The Chilling Spree

by LS Sygnet

  “Oh.”

  “Shh.”

  Everyone around me bowed heads and closed their eyes. Ah-ha. My moment of unguarded survey has arrived. If they’re all praying, I can find Johnny.

  My head twisted for half an instant until my eyes locked with those of Tony Briscoe, three rows back on the opposite side of the sanctuary with the rest of the detective squad from Downey Division. His eyebrows lifted.

  I wanted to smack him in the head. Don’t look down at me for gawking around when the devout Catholics are supposed to close their eyes.

  Eyes averted, I focused on the priest. He recited something that sounded rehearsed and utterly canonical while voices around and beside me responded at some sort of ordained interval with a lot of automatic stuff akin to agreement. My brain shrugged. How did this help?

  My musings were interrupted by the end of the service. Nancy turned to Devlin.

  “If you’re not up for the graveside service –”

  My brain groaned this time. The sleet had stopped, but it was colder than the Arctic outside this morning. Screw Devlin and his post-op weakness. I felt every bit the Hindu cow with my scrawny legs exposed and unprotected.

  “Nancy, when Ned is honored, I’ll be there,” he said. “No question about it. I’m fine, and you shouldn’t worry about me. At all.”

  Great. More chanting and magical thinking over the hole in the ground. Of all the modern funerary rites to which I’d been subjected, somehow that one was the most unsettling for me. It was completely irrational, but the sensation of suffocation summoned a nightmarish panic in my head that didn’t abate every time the image was conjured, since the first time I witnessed it. I wasn’t even particularly sorry to be putting my mother’s body into this so called final rest. Burial was just creepy.

  Ned’s was the first funeral I’d attended where the individual was someone I missed already. I felt the tug of Devlin’s hand. It was time to go. Yeah, let’s honor someone we loved by putting him in a box, and then lowering it six feet under ground. That sounds real respectful to me.

  “Helen.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  He leaned close and murmured into my ear. “Is it my imagination, or are you dragging your feet all of a sudden?”

  I thought of the dark, moist soil, the gaping wound waiting to receive our friend into its gullet. “I hate this part.”

  “Which part?”

  I shook my head. “Never mind. Not an appropriate discussion for mixed company.”

  My gaze had unfettered access to the attendees. I scanned for Johnny’s golden head, the broad shoulders that stood out among the typical giants of Darkwater Bay. He was nowhere to be seen. First thought leapt to the case.

  Johnny was off closing one without me. The brain and heart went to battle again. Heart was happy for him to close one without my help. Unfortunately, my brain always wins these battles, and it never likes being cut out of the action.

  Chapter 26

  My mother used to tell me that rain was the tears of angels crying. Today, their tears pelted the earth with frozen fury, a relentless torrent of stinging darts. Like we weren’t miserable enough with the gravity of our somber processional. I had the foresight to bring a large umbrella.

  In that act, I was not alone. A symphony of sleet hammered out Ned’s final chorus on a sea of black canvass. We made our way from the Expedition through the bleak congregation of black street clothes and dark blue uniforms. The rare swath of gray piping on the legs of our State Police – out en masse to honor a fallen officer – broke the ocean of otherwise gloomy color. Odd that I’d suddenly find gray welcome.

  An empty chair awaited Devlin with the family at the graveside, deference to his wounded status, I’m sure. I took my place behind him and held our umbrella over both our heads.

  Bizarre observations stabbed my consciousness. Why wasn’t the family seated under an awning of some sort? Had Dev confabulated when he assured me that the longest part of this graveside ordeal was getting everyone into place so the priest could do his thing?

  “Twenty minutes tops. This nasty turn in the weather this morning will probably make him want to talk fast, Helen.”

  I gave the dissertation on the creepiness of this particular ritual, prefaced of course with my awareness that I was being irrational.

  “So what’s it gonna be for you? Cremation?”

  “Because burning me is a so much more comforting thought.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “You can’t have it both ways, Helen.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’m counting on science to advance to the point where I can live forever.”

  That was pretty much the sum total of our conversation between Saint Angelo’s and the massive monument to the dead, Darkwater’s most beloved cemetery. Sick to think about it, but a little over a week ago, Ned visited this place to oversee the exhumation of David Ireland.

  A shiver rippled through me.

  Before the service began, I sensed warmth to my left. It blanketed me in comfort. My eyes sought out Johnny’s. I held my umbrella high enough to accommodate both of us.

  The priest began the ceremony. Ned’s body was lowered into the grave, and it seemed that the cacophony of voices swelled into one great prayer. Latin too. Impressive Catholics. It was the Canticle Benedictus. My Latin is rusty, but I picked up enough to understand the basic tenants: redemption; salvation; mercy; remembrance; service to God; prayer for peace in a time of mourning and loss.

  Devlin’s shoulders started to shake toward the end. His regret that Ned died instead of him overwhelmed me. The fingers of my right hand sifted gently through the hair on his bowed head. The man at my side tensed. I glanced up, saw the tight, ticking muscle of his jaw.

  What a time for jealousy to rear its ugly head.

  I shifted the umbrella to my right hand and threaded my fingers through Johnny’s. He ignored me. Clench, clench harder. Release. The angry jaw was unrelenting. I tugged his hand against my thigh.

  Johnny glanced at me.

  My lips formed words. I love you.

  Johnny pulled his hand free and moved behind me. One arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me against his chest. He pried the umbrella from my hand. “Sorry,” he whispered in my ear. “Comfort away, Doc.”

  My right hand anchored the one pressed to my belly. The other stroked Devlin’s shoulder until the quaking abated.

  “Grant this mercy, O Lord, we beseech Thee, to Thy servant departed, that he may not receive in punishment the requital of his deeds who in desire did keep Thy will, and as the true faith here united him to the company of the faithful, so may Thy mercy unite him above to the choirs of angels. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” The priest closed the graveside service with one last prayer.

  I soaked Johnny’s warmth like a hungry sponge. Priest guy could’ve prayed all day and I wouldn’t have minded so much. His proximity chased away logic and the doubts of daylight.

  “Did you miss me at the church?” The throng around us gave the gift of time as it leeched slowly back to the long string of vehicles parked in the cemetery.

  “I did. Something case related?” The familiar unwelcome pang of exclusion bristled along my spine. I definitely don’t like being out of the loop. How that would ever mesh with my alleged longing for retirement hadn’t occurred to me until that moment. Why shouldn’t I feel conflicted about it too? Everything else in my life had become a tug of war between what I thought I wanted and what I ought to do.

  “I was talking to Randy and Joanne Tippet.”

  In this instance, it was a conversation I didn’t mind skipping. I tensed with what I imagined their reaction was. “How delightful were they in person?” I asked.

  “About as Waters predicted. Think we can chat for a minute before you get Devlin home?”

  “You have to talk to more people?”

  Johnny planted a quick kiss behind my left ear. ”If I promise to be home at a decent hour tonight, will I be forgive
n?”

  “Depends.” The bones that should’ve held me erect melted into his frame.

  “On?”

  “Your definition of a decent hour.”

  “Early enough to show you in exquisite detail how beautiful I think your legs are.” He exhaled a warm puff of air into my ear. “Jesus, Doc. It’s damned distracting to see you this way.”

  “Mmm,” I purred. “So the next time I ask you to come inside, all I need to do is show a little skin, huh?”

  “Don’t tease. And aren’t you the one who’s always harping about keeping our heads in the case?”

  It injected a healthy dose of calcium back into my spine. Yes, this brilliant idea of mine that spending time together would help spark Johnny’s deficient memory was going like gangbusters. In light of his reassurance that he’d rather not remember our past, it disturbed me that these little things returned with such ease all of a sudden.

  “Baby, why wouldn’t you want me to remember that?” Johnny’s fingers deftly maneuvered me into position for an assault from his probing eyes.

  “It never made you particularly happy when I reminded you that this stupid job is my first priority.” Some lies are effortless. Utterly convincing too.

  Johnny grinned and thrust the umbrella back into my hand. “Chris is helping our houseguest. I should probably be a gentleman and pitch in.”

  One brow arched. “I’ll have to listen to him bitch about how you treated him like an invalid all afternoon if you do.”

  He laughed softly. “We all have our duties, I guess.”

  I fell into step beside the three of them. Chris was wise enough to walk close but maintain a hands-off approach. Johnny took the cue. His hand crept to the small of my back instead.

  We were half way to the car when I caught Maya’s wave. It wasn’t a greeting. I pointed at my chest. She nodded.

  “Maya,” I said. Before I broke formation, Chris reached out with one hand.

  “Give me your keys. I’ll get Dev settled and warmed up in the SUV. Winslow’s got a look of business about her.”

  I took one step to the right and skidded in the pellet coated grass. Johnny gripped my waist and prevented the fall.

  “Dammit.”

  “Don’t you know I’ll always catch you before you fall?”

  “You sure about that? It seemed like you were still having some issues during the service.”

  “It bothered me,” Johnny said.

  “The funeral?”

  “That too,” he muttered.

  Meanwhile, I felt a strong compulsion to stick my very nonsensical shoes into my mouth. Maybe that would prevent me from saying the wrong thing every time I opened it. No such luck. “Johnny, how many times do I have to tell you that he’s strictly a friend?”

  The rhythmic clench-release of the jaw returned. His lips barely moved. “You touch all your friends that way? Comfort is one thing, Helen… or was that just your way of letting me know how little what happened between us last night meant to you?”

  I skidded to an abrupt halt, jerking him into similar motion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You ran your fingers through his hair, just like you did to me last night.”

  “Oh for God’s sake,” I hissed. I grabbed a handful of hair like I did last night and let my nails rake over his sensitive scalp. Johnny groaned and crushed me against his chest.

  Lesson not over, not by a long shot. I quickly demonstrated the comforting stroke Devlin received. “That was nothing like how I touch you.”

  Wrecked droopy eyes rested at half mast. “I felt absolutely no difference,” he rasped.

  I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? You told me to comfort away. I need to get permission and forgiveness?”

  “No. It’s hard for me, okay? This isn’t about lack of trust, Helen. Well, it is and it isn’t. I trust you. Devlin… let’s just say I see how he looks at you.”

  “Do you see how I look at him?”

  He nodded.

  “How is it different from the way I look at you?”

  “Night and day. It’s not your problem; I get it. Can we let it go?”

  Large hands circled my ribcage. It sucked the ire right out of me. “For now, yes. Don’t think I won’t expect us to talk about it later.”

  “Preferably in a warm place,” he grinned. “You’re gonna freeze solid if we don’t get over to Winslow and find out what she wants.” Johnny stole a quick kiss. “Besides, I think we’re attracting attention.”

  “Molest me in public and that’s what you’ll get.”

  This time, Johnny didn’t let go of me when we made our way to where Maya stood grinning like Sylvester finally outsmarted Tweety for the final time.

  “Good to see the world isn’t spinning off its axis anymore.”

  “Not now, Maya.” I shot her a withering look. “What did you need? I have to get Devlin home before he pops his stitches.”

  “Right.” All business replaced her salacious glee. “I did the autopsy on Tippet, finished up barely in time to make it to Ned’s funeral this morning. We’re awaiting the detailed toxicology report, but I can tell you that we found nil of the usual suspects in his system. Our boy was clean as a choirboy.”

  “All right,” Johnny said. “You could’ve called about that.”

  “Tsk,” she clicked her tongue against lightly chattering teeth. “You think I like this shit anymore than you do? I’m freezing my one and only tit off, Orion. What I wanted to say was that I think the two of you should check your email sooner rather than later. I found an unexpected message when I peeled those prosthesis off Tippet’s chest this morning.”

  “A message?” My ears perked. “Related to what was carved on his abdomen?”

  She nodded. “Lefty said ‘not in God’s image’ and righty said ‘made in man’s perverse image’. What do you make of that?”

  “Religious nut, or at least he wants us to believe that’s his motive,” I said. Waters’ citation of his mother’s opinion flooded my thoughts. They were an abomination. Joanne Tippet would not be the first parent in the history of the world to kill her child. History, stretching back into antiquity offered far too many examples of such heinous behavior perpetrated from parent to child.

  “Wait a minute. How was this message placed on the prostheses?” Johnny asked.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say your garden variety Sharpie,” Maya said. “Though considering the bluntness of the tip and the block script used, I doubt that a handwriting analyst would give you a whole lot to go on, Orion. Your call though. Like I said. You’ve got the photos from the evidence I processed, so if you want to have someone take a look at it, Godspeed.”

  Before Johnny had the chance to return her snarky barbs, Briscoe huffed into our group, red-faced. He glared at Johnny first, then me.

  “Now what?” I half groaned.

  “Ain’t you seen it yet?” Briscoe snarled at me.

  “Watch your tone, man,” Johnny warned softly.

  He pulled a newspaper out from under one arm and waved it in the air. “Puppy and I didn’t have a chance to peruse until we were waiting for traffic to thin getting outta here.” He stabbed the blunt tip of one index finger in front of my nose. “And before you start accusin’ him of anything, I can guarantee he ain’t talked to that harpy soon-to-be-ex of his all week.”

  The headline was the last thing to leap out at me. No, it was the gigantic photo on the front page of the Sentinel that grabbed my attention.

  Johnny had me in a clench that without context, looked downright pornographic. I recognized the background immediately. We were standing outside my front door. Last night. The byline strangled rage in the back of my throat.

  Belle Conall.

  Chapter 27

  The headline was every bit as incendiary as the photo of a private moment. Crevan warned me that Belle had a habit of saving her incendiary tidbits of information for when they would inflict maximum damage. I just never imagined that what
I did to anger Danny Datello, that little hint of a kiss to Johnny at Don Weber’s press conference last month, would come back to bite me in the ass so quickly – and in such an unrelated-to-anything kind of way.

  Johnny seemed oblivious to everything but my reaction. He yanked the newspaper from Briscoe’s hand and swiftly enveloped me without actually touching me. Think human shield. I was whisked away before Maya had time to comment or Briscoe could gloat over my misfortune.

  Little else registered in my brain.

  OSI, Downey priorities shift while victims die.

  The damned paper might as well have been printed in blood.

  Vituperation hissed through my vocal chords. “I will fucking kill her! I’m gonna hunt her down and make her eat her words!”

  “Helen, take a deep breath and get it under control. I know you’re pissed off, but this isn’t the end of the world. You know how these vultures are. It isn’t as bad as it looks.”

  Naturally, he was wrong. Neither one of us had gotten to the substance of her fine journalistic integrity, the scathing libel printed for all the city to read. I suspected that it would make the photo and headline pale in comparison.

  I jerked the pulpy lies from Johnny’s fist. The cemetery faded away, and everything else along with it including Johnny, but not the blood red tinge that suddenly bathed my reality. Did Rick piss me off before I killed him? In the grand scheme of comparison, that would be a fat hell no.

  My eyes devoured the gist of her smear campaign. Not only were Johnny and I more concerned with libido than the alleged pile of barely legal murder victims stacking up like the dead at Auschwitz, but I was also engaged in some kinky sort of affair with Devlin. I don’t know how that wretched creature unearthed her so-called leads, but someone had been more than willing to divulge that Dev and I were far beyond work-friendly at the Pan Demon concert on New Year’s Eve.

  My heels dug into the frozen earth beneath them. One-eighty. A bulls eye morphed between Tony Briscoe’s eyes. “There’s only one leak of information, Johnny. And I’m gonna plug it.”