Orinda was in the kitchen making something to eat for dinner, and it smelled delicious. She was comfortable because she had been there before, but that wasn’t for Griffin to know, and he had no idea. He also didn’t know that she was curious about the envelope the entire time, and her suspicion was more than accurate.
Mason opened a window allowing a rush of cold winter air to come in making the steady fire in the fireplace dance in the opposite direction. He needed a cigarette and a drink. This time it wasn’t to calm his nerves or steady his speech but only to settle his spirit now that he was home in his supposed safe haven. It was also because he needed something to stop what the others couldn’t see. The voices he usually only heard in the mornings were now loud when he closed his eyes. He urgently needed to mute them because they were becoming louder at an inconvenient time.
After he lit the cigarette and took a few long drags before exhaling, Detective Griffin began to cough. "Is the smoke bothering you, Detective?" Mason asked.
Griffin waved his hand and shook his head no and at the same time to signal that it wasn’t anything but his body’s reactions to the real truth.
"I’m okay. I actually want one myself, but my wife would kill me if she knew," Griffin said. In the back of Mason’s mind he thought Detective Griffin’s wife would kill him for a lot more than just smoking a cigarette if she knew, but he refrained from saying that. Griffin was risking his life to save theirs. That was more than reason enough for them to keep his wife from killing him for his secrets.
"What can you tell me from all this that I don’t know from the beginning, Mason? I know there is a connection between you and the victim we found. I get that, but is there anything else I should know?" Detective Griffin asked as he finally helped himself to one of Mason’s cigarettes that were on the table. He lit one, inhaled and then exhaled the smoke into a cloud so dense he almost disappeared from view.
"All I know is the person that did this knew Stockton and me from the Marine Corps. Orinda and I have come to the conclusion that maybe Stockton and this person had a deeper relationship than he had with others, yet he still had a relationship with the both of us."
"What do you mean deeper relationship than he had with others? Do you mean what I think you mean?" Griffin asked.
"Yes, Orinda used her brilliance to formulate a meaning to the poetic riddles of the letter and determined that the killer had an intimate relationship with Stockton, but before he came out to the world as a killer, he needed to reveal another of his own secrets as well. I don’t think he killed Stockton because he knew his secret. I’m sure it was one both of them shared, but he killed Stockton according to another plan."
"You mean that Stockton and the killer had a sexual relationship? I say, ‘Poppycock.’ This is all speculation. How can you articulate that from a letter written before someone was killed?"
"It’s not only the letter but this stems from a night back during the war. I went to Stockton’s room and I heard the universal, rhythmic sound of skin on moist skin. You know what I’m talking about."
"That doesn’t mean that it was a guy in the room, Mason."
"Detective, I know the sound of a man’s grunts when I hear them. There was a guy in the room," Mason said ashing his cigarette into a saucer tray.
"Mason, didn’t you mention earlier that you wanted to look through some old pictures tonight?" Orinda called out from the kitchen. She had a way of saying it without causing too much alarm to Detective Griffin who was looking at the murderer’s replica letter that had been hand-delivered to Mason’s home while he smoked his borrowed cigarette. A cough escaped into his tightly clinched fist sounded laced with phlegm as the smoke awakened the decay in his lungs after years of being docile.
"You’re right, Orinda. I was," Mason said with a smile in her direction. She smiled back and gave him a flirtatious wink.
"Pictures? What pictures did you want to look through at a time like this? I don’t understand," Detective Griffin said.
"The pictures are of the guys who were in my detail back in Kosovo’s Ghetto. I want to piece together who’s left alive and who else could be in danger. Also for some reason, I think it will help us find who our killer is. You know about the death of Marines here at home in random events, but maybe they aren’t as random as they appear. Sure they just didn’t all have notes attached with the secrets of a killer but maybe, just maybe the answer is right in front of us," Mason said as he walked over to the curio shelf next to the fireplace.
He pushed the door and released the latch of magnets to open the compartment. He pulled out a red and yellow Marine Corps yearbook from his boot camp days. It was encrusted with layers and layers of dust. It was the only thing in the entire home that had dust. Maybe because Mason didn’t care about the memories, and the dust helped seal what he wished wasn’t there. His mind remembered enough. He didn’t need the assistance of a glorified lie.
"Is this relevant to solving the case, Mason? It’s getting late, and I can’t stay here much longer. I have to get home soon, so let’s make this a quick trip down memory lane if you don’t mind. It’s supposed to snow more tonight," Detective Griffin said. His tone was credulous and he seemed to need some convincing, but he could not deny what Mason was about to show him.
After opening the book, there were the usual pictures of recruits with bad bowl haircuts in dress uniform tops, but it was the other photograph loosely added to the back that Mason wanted them to see. Mason also wanted Orinda to see because he wanted her near. Though she was in the same vicinity, she still seemed too far away. He needed to smell her and to make incidental contact on purpose because it was okay and welcomed. She didn’t state she was his yet, but they established he cared and that she didn’t want anyone else.
Mason signaled over to her with his head and eyes. She washed her hands clean and then grabbed a kitchen towel to dry them as she walked over to where they were convened in the living area. She sat on the arm of the sofa next to Mason and as far away from Griffin as possible. She naturally put her hand on his back and began to rub and soothe him as he removed the pictures from the back of the book. They were pressed in the book for so long that some stuck together. He had to be careful not to damage them to where they couldn’t make out the faces on each photo.
This was the first time Mason looked at the photos in years. It did him some good as well as bad. It was eerily haunting to see pictures of a young Stockton standing over the body of Serbian soldier with a smile and his finger on the trigger of his M-16. The image brought back to all of their memory of Stockton lying in a pool of bloody snow just days ago. This Stockton had a look of fulfillment and pleasure across his face. He had a certain amount of pride, too. He was a lot skinnier then, but being years younger will do that.
"Dear Lord! What the hell is this, Mason? Why do you have these?" Detective Griffin asked in exasperation. He was sickened and interested at the same time. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t allow himself to. It was weird to see a man who was dead, living standing over another dead man. It was almost as if Karma had a photogenic memory and made sure Stockton would never forget either moment, this one and his last. His chickens came home to roost.
"These weren’t supposed to be seen by anyone and should have been destroyed. The only reason I have them is that no one else could ever be trusted to keep them. People talk and no matter what anyone says, people listen but when I talk, people don’t; they only hear. I have them to help you listen. Now with everything else going on, I have a good feeling that you will," Mason said as he flipped through the pictures.
The picture of the young woman bound and gagged brought back very painful memories for him because he could have saved her. He remembered the agony in her father’s screams as he watched his daughter beaten and raped in front of his eyes, the pain in his voice as he cried out as she slowly drifted into eternity carrying her innocence. He couldn’t do anything because the butt of Stockton’s weapon crippled and paralyzed him after
it was forced into the center of his spine and laid him out on the ground surrounded by other Marines following given orders. Mason knew all he had to do was not translate the victim’s real words because he was only responding to the terror of soldiers in his home harming his family.
The next picture was of the Cheta soldier himself dead. Death is the final rest after life’s sometimes worrisome experiences, but the Serbian man in the picture looked like he died tired. The expression on his face wasn’t of a man relaxed and at peace with his deity of choice but of a man who would remember the horror of his ending in the afterlife and would haunt their living souls until his body was able to release the remnants of his.
"This is all so awful, Mason! What the hell were you guys doing to these poor people? Who are they? Who the hell is taking the pictures of this?" Griffin asked with his still mouth covered by his hands muffling his words. He was appalled. So was Orinda, but she had already heard the abbreviated story. Even so, she had no idea Mason had pictures to prove his stories’ truths. She could see why he had the problems he had because of the things he saw.
To see them in still shots made her feel bad that he heard them and saw them in real time. The pictures verified the stories he told, but they didn’t provide the screams, the smells and the sounds surrounding the moments that tormented Mason to this day.
"These are pictures we were instructed to take. Trust me. I don’t need a reminder of those events. I could never forget," Mason said as he began to cry. It was the second time Griffin and Orinda had seen him cry so mightily. He couldn’t hold it in. The grief he held in daily was another reason why he could never pull out the pictures. It hurt as much for him spiritually but way worse mentally.
The back rubs from Orinda to console him were all she could offer because she didn’t know what else to do. She remembered when her father would cry after his nightmares; her mother would do the same thing, but this was a different situation. Unlike her father, Mason was a good man who witnessed the crimes of war but was instructed by others to commit them. Her father was a man who witnessed crimes of war and joined because of his hate for the enemy.
After a few minutes needed to collect himself, Mason answered the second half of Detective Griffin’s question.
"The man behind the camera was one of the guys on the detail. His name was Santiago Cruz, our corpsman."
Once Mason said corpsman, he lifted his head and his body contorted, erecting him straight up. His reaction startled both Orinda and Detective Griffin causing each to flinch.
"What’s wrong, baby? Are you okay?" Orinda asked, but the shock and awe that suddenly fell over him would not allow him to respond.
"That’s it! I think I know who the killer is, and I think I figured out the cryptic riddle to the letter," Mason announced as he shuffled through the pictures. At the bottom of the pile of pictures was one taken by someone else who wasn’t Santiago Cruz. This was the first picture where the entire detail was included in the same photo; the only one where a young Mason was included as well.
"Had I been some young sailor, continent. Perforce three weeks and then well plied with wine. In due time you and her will dance the last dance Slivovica, and I will watch and count the seconds before you have no time," Mason read from the letter and then stood.
The answer was there the entire time. The killer gave his identity to them, but he had to go back to his past to find the answers. "The killer is Cruz! It has to be. The only person that knows me and Stockton in the picture that is still alive. He was the only sailor deployed with a detail of marines, the only person who knows how to kill but never had to because he was there only to make sure we were medically able to complete the mission. The corpsman travels with marines and does everything that marines do, but once there is any injury due to conflict, the corpsman changes his hat from additional combat support to medical support. Marines are a part of the Navy and corpsmen are a part of the Marine Corps!" Mason said as the identity of the killer was revealed. The revelation also unraveled the secret of who was in Stockton’s room years ago.
"How are you so sure, Mason? I think your theory is brilliant but, how are you sure, baby?" Orinda asked. She believed him because it was rare that he would speak out if he were wrong, but she needed something else, something concrete in addition to the coincidence that the letters all referenced being a sailor once. The idea made perfect sense though, but she wanted more.
"Well, let’s think about it. When we first found Stockton, he was wearing a Marine Corps dress blue uniform that was entirely too small. He moved on from his devil dog days and joined the Navy but that was because he knew his affiliation didn’t really have to change? I mean there aren’t too many instances where marines and sailors don’t work together. I was always told that anyone can join the military, but not everyone can be a Marine. This is one of the things that they tell us in boot camp and it just sticks. So what do you call a man who couldn’t join the Marine Corps but still had to do Marine Corps things? A Seabee or in this case, a United States Navy Corpsman.
“They do every bit as much of physical training and even wear the same uniform, yet they are still rated as HM, which is short for hospital man. There was a debate a few years back where Navy corpsmen felt they should be able to wear the eagle, globe, and anchor synonymous with the Corps on their uniforms because they felt they put in as much work as any Marine. It’s funny that everyone else agreed except the Marine Corps itself. I think that the message inside of the letter had more than one meaning and we just solved the second," Mason said excitedly. He couldn’t contain himself. It was the first time Detective Griffin saw his face form the slightest of a smile. The case wasn’t solved, but they had a lead in the right direction.
"It seems like we may have solved the case of envy, but now, we have to solve the crime of murder. Good work, Mason. Are there any of the Marines in this picture alive that we can contact on the last known whereabouts of HM Cruz?" Griffin asked as he pulled out a notepad from his coat pocket as well as his cell phone. Not only did he need to jot some notes down, but he also needed to call his wife. It was getting late, and he didn’t want her to worry about him. The drive back into New Jersey wouldn’t take too long but long enough since he was already late.
"I’m not sure because I haven’t talked to anyone in years and as I mentioned, some of them are no longer alive. But let’s see…all we have to do is google his name. Everyone has an Internet paper trail these days,” Mason said as he walked over to the desktop computer stationed in the corner on the other side of the room. Orinda followed behind. She was interested to see what they would find because it would make things a little easier if they could find any information on Santiago Cruz. Detective Griffin walked over with his phone in his hand while making a call.
"Hey, honey. It’s Shelly," he said, as they all mustered at the computer and huddled over Mason who began his search. The phone’s volume was loud enough, so Mason and Orinda could hear his wife’s soft voice on the other end and then looked at each other with the same thoughts. She sounded so sweet. She had no idea of the man she was married to. Even though he came through for them, hours earlier he had attempted to feel Orinda because he fell victim to her feminine spell.
"I’m sorry I'm not home yet, babes. I’m working on a case that just took a major turn, and we’re near a breakthrough. I’m going to be there as soon as I can." he said while he wrote down some of Mason's search queues. Mason tried to search HM Santiago Cruz in the search engine with no luck but then that luck changed causing Detective Griffin to pause on the line with his wife.
"There he is. I found him," Mason said. Orinda gasped and covered her mouth. While Mason only saw the image of his aged picture, Orinda immediately recognized the description information which is what took her breath away. Then she pointed it out to Mason, and now he knew why she reacted the way she did.
"Dr. Stantigo Cruz MD, Doctor of Pharmacology, Department of Veteran Affairs, Baltimore Maryland. Doctor. He is a fuckin
g doctor in Baltimore," Orinda said. Suddenly she ran over to the kitchen to turn off the food she was cooking and then grabbed the medical bottle from the VA off the counter with Mason’s prescription of Ativan.
"How did you find him if his name is Stantigo Cruz and not Santiago Cruz?" Griffin asked still with his wife on hold. He had to apologize to her for being distracted and then let her go so he could regain his focus on the new discovery they found but before he ended the call, he told her he loved her. Strange enough despite his living lie, it sounded as if he really did.
"It looks as that he changed his name to Stantigo, but when I searched his name, I only used his first initial in addition to his last name with the additional search term “medical” and that’s what popped up. Sometimes when you search for specific things, immediately you get declined, but your search can be broader if you give the search engine something relative to look for," Mason said as both he and Griffin read over Cruz's medical bio. While they read, Orinda walked back over with Mason’s medicine bottle, opened it and took out a few pills.
"Mason Papi, can you do me a favor? Open another tab, and do a search for a pill identifier. For some reason, I have a suspicion you were supposed to have died another way. The pills you are taking were prescribed by a local Veterans Affairs hospital doctor. Am I correct?" Orinda asked looking at the bottle’s information. She wanted to see if there was anything that would stand out to her regarding the prescribing doctor. There was nothing.
"Yes, initially, I was to take a dosage of 10 milligrams a day from the doctor when I first was prescribed the Ativan, but it stopped working as effectively as it did when they first prescribed it. It seemed like my speech, my paranoia, and the voices I heard only got worse and became more frequent so in turn I would pop a few more. The doctor said I shouldn’t take more than 10 milligrams a day, but I was taking about 50 depending on the frequency of episodes," Mason added.
Detective Griffin stepped away to use the phone to make another call. He didn’t hear the story about the pill prescriptions from the VA. He was busy calling in a favor. He needed information on Stantigo Cruz but knew that time would be against them. The message in the letter mentioned three weeks, but you couldn’t always trust a killer to keep his words. You can only trust a killer to kill.
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