Chapter Two
Lauren
The police station is surrounded by yellow tape and the bomb squad is gathering evidence in order to investigate every detail about this bomb, but I know it won’t lead to the killer, so it’s not much use to me. This killer doesn’t leave clues behind and a bomb is a decent way to get rid of any evidence.
I stand beside the police station, staring at the rubble, unable to walk closer or stop imagining the bomb going off. Even though the bomb squad has reassured me that there’s not another bomb here, I can’t picture this place as safe. We didn’t even have proper measures to find whoever left the bomb—we have video cameras everywhere, but the footage only saved to the video camera that was recording it, and the bomb destroyed the cameras in the holding cells.
One of the patrol officers rushes up to me, his dark brown hair slicked back with sweat.
“Detective Williams, I found something. Since you’re part of the Commandment Killer investigation, I thought you should see it first,” he says. He opens his palm to show two pairs of nails that are melded together. “When I saw the first one, I thought it was shaped like an X and they happened to melt together like that from the explosion, but then I found the second one that looked exactly the same. That’s when I realized in both of them, one of the nails was notably shorter than the other. That’s when it hit me…they’re not X’s. They’re crosses…like, you know, Biblical crosses.”
I take one out of his hand and hold it up. There’s no possible way that they both happened to melt that way.
“Was this inside the bomb?” I ask.
He shrugs. “No idea.”
“They look a bit bent. It could have happened because they were part of the bomb, but it also could have happened after the explosion by the cement crushing them,” I say. “Did you find it under anything?”
“One of them was under the cement, but the other one wasn’t,” he says. “If I was going to make a guess, I’d say they were planted nearby, but we can’t be sure. Would it really matter where they came from?”
“It might have a different message to the killer.” I take the two nail crosses from him. “But you’re right. In the end, it doesn’t matter and it won’t lead us to our killer. Thank you, officer.”
He nods and walks back to the building. I flip the nail crosses in my hand. The killer had to be skilled with a blowtorch or soldering gun, but it’s not like those tools are that hard to get.
“Are you Detective Williams?” a deep voice asks.
I turn to see a man who has to be more than six feet tall with hair that’s the color of honey and an eye color that reminds me of clovers. He’s handsome—especially in his black t-shirt and jeans—but not in a model or pretty boy way. He’s more like one of those men from the firefighter calendars without the overuse of oil and highlighted muscles.
I can’t believe I’m obsessing over some strange man’s body.
“I am,” I say. “But this area is being investigated, so you can’t be here.”
He laughs. “Uh, yeah, actually I can be. Captain Mattinson left—as he already told you—so I was called in to replace him. I’m Captain Sean Hotchens.”
“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” I say, wincing. “I just…you were dressed like a civilian, so I assumed that you were one. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to talk down to you or anything.”
He laughs again. It’s a nice laugh. “It’s all right, Detective. I’m glad that somebody is holding the fort down. Though I’m a bit surprised you’re here. I heard you were injured during the blast.”
“I was, but it was nothing big,” I say. “The explosion just knocked me off my feet and I hit my head. But, this is my case—or at least, I was assuming this was done by the Commandment Killer and now it seems from new evidence that this was done by him—so I wanted to be here.”
“Well, that’s either commendable or amazingly risky for you to throw yourself into work after an explosion,” he says. “What about your partner? Detective Rodriguez?”
“Wow,” I say. “Did you memorize everyone on the police force already?”
“If it’s like you suspected, we have three serial murderers involved in killing people within this city,” he says. “I’m not taking it lightly. I don’t take the murder of innocent people lightly ever, but these kinds of killers—the ones who kill for religious or political motives—could easily cause copycats, so I want them captured sooner rather than later and we can make an example of them.”
“I don’t think these kinds of sociopaths are afraid to die. We don’t even have the death penalty, so I’m not sure how we’re going to make an example of them.”
He turns to me. “Are you questioning me?”
I flush. “Oh, no, sir, no, I’m not questioning you, I was just…saying whatever popped into my head. I didn’t mean to question your authority or make you feel like I didn’t respect you.”
He chuckles. “Calm down, Detective. I actually like it when people question authority. It ensures that there’s less corruption because people are willing to speak up and ask if what they’re doing is right. It also helps people to think outside of the box. And you’re right, of course, but it doesn’t change the fact that we need to catch these killers. We need to stop future murders and prove to this city that we can protect its citizens.”
“I agree,” I say. “But we don’t have any leads. Mary Fitzgerald and Christopher Lush barely had a passing acquaintanceship. We’re looking for a bent piece of hay in a haystack. I don’t know how we’re going to find this third man and each time we’ve looked for these killers, more people have been crucified.”
“Well, maybe the two of us can come up with a new plan. I’m a fresh set of eyes and ears on this case and maybe together we can see something you didn’t see before.” He pauses. “What do you think about dinner? There’s this Thai place with amazing curry. I think you’d enjoy it.”
“Oh, um…dinner?” I ask. “Are you asking me on a date?”
“It’s only a date if it has romantic undertones, so I suppose we’d find out while we’re eating,” he says.
I blush. He’s certainly attractive, but he’s also my boss…and I just broke up Tobias.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “Maybe, once we figure out where we’re working, we can talk there.”
“Would we at least be able to order in food?” he asks. “I work best when I’m eating.”
“Sure,” I say, barely able to contain a smile. “That sounds good.”
“Great,” he says. “I’m working on finding us a new place. I believe the murder unit will be working in a conference center in the Langston Library. I just wanted to stop by and actually see what happened, but I’m so glad I got to meet you, Detective Williams. I’ve heard so much about you since the PVP Killer case and arresting Mary Fitzgerald. I hope we can do great things together.”
“I hope so too,” I say.
He smiles, flashing perfectly white, straight teeth, before walking away. I watch him. He’s physically attractive and attentive, which I feel like I need right now, but maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I’m just lost about my feelings for Tobias and my mind is trying to distract me.
And maybe I need a distraction.
* * *
The scream pierces through my dreams. My eyes snap open. I gaze at the ceiling as the night is silent for a second before another scream erupts. It triggers my instincts and I roll over to open my nightstand and pull out my .45 Smith & Wesson. The screaming stops, which can’t be a good sign.
I try to remember which direction the sound was coming from. It was loud, but it still sounded slightly suppressed. The apartment walls are so thin that I know it doesn’t affect the sound quality between the apartments by much, so the screaming must have come from outside. I leave my room and walk out to my living room, where there’s a window that shows the most depressing acre of yellow grass that’s sparsely spread out behind the apartment building. The general public avoids it because there h
ave been rumors that a chemical plant used to be there, and that cancer-causing chemicals still exist in the soil. I doubt the rumors are true, but even I won’t go near it.
When I glance out, the first thing I see is a scarecrow. I stare at it, wondering why they would put a scarecrow in a place that I’ve never seen birds land and there aren’t any plants growing, and then I realize that it’s a real body out there. It’s not a scarecrow. He’s on a cross.
I rush downstairs so quickly that I fall down the last three steps. I sprint out of the building, my knee pulsing with pain, and around toward the back. I nearly run straight into a woman standing around the corner.
“Oh, dammit, sorry,” I blurt, helping her stand back up. She’s short—probably slightly below five feet tall—with her short blond hair styled with gel to make it look like she just rolled out of bed. I’ve passed by her in the apartment building a few times. “Uh, Kelly, right?”
“Yeah. You’re…you work for the police, don’t you?” she asks.
“Yes, I’m a homicide detective for the Detroit Police.”
She points toward the man on the cross. “I…I just got home and I wanted to smoke outside, but some creepy guys always smoke in the front. I came back here…and I saw him. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I just…it looks so gruesome. I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”
“I’ll deal with it,” I say. “I have to go check the body. We don’t want to find out later that he was still alive and we didn’t save him because we never checked. Just stay here.”
“What if the police think it’s me?” she asks.
“Just tell them the truth,” I say. “They can check where you were.”
Honestly, I’m certain she’s not involved because she’s simply not strong enough to do any of this. Mary was a relatively small woman, but I think she had more muscle than people thought from spending so much time being active on stage, and she could have had help from one of the two men in these killers’ so-called Holy Trinity.
I check the body. He’s dead and his body is cold. It’s a brisk night, so I’m not sure what that means for his time of death. This murder seems to be a bit rushed—he has the nails in his hands, sides, and feet, but I don’t see any lash marks from a whip on his back or any special notes like the two murders committed by Christopher Lush. There is a handkerchief in his mouth, which might mean that he was still alive when he was put here, or he was crucified somewhere that he could be heard by people nearby. I pull out my phone and call the first number that pops into my mind.
“Lauren,” Tobias mumbles. “It’s nearly three in the morning. What’s wrong?”
“There’s a crucified body behind my apartment building.”
“What?” he asks, his voice clear as a bell now. “Are you inside?”
“No. I’m standing right in front of the body.”
“Get inside. Lock yourself in your apartment,” he says. I can hear him whipping his pants out. “I’ll call everybody. This must be another one of this killer’s threats. You need to be safe.”
“I’m okay, Tobias. I think the killer’s long gone.”
“Just because you think that he’s gone doesn’t mean that he is gone. This guy is unpredictable,” he says. “Just please get inside. I’m pulling on my shoes now. I’ll be there in ten minutes at most. You can come back out when everyone gets there.”
He hangs up. I should be insulted by his orders, but I know it’s in his protective nature. I look back up at the crucified man.
He has dark hair and a similar physique to Tobias—muscular, but more like a soccer player’s body than a football player’s body. The last two killers were violent and insane, but this one is different. I have a feeling this is the same guy who left human flesh in Tobias’ apartment. This one wants us to know he’s willing to go into our territory and make his point there. He believes God is behind him, but I can only imagine Satan was this fearless of retribution.
Chapter Three
Tobias
By the time our medical examiner and our forensic technicians are outside, the sky has lightened to a pale gray. Since three of our forensic technicians were killed by Christopher Lush, we had to call in some favors from other towns and cities, so our forensic team seems pretty unhappy to be here this early.
Lauren bounces on the balls of her feet as she walks up beside me near the body.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear sweatpants to a crime scene,” she says.
I glance down. “Well, I was in a rush to get here,” I say. “You know how I just wear my boxers to sleep. I’m also not wearing anything under this jacket.”
“You could have taken the time to change,” she says. She’s wearing jeans and a windbreaker. She looks beautiful, but tired. I turn away from her, focusing on the crucified body in front of me. He’s probably in his mid-thirties, and muscular enough that he should have at least been able to take on any attacker. He must’ve been knocked out, or drugged, although our medical examiner didn’t find drugs in any of the other victims’ blood work.
“You’re going to need to stay somewhere else now,” I say. “You’re always welcome to stay with me, but I know you don’t want to be around me in our personal lives. I’m sure we can pay to have you stay at a hotel and have some patrol officers keep watch of you.”
“What about you?” she asks. “I think this is the same guy who nailed flesh to your walls and bombed the police station, so clearly he isn’t happy that we haven’t stopped investigating these cases.”
“Yeah, I thought of that while I was driving over,” I say. “But I’ll be fine. He may have bombed the station, but it wasn’t in a place that would get mass casualties. He could have killed me as I walked into my apartment if he managed to get inside it and he probably could have killed you too while he was here last night. But he hasn’t. I can only assume that the reason he hasn’t killed us is because it goes against his religious code. So…I’m not really concerned about me, but I think we should take precautions with you. Remember how the PVP Killer was obsessed with you?”
“I remember,” she says. “And I really didn’t need to be reminded.”
“Well, if you ever do want to be reminded, I think the little gifts he sent you are still locked in evidence,” I say. “It’s always good to take a walk down memory lane.”
“Or not.”
I look over my shoulder at the blonde who had first seen the body.
“Did you notice anything weird?” I ask Lauren. “Before you went to sleep or after you got down here?”
“No,” she says. “Everything seemed perfectly normal.”
“Does anybody ever hang around back here? Any homeless people or teenagers?”
“No,” she says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone on this grass. I haven’t even seen any stray animals here. They say this area has chemicals in the ground that can cause cancer, so people avoid it.”
I look down at the sickly yellow grass. “I wish I had known that earlier.”
“You’ll be fine,” she says. “Even if it were true, I think you need long term exposure for it to affect you.”
“You think that? You’re not sure?”
“Tobias, there’s only one dead man on this grass. I think we need to focus on him.”
“He’s already dead,” I say. “He has nothing to worry about. Let’s just get you off this grass.”
I put my hand on her elbow and guide her closer to her building. The building has dumpsters behind it, so the smell is atrocious, but at least there aren’t cancer-causing chemicals or a crucified body.
“We’re going to have to question everybody in the building to see if they saw anything from their apartment,” I say. “Do you think they’ll be cooperative?”
“If by cooperative, you mean that they’ll avoid the building as soon as they learn the police are questioning people or that they’ll hide the marijuana in their apartments, yeah, they’ll be extremely cooperative,” she says. Someth
ing catches her eye as she looks past me. I turn around.
There’s a surveillance camera on the house beside the apartment building.
It’s not pointing toward the yard—at most it catches part of the asphalt between the grass and the dumpsters—but if the killer dragged the body here, it could give us the face of The Son.
“Do you know who lives there?” I ask.
“No,” she says, walking toward the house. I follow her. “But I’m going to get to know them right now.”
*****
After getting the surveillance footage from a surly old lady with two Dobermans that sent me running up to the roof of my car to avoid them, Lauren and I return to the library.
If somebody walked into the library’s first conference room (designated the Maple Room for the maple tree painted on the front), they would see nine people from the police force gathered around a small TV with a surveillance camera wired to it. It’s essentially the most unprofessionally tense atmosphere I’ve felt in a long time.
Lauren fast-forwards through the video. The only person who shows up in the footage is her neighbor, Kelly, and then her.
“He doesn’t show up,” she murmurs, running her hands through her hair. “Damn. I was sure this was our break.”
“The neighbor said that the camera had sound, so maybe it caught something,” I say.
“Yeah. Screaming from Kelly,” she mutters, but she reminds the video to one in the morning, turns up the volume and lets it play.
“Are we seriously going to listen to this until we hear something?” Jack Hamlin asks.
“You guys don’t have to be here,” I say.
“Where else are we supposed to go?” he asks. “In case you don’t remember, our police department was blown up.”
“Only part of it,” I say. “Stop whining. Go find a book or something.”
Vengeance of the Son (A Trinity of Death Romantic Suspense Series Book 3) Page 2