A Life Removed

by Jason Parent

  The priest looked up at them. “That was Joshua, Chapter One, verses six through nine. The text recites God’s first instructions to Joshua, who was charged with the task of leading the Israelites over the Jordan River to take possession of the Promised Land.” He flipped back a few pages. “In the previous book, Deuteronomy, God was more explicit in his instructions to the Israelites.” He put his finger halfway down the page and read aloud again. “Thou shalt utterly destroy them; namely, the Hittites, and the Amorites, the Canaanites, and the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites; as the Lord thy God hath commanded thee: That they teach you not to do after all their abominations, which they have done unto their gods; so should ye sin against the Lord your God.”

  Bruce listened intently and refrained from acting on the urge to push Father Shanahan along. The place, the preaching, the whole atmosphere of piety made his skin crawl, and he thought that if he did have a soul, it didn’t belong there.

  “God’s first order to Joshua,” the priest continued, “is to conquer Jericho, and he tells Joshua how to do it. This means invading the land and killing the people of several tribes, but in particular the Canaanites. On God’s orders, Joshua marches his army into Jericho and kills everyone but a prostitute and her family who had given his spies refuge within the city’s walls. He then continues on to other civilizations, slaying all in his quest to rid the Promised Land of its indigenous peoples.”

  “So Joshua was a murderer under orders from God?” Bruce asked.

  “If you consider it murder to kill someone when the Almighty orders you to, then yes. Historically speaking, the Book conveys a version of the Hebrew conquest of Palestine, from an obviously Hebrew perspective. Many religious theorists have suggested that the Canaanites were involved in pagan rituals, including human sacrifice and other anti-Christian and immoral conduct. So they view Joshua more as a crusader, spreading justice and God’s law throughout Palestine. Certainly, they were pagan, but perhaps the Palestinians’ only crime was to be non-Christians residing in Christian-coveted land. They say history is written by the winners.”

  Jocelyn leaned forward and whispered, “Have you lost your faith?”

  Father Shanahan gave her a gentle smile. “I’m afraid you misunderstand me. I believe in both the Old and New Testaments in a non-literal sense. I believe in Jesus Christ and his spreading of the word of God. I believe Joshua was a disciple, and he had a divine role to play. The Good Books convey stories, embellished versions of historical events, inspired by God, but written by man. Each book has both divine and mortal influence. And although the stories are historically based, it’s their allegorical parts, the divine parts, that are truly important.”

  “God instructs Joshua to annihilate civilizations?” Bruce asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from the philosophical.

  Father Shanahan shrugged. “I see no other way to construe the text. Yes, God commands the destruction of all native inhabitants of the Promised Land.”

  “But isn’t that incompatible with the capital vices, the seven deadly sins?” Jocelyn asked.

  Bruce hadn’t known Jocelyn was devout. He regretted some of his past jokes and anti-religious comments. Funny, he thought, how he’d just assumed she was atheist like him. If what she saw on the job didn’t rattle her faith, he was sure watching those she loved die around her as she aged into a cynical old crone would probably do the trick. The job had that effect on people.

  “Yes and no. The seven deadly sins were made famous through fiction, Dante’s Divine Comedy, an interesting read. You probably know them as luxuria, gula, avaritia, acedia, ira, invidia, and superbia.”

  “I assure you, Father,” Bruce said, “I don’t know them that way.”

  “Excuse me. I like to show off my Latin every now and then. Does that make me guilty of superbia, or pride?” Father Shanahan chuckled. “Sorry, the priesthood isn’t known for its sense of humor, and I can see you two are focused on getting the job done, a good thing given the circumstances. The other sins are lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, and envy. These concepts are so broad, they can be exploited to encompass any immoral act, as well as quite a few moral ones.” He opened the second book and flipped through it. “These six things doth the Lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto him: A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood; an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief; a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren. My son, keep thy father’s commandment, and forsake not the law of thy mother: Bind them continually upon thine heart, and tie them about thy neck.”

  “Proverbs Six.” Jocelyn gave Bruce a wink. “We’re familiar with that one.”

  “Yes,” Bruce muttered. “Reinhart.”

  “These are the real seven deadly sins, or cardinal sins. The last one, ‘he that soweth discord among brethren,’ is as broad as any of Dante’s literary takes.”

  “Doesn’t wiping out entire civilizations fall within those sins?” Jocelyn asked.

  The priest nodded. “That’s one way to read it. But if you kill those who regularly practice that which is an abomination unto God, then which is the lesser evil? Killing sinners on the Lord’s behalf, ridding the world of evil and immorality, or allowing heathens to continue to practice their pagan and ungodly rituals? The answer lies in Proverbs itself. Capital vice number three is ‘hands that shed innocent blood.’ One who kills sinners only is not shedding innocent blood. Thus, he commits no sin. Given the concept of original sin, none are innocent.” He frowned. “So you see how these concepts could be manipulated to justify just about any murder.”

  Bruce sneered. “Sounds like an explanation Hitler might have given for slaughtering Jews. It’s amazing what people are capable of doing when they think they’re in the right.”

  “And if that wasn’t enough to absolve the killers of their crimes, they could be forgiven through the sacrament of confession or through perfect contrition,” Jocelyn added.

  Father Shanahan nodded. “Precisely, at least according to several Christian denominations.” He lowered his voice. “That’s twice you have pluralized ‘killer.’ You may want to be less loose-lipped with that information.”

  Jocelyn’s face reddened. “Duly noted, Father.”

  Bruce opened the manila folder and pulled out several photographs. “I’d like to show you the markings left on the victims, all done post mortem.”

  The priest flipped through the photos. He never so much as flinched. “They don’t seem to have any Christian significance, aside from the possibility of stigmata. This church was named after the first known stigmatic. The marks are signs of devout piousness, a relationship with God at a level far beyond that of the average believer. However, the concept of stigmata is generally a Catholic one, and Catholics view God as merciful. God wouldn’t want us to kill for any reason. I don’t see these killers as Catholic. Maybe you should try the Baptist church over on South Conway.” He winked. “It’s all hellfire and brimstone over there, I hear.”

  “We’re not certain we’re dealing with a religious sect,” Bruce said. “We could be barking up the wrong tree here. It’s possible we’re dealing with someone who happens to like ripping out hearts and slicing wrists.” He took back the folder.

  Jocelyn extended her hand to the priest. “This certainly has been an informative lesson. Thank you for your help, Father Shanahan.”

  The priest shook her hand then Bruce’s. “Please don’t hesitate to contact me if I can be of further assistance. I share my parishioners’ fear and would love to see your investigation brought to a successful conclusion.” He cleared his throat. “Let me impart one more thing upon you, for whatever it’s worth. Many read the Old and New Testaments as separate and distinct works, taking bits from each to suit their own purposes or message. But both must be read together to understand God’s purpose. Some religiou
s historians refer to Joshua as a robber and a marauder. The Palestinians of the era likely shared that view. But Joshua was many different things to many different people. He had a few different names in the Old Testament. Oshea, Jehoshua… regardless, his name always means the same thing: savior. In Greek, as well as in the New Testament, the word for savior is Jesus.”

  “Great.” Bruce scoffed. “Our killer thinks he’s Jesus.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Aaron was nodding off in his patrol car when his cell phone rang. The ringtone was Arianna’s, so he snatched the phone off the passenger seat. “Hi, hon. What’s up?”

  She let out a long sigh. “I won’t be able to make it for dinner tonight.”

  Aaron groaned. “Big surprise.” He had planned a quiet dinner out at a fancy restaurant, and Arianna was blowing him off yet again. He knew the excuse she was going to give him, the same one she always gave, the one he wasn’t sure he believed. Does she even remember it’s our anniversary? He sighed into the phone. “Whose work do you have to do this time?”

  “Walter’s, that slithering son of a bitch. I have to depose a witness tomorrow on a case I don’t know anything about. Sometimes I wonder… maybe I should quit.”

  “You could always call in sick.”

  “Yeah, that would get me fired in a hurry, though it might be worth it just to hear him squirm. God, I hate this job sometimes.”

  “You could kill him.”

  “You’re such a mo.”

  “What the hell is a mo?”

  “You.”

  “Okay… thanks. I’m just saying that if you kill him, I doubt anyone would care. You might even get a medal for it. You know, one dead lawyer sounds like a good start.”

  “Ha, ha. How original. Everyone bitches about lawyers, but we’re the first people they run to when they need their problems resolved.”

  “No, those are cops.”

  “Ha! Everyone hates you guys, too. But when you need a dispute resolved, you ask a lawyer for help. And by the way, you’re a butthead.”

  “That’s because our legal system forces people to get lawyers. What’s that old adage? ‘He who represents himself has a fool for a client,’ or something like that. Anyway, I thought I was a mo.”

  “You’ve been downgraded.”

  “You’re too kind. So… can I reschedule our plans for tomorrow night?”

  Arianna fell silent then said, “I don’t know. The deposition could run late, and then I’ll have to catch up on—”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Hey, my brother was looking for something to do, and since I have to cancel our dinner plans…”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Come on! He’s harmless. I’ll call him and let him know. What time should I say you’ll pick him up?”

  “When hell freezes over,” Aaron muttered.

  “What’s that?”

  “Six. I get off at six. I’ll swing by after that.”

  Aaron wasn’t happy with dinner: greasy Chinese food loaded with MSG. He was fairly certain he would shit his pants later. The food was bad, but the conversation quickly turned worse.

  “So, did you get the ring yet?” Seth asked five minutes into the meal.

  This guy’s a broken record. “I’m working on it,” Aaron replied, flashing a cubic-zirconium smile.

  “Whoa, check out the dumpster on that waitress. Nice.”

  “Seth, I’m dating your sister.”

  “What, so you can’t look? Please. Do you think she don’t look?” Seth asked in his Rhode Island accent, some bastard child of New York and Boston. Everything about Seth screamed “thug.” He’d been born and raised in upscale Bristol but lived like a redneck in Deltona, all the while remaining a full-blooded Portuguese gangster. To top it all off, he was a Yankees fan. No doubt his biggest fault.

  “I’d rather not think about Arianna checking out other guys. Whether she does or doesn’t, I don’t need to know about it.” And if she’s doing more than that, I’ll—

  “No reason to get your panties in a bunch. Geesh.”

  Seth finally shut up for a few minutes while he gorged on his pupu platter for two. The way he threw crab rangoons and chicken strips down his throat reminded Aaron of Shamu’s feeding time at Sea World. When Seth licked the last drop of duck sauce from his greasy fingers, he let out an enormous belch. “So I hear you’re going down to Florida in a few weeks.”

  Arianna, Aaron silently cursed. Why did she have to tell him about that? Now he’s going to want to meet up with me down there.

  As if he could hear Aaron’s thoughts, Seth said, “I won’t be able to show you around, though. I’ll still be up here. Where are you heading?”

  “The CEO of Taser is having a demonstration for the company’s new products. There’ll be a shitload of vendors, all geared toward police, military, and guys who like hunting with assault rifles. It’s at the Orange County Convention Center in Orlando.”

  “That’s on I-Drive. You’ll be in the heart of the tourist area, close to Universal Studios and Sea World.”

  “Ha! Shamu,” Aaron blurted.

  “It’s near Disney, too,” Seth continued, “like ten miles out. You’ll have plenty to do. Why are they sending you?”

  “It kind of fell on me. The precinct offered one free ticket. Most of my co-workers have wives or families and didn’t want to go to Disneyworld without them. The department could have at least splurged for a second ticket. Cheap bastards. So I was semi-asked, semi-volunteered to go. That makes me the sole representative of Fall River’s finest. Oh well, at least it’s a free vacation at the taxpayers’ expense.”

  “I’m surprised Arianna isn’t going with you. I’m sure she’d pay her own way.”

  “I asked her, but she has a trial scheduled the following week and will need the time to prepare. I doubt Taser will reschedule the entire convention for us.”

  “I’ll bet she’s jealous.”

  “Probably.”

  “Don’t let that stop you from having a good time. Orlando’s great.”

  “Trust me. It will be nice to get away, especially at this time of year. I’m sure I’ll spend those days basking in the sun, relaxing, and having the time of my life.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Craig couldn’t decide which video game to buy, the latest Halo or the best-selling Resident Evil—one of the tougher life decisions he’d faced. A moment of perfect clarity came over him, and he smiled. I’ll buy both.

  He grabbed the games, satisfied with a decision forty minutes in the making. Best Buy was the nectar of the gods to Craig, a gamer geek and proud of it.

  Now, what movies do I want to pick up? As Craig headed straight to the action video section, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Carter Wainwright. He ducked his head and started to turn around, but he was too late.

  “Hi, Craig. How are you?”

  With an inward sigh, Craig looked across the aisle. “Hey, Carter.”

  Beside Carter stood his faithful steed, Douglas Fournier.

  “What’s up, Doug?”

  “I’m glad I ran into you,” Carter said. “I’ve been meaning to apologize for the other night.”

  “It’s no biggie,” Craig replied, not meaning it. He faced the shelves and ran his hand across the DVDs. Just stay away from me. You guys are freaks. Can’t you just pretend to believe in God like most people?

  “Well, I feel bad about it. I definitely overreacted. We take our faith seriously.” Carter’s reassuring smile and sickening politeness screamed, I’m going to kill you with kindness.

  Craig couldn’t stay mad long. In fact, he was already starting to feel guilty for being upset in the first place. “Like I said, no biggie. I’m over it.”

  Carter frowned. His jaw tightened as he shot a glance at Doug.

  What did I do now?


  Whatever Carter was feeling, it passed in an instant. His composure returned. “Well, let me make it up to you. Ricardo says you like all forms of martial arts. I’m putting together a mixed martial arts class this Saturday afternoon. Some of the guys from the other night will be there, along with some new faces. If you’d like to come, the lesson would be free. I’ll even give you the whole first month free. Sound fair?”

  “That’s more than fair, but I’ll have to think about it.” Craig was willing to forget the other night, but he still wasn’t keen on buddying up with a group of Bible thumpers. Still, most of his hometown friends had moved or married. Just Aaron and Ricardo were left, and all they ever wanted to do was eat.

  “Well, I’ll give you my number, just in case you do want to come by.”

  Craig pulled out his cell phone. Carter rattled off his number, and Craig typed it into his contacts list.

  “The class won’t be in Somerset,” Carter said. “It’ll be at my house in Rehoboth. I have my own dojo.”

  “You should come,” Doug added. “It’ll be fun. If you want, call Rick and let him know you’re coming, and I’ll pick you both up.”

  “Well, I may have to leave early, so if I go, I’ll take my own car.” You must be crazy if you think I’d put myself at your mercy for a ride out of there.

  Doug smiled. “Suit yourself. Just let Rick know.”

  “All right, see you guys later.” As Craig walked to the register, he could feel their stares on his back. Wholesome or not, they still creep me out. I think I’ll pass on their little weekend retreat. Anyway, I still have a few days to find better plans.

  Wearing nothing but his boxers, Craig stood in his kitchen, waiting patiently for his microwave to ding. As he watched the Tupperware bowl spin, the contents sure to remain frozen in the middle no matter how long he cooked it, he thought about the van he’d spotted in his rearview on the way home from Best Buy three days ago, again yesterday down the road from his house, and just that morning when he’d gone out for coffee. He was still trying to convince himself that it hadn’t been the same van every time when his phone rang.