by David Dean
“I know you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, Jeff,” Nick answered.
Gilhooly turned and fled the office, bag in hand.
As the door closed behind him, Nick turned back to Calabria. The prosecutor studied him through smeared glasses. “Assuming you’re right about your second-in-command, how do you square what he’s had to say about you and the Howards? Is it true you’re seeing the daughter of a suspect in the case?”
Nick felt himself flushing. “It’s true,” he admitted.
Folding his hands together, Calabria continued, “That’s troubling, Nick. Please tell me it started before her father became a person of interest.”
“Not exactly, Pros.”
Nick’s answer hung in the air between them for several long moments.
“But this…” the prosecutor consulted a pad on his desk “… this Preston Howard is currently in custody?”
Nick nodded once more.
“Thank God for that much.”
Pulling himself up a little taller in the soft leather of the chair, Nick stated, “I’ve never let my personal life interfere with an investigation.” It sounded weak even to him.
“Until now,” the older man reminded him. “What do you have on him?”
“He was picked up yesterday morning in the Baptist Cemetery… he had blood on his shirtfront. I had samples rushed to the state lab in Ewing.”
“Good,” Calabria murmured. “That’s something, at least.”
“He also admitted being in the vicinity at the time of Megan Guthrie’s disappearance.”
“Better and better…”
“Of course, if the blood matches the DNA of any of the kids’ parents, then I’ll believe that he’s our man.”
“You mean you don’t right now?”
Nick looked Calabria in the eye. “I mean I’ve still got an open mind about it.” He paused before continuing, “There’s something else I should mention.”
“Go ahead, Chief… let’s hear it.”
“He’s talked about a boy…”
“Do you mean the Case boy, or the Lacey kid?”
Nick shook his head, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it into a cock’s comb. “No, not the victims, Pros, but a kid that he claims has something to do with their going missing. He calls him Gabriel…” Nick clarified, his face grown warmer yet, “…but the truth is, I don’t know who this kid is, or even if he really exists.”
“A phantom boy…” Calabria repeated quietly.
Nick glanced away again. “I don’t know about phantom.”
His superior in the criminal justice hierarchy studied him. “How about Preston’s daughter, Nick?” he asked, letting the question hang between them.
“She allowed me to search her father’s room without him knowing. There was nothing incriminating there and if he is involved, I promise you she hasn’t got a clue about it.”
The other man sat back into his chair, folding his hands across his paunch. “That’s excellent, Nick, I’m so glad that you can vouch for her… very helpful.” Raising his eyebrows, he asked, “No chance that she signed a ‘consent to search’ form is there?”
Nick shook his head.
“I see,” the prosecutor continued. “No chance you had crime scene technicians respond?”
Remaining mute, Nick awaited the blow.
“Okay,” he nodded affably, “all right then….” He looked up at Nick, his eyes turning to grey flints. “You’ve lost objectivity, Chief, and you stink of whiskey—you can’t begin to believe that you’ve handled this mess professionally.” Taking a breath, he continued, “You’ve left me no choice here, Nick—the Wessex Township Police investigation is now under the direct supervision of my office, and I just hope it’s not too late to salvage something useful from this mess.”
Nick rose to his feet, but before he could speak, Calabria went on, “Don’t even think about fighting me over this, Nick. It would only do you more harm in the end. Go along quietly and we’ll keep all this under wraps. Oppose me and I’ll leak it to the press. Think about what I’m saying.”
Nick managed to ask, “And my particular status?”
“You’re off this investigation… period, but you’ll continue to run your department’s day-to-day operations… understood?”
Head reeling, Nick nodded, turning for the door.
The prosecutor’s voice stopped him. “One last thing, Chief… if it turns out you’re right about Weller, and I suspect you are, I’m gonna put his balls in a vise.”
Nick continued out the door, saying over his shoulder, “That’s something then.”
?
Back in his office, Nick began gathering the pages of the file detailing the department’s efforts to locate the missing children. There were hundreds of them, as well as photographs, and he sifted through them mechanically, his mind the blank of a winter landscape. The pages, the notes, the photos all came to nothing, ultimately meant nothing, and he shuffled them like so many playing cards in preparation for sending them over to the prosecutor’s office. From outside came bursts of excited laughter as children passed beneath his office windows. Nick heard this without pleasure or recognition.
As he scooped the bulging file into a large manila envelope one of the interview discs slipped out, falling onto his desk. It landed with a tiny clatter to rest next to another official-looking envelope. This one bore the return address of the state forensics lab for the South Jersey Region. Nick stared at it. What did the blood results matter to him now? There was nothing further he could—or would be allowed—to do. Yet, the thought of an answer, any answer, to what was happening to his town began to re-awaken him, stir him to life.
Ripping the envelope open he extracted the single page it contained. With sweaty palms he smoothed out the document, no more than a lab form really, the results carefully typed into the appropriate boxes. Holding it up to the light he read the findings as they had been determined by the forensic scientists.
Afterwards, he set the paper down on his desk, lifting his eyes to a colored print of Saint Michael, the patron saint of police officers, which hung on the far wall. Trampling the devil underfoot, the militant angel’s efforts appeared leisurely, accomplished with scant regard for his dangerous opponent, his sword casually withheld from the death blow.
Why, Nick wondered, hadn’t the angel destroyed Satan rather than simply casting him into the underworld where he could plot and strike, again and again? There was no answer to this, just as there was no answer to what he had read.
Picking up the sheet, he read it once more. It was both brief and unequivocal; the lab results on the blood taken from Preston Howard’s shirt determined that it was not human blood. At the bottom of the form, in the appropriate box, was stamped the technician’s name and telephone number. Nick picked up his phone and dialed it.
After being put on hold several times and transferred more than once, the voice of what sounded to Nick like a very young man said, “Yes, Chief? How may I help you?”
Nick was to the point, “In regards to our sample… do you have your findings there?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Is there a problem?”
“Maybe,” Nick replied. “If it’s not human blood, what is it? Can you determine that?”
There was a longer pause than Nick thought necessary, and he barked, “Are you still there?”
“Yes, yes, Chief, I’m here. It’s just that, well, we did try to determine what species it might be… we would routinely do that in such a case as this…”
“Yes,” Nick prompted. “And…?”
“Well, we couldn’t. We couldn’t make a definitive determination other than we believe, with almost complete certainty, that it’s mammalian.” He said this last with some pride, as if this salvaged the lab’s unsatisfactory efforts.
“Almost,” Nick repeated. “That’s it… you’re almost certain it’s from a mammal?”
“Yes… almost.”
“Any idea w
hat kind of mammal?” Nick persisted.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Isn’t a human mammal?”
“It’s not human, I can assure you of that much—we deal with human blood up here every day of the year… trust me on this.”
“I see… no chance of a mistake?”
There was a long pause, “We double-blind results here, Chief—if there’s a mistake it’s not on our end. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”
Nick shook his head before remembering to speak, “No… no thank you. I appreciate your time on this and for rushing us the results.”
The other voice softened as he replied, “You’re welcome, Chief. I just wish we could have given you better news… I’ve read about what’s happening down there. Good luck.” He hung up.
Letting the paper slip from his fingers onto the desktop, Nick rose to stare out the window. In the bright autumnal sunlight, the people of Wessex Township were going about their business with brisk steps, leaves swirling round their feet in the brilliant yellows of elm and plane, the scarlet and wine of maple and oak.
Clutching a section of rope, a file of children was being towed down the sidewalk by their teacher. They were sporting various costumes, some store-bought, others homemade, depicting super-heroes, movie monsters, and even the occasional ghost or witch of traditional All Hallows Eve.
They were probably going to the library, Nick thought, to be read a Halloween story. He thought of going himself, just to catch a glimpse of Fanny, her long, slender neck bent to the task of reading. Picturing her large, dark eyes lively with enthusiasm, her wide, generous mouth open with laughter, he envied the children. Their cries drifted up to him like the language of birds, all trills and excited notes.
He was reminded of the laughter he had only dimly registered earlier—it suddenly dawned on him—it was Halloween.
Turning away, Nick gathered up the bulging file of his failed efforts and carried it down the stairs to the sergeant’s office. After arranging for its transfer to the prosecutor, he headed for the exit. It didn’t matter to him at the moment where he might go, only that he keep moving.
Bursting out of the door, he collided with Father Gregory.
The little man grunted with the impact taking several steps backwards. Nick managed to grab his sleeve, keeping him upright. “I’m so sorry, Father,” he gasped. “I wasn’t looking.”
“There is no worry, my friend, I am unharmed… just my pride perhaps.” Father Gregory’s dark face split into a wide smile, his white teeth gleaming. “Everyone is ‘super-sized’ in your country,” he exclaimed, using a phrase he had learned from American television, “while only my stomach is so!” Laughing, he added, “We are well-met… I was just coming to see you, Chief Catesby.”
“Do you mind if we walk?” Nick asked. The priest nodded and they turned together in the direction of the rectory. “I have news for you, as well,” he told Father Gregory.
“I see… please do go on.”
“I think we’ve gotten to the bottom of the incident in your parking lot, Father. I can’t tell you too much right now, but I suspect we’ll be charging the suspect under the bias incident statute in the very near future. Until then, I don’t think you have to worry about a repeat performance.”
“Excellent,” Father Gregory smiled once more. “Hopefully, this person will have learned his lesson and will renounce his behavior. A sincere apology will suffice for the Monsignor and me,” he assured Nick, adding, “Well, me at least. The Monsignor is very cross about it all and may use his strong language… but in the end, he will forgive as well, have no doubt of that, Chief.”
Nick laughed in spite of himself, saying “Oh, I’ve no doubt, Father… at least about the strong language part.”
Laughing too, Father Gregory glanced up at him from the corner of his eye, “You know him too well.”
As they walked along, one of the school groups passed them going in the opposite direction, their story hour finished. Recognizing the clergyman, several of the children began to wave and call out to him. Nick smiled as he saw the priest return the greetings of goblins and ghosts with a puzzled expression.
When they had passed, he turned to Nick and asked, “This is a strange custom, I am thinking, dressing up little children as demons and monsters. What is the meaning of this?”
Nick thought of how best to explain, saying, “It’s a way of dealing with the coming darkness of winter, I think, about not being afraid of what the darkness—the long night—holds, and learning to laugh at it all. Maybe once, a very long time ago, it meant something else, something less pleasant.”
They had reached the rectory, a simple straight up and down white structure from the 1940s with a tiny front lawn. “Can you spare a moment, Chief Catesby?”
“Nick, please, Father.”
Father Gregory, who had grown solemn since their meeting with the children, nodded, answering, “Yes, thank you, Nick.”
Once inside, the little priest crossed the small room to secure the door to the interior of the house. “The Monsignor is upstairs sleeping, I think—he needs much rest these days.”
Returning, he seated himself and Nick did the same. Leaning forward, the smaller man clasped his hands as if he were about to pray. It occurred to Nick that he was about to hear something very important to the priest.
“In my country, Nick, the darkness also holds many frightful things, though we do not approach them with the same levity as Americans. In my own parish witches have been murdered by their victims after being long tormented, men have been known to become tigers in order to satisfy their blood lusts.” He raised a hand as if to ward off Nick’s objections. “I know… I know what you must be thinking—we are a backward nation… but not so, dear friend. Indeed, we are forward thinking peoples, much interested in modern technology, at the forefront, really.” He smiled with ill-concealed pride.
“Now then,” he resumed, “having established our credentials, I will admit that there is much yet to fear in the night and it is only wise to think so, to be cautious.” Hesitating, he looked up at Nick as if to gauge his reliability before continuing, “Just the other night, in this very town, I was visited by such a creature as roams only in the darkness.”
Nick heard the older man’s words and felt a sense of unreality creep into the room with them as he spoke.
“He was a profane creature, Nick, in the shape and likeness of a young boy. Yet, only in the shadows would he be convincing in this role. Are you familiar with such a spirit, Nick—is he known here?”
Nick regarded the priest open-mouthed. Was it possible that Preston had been telling the truth all along? How could it be? How could such a creature exist all these years and escape detection… and destruction?
He managed to ask, “Did he have a name… this boy?”
Father Gregory shook his head. “He offered none and I did not think to ask. He accosted me in my own church, and I must admit with some shame that I was much afraid, nearly forgetting God.”
“Tell me what happened, Father, exactly.”
Taking a deep breath, Father Gregory recounted his meeting in as much detail as he could recall. When he was finished, he added, “It occurred to me that this creature might have something to do with your missing children.”
“I need to find this boy, Father. It is very, very important.”
Father Gregory raised a long finger to Nick. “This is a child of darkness, my friend. His time here should have ended long ago—he is a throwback to when demons walked abroad in the daylight and he does not belong here any longer.
“As to his current whereabouts,” he shook his head sadly, “I, too, am at a loss. But I promise to give the matter great thought.”
Nick stood, saying, “I’d appreciate any help you could give me, Father,” then hurried out the way he had come. The festive activity in the streets had grown more manic with the lengthening of the day.
?
Nick’s st
eps led him back to the police station, his pace quickening as he drew near. He blew through the lobby without greeting the surprised dispatcher and on into the building. Bounding up the stairs, he hit the speed-dial on his cell phone, and minutes later, Officer Beckam was knocking politely on the door of his office. Nick waved him in, indicating that he should close the door behind him.
Beckam cast a nervous glance at his boss as he did so. “Am I in trouble?”
Nick shook his head and stood up from behind his desk. This young man was the newest rookie in the department, and the least likely to have been contaminated by Weller’s poison, he calculated. He had about him that indefinable quality of an honest man. The bottom line was that Nick needed someone he could trust.
“Beck, I need a volunteer for a special detail. It’s confidential in nature and starts right now. Would you be interested?”
Beckam appeared to weigh his chief’s words, his lips compressing in thought. Glancing up to meet Nick’s gaze with his own mild expression, a slight smile lifted a corner of his mouth. “You’re not going to have to kill me after you tell me what it’s about, are you?”
Nick laughed, “It’s a surveillance detail, Beck, and you’ll be answering to me and to me only, and it begins as quickly as you can change into your civies.”
Beck nodded his understanding, but waited.
“In a few minutes I’m going to release Preston Howard, our only suspect, and you are going to follow and stick with him, unseen, until further notice. Do you think you can do that?”
Again Beckam nodded. “What am I watching for?”
“A boy,” Nick answered.
“The boy he mentioned in our interview?”
“Yes… that boy,” Nick replied evenly. “But there’s more you should know.” Then he proceeded to brief Beckam on everything Preston had told him and his daughter about Gabriel, about Fanny’s research, the blood-typing results, and lastly about Father Gregory’s encounter. When he was done, he waited.