opened his mouth to say something and then stared at her suspiciously. “Dinah,” he said at length, “you absolutely reek of alcohol. Have you been drinking this morning?”

  “This morning? No, of course not!” Dinah protested, wondering if 2 a.m. counted as “this morning.”

  “Did you drink last night?” Ferguson pressed.

  “A little,” admitted Dinah. “Look, I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep very well, okay?”

  Ferguson looked entirely unimpressed. “If you’d only had a little, you wouldn’t have such a bad hangover and you wouldn’t have alcohol oozing out of your pores,” he snapped. “In fact, I’m willing to bet that you’re still drunk because you can’t even focus properly.”

  “Look, I’ll be fine,” said Dinah. Deep shame began to rise in her and spread deeply, like butter on hot toast. She should not have let Ferguson see her like this. “Just leave….”

  “Is everything all right, folks?” inquired a voice behind them. Dr. Campion, the medical examiner, stood with a briefcase and a red and white bowtie peeking out from behind a heavy coat.

  “Dr. Campion, good morning!” said Ferguson. He added, by way of explanation, “We got here a little early.”

  Dr. Campion nodded, looked over at Dinah, and didn’t say anything for a few moments. “Well,” he said finally, “sorry to keep you waiting. I assume you’re here about Damon Mason?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” agreed Ferguson as they followed the medical examiner into the building. The receptionist had just arrived and bustled around, snapping on the lights and checking the heating. The two agents trailed Dr. Campion meekly into the steel morgue, where the sharp smell of formaldehyde could not mask the unmistakable, underlying stench of dead bodies. Dinah’s stomach trembled as she and Ferguson soaped their arms and hands and put scrubs on over their clothes.

  Dr. Campion found the locker he was after and wheeled out the body of Damon Mason. Mason, who was large in life, seemed shrunken in death. He had been cleaned during the autopsy and now looked remarkably like he was sleeping, if it weren’t for the large red gash across his neck.

  Dinah began to sweat. The smell and the sight of Mason’s body, which ordinarily wouldn’t have bothered her, caused an awful fluttery lightness in her stomach.

  “There is certainly one very defining feature of the bodies linked to your case,” Dr. Campion said as he consulted his notes. “The deaths are very clinical and thorough. I would probably even term it as professional.”

  “Why is that, Doctor?” asked Ferguson, shooting a glance at his pale and silent partner.

  “People who are used to killing other people,” explained the doctor, “particularly noticeable where a firearm isn’t used, is the lack of hesitancy and tentativeness in the wound. Secondly, there are only enough wounds to cause death. Typically, an inexperienced killer will have a few attempts. He’s not sure where to cut, for example, or how deep. So there are usually several distinct marks on the victim. Where the murder is born of rage or passion, the killer won’t stop at a simple neck wound: he’ll continue to stab or cut until his emotions are satisfied. In this case, we have neither situation. It seems to be the cool, detached method of someone who is an experienced murderer, and an
emotionless one at that.” He pulled the sheet down, and the two agents could see there were no other marks on Mason.

  “Right. And the deaths of Lara Southall and Thomas Whitfield could be similarly classified?” asked Ferguson.

  Saliva poured into Dinah’s mouth and she knew she was in trouble.

  “Exactly,” confirmed Dr. Campion. “Now, if we move along to. . . .”

  “I’ve gotta go,” Dinah said suddenly as vomit rose in her throat. She stripped the scrubs off in record time and ran from the morgue.

  She made it to flowerbeds just outside the building before she could no longer hold it back, and threw up violently. Her stomach was empty of anything except fluid and she didn’t stop retching until it was completely empty. She waited, still bent over with her hands on her knees. She heard someone’s footsteps behind her and recognized Ferguson’s shoes.

  “I’m okay,” Dinah said, before he could say anything.

  “You need to go home,” Ferguson said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “I’ll take it from here.”

  “Really, I’m fine,” protested Dinah.

  “You are not coming back into the morgue,” snapped Ferguson. “That’s final. I would suggest you don’t go into the office either, because Hanlon will sniff you out in five seconds and have the best excuse he’ll ever need to fire you. So go home.”

  The thought of sitting in her empty apartment was somehow worse than being publicly sick. “What about the Colemans?” she suggested. “I could visit them.”

  Ferguson sighed. “Whatever. Just don’t go to work and don’t come back here. I’ll talk to you later.” He turned and walked away, his shoulders stiff with anger.

  Dinah stared at the blacktop and knew her humiliation was complete.

  • • • •

  If Andy and Sandra Coleman were surprised to see Dinah on their doorstep, they hid it well. If they were shocked to smell the sharp alcohol cloud that followed her in, Dinah didn’t notice. Perhaps the fact that Sandra immediately made a pot of strong coffee was a hint, but by this time Dinah was sitting back on the living room couch and welcomed it.