Vengeance of the Son (A Trinity of Death Romantic Suspense Series Book 3)

by Raine, Charlotte

  “So…how long have you lived in Detroit?” he asks me.

  “Technically, I don’t,” I say. “I live about a half hour away. In Livingston.”

  “Ah,” he says. “Not a fan of the city?”

  “It’s difficult to navigate in crowds when you can’t see,” I say. It isn’t exactly a lie—it is difficult to navigate in crowds for people who can’t see.

  I shove both of my hands in my pockets. I’m dying to ask him about their investigation into Mary’s disappearance and Gavin Lively’s crucifixion, but I can’t show an interest without showing my hand. I have to let him divulge the details without any prompting.

  We talk about my job and my blindness for a minute, though it doesn’t seem like his interest is genuine. He only wants to make nice with his girlfriend’s half-brother. There’s nothing wrong with that—it’s part of being in society—but it’s boring. I wish I could be with Mary. I could even tolerate Christopher right now. Whenever I talk to anyone else, it feels like we’re in a play and we’re both just reciting lines. There’s no passion, there’s no surprises, and God’s presence only lingers at the edges of my words. I want Him penetrating through every word I say and every action I take, but that only happens during a crucifixion.

  “It’s a gift from God,” I say about being blind and still being able to carve, cut, and shape wood. The blindness is a lie, but it’s all for a greater good.

  “Ah, so you’re Christian too,” he says.

  I feel my eyebrows shoot up. “And you’re not?”

  “No,” he says. “Is that your personal question?”

  I force a laugh. I had told him I would answer his question if I could ask him a personal one. I’m not actually interested in his life at all, but this might make it possible for me to build a relationship of trust with him and see how his investigations are going.

  “No,” I say. “I was wondering about you and Lauren. I heard some tension in your voices and I was wondering if the two of you are having issues.”

  He frowns. “Uh, yeah. I think we’re just tense because there may be a serial killer out there.”

  Well, that was easier to get to this topic than I thought it would be.

  “I don’t remember hearing anything about a serial killer on the news,” I say.

  “We’re not sure yet because we can’t be sure if he’s truly connected to one of the murders,” he says “I don’t want to alarm you.”

  “I think you’re a little late for that.”

  He looks down at his hands.

  “So…why didn’t the hospital call Lauren if you live farther away?” he asks.

  Damn. He’s already changing the subject. I shouldn’t have made that comment. We talk about my grandma and Lauren, but I can’t help myself. Even if this guy is a bit of a prick, if he’s a nonbeliever, his life could be in trouble. I can’t break from my Ten Commandment plan or crucify a Detroit detective, but I can’t witness a wandering sheep in front of me without trying to bring it back to its Shepherd.

  “I’m sorry if this is too personal again,” I say. “But doesn’t your lack of religion cause an issue with Lauren’s Christianity?”

  “Apparently, it is,” he mutters.

  “Why don’t you believe in God?”

  “Because it doesn’t make sense,” he says. “An all-powerful, benevolent god would not allow the things to happen that I have seen with my own two eyes. The murder we’re working on right now was clearly done by a religious nut—how can you tell me that there’s any Holy Spirit in him?”

  Because God gave man free will and man has abused that privilege. Because I know where these people are heading and a day or two of pain is significantly less than an eternity in Hell. Because God chose me—literally giving me new sight—and I must fulfill His wishes. I have to do it because he’s my Creator, but I also want to do it because I love Him so completely.

  I smile, knowing I can’t be caught defending the crucifixions. “It’s a good point, though not everyone who says God’s name is a true Christian. I don’t think the same as you because I’ve felt God’s Spirit inside of me, but I’m sure God has a plan for you. However, I would like to say that my relationship with God has helped my relationship with everyone else in my life. Thinking about that might help with your issues with Lauren.”

  “I don’t have a relationship with any god, so I don’t see how that would help me,” he says.

  A flare of anger shoots up in my chest, but I keep my face impassive. I tell Him about God’s love, but his disbelief is like a scar on his face—impossible to ignore and permanent. I can imagine him burning in Hell, pain claiming every inch of his body, for all eternity while Lauren is in Heaven, knowing of his anguish. It breaks my heart, but I can’t do anything drastic to save him because as a detective, he’s too high profile. Maybe Lauren will be able to get him to see God’s love. Maybe I’ll be able to save him later.

  I hate dealing with the uncertainty of free will, but I trust God will lead me to save as many people as possible. I can only pray that Tobias is one of them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Son (2 weeks ago)

  “Rock gospel singer Mary Fitzgerald has been arrested for the crucifixion and murder of Gavin Lively and Sarah Lurie. There are rumors that she will also be charged with the murder of Jackson Belamonte, who had been known to protest against her and her religious beliefs, and died from ricin poisoning almost a week ago. The police aren’t releasing much information at this moment, which is understandable when several groups are already protesting Ms. Fitzgerald’s arrest. While many of them are her fans, there are also fanatical religious groups, such as Christ’s Warriors, who are insisting that this was an elaborate scheme to persecute Christians.”

  I stare at the newscast, my sunglasses making the whole bar seem darker. Christopher Lush sits beside me.

  “What does this mean?” he asks, his lips barely moving as we pretend that we don’t know each other. It doesn’t really matter since everyone else is absorbed in their own conversations or too drunk to care about our conversation.

  “I told you that the Devil would be fighting against us,” I say. “I don’t know why you’re so shocked. Did you not believe me?”

  “But you two planned it all so perfectly,” he mumbles. “I just put Erwin in the baseball field. They’ve already found it. If we get caught—”

  “We’ll be smarter now,” I say. “You should start creating alibis and anything else to protect yourself.”

  “You two were close,” he says. “Are you going to go see her?”

  “We were comrades,” I say, “nothing more. I can’t go see her. The police will be monitoring who she associates with since they found Erwin. You didn’t have any explicit communication with her, did you?”

  “None,” he says. “We talked a bit while she volunteered at my work, but anything about God’s plans was said when nobody else was around.”

  I rub my temple. “She was a good Christian, but you’re going to have to do better. She messed up when she talked to the police. You cannot mess up.”

  “I won’t,” he says. “I’m not like her. She hasn’t been alive long enough to handle this responsibility—”

  “Don’t talk down about her,” I hiss.

  The bartender walks over and I force a smile. As soon as he sees our drinks are full and notices the two women with money in their hands on the other side of the bar, he moves right past us.

  I take a sip of my drink. “I know you’re nothing like her, but that doesn’t make you stronger. You’re cockier and you take pleasure in other people’s pain. Mary trusted you, but I sense something a little worse inside you. You need to watch yourself because if the Devil keeps a grip on you, I’ll have to deal with you myself.”

  “Is that a threat?” he asks me.

  “No.” I take out my wallet and throw a couple dollars down. “It will be deliverance.”

  I walk away before he can respond, my cane sweeping through the
crowd to keep up pretext. I may not trust Lush, but God led me to Him, so I’ll have to protect him. It may be time to send a message to the police and hope they heed the warning.

  It’s bitter cold outside and the dim lighting makes it hard to see through my sunglasses. If Mary and I could have been together, her arm around mine would have been enough to keep me warm.

  Forgive me, Lord for lying to Lush. I let my heart get away from me with Mary, but I won’t let that happen again. It belongs to You and only You.

  I continue walking down the street. No matter how hard I try to suppress it, I still know that Tobias and Lauren took Mary away from me and away from her obligations to God. Wrath is one of the most sinful emotions, dangerous and reckless, but no matter how much I try to ignore it, it burns like a flame in my chest, consuming my heart with its need for destruction.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Son (now)

  I rotate the top of my cane against my palm. I made this cane five years ago when I turned twenty-one. It was a gift to myself instead of going out drinking like all of the other legal adults. It was the first time I got into woodwork, and my most satisfying piece besides helping to renovate Original Mercy Church. I’m very fond of it even though I don’t need it anymore. The top half of it is smooth from my nervous habit of running it through my hands. It’s covered with my cells, the oil from my skin, and my fingerprints—it’s truly an extension of me. I imagine Moses had a similar relationship with his staff, but my cane doesn’t part seas—it simply helps to keep me upright and reminds me of the time before God gave me the gift of sight.

  Captain Sean Hotchens steps out of the post office, two envelopes held between the index and middle finger on his right hand. His palms are wrapped with bandages, but his fingers can move slightly. It would be easier for me to choose a new victim, but God planted this one right in front of me when Tobias mentioned that Hotchens was trying to take Lauren away from him. Hotchens is covetous and I haven’t seen any signs of regret over it, so I’ll have to bring him closer to God. Much closer.

  I set my cane down on the bench I’ve been sitting on and I run up to him. He instinctively jerks back, but I grab both of his arms.

  “Are you Hotchens?” I ask, panic causing my voice to be more high-pitched. “Captain Sean Hotchens?”

  “Y-yes,” he says. “Is something wrong? Did you need something?”

  “My friend, Lauren Williams, she told me that she found out something about that religious serial killer,” I tell him. “She said he’s managed to track what the policemen are saying to each other through their cell phones and the intercom system…b-but, the only reason I know this is because she was rushing to tell me everything…I think somebody was holding her hostage. She told me to find you. You have to help her.”

  “I-I need back-up,” he says, raising his bandaged hands.

  “He’ll hear you coming,” I say. “You can’t get back-up. Just…just come with me. I know where she is. I don’t think she has much time left. Do you have a car? I don’t have one.”

  He nods, leading me to silver Buick—I’ll never get over the shine of cars. He unlocks it, jumping into the driver’s seat. I get into the passenger side. He shifts the car into drive.

  “All right, we need to go south first,” I say. “He’s keeping her at a storage facility.”

  “How did she sound?” he asks, passing by a couple of cars. “Was she really scared or did it sound like she had some control over the situation?”

  “She was really scared,” I say. “It sounded like she didn’t expect to be found alive.”

  I lead him to an old storage facility. I know their store office is closed for lunch, so unless somebody else is accessing their storage unit, it should be empty.

  After we park, Hotchens opens up his glove box and pulls out a handgun. His teeth clench in pain from his palm wounds, but he jumps out and heads toward the storage units.

  “Do you know which one she’s near or in?” he calls back to me.

  I rush to keep up with him. “No idea.”

  I wonder what his plan was if she had been locked in one of the units. Did he think he could shoot off the lock?

  I call out to him as he steps around the corner of a storage building. “Hotchens.”

  As he turns around, I grab the barrel of his gun, easily twisting it out of his hands. I flip it, pointing it straight at his head as he takes a step forward.

  “You’re the Commandment Killer,” he says.

  “In the flesh,” I say.

  “There’s nothing wrong with our phones or the intercom system,” he says. “And Lauren isn’t here. Right?”

  “You got it,” I smirk.

  “Well, you know what the Bible says…the truth will set you free,” he says. “So, set me free.”

  I continue to smile. “Do you believe in God, Hotchens?”

  I see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He’s not sure whether he should lie or not, which tells me that he’s not a believer.

  “Yes,” he says. I smile even bigger, the strain hurting my face.

  “Well, you don’t now,” I say. “But you will.”

  I slam the gun against his temple. He crumples to the ground and remains still.

  Be still, and know that I am God. Psalm 46:10.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tobias

  As soon as I step in the library, I see two FBI agents with their oversized dark blue jackets, the large letters proclaiming their agency on the front, their arms, and the back of them. It makes me think that they must forget what organization they work for, so they have to print it all over their clothes.

  “You must be Tobias Rodriguez.” One of the male agents with dirty blond hair walks up to me, his hand thrust out.

  I shake it. “I would think that the FBI would know every single thing about me by now,” I say. “Especially considering I thought you guys would have been down here back when Mary Fitzgerald was committing serial murders.”

  “Well, we had our own ways of getting the evidence without coming down,” he says. “Your former Captain Mattinson shared updates with us throughout your investigation. And by the time we were ready to collaborate, you had already arrested her.”

  “What about Christopher Lush?” I ask. “Were you just gathering evidence the whole time then, too?”

  “We were doing a parallel investigation,” he says. “Like you guys had thought, our suspicions were with Patrick White, too. We’re glad you caught the real killer.”

  “Really?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest. “You suspected Patrick White before we did? Because most of the evidence we found, we had found out right before he killed himself. One of the pieces of evidence was the pin on his jacket. How exactly did your team find that out?”

  “Are you accusing us of something?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’m accusing you of sitting on your asses and now swooping in like you’ve been working with us the whole time. My team has been doing all of the work. We apprehended two killers—”

  “Technically, one of them you shot. You can’t say you apprehended Christopher Lush.”

  “We eliminated them as threats,” I say, gritting my teeth. “We did that. Not you. But now you’re here, hoping to take credit by dragging us the last few feet to the finish line.”

  “No, we’re here to help you catch this trio of serial killers that has existed much longer than they ever should have been allowed to—”

  “Allowed to?” I spit out. “I’m sorry, do you think we control what killers are allowed to be in Detroit and which aren’t?”

  “You know, Detective Rodriguez, while following you and Detective Williams’s progress on this case, there was talk in the FBI that we should recruit you two. I’m thinking now that you don’t have the people skills to be part of our agency.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be part of the FBI,” I say. “I’m happy being here. I wouldn’t want to spend my time sitting on my ass, waiting for a ca
se to be worthy of my attention. I’d rather be on the streets, protecting the people of Detroit.”

  “Nice speech,” he says. “Do you even care what my name is or the name of anyone else that is here?”

  “Does that help me catch this killer?”

  “No, not really, but—”

  “Then, I don’t care,” I say. “The only name I want to know is our killer’s name. Do you have that?”

  “No,” he says. “But we’ve been tracking a few religious fanatics in the city. And considering the fact that we don’t know when the bomb was planted and that Lucas Romaine was killed during the middle of the night, which means most people have an alibi of being at home, alone or with family members who would lie for them anyway, we don’t have much to go on.”

  “So, you come into the place where my people are investigating while bringing nothing to the table?” I ask.

  He frowns. “Detective Rodriguez, we need to work together. This whole rivalry between the police and the FBI is childish.”

  “You only think it’s childish because you’re the ones who always try to take credit for our successes,” I say. “You try to say that you’re the ones who caught the killers when you never talked to the loved ones of the victims.”

  He pinches his lips together. “Could we talk to your Captain?”

  “My Captain was brutally attacked by this serial killer,” I say. “I don’t think he needs to be tortured further by talking to the FBI.”

  “Yes, he was attacked by the Commandment Killer, which makes him the only survivor who has seen this man,” he says. “Do you know where he is? We’ve called his house and his cell phone, but he’s not picking up.”

  “You can’t get ahold of him?” I ask. “How long have you been trying?”