3 Gates of the Dead (The 3 Gates of the Dead Series)

by Ryan, Jonathan

  She smiled. “Nice. Most people in Columbus never make the connection.”

  “I didn’t until just now,” I chuckled. “All those games wasted.”

  The wind gusted, and I shivered. We stood side-by-side, close enough that I could feel the heat of her body. I thought of Amanda.

  “Where did they find her?”

  She hesitated. “I didn’t really bring you here to see that.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Okay, but I still want to see it.”

  She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. “Are you sure?”

  “No. I mean, not really, but I guess I need to see what happened.”

  She nodded as she touched my arm. “I understand. Let’s go around the cross.”

  I started to shake, and my stomach churned. This was it. I would see where Amanda had been murdered. I shoved my hands in my pockets, not wanting Jen to see my trembling weakness. We walked around to the back. I expected to see bloodstains on the ground or the police tape I’d seen on cop shows. Nothing.

  “I don’t see any blood.”

  She pointed. “Look at the cross.”

  I glanced up and clenched my fists. A deep red, almost black, color stained the granite all the way down. Trails of darkened blood snaked down the back of the cross in crisscrossed patterns. My throat tightened. “What the … what did they do to her?”

  Jennifer frowned and fiddled with her scar. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  I wanted to run home and crawl back into bed. But it was too late. I had to know.

  “Yeah, tell me.”

  She pointed upward. “They hung her on the cross dressed in a white ceremonial robe. After that, they slit her throat and let the blood spill down.” She spoke in a clinical voice as if she were reading a scientific study. It unsettled me, but then I remembered what she said about detaching herself so she could do her job.

  “But wouldn’t there have been blood on the ground?”

  “That’s what we could not figure out. Forensics swept this place clean. It’s almost as if…”

  “As if what?”

  “Well, like the blood ran into the opening below the stone arch and disappeared.”

  I stared at the dark spots. It did look like the blood had just disappeared. The stain stopped right at the bottom of the stone. I couldn’t be as clinical as Jennifer. This had been blood that had once been pumped through the heart of a woman. The same heart I heard when I lay my head on her chest. I closed my eyes and turned my face away.

  “Aidan?” Jennifer placed her hand on my shoulder.

  I took a deep breath. “Did she . . . did she have the necklace on?”

  “The Trinity knot one?”

  I nodded slowly. “I gave it to her on her birthday last year.”

  “It’s in her personal affects,” Jennifer said barely above a whisper.

  “I’m sorry, I … it’s … I can’t…” As I stumbled over my words, a sound ripped through the air as if someone had torn a large curtain. “What was that?”

  “We don’t know that either. It happened when I first got on the scene as well. The cop on duty told me it happens more often with each hour. I thought about having a scientific team here from Ohio State.”

  I turned around and looked for a logical explanation. No factories, stores, or any place that would make a ripping sound.

  “What’s going on here?” I asked.

  “There’s more.”

  “It gets weirder?”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  Jennifer led me to the covered pavilion at the back of the cemetery. She pointed down at the concrete floor. A huge black image had been drawn on the gray concrete.

  “Smiley face,” I said. “Just like the ones on the cross, except someone took the trouble to put on eyes this time.”

  “Yeah. Whoever did this knew the history of the cross. It’s not widely known, but then again, they could have done some research. Although, why they would go through the trouble, I have no idea.”

  “Couldn’t this just be normal graffiti?” I argued.

  She frowned. “You don’t get it, Aidan. This is a bit of a rough neighborhood, but this place never gets vandalized.”

  I looked at the houses around the memorial. Most had spray paint or gang symbols on their siding. “Really? Never?”

  “No. It’s actually a bit weird … almost like there’s an unspoken respect for the dead. This place is checked every day by patrols.” She paused. “Plus, it’s not paint. It’s blood. Amanda’s blood.”

  I leaned against the stone column of the pavilion. The world started spinning, and I took a few deep breaths. “So, maybe it’s some serial killer who taunts the police and knows the history of Columbus?”

  Jennifer shrugged. “Maybe. Some new weird angle, I would have guessed. That is until I saw…”

  “Saw what?”

  She waved to the right. “This way.”

  We trudged toward the back of the cemetery, and she took me behind the last row of graves. I fought the urge to cry out as I saw bare footprints all over the ground, lightly crunched into the snow. They had barely broken the surface.

  I stopped walking and bent down to examine them. “I’m guessing this is what you wanted to show me.”

  Jennifer pointed her finger and turned in a circle. “They are all over the cemetery. It was one of the things the first officer on the scene reported. Everyone thought he was crazy until we got here.”

  I traced the inside of a print and felt a cold shiver run up my hand. “So, detective, what made them?”

  “I have no idea. I was actually hoping you could tell me.”

  “Why would I be able to tell you anything about them?” I spread my hands, hoping my face hid the truth.

  She frowned. “I dunno. Just seems right up your alley I guess. My guys in forensics could give me no explanation. There are no traces of skin or anything that you might expect in a barefoot print in the snow.”

  I steadied myself with my hand as my stomach churned. “Come on, there had to be something.”

  “I am telling you, nothing. Don’t you think we checked? There’s been a brutal murder, the worst I have ever seen. This whole area has been covered like a thirteen-year-old boy goes over a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit calendar. There is nothing. It’s as if the footprints…” Jennifer’s face scrunched as she looked around.

  “What?”

  “As if they rose out of the ground.”

  I stood up. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am just telling you the results of the investigation.” She dusted the snow off her pants.

  “That isn’t possible.”

  “You’re a preacher. Don’t you believe in all that supernatural stuff? I mean, I would have brought a priest, but you were more available. That’s why I brought you here. Our whole team is a bit, uh, unnerved.”

  I wanted to tell her I didn’t believe anymore and explain how all this had a natural explanation. The books I’d read the past six months offered no refuge.

  “Well, yes, but there has to be some other explanation for it.”

  “I can tell you, no one on the squad had any. None of my forensic guys or any of the detectives working the case.”

  I brushed the snow off my hand. “Do you think the prints are connected to Amanda’s murder in any way?”

  “No one has any idea. But these only appeared after her death.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Jennifer led me back to the entrance. “By the time of death established by the coroner. One of our patrolmen responded to a noise complaint from the apartment building across the street around midnight. He walked over here to look at the cemetery.”

  “Why did he do that?”

  “Just to be thorough, and of course, to see the Gray Lady.”

  “The what?”

  Jennifer gave a half smile. “Supposedly, there is a lady who haunts this cemetery and puts a flower on one of the soldier’s graves. I guess
the patrolman got curious.”

  “That’s a bit weird.”

  “Not if it was a slow night. You would be amazed at how boring a cop’s life can be sometimes.”

  “I am guessing he saw no footprints.”

  “Good guess, preacher. When Josh went to the patrol car to call in the murder, he came back to guard the scene. The footprints were all over the ground. The patrolman swears they weren’t there when he first saw Amanda’s body.”

  We stared at the prints. They seemed to mock us with their mystery, the way God had always done to me.

  “So, you have no other leads from her, um, body?” I said, looking back at the cross.

  “Other than the note?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. And I can’t tell you how much that disturbs me. There were no footprints, no cloth fibers on the body, no fingerprints, no drag marks…”

  “Drag marks?”

  “Places where they might have dragged her over the snow to the cross. It’s almost as if…”

  “What?”

  “It’s stupid, but it’s almost as if they levitated her up to the cross.” Jennifer stared at the ground.

  I looked at her with my best skeptical expression.

  She frowned and held up her hands. “I know it sounds crazy. But we have no rope burns on her anywhere other than around her neck. We have no idea how they held her against the cross while they hung her. There were no ladder or scuff marks on the archway.”

  “How do you know the rope hadn’t held her there when they killed her?”

  “Because it’s only one piece, used simply to keep her there. There’s no way she just stood there and let them hang her.”

  The image of Amanda hanging from the cross forced its way into my mind. I closed my eyes. “Where did you find the note?”

  “Inside her vaginal cavity.”

  “Amanda was clever ... I’m not surprised.”

  Jennifer paused at the gate. “Do you have any idea what she was trying to tell you?”

  “No, and I have been thinking about it since yesterday. I think I even dreamed about it. I can’t figure out why she didn’t write down his name.”

  “Yeah, that’s got us in a knot as well. You can’t imagine how pissed off Lieutenant Weaver is right now. He always has a good idea about the how, except with this case.”

  “Seems like a good boss.”

  “He is the best the force has really. He might call in the FBI on this one, which I don’t think he has ever done, even when the mayor begs for it.”

  We began to walk back to the car.

  “So, you really have no idea what those footprints might be, like something supernatural?” Jennifer asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “For someone who is supposed to have all the answers to life’s questions, you don’t seem to have many.”

  I grimaced. “I could say the same about you, detective. Besides, the longer I’ve been a minister, the more I realize how little I actually know.”

  She looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Just like a cop.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “So, I have a question to ask you,” Jennifer handed me a hot chocolate and turned to grab hers from the drive-thru attendant. We’d decided to stop for before we went to the storage shed.

  “Wow, a detective asking questions,” I said. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to her. Yesterday, neither one of us probably cared to see the other again. Today, we were chatting like old college buddies. I guess my getting cleared of murder charges had something to do with it.

  “Funny. Anyway, my question is: what does a minister do during the week?” She took a sip of her hot chocolate. “I mean, I always thought they only worked on Sunday and then played golf the rest of the time.”

  “Well, the older ones do. Guys my age troll the Internet.”

  Jennifer rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, Aidan.”

  I smiled. “Well, it depends on the position, I guess. Take mine for instance. As assistant pastor, I see to all the church details, small groups, visit people in the hospital, and counsel troubled people.”

  “Do you like it?”

  I stared ahead as I considered the question. “Most of the time. There are times I get bored, but I love helping people. I hate the administrative part though.”

  “Yeah, I can relate. Before this case, I was stuck doing a departmental study on revamping investigative procedures.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “About as fun as running the bulletins, I guess.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I don’t do that. Our secretary does. I think copy machines are from Satan.”

  We drove for a little while in silence, taking in the sights along Interstate 71. The Crew soccer stadium loomed in front of us.

  “Do you ever go to the Crew games?” Jennifer asked.

  “Season tickets,” I said. “Bought them my first summer in Columbus. How about you?”

  “As all natives in Columbus, I’m getting around to it.”

  “Maybe I’ll take you some time.” I immediately wished real life conversations were like chatting on a computer, where you could think about what you’re going to say and erase it if it didn’t sound right.

  I glanced at Jennifer who had a little smile on her face. “I’ll buy the brats and beer,” she said. “Or wait, for you, a Coke.”

  “Why can’t I have a beer?”

  “Oh! I thought preachers didn’t drink.”

  “This one does. Our church is cool with that. One of the few things they are cool with, actually.”

  I checked our progress on my iPhone as Jennifer continued to drive.

  “So, are you a Mac disciple?” She laughed.

  “Yeah, I light incense to Steve Jobs every night,” I said as I followed the glowing blue dot on Google Maps.

  “Mac people are nerds.”

  I gave her a mock bow with the upper half of my body. “That would be me. Get off on Morse Road.”

  I directed her through a few turns until we arrived at the storage shed.

  “Which row is it again?” Jennifer asked.

  “Row seventeen, number twenty-three.”

  We pulled up to the puke-yellow shed door and stared at the other side of the fence.

  “Wow, you weren’t kidding,” she said. “It’s right next to the graveyard.”

  “Yeah, Amanda would never come here alone because it creeped her out.”

  “I can see why.”

  I got out of the car and went up to the shed. I unlocked the padlock and slid the rusty door upward as a musty scent hit my nose. Amanda had obviously not been here for a while. Boxes were stacked to the metal roof on the left and right. She’d left a path in the middle that enabled her to get the boxes in and out.

  “You were right,” Jennifer said. “She was orderly.”

  I nodded, fighting tears at seeing all of Amanda’s stuff. I knew I needed tell her parents about the shed so they could clear it out. Everyone talked about burials being hard, but I thought it was always harder after the funeral. When my parents died, the funeral hadn’t affected me much, but going through my parents’ personal possessions with my brother required two bottles of Irish whiskey.

  “Are you going to take this stuff in as evidence?” I asked.

  “Depends on what we find. If there is nothing, we won’t.” She gazed around at the boxes.

  “Okay, so where do we start?”

  Jennifer looked up, and her face drained of color.

  “What? What is it?” I said.

  “We start with that one.” She pointed up to a box with black writing on it. Instead of a normal label like “books” or “kitchen,” Amanda had written something in Hebrew.

  I furrowed my brow. “I didn’t know Amanda knew Hebrew.”

  Jennifer looked at me. “What? You know what these symbols mean?”

  “They aren’t symbols. Not exactly, anyway. It’s a Hebrew word.”

  “Hebrew?”


  I nodded. “I ate, drank and bled Hebrew for a summer in seminary.”

  Jennifer played with her scar. “Can you read it?”

  “A little. Now I mostly rely on my Hebrew computer program, but I’ll give it a shot,” I said as I started to climb the boxes.

  “No, let me,” she said, pulling out two pairs of rubber gloves from her purse. She handed me one and climbed up on a chair. I had to look up so I could get the box from her, and as much as I tried, I couldn’t keep myself from checking out her form as she stood reaching above me.

  “Here,” she said, catching my gaze as she handed me the box.

  I put the box down and tilted it up. The letters gave me goose bumps. I’d always loved Hebrew and the inherent mystery of the language. My professor in seminary told us that Hebrew contained all the secrets of God, and I believed him. Amanda’s writing on this box only increased that mystery. I traced the letters with my finger as I read right to left.

  Jennifer pointed to the lines and dots. “Why doesn’t Hebrew use a normal alphabet?”

  “It depends on what you mean by normal. The lines are the actual letters. The dots, however, aren’t part of the original language. They are used as vowel markers for pronunciation because it’s a very guttural language. Hebrew doesn’t have any vowels in its alphabet.”

  “Can you decipher it?”

  “Give me a second.” I sounded out each consonant with its vowel sound. “I think it says, Nebo.”

  “Nebo?” Jennifer frowned.

  My mind went through a thousand Bible verses until I recalled its origin. “Moses, ring a bell?”

  “I know who Moses is,” she said. “But I’m a lapsed Catholic, which means I have done my best to forget everything I learned in Sunday school.”

  “Nebo isn’t a lesson — it’s a place. God took Moses to Nebo, the mountain overlooking the Promised Land before Moses died.”

  “Wait, Moses didn’t get to go into the Promised Land?”

  “No, he didn’t. He struck a rock to get water when God hadn’t told him to. So, his punishment was never to enter the Promised Land.”

  “That doesn’t seem nice.”

  “Yeah, well, God is like a mean kid sometimes.”

  Jennifer stared at me with wide eyes. I couldn’t tell if she was upset or sympathetic. “Okay, not sure how to take that,” she said.