The Calling

by Inger Ash Wolfe

  'Vegans,' said Sevigny. 'Weird people, it sounds. But for some reason, he kill 'is own brother. And then, after, he begin to search for people who want to die. People had to look hard for him,' Sevigny continued, 'he has a website, but only people who are really desperate are looking deep to find him. He's linked to other sites, places people would go for alternate t'erapies. His links were buried, but they say things like "end your suffering", and "complete release from pain", impossible stuffs like this. If you click, you go to a site called Anastasis and you can write to him on a form. This site, it only has the form, he tells you nothing. So you write.'

  Father Glendinning, who'd been giving of himself in the most stingy manner imaginable, began to pay attention. Hazel marked it.

  'Once you filled out the form, you press send and it automatically link you to another site, this one is called Gethsemane. There's nothing there but a big picture of a rock. I find this rock on the man's chest. But if he choose you—'

  'For what?' said Hazel.

  'If he choose you, he give you the rest of the address for the Gethsemane page. And then the stone moves.'

  Yoon already had the page up. They were standing behind her, looking at a black rock. 'We see it, Adjutor. What's the rest of the address?'

  He spelled it out for them and Yoon put it in. The stone moved away and there were words behind it. They all leaned in. 'Mashach is Hebrew,' said Glendinning quietly. 'It means to anoint with oil. It's the root for the word messiah.'

  The cold went through Hazel. The space behind the rock said:

  The stone releases its oil

  He is anointed

  In Gethsemane, you are the fruit of the tree

  In Gethsemane, your seed will wither

  Here, you are ground

  His messenger comes

  You are joined to Him

  His messenger comes to you

  You are the stone

  His messenger is lashed to you

  The stone releases its oil

  You are anointed

  You are the root and trunk and branch and flower

  Yoon clicked throughout the message. Nothing happened. They reread it. It was the first silence any of them had experienced in more than a week. 'Anastasis,' said Hazel Micallef to Father Glendinning. 'You looked at me.'

  The priest's lips were wet and trembling. 'It's Greek for resurrection,' he said.

  'Are you still there, Adjutor?'

  'I'm here.'

  'What do those emails say?'

  'They're contracts, I think,' he said. 'There are times and places in them. He's made arrangements with these people.'

  'Jill, can you give him an email address he can forward to? Adjutor, write this down.'

  Jill Yoon read out her email address. 'I'm forwarding all of this as I talk to you,' said Sevigny. They saw the emails begin to pop up on Yoon's screen instantly; the names of the dead in a clean blue font. 'I am afraid that we have already missed another one.'

  'Who?'

  'Her name is Tamara Laurence. She is in Pictou, Nova Scotia. They arrange for yesterday, the twenty-first. But there is one more to go. Newfoundland. A man named Carl Smotes. Tomorrow, the Belladonna says, he is arriving tomorrow at two in the afternoon. I know it, Trinity Bay, I visit it with my ex-wife some years ago. It's beautiful there.' His voice was tailing off.

  'Sevigny?'

  'I'm here.'

  'Send us everything. Send us everything you have.'

  'Yes.'

  'You okay, Sevigny?'

  'I feel sick. Un vrai malheur de tristesse.'

  'What?' said Greene.

  'Heartsick,' whispered Wingate and Greene looked at him.

  Hazel leaned in toward Yoon's computer. 'You did good work, Detective.'

  'Yes. But they are all dead. All of them.'

  'You're done there. Do the Mounties know what's going on?'

  'I was never here,' he said.

  Yoon disconnected. The line on the fridge where Adjutor Sevigny's voice had been jumping went flat. They found themselves staring at it. 'I bet the Port Hardy RCMP are going to be real grateful to be tossed a bone by the Port Dundas OPS,' said Greene.

  'They'll get their crime scene,' said Hazel. She turned her attention to Glendinning. 'What do you make of all this?'

  'He's promised to open their graves,' he said, his face a mask.

  Hazel was scanning the emails as Yoon opened them one by one. She looked behind herself to Greene, who nodded in response to her silent question.

  'He was good at keeping his word,' he said.

  'We need to get someone out to that house in Pictou to confirm the body. He's been and gone, but we can still catch him in Trinity Bay,' said Hazel. 'We have –' she looked at her watch. It was just after eight o'clock. 'We have less than sixteen hours to intercept the Belladonna, and if we miss him in Newfoundland, he's gone for good. I want every RCMP officer within three hundred kilometres of Trinity Bay to hit the road doing a hundred and eighty. James, you're personally in charge of making sure Carl Smotes gets into protective custody. After that, I want you to rendezvous with Sevigny and put together whatever information you can on this Western Church of the Messiah. Ray, you and I are going back to the station house to coordinate with the Mounties in Nova Scotia. And you—' she turned to Glendinning. He started.

  'Yes?'

  'You sit with Miss Yoon, and don't go anywhere until you hear that dead mouth say something that makes sense to you.'

  'Ohh no ... I don't want any part of this now! I came when summoned, but I've done my bit. And anyway, that French officer, he told you where to find your man.'

  She sat down beside him and put her hand on his. She'd never liked this priest, had always felt that Port Dundas deserved someone with more forebearance, more warmth. But he was their lot and they were his. 'I saw how you looked at me, Father. This scares you.'

  'You're damned right it scares me.'

  'We may know where to look for this man, but we still don't know what he wants. If these people have a message for us, you might be the only one who can tell us what it is.'

  He subsided a little. 'I don't want to know, Hazel,' he said quietly, ashamed of his fear. 'I've been sitting here for nearly ninety minutes reading catechism to a machine. But I don't want to know the results of my actions. I don't want to hear what he wants.'

  'I can't let you go, Father. I'm sorry.' She stood and looked over the computers at Jill Yoon, who nodded at her. She was going to have to handle the reluctant priest. The rest of them had phone calls to make.

  'Lemma,' said the face on Wingate's fridge.

  'No,' said Glendinning, his eyes in his lap. 'Start with libera.'

  There was no one available at the Pictou detachment. It was suppertime on a Sunday. Hazel had to call down to New Glasgow, twenty kilometres away, to find a person who'd answer a phone. The dispatcher there had one guy on the road, a Constable Nevin. 'Can you patch me through to him?' she asked, and a moment later, she heard the man's voice. 'I'm Detective Inspector Hazel Micallef,' she said to him. 'I'm calling you from a detachment in central Ontario.'

  'Good evening, Detective Inspector.'

  'Constable Nevin, we've had some information that leads us to believe there may have been a murder in Pictou last night.'

  'All's quiet up here, Ma'am,' Nevin said. 'We had a couple kids driving a stolen golf cart across the Eagle's Nest driving range last night, but nothing else. Not even a DUI to keep us entertained.'

  'I think the murder might not be discovered yet. The victim lived alone.'

  'How do you know this, Detective Inspector?'

  'We had a tip. Can you go up to Pictou? The address is 61 Mackie Road.'

  'It'll take me about fifteen minutes,' he said. 'I'm out by Trenton way.'

  'I don't know where that is, Constable Nevin, but I'll take your word for it. I'll give you my direct line. Call me when you get there.'

  'Will do,' said the officer.

  Two desks over, Green
e was arguing with the RCMP. He put his call on hold when she came over. 'The detachment in St John's is willing to send a car.'

  'We need a regiment.'

  'I don't know if they have a regiment.'

  'Don't be stupid,' she said. 'Where's James?'

  'You told him to get Carl Smotes.'

  She stood up and looked around. Wingate wasn't at his desk. Then she saw him standing beside the desk sergeant talking to a cop she didn't recognize. 'Hello?' said Greene into the phone. 'Listen, we need a minimum of two cars out there. One at the victim's house and at least one – yes, I know there's no victim yet. For Christ's sake—'

  Hazel took the phone from him. 'Good evening, this is Detective Inspector Hazel Micallef. May I ask who I'm speaking to?' The voice on the other end identified itself as Staff Sergeant Power. 'By this time tomorrow morning, sir, you're going to have a dead man in Trinity Bay and quite possibly, by this time tomorrow night, the local paper is going to run a story saying you fellows were warned in advance. This is for real, Sergeant; you need to drop everything.' James was waving her over to the counter; she held a finger up. 'Yes, I understand you have staffing issues, everyone has staffing issues. But you can't take a lead any less seriously because of it. Please,' she said, 'get some people down there. You need someone on the house, someone roving, and someone watching the exits off the highway. We're faxing you a drawing of the suspect.' She listened for a moment. 'I'm not telling you how to do your job. I'm telling you that if you catch this guy, you're all going to get medals. I promise you.' She passed the phone back to Greene and strode out to the counter, where the strange cop was patiently waiting with his hands in his coat pockets.

  'Sorry to interrupt you,' said Wingate. 'But I thought this was important. This is Sergeant Gary Wharnsby, from Sudbury.'

  The man stuck out his hand and Hazel shook it. 'Is Detective Sevigny here?'

  'He's on his way back from British Columbia,' she said.

  'Can I ask what the hell he's doing in B.C.?'

  'What is this about, Sergeant?'

  Wharnsby looked back and forth between them. 'He was due to make a court appearance yesterday morning. He never showed up.'

  'I don't know anything about this. He was seconded to us in the middle of the week.' She waited for the man to respond, but his face was implacable. He seemed very angry indeed. 'I guess someone got off a speeding ticket then.'

  'He wasn't appearing as a police witness, Detective Inspector. He was being arraigned.'

  'What?'

  'He beat a fellow officer unconscious two weeks ago. He's been suspended from the force.'

  'Jesus Christ,' Hazel murmured. She thought she was going to smash something. 'That fucking Mason ...'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  She pulled herself together. 'Sevigny should be landing in Toronto tomorrow morning. My assistant will have the flight number. I'm sorry, Sergeant, we had no idea of this.'

  'It's probably not something he elected to tell you.'

  'No,' she said. She noticed Melanie out of the corner of her eye. 'This is who you want to speak to,' she said. 'Melanie, this is Sergeant Wharnsby. Give him whatever information he needs.'

  'I have Officer Nevin for you on your direct line,' she said.

  'God, okay.' She turned to Wharnsby and shook his hand again. 'We're in the midst of something here.'

  'I can see that.'

  'Sorry for the confusion with Sevigny.'

  The man turned to leave. 'Just a sec,' said Wingate.

  'What is it?'

  'I'm curious,' he said. 'About this ... assault Sevigny committed. Allegedly committed.'

  'He committed it. I was there.'

  'The officer, then, the one he beat?'

  'What about him?'

  'Did he deserve it?'

  Hazel couldn't help it: she smiled. 'Let the man get down to Toronto, James.'

  * * *

  The three of them stood over the speaker phone on the desk in the conference room. Hazel punched the transfer button and spoke down into the microphone. 'Detective Inspector Hazel Micallef speaking.'

  'I'm here,' said Constable Harry Nevin. He was turning into Tamara Laurence's driveway from the sideroad that led down from the highway. 'Looks quiet from the front.'

  'I don't suppose you know this woman, Constable?' asked Ray Greene.

  'No, sir. I understand from Kevin back at dispatch that she's a doctor.'

  Hazel leaned in again. 'I'd keep your weapon unholstered, officer, and your eyes open.'

  'Will do, Ma'am.' They listened to the faint sound of crunching as Nevin crossed toward the house. 'Lights are off inside—'

  'What time is it there?' said Wingate.

  'Nine-thirty. An hour later than you guys.' They heard him knocking on Tamara Laurence's front door. Then again. 'No answer.'

  'You've got to get in there, officer,' said Hazel.

  'I'm sorry, Inspector, but I can't just enter a private residence without a reason. Now, I respect that you have a tip, as you say, but maybe this is the time to tell me more about it.'

  'I don't have time to fill you in on our whole investigation. This is an extraordinary circumstance – if there's someone inside and there's any chance to save her life, we have to do it, and we have to do it now.'

  They heard the November wind whistling in his mouthpiece. Greene strained to hear beyond it. 'I thought you said she's already been murdered.'

  Hazel hesitated. 'I'll tell you what I know about Tamara Laurence. She's terminally ill. She may have been contacted by someone offering to help her. To end her life. If by some chance she's in there, and she's still alive, it means our guy hasn't gotten there yet. So I need you to get into that house.'

  There was silence from the star-shaped conference console on the tabletop. 'I'm going to need my hands free for a few moments,' said Nevin at last. 'I'll call you back.'

  He rang off. 'We should call for backup now,' Greene said. 'There's got to be another detachment within fifteen minutes of this place. I've got a bad feeling about this one kid breaking into a dead woman's house with nothing but a pistol and a cellphone.'

  'Give him a minute,' said Hazel. 'If he finds her, he'll radio for backup before he calls us.'

  Two minutes ticked by in slow motion. Then the phone rang and they all jumped. Hazel grabbed the receiver, 'Hazel Micallef here—'

  She could barely make him out; he was gasping for air – 'Caucasian female! Late forties, five-six, I got a, I got a victim here—'

  'Nevin! Nevin, listen to me—'

  'What's going on!' said Greene, leaning over the table and trying to catch Hazel's eye. 'Put him on speaker phone! Is she there?'

  Hazel stabbed the speaker button and laid the receiver down. 'Nevin? Can you hear me?'

  'There's blood everywhere—'

  'Calm down—'

  'Have you called for backup?' said Wingate.

  'I'm getting into my car,' said Nevin, and they could hear the door to his cruiser slam shut.

  'You need to call your CO, Nevin ... Nevin, are you listening to me?'

  'I gotta get out of here,' he said, and the sounds of his engine rose up to cover his voice for a moment. 'Car eleven, car eleven to dispatch?'

  Another voice crackled in the background. 'Harry?'

  'Kevin, I got a situation out on Mackie in Pictou. I need an Ident unit and some backup—'

  'What is it?'

  'I got a murder out here – hey, what the fuck—'

  The surprise in the officer's voice sent a wave of cold through Hazel. 'Oh God,' she said. 'Nevin?'

  'There's a car blocking the driveway here now.' He honked his horn, loud. 'Get the fuck out of the way!' He honked again and then they heard him open his door.

  'Don't get out of your cruiser!' Greene shouted.

  'There's no one in it,' said the officer. 'This other car's empty.'

  'Nevin,' said Greene, gripping the edge of the table, 'get out of there. Get back in your car and get out of
there!'

  'I think—' he said, but he didn't complete his thought.

  'Constable Nevin?' said Hazel.

  The line had gone dead. Hazel frantically redialled the number, but there was no answer. 'Oh Christ,' she said. 'Mallick's there. He's there right now.'

  Father Glendinning shoved the chair back and it smashed against the stove. He stood facing the mechanical dead mouthing the words over and over, his hands white at the ends of his sleeves. 'Get your boss,' he said, his voice stuck in his chest. 'Get her now.'

  18

  Sunday 21 November, 9:30 p.m.

  Blood streaked his chest and groin as if he'd been a participant in an ancient sacrifice, the blood of the offering drenching him. He'd wrapped his hand in layers of sheeting from the bed she'd put him in, but his blood soaked through. It would not be a bad thing if he were able to rinse himself of this foreign blood that had saved his life, but he had to accept that without it, he would not have the power to continue. Presently, the flow diminished, but as he went about collecting his things, he left a thin trail of blood running up the stairs and down the hallways of Tamara Laurence's house.

  He felt pain, but it was an ecstatic pain. He'd evened things out now; he was back in the light. He hoped his brother would forgive him. He'd drawn the blood chain to this place, but he would be late for Trinity Bay. It was a profound failure, but he could not wallow in his guilt. He had to get moving.

  He dressed in her room, using his black socks to mop at the blood that had stained his skin, and once he was dressed, he put his things back into his black kitbag, tucking the glass vials into their elastic holders. Bolts of pain shot up his arm and across his chest. Shards of broken bottles lay at the bottom of the kit, but he would not stop to clean it out now. He thought of the body downstairs, which he'd laid on the bed he'd found himself in like an offering on an altar. He could still feel the warmth of her limbs as they lay across him, and then that warmth beginning to ebb. He'd felt her passing into that line, felt her rise up and stand beside the others. There was no time to wait to sculpt her, however. He'd simply held her mouth with his hands and marked her with his eyes.

  He looked around. He'd become less fastidious in these last few days. It felt less urgent now to be careful, but still, he washed out her teacup and placed it back in its cupboard. He made her bed. He left the lights on and went back out to the car. It was full dark now, almost nine-thirty at night. He had two hours to make it to the ferry, but the drive would take him nearly six. Being brought to this day, he had faith another hand would guide him now.