by Nic Widhalm
Jackie continued chewing her bottom lip, eying Russ, then beckoned him over. Her partner raised his eyebrows and swung his swivel chair around to her side of her desk. “You have something juicy, don’t you?”
“What are we, in second grade?”
Russ’ eyes widened. “You do have something juicy!”
Jesus, the man’s thirty-eight and still talks like a twelve-year-old. “Yeah, you could say that,” Jackie pointed to her monitor, her mouse poised over a hyper-link on a page that read “Celestial Alphabet.” “What do you know about angels?” She asked.
“You’re not serious?”
“As a hurricane.”
Russ sat back. “I thought you were in trouble for poking your nose in the Friskin case, not for developing a sudden hard-on for religion?”
“Who says they can’t be one and the same?” Jackie smirked. “Here, look at this.” She clicked the link and a new page opened with a nut-brown background, and flickering candle GIFS dotting the screen. Tinny music squealed from the speakers. Jackie reached over and turned them off. “Sorry, this is the first time I’ve visited this site at work. “
Russ eyed her. “Please tell me you haven’t been trolling Dungeons and Dragons websites at home.”
“Yeah, it’s a little crazy, but does any of this,” Jackie scrolled her mouse over to one of the series of twisted glyphs that filled the screen, “look familiar to you?”
“Really?” Russ sighed and squinted at the screen. “Okay, let’s see. Azrial?” The word was written in bold, white font underneath one of the glyphs.
“Not that one. Just…” Jackie ran through the symbols with her mouse, her hand shaking in frustration. “Any of them. Do any of these symbols look the least bit familiar?”
“I’m not going to lie, Jack—I’m worried.”
“Christ, you sound like my dry cleaner.”
Russ didn’t laugh. “You’re spending way too much time on this. I’m not joking, Riese. If you don’t get that Heathberg report done in the next hour I’m pretty sure a forced leave is in your future.”
Jackie shook her head and minimized the website. “So you’re saying you don’t recognize the symbols?”
“No,” Russ sighed and pushed his chair back to his side of the desk. “Never seen them before.”
Jackie watched the minimized icon flashing on her computer screen. “Then why have I?” She whispered.
“Hmm?” Russ peered over the top of his computer.
“I said I’m going out to follow a lead. Be back in a few.’”
“Jesus, Riese, didn’t you hear what I sa—”
“The Heathberg case. Yeah, it’s sitting in my top drawer. Finished it last night.”
Russ blinked. “But…the captain…”
“Come on,” Jackie grinned as she grabbed her keys and cell phone. “You know I love to make that bastard squirm.”
A crooked smile crept onto Russ’ face. “You’re seriously messed up. You know that?”
“That’s what my cat keeps telling me. Now do me a favor and cover for the next few hours.”
Russ just shook his head, still smiling, and returned to his keyboard. Jackie moved toward the elevator, thoroughly aware that Russ was watching her ass as she walked away.
Jackie’s car started on the first try, which was pretty impressive when you considered she hadn’t taken it in for an oil change in three years. She’d once dated a mechanic for a couple weeks who swore that what she did to her car would have been grounds for life imprisonment if it had been a human being. He had probably been right, but as long as the P.O.S got her from A to B, Jackie was content with the status quo.
Patting the steering wheel affectionately, she pulled out of the parking garage and headed in the direction of Saint Catherine’s. Jackie had told the captain that she wouldn’t keep nagging him about the case, but she hadn’t said anything about bothering the priest.
Jackie had been a cop for the last ten years and was good at it. Damn good, she told herself as she drove through the busy lunch-hour streets. She had received seven commendations during her time, four from her stint in the NYPD, and three—grudgingly—given to her after her return to Denver. All for acts of self-sacrifice and bravery in the line of service.
If it’s so fucking brave, why can’t the department clear a raise? Jackie thought grumpily. On a whim she exited the interstate early and turned into a narrow street filled with squat, dirty-gray houses, and gutters clogged with old newspaper and rotten leaves. Hell of a route to take. I never should have come home.
The street was a disturbing example of the way her old neighborhood had changed since she was a little girl, living just a few blocks west. Back then, it had been crime-dramas and Matlock reruns that had made her dream of being a cop. If she had known her old haunts and hangouts would eventually become real-life dramas, worse than anything she watched as a kid, she would have stayed in New York.
That’s why you’re so fixated on this case. It’s the cathedral; you feel guilty for leaving. Jackie drove through the clogged street, wincing at the state of decay. It has nothing to do with Friskin, or those symbols you think you saw the priest studying, Jackie comforted herself.
Yeah, right.
Arriving at the cathedral, she pulled into one of several deserted parking spots and reviewed her questions. Jackie hated to admit, but Russ was right—she was taking a big risk going back to Saint Catherine's. Not only was she officially off the case, but if Valdis grew suspicious over her questioning and filed a complaint she could be brought up on harassment charges. I might be a super-cop, she thought. But even a super-cop can slip-up.
Jackie squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and stared at herself in the rear-view mirror. “Get a grip,” she said quietly. After another quick breath and a nod to her reflection, she opened the door and exited to the brisk December air.
Entering the church, Jackie was struck again by a strong sense of déjà vue. There, over by the yellowed pamphlets espousing the historical significance of Saint Catherine’s, was the stone bench she used to sit on while waiting for her parents to finish congratulating the priest on that Sunday’s sermon. And through the archway, snuggled gently into the corner, was the ancient water basin holding the bitterly cold holy water Jackie had refused to tip her fingers in. The memories were not unpleasant, but Jackie couldn’t help but feel a tinge of melancholy looking at the faded stained-glass and empty pews.
She continued down the aisle until she reached the end of the nave, positioning herself in the corner of the front pews. From here she could make out the large cross bearing an emaciated, withered-looking Christ. The figure hung in an awkward sprawl, his hands over his head, knees jutting forward in a mangled “S.” Jackie remembered the image inspiring several nightmares as a child.
It wasn’t long before a rotund, balding priest approached her from one of the side doors and inquired as to her presence.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jackie said in her most addle-brained voice. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Do you have a service any time soon?”
The priest smiled. “I’m afraid you missed our morning Mass, but if you come a bit earlier tomorrow we have another. Every morning, in fact.”
“I don’t suppose Father Valdis will deliver that service?”
“Oh,” The priest’s eyebrows raised. “You know Father Valdis?”
Jackie smiled sweetly. “Yes, he was a friend of my parents when I came here as a child. I’ve recently moved back to town, and was hoping he might still be at Saint Catherine’s.”
“Not to be rude, my dear,” said the priest, leaning closer to Jackie, “but I didn’t think Father Valdis had any friends.”
“Well…” Jackie cursed inwardly and backpedaled. “More acquaintances, I guess. I was so young, who really knows. And now that my parents have passed on…”
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” the fat man took her hand. “I’ll take you to see Father Valdis right away. I’m sure he would b
e devastated to hear his…uh…acquaintances did you say? That his acquaintances have passed away. Just a moment, dear,” the priest patted her hand kindly and left.
Dead parents. Gets them every time.
She didn’t have to wait long for the priest to return. After only a minute, the door opened and the priest entered with a familiar figure trailing behind, eyes wide in confusion. As Valdis neared and noticed the detective, Jackie thought she saw his eyes narrow for a moment before going back to wide-eyed puzzlement. The change was so quick she couldn’t be certain, but Jackie used the opportunity to remind herself to stay alert. She was walking a fine line here.
The younger priest smiled happily as he reached Jackie, motioning to Father Valdis. “A bit older,” he said. “But the same Anthony Valdis, none-the-less.” He looked back and forth between the two, and noticing that neither seemed to enjoy the joke, shrugged and left.
After the priest exited, Valdis turned back to Jackie. “I’m sorry to hear about your parents, Detective.”
“He told you?”
“Father Gregory has a loose tongue. I’m surprised he didn’t shout the news as he ran to fetch me.”
Now that she was here, the priest in front of her, Jackie found herself uncharacteristically tentative. She nodded absently, trying to think of how to start.
Valdis’ lips pursed as he continued to study Jackie. “Forgive me, Detective, but is there something I can help you with? I must admit, I don’t think I knew your parents.”
“No, probably not,” she said. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”
Valdis gazed at her another moment, then nodded slightly and guided her through one of the side doors into the stone corridor that Jackie recognized from her previous visit.
As they walked down the dark hallway Jackie marveled at the craftsmanship of the tunnel, wondering out-loud how it had managed to withstand the passage of so many years.
“It’s a wonder,” Valdis said as they walked. “That so much of the rest of the cathedral should fall into ruin is truly a sin.” He shook his head. “One day I hope to restore the cathedral to its original state.”
“That doesn’t sound cheap.”
“Nothing worthwhile is.”
Valdis slowed as they came to one of the wooden doors bisecting the corridor. He produced a small brass key from the fold of his pockets, and after a quick jingle opened the door to a musty little office, littered with manuscripts and books. The priest stepped into the room and switched on the lights. The fluorescent overhang flickered into life, giving the crowded space the look of a professor’s office at a community college. Valdis smiled sheepishly as he moved through the room, sweeping piles of opened books from a dusty green chair—Vintage 1970, Jackie thought—and motioning for her to sit. She did so, thanking the priest as Valdis joined her on the other side of the large desk, easing himself into a large, over-stuffed recliner. His hands were shaking as he lowered himself. “My one vice,” Valdis sighed. “My old bones have been sitting on plastic seats for decades. I think they’ve earned a rest.”
“I’d say so,” Jackie smiled, trying to put the nervous old man at ease. She looked around the cluttered office. “I see they keep you busy?”
“Just hobbies of mine. Whatever the Lord requires.” Valdis gazed around the room, his eyes darting from any chance meeting with Jackie’s.
It didn’t take a detective to know the old man was hiding something, but Jackie didn’t want to scare him off, so she continued to smile. Her cheeks were growing sore. “Well, I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here, and why I didn’t tell your friend I’m a cop?”
“Actually,” Valdis said. “You did me a bit of a favor—not mentioning your occupation, that is. I already have a reputation for…oddness with the clergy, and I don’t think the bishop would appreciate any more attention at the moment.”
“Honestly, Father, it wasn’t entirely for your benefit. Let’s just say I’d like this meeting to stay off the books too.”
Valdis finally met her eyes. “In that case, Detective, why don’t you tell me why you’re here.”
“I’m interested in angels,” Jackie said.
The priest couldn’t hide the surprise in his eyes, but Jackie read more in the way his hands suddenly dug into the brown leather arm-rests. Valdis was frightened.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” he said with an awkward nonchalance. Standing, he reached over to the top shelf of one of the massive bookshelves bordering his desk, and retrieved a large, leather-bound manuscript. Struggling under its weight, Valdis let the tome sink to the desk with noticeable relief. He adjusted his glasses and began thumbing through the pages. “You should have just said this was a personal visit, Detective. No need for the mystery.”
“That’s the thing, Father. It isn’t personal.”
Valdis stopped. “You think this has to do with the murders?”
Jesus, this guy is a bad liar. Why doesn’t he just announce he’s hiding something? “Yeah,” Jackie said. “I do.”
Valdis let go of the book and sat back, folding his hands on his lap. “I’m afraid that you’ve lost me.”
Jackie pulled her notebook, drew out a page, and slid it across the table. “Do you recognize this symbol?”
Valdis squinted down at the drawing. It was a sketch the nurse had made of Friskin’s birthmark: a twisted, curving character that looked like a cross between a Chinese logogram and Celtic knot. If the nurse hadn’t sworn it was a birthmark, Jackie would have said it was just a weird tattoo.
After a few seconds Valdis lifted his head and splayed his hands helplessly. “I wish I could be more helpful, Detective, but I’ve never seen this symbol before.”
“Really? You’re sure about that?”
“Positive.”
Jackie bit her lip. Here’s where it gets complicated. She had no concrete evidence; nothing to show in her defense if Valdis got pissed and decided to phone in a complaint to her captain. She leaned back, “Three days ago I questioned you in the library. You remember?”
“Yes.”
“The book you were reading…I saw a page when it fell.”
Valdis paused, then, “Is that so?”
“It was filled with symbols.” Jackie pulled another page from her notebook and placed it in front of the priest. It was covered with images that matched the design of Friskin’s birthmark. At the top was printed: Enochian Alphabet.
Valdis snorted. “I’m familiar with the so-called ‘Celestial Alphabet,’ if that is what you’re asking. Anyone who’s read my papers knows my interest in ancient ciphers. But Enochian is neither ancient, nor really a proper alphabet. It was ‘revealed’ to John Dee in the late sixteenth century by his ‘angelic friends,’ and adopted over the years by every manner of occultist and self-proclaimed magician. Not something I base much academic faith in, Detective Riese.”
“So this,” Jackie pointed to one of the Enochian symbols, “wasn’t what you were studying? The page I saw, I was mistaken?”
Valdis shrugged, avoiding Jackie’s eyes again. “I’ll admit we have a book on the subject. Anything having to do with angels has made its way to our library at one time or another. But honestly, I can’t remember what I was looking at last time we talked, Detective. The day’s events were quite distracting, and besides,” Valdis drew himself upright, “what does this have to do with your investigation in any case?”
“This,” Jackie pointed at the first sketch, “is a depiction of a birthmark seen on Hunter Friskin.”
Valdis responded almost before Jackie was finished speaking. “Interesting.”
“Yeah. It’s interesting that a homicide matching the same pattern as one across town happens to occur outside your building, and the prime suspects happens to have a birthmark that matches the style and design of glyphs described as the ‘Celestial alphabet.’ Glyphs you happen to be studying.”
Valdis shrugged, fidgeting slightly. “Life is full coincidences.”
/> “Why are you protecting him?” Jackie leaned forward. “Come on, we both know you’ve met Friskin. Be straight with me and I can help you out. I have a…” Jackie paused. “I have a soft-spot for priests.”
“I’m afraid I have nothing new to tell you, Detective. I’ve never met this man…what was his name again? I’m sorry, the past couple days have really done a number—”
Jackie took back the papers, stood, and shook Valdis’ hand before the priest could finish his sentence. “Thank you for your time, Father. If you think of anything else you have my number.” Valdis nodded, eyes still failing to meet Jackie’s as she looked down at him one last time. Then she turned and exited the room.
Man of God my ass, Jackie thought as she walked back down the stone corridor to the cathedral’s nave. Couldn’t even give me a half decent lie. If this was my case I’d haul his ass in, priest or not.
But, of course, it wasn’t her case, and if she did haul him in he would not only be released within minutes, but Jackie would find herself with a very long, unwanted vacation. And forget going to Donaldson—if she showed him her notes, the reams of Enochian symbols and cabalistic writings she had gathered over the past three days, she’d be laughed out the building. You could spend a lifetime building a reputation, but it only took one second to bring the whole thing crashing down.
Like it or not, she was under the radar on this one. If Valdis was hiding something it was up to Jackie to ferret it out.
The bourbon tasted stale and wooden as Jackie dropped the empty glass back to the counter. Cheap, sour, poorly aired. Just like the bar. The sign outside proclaimed the place, “The Drinking Midget,” which Jackie could only imagine came from any one of a hundred sordid jokes, and was everything the detective had hoped for.