by Roy Bright
“Maybe whatever was chasing her caught her?”
“Nah, Pete, there would be blood, of that I am sure. This thing was in a fucking frenzy, there would be blood!” He surveys the room again, tapping his lips with his right index finger. He cannot work out how the child got out of the room, and it bothers him.
Pete interrupts his thought process, “Come on, let’s meet up with Martin and see what he has for us.”
He turns to him and nods. “Yeah!” He continues to search the room. Something catches his eye and he walks over to a table on the left side back of the room. There are deep indentations in the surface of the desk, scratches almost claw-like in appearance. He wipes the desk with his hand; it is wet with what appears to be saliva. Wiping it off onto his jacket and spinning around, he hurries back to the doorway. “There were two of them!”
“What?” Pete asks.
“Here! Look! On the floor, deep scratches and here,” he moves back over to the desk with excitement, grabbing Pete’s right arm, bringing him with him, “more scratches. Tell me what they look like to you?”
Pete looks at and runs his fingers over them and they become sticky with the same fluid Gary examined. “Claws?”
“Yeah… claw marks. That’s exactly what they look like. Something tried to get through the desks to the kid and something stood here on the desk and watched, digging its claws into the desk as it did.”
They stare at each other.
“Gary, something’s fucking really wrong here buddy and it’s starting to freak me the fuck right out!”
They continue to stare at each other in silence.
Pete’s radio squawks into life making both men jump.
Martin’s angry voice blares from out of the speaker, “Pete? Where the fuck are you two? I know I said five minutes but Jesus guys, pull the fucking lead out why don’t ya!”
Both men exhale, recovering from the small fright.
Pete grabs the radio and presses the talk button. “Almost with ya, buddy, just had to check something out.”
“Well, get a move on, yeah, it’s fucking freezing out here!”
“Copy that, we’re on our way!” He returns the radio to its position on his belt. “Come on, Gary, maybe we’ll get more answers outside with Martin!”
“Yeah, okay.” He walks out of the door.
Pete takes one last look around the classroom and follows him.
They take the stairs down to the ground floor; turn left at the bottom and head towards the exit.
Detective Martin Dowd stands just outside the door, and he signals to them. “About fucking time, I was beginning to think you two didn’t love me anymore.”
Pete smiles, “Awww, how could I fall out of love with you, with your bald head and your big fat wobbly body, baby!”
The back and forth banter makes it evident that the pair have been partners for a very long time; a partnership based on humor and ‘ripping on each other’.
Martin laughs at his partners ribbing then turns towards Gary. “Hey, Gary, how you doin’, man?”
The two detectives shake each other’s hands with a firm grip.
“Yeah I’m good, Mart, you? How’s the wife?”
“Still around, un-fucking-fortunately!”
All three men laugh for a moment.
Okay, man, what ya got for me?” Gary says, breaking the laughter.
“Well, it seems that whoever took the child did so here. We think they broke in by kicking the back door in, nabbed the kid, then took off in their car.” He points to tire marks left in the road surface.
The machine in Gary’s head fires into life once again and begins its methodical investigation of the scene. He examines the doorframe and then walks away from the two men, down the road towards the main gate, his attention focused on the marks left by the tires. The two men watch him get to work.
Martin turns to his partner. “There he goes with that thing he does. How’s he been anyway, y’know, heading up the case?”
Pete looks at him. “Yeah, he’s fine, man, back to his old self. Christ, he seems in better form than ever. Looks like he’s nailed another crime scene just up the stairs in the classroom first on the left. In fact, we better get forensics up there and set up.”
He gets onto his radio and calls it in, requesting that the crime scene investigators visit the classroom, once they have finished in whichever part of the building they are now.
Gary has walked all the way down to the main gates and is looking around searching, hands on hips.
A uniformed officer approaches him and they share a brief conversation with the officer motioning towards a group of houses opposite the gates before pointing back up the drive. Gary appears to thank him then starts walking back up the road.
“Looks like we’re on,” states Martin. “He’s coming back.”
The two men walk down the small steps away from the exit and meet him halfway up the drive.
“She wasn’t abducted!” Gary states.
“What?” Martin asks, surprised.
“She wasn’t abducted, she was rescued.”
“Rescued? What the fuck makes you think that man? I mean, I know you’re good at this shit but where the hell are you getting a third party from?”
“Because, I know a little bit more than you, tubby!” he says, grabbing Martin’s chubby right cheek in a playful manner and giving it a little shake.
“Fuck you! You pencil-thin prick!”
They both laugh at each other.
Martin reiterates his doubt. “Nah, seriously, man, where you goin’ with this?”
“Well, I just talked with Bannister down there and he has been doing door to door, checking the neighbors, seeing if any of them saw anything and he said that one of the neighbors had been putting out her garbage and had witnessed an almighty commotion with a ‘black car that was sporty looking’.” He shrugs and raises his eyebrows. “And that it had screeched off down Albin towards Arnold. She then said she saw two ‘things’ come running out after it. She got a bit scared and ran back into the house where she put her glasses on, had a bit of a nosey out of her front window and realized it was two men who had chased after the car. She also swears they were two Oriental looking men.”
“Ah, sweet, we caught a break there!” Pete says, nodding at them both.
“Yeah, bro, damn straight,” Gary says, nodding back. “So, given what Pete and I found in the classroom upstairs, I think she was being pursued by these two men.”
Pete and Gary share a quick look with each other as though to say, we will just go with that for now, no need to panic everyone with tales of monsters just yet!
“Whilst at the same time a third person has entered the scene, kicked in the door here, most likely hearing the same scream that the Father did, then headed upstairs where somehow he managed to grab the child, evade the two men then jump into his car, which was here,” he points to the starting point of the tire marks, “then tore-ass off and made his escape with the kid.”
Martin interrupts him, “How do you know it’s a guy? Could easily be a woman!”
“Could be, Mart, but I doubt it. That door looks like it was kicked in with one hit. I’m calling guy on this one!”
Martin nods. “Fair enough.”
Gary smiles, “Okay boys, we got a case. Let’s get forensics down here to get some shots of these tracks and the ones outside the gate and let’s see if we can get a make on it. In the meantime, let’s have uniform bang on a few more doors, see if we can’t stir up a few more facts. I want you guys on the woman across the street, get her down to the station to make a statement and hit her up with a few mug shots, see if we can’t get lucky with the two Orientals.”
“Right, we’re on it,” Pete says, slapping Martin on the back and moving him down the drive. He stops and turns to Gary. “You done here or are you heading back to the department to get the incident room set up?”
“Not just yet, buddy, I want to ask Father Mallory another ques
tion or two. I can’t explain it but I think he was hiding something from me when I asked him about the symbol in the classroom. He told me he hadn’t been in there, hadn’t seen it, but, I dunno, the look on his face, something in his eyes was telling me otherwise. Hey! I’m probably just being paranoid, you know me, right?”
Pete does, but he also knows that Gary’s paranoia almost always pays off.
“I just wanna dot the i’s and cross the t’s then I’ll head down and commission the incident room.”
“Okay, buddy, Martin and I will see you there then.”
Gary nods and heads off down the drive with them for a few yards and then branches off to the right to head back to the main entrance. He makes his way into the building as he did when he first arrived. Inside the main entrance, he grabs the attention of one of the young priests undergoing questioning by another officer and asks him where he might find Father Mallory’s room. The young priest gives him directions up to the first floor of the west wing of the building and Gary thanks him. He heads back up the main stairs but this time turns left instead of right, as he had before.
As he walks, he goes over the conversation he had with the Father again in his mind. Something was nagging at him, lurking in the back of his mind. Sure, the priest was old and a bit frail, was most likely in shock at what he had found, but still, a human being’s first thought is always self-preservation. Why hadn’t he gotten the hell outta there? Why had he remained by the Sister’s body? For all he knew the perp could have still been in the area waiting to claim another victim. Surely, that thought had crossed his mind? Even then, if he was brave enough to stay he must have been tempted to check the classroom, to see if the girl was there! Then there’s the lack of action when he heard the child scream. He also failed to tell the young priests coming to his aid about the kid and the scream he heard. Sure, he was a seventy-eight-year-old man but those guys weren’t. Why hadn’t he told them and sent one of them off to see if the girl was okay? Something wasn’t right about the Father’s story and he needed to get to the bottom of it, get him to tell it again, to see if he might trip himself up this time. Anything that would give him something to work on, some leverage in which to pry the truth out of him.
He stops next to a big brown door with square panels and wooden fleur-de-lis designs in them. Father Mallory’s name on a plaque on the door confirms he has the right room. He knocks twice, firm yet not too loud. No answer. He knocks again, harder this time with more official force and calls out the Father’s name. Still no answer. He tries the handle and the door clicks open. He then pushes the door a little and pokes his head around whilst calling out the Father’s name once again. He forces the door open and draws his gun. Lying on the floor is the body of Officer Starrens, a large bowie knife protruding out of the young man’s neck, blood still oozing out of the wound. He checks his corners. Satisfied that the room is clear, he rushes to his side and checks his vitals. To his astonishment, he is still alive… just. He grabs the radio from his belt and screams into it, “Officer down! Officer down! Father Mallory’s room, west wing, first floor.” He grabs hold of the officer’s right hand and holds it, attempting to comfort him, to make him believe everything will be all right.
“Hold on, Dan, you’re gonna be all right, help is on the way.” He can hear footsteps racing down the corridor, “In here, we’re in here!” Two more uniformed officers burst into the room, side arms drawn. “Where the fuck is the goddamn paramedic?”
“They’re on their way, Detective Cross. Here, they’re here now!”
Two paramedics rush into the room and take charge forcing Gary out of the way, setting to work on the injured man.
Gary stands, picks his radio up off the floor and keys the talk button. “This is Cross. Lock this fucking place down, now! No one leaves this building. I want Father Mallory found and brought into custody. Exercise extreme caution. Do not be taken in by his age, get this done by the numbers people, find him, find him now!” He walks out into the corridor and kicks a chair that is sitting outside and to the left of the door. “What the fuck is going on here?” he screams.
He stares down the corridor.
“What the fuck is going on!”
Eight
Jerusalem, Friday 3 April AD 33
A man stood motionless in the noonday sun at Golgotha. The hood of a dusty grey robe covered his face, not wanting to be recognized by any members of the gathered crowd or soldiers who had come to gloat and watch his friend die a slow and painful death.
Judas peered out from inside the hood. Every single fiber in his body ached and he felt a thousand times heavier than on any day that had passed before. Something inside weighed him down, pulling him into the ground. He knew this wasn’t the weight of flesh and bone; it was the weight of guilt. It had him motionless, like a giant stone, too massive and dense to move. He felt as though he would never move again, felt that he would be trapped here for all time, locked in this perpetual nightmare, where he would suffer, forced to watch his friend die over and over again. Friend, he thought to himself. The true meaning of that word had no place in his heart anymore. Friends did not betray each other for money, no matter what the reason.
Friends did not condemn each other to death to save their own worthless lives and a true friend did not watch the other die in a manner befitting of the murderers of men, the rapists of women and the molesters of children. He began to cry, but fought hard to drive back the tears. What have I done? He wrapped his hand around the bulge of a coin purse tied around his waist under his robe. What have I done? he asked himself again.
No answer came. No answer to this question would ever come because he dared not answer it. He dared not offer up an explanation of how things had gone so wrong, so out of control. He had thought his plan was perfect, but he was wrong.
Judas had placed himself about a stadium away from the location of the crucifixion and between him and the dying man stood two women, the younger of whom comforted the much older. He knew these people and his heart sank further as he witnessed the anguish of a mother, forced to watch her child die. He wanted to reach out, approach her, tell her how sorry he was, how he wanted to make it all better. He would never be able to right this wrong, would never be able to speak the right words to explain his regret, his anguish. He could not forgive himself, so how was he supposed to ask others to do the same.
A shrill and piercing cry reverberated around the dusty confines of the execution ground. A wretched place decorated with rock, sand and crosses with the dead and dying hanging from them. The smell of excrement and decay hung heavy in the air making this place worse than Hell itself.
He looked towards the sound, as the man on the cross let out one more deafening cry and raised his head to the heavens.
“My God, my God. Why have you left me alone?”
Hearing those words, he could no longer fight the tears and he wept.
The two women held each other tighter, consumed by bitter anguish.
He felt a coldness running over his skin, his body, his very soul. The sky darkened, clouds pulled together to block the sun out of this wasteland, plunging the execution site into darkness and as Judas wept, he could not help but think that all of man had borne the wrath of God, because of his actions.
For over three hours, Jerusalem was denied the sun’s warmth. Judas hadn’t moved from his position, continuing to stare at his friend, contemplating the solid fact that this was all his doing. He was plagued with guilt, racked with remorse, yet he could shed no more tears. His eyes burned redder than the center of any fire, his mouth cracked and drier than any desert, his body weak.
Two soldiers passed by, paying him no attention at all, locked in their own conversation. He heard the first soldier speak to his partner.
“Is that it then, are they all gone?”
The second soldier looked towards the crucifixes and pointed to Judas’ friend, “No not all, just him, he seems to be gone. The men will come to make sure in a few mi
nutes.”
“What did he say, before he laid down his head?”
“He looked to the sky once more and said, ‘This is the end!’”
“That’s it?” the first soldier replied, halting for a moment.
His partner also stopped and turned to look at him, “Yes, that’s it. Then he died, I think.”
Judas didn’t look at the soldiers. He continued to stare at the cross where the lifeless body of his friend hung.
The darkness had passed as fast as it had arrived and the site once again baked in the hot desert sun. A group of soldiers approached the crosses and dulled screams rang out as they began to break the legs of the first group of the crucified men as, no longer able to support their own weight, they would die much quicker that way.
Two soldiers halted at the foot of the cross where his friend hung, and stared at the man. A conversation took place between them. One of the soldiers picked up a spear from the ground.
Judas winced as the soldier pierced it into the side of his friend, close to where his heart would have once beaten.
The soldier withdrew the spear and looked at it, appearing to note what had flowed out of the wound. He dropped the spear to the ground and walked to the next set of crosses.
He had seen enough; he could bear this no longer. Summoning the strength to put one foot in front of the other, he took his leave and walked away from the most heartbreaking scene he had ever witnessed. He now knew what he must do, but first he needed to make a stop.
He made his way through the city in a daze, a broken man. The clay buildings passed him by, but he didn’t notice them. He moved out of pure instinct, his mind swimming with grief. He located the Temple where the Sanhedrin met. This was the place where the men whom he had betrayed his friend to for money would gather; a friend he had sold out to preserve his own worthless life and that of his family far from here. He now realized that no amount of money nor his ill thought out reason for the betrayal (no matter how noble he had once thought it to be) was worth what he had just witnessed. He had damned his soul. He knew that to be true. Maybe he could offer a slim form of penance and do this one final thing. He walked into the Temple and without hesitating, lifted the coin purse from beneath his robe and held it aloft. Removing the hood from over his face he called out, “I return that which does not belong to me.”