Blood Moon: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (A Grant & Daniels Detective Kidnapping Series Book 3)

by Charlotte Raine

  She nods and I follow her in. We stop in front of LaPonte, who is lying on the floor, his left leg twisted awkwardly underneath him, his throat torn open with blood pooling around it.

  "Multiple stab wounds to the neck," she says, gesturing to his throat. "Time of death is sometime after nine o'clock because that's when he got his room key. They also carved an interesting message on his forehead."

  I had been too distracted by the blood near his neck to look too closely at his face. There's a red handkerchief, which appears to have rolled out of his mouth, and what I assumed was blood spatter on his face is actually a word that begins with an R etched into his forehead.

  "Rev…revel…Revelation?" I ask. "That's a six…and a two. Is this a Bible verse?'

  "'I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest,'" Donovan quotes. "It's about the First Horseman of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse."

  "I'm sorry, I must not have gotten that far in my Bible," I say.

  He grins. "It's all right. Being raised by two funeral directors means the Bible was a pretty big part of it most of the time and we met a lot of pastors. I went to Catholic school, too, but I spent most of the time ogling girls…the teachers weren't so fond of me."

  "The verse, Donovan." I remind him. "Who is the White Horseman?"

  "Well, there's a whole thing about how Jesus has to break seven seals and every time he breaks a seal, something apocalyptic is supposed to happen. The first four seals have to do with releasing the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. When I was in school, they taught us that the White Horseman was the antichrist…though I also heard once that it was supposed to be Jesus because He's said to be riding a white horse in a different passage. Nobody is really sure. Or, I guess, everyone is sure of their own interpretation."

  "So…it means nothing?" I ask.

  "Well, it means something to whoever killed him," Donovan says. "The White Horseman was meant to stand for conquest or being a conqueror, so maybe they thought LaPonte running for governor meant he was conquering something? The whole of Alaska?"

  "Except you said it was Jesus who was supposed to release them. Does it say anything about killing them?"

  He shrugs. "Not that I remember. Pretty sure they're supposed to stay alive in order to bring the Apocalypse…and they're definitely not supposed to be human."

  "So, do we have a crazy religious person? Is there any other sign that religion is involved at all? I don't want us to narrow our suspects to religious people if it could just be a ploy to distract us."

  "Well, there's the fact that they used a knife…" Teresa mentions. "Which is more Biblical than a gun, but they could have used a knife to avoid making too much noise." She points to the handkerchief. "I'm guessing he was gagged to keep him silent, too."

  "Chief Grant," the Asian woman states. I turn to her. She thrusts her hand out. "Rhoda Chen. I'm the Supervisory Special Agent for FBI Anchorage Office. Could I talk to you for a minute?"

  "Of course." I follow her back out of the room. In the hallway, Greg is standing at the opposite end, pacing as he talks on the phone. Rhoda turns around to look at me.

  "I heard you had some of your officers tailing LaPonte."

  "We were watching over him," I say. "We thought someone might be targeting him after Brianna Cull's death, which appeared to be similar to his sister's death, and Junior's death because Junior was his best friend. One of my officers, Larson, was in the parking lot when LaPonte was killed He didn't think anything would happen to LaPonte in such a public place."

  "I heard you were also watching him."

  "I was. Not last night though."

  "Why were you doing that Don't you think that's a job for your lower ranking officers?"

  "Well, there isn't much more for me to do. I can't investigate Junior's death because you guys think I did it. I can't investigate Nick's death because he was my foster son, and we've investigated Brianna's death from every angle. This was the most productive way to use my time."

  "And how do you feel about religion?"

  "What? What does that have to do with my cops following LaPonte?"

  "Just answer the question."

  "I used to be Christian," I say and shruf. "But it hasn't been a big part of my life recently—I'm sorry, but am I being interrogated?"

  "I'm just covering my bases," she says. "Were you with anybody last night?"

  "No," I state, my voice cold. "Not at the time of LaPonte's death. Can I ask why I'm a suspect?"

  She sighs. "I've had agents following you—"

  "I'm aware. They're terrible at being conspicuous."

  She grimaces. "Right. Well, we weren't trying to be sneaky, it's just part of our investigation. But the last time they saw you, you were watching LaPonte. You didn't look happy when you were watching him and they say you walked up to his house and when you left the house…you looked frustrated."

  "Okay, I explained this to Teresa. You can even check—she'll tell you and it's in my phone records. I thought LaPonte may have been responsible for his sister's death. That's it. I had no personal issue with him."

  "Right," she says. "You thought he killed his own sister. Didn't she die over a decade ago?"

  "There's no statute of limitations for murder."

  "Okay, Chief Grant," she says. "I know Anchorage Police wanted you to swing by, but the FBI has this covered. You should just head home and…take the day off."

  "What? Are you kidding me? Come on. Teresa!" She turns to look at me. "Can you help me out? Your supervisor is trying to kick me out of the crime scene."

  She shrugs. "We have it handled. You should take a break."

  As I open my mouth to protest, she turns away from me and begins talking to a man in scrubs—the medical examiner. I turn to argue with Rhoda again, but she's already walking back toward the body.

  "Aaron," Greg says, walking up to me. "What happened?"

  I scowl. "The next time you call me, check if I'm actually wanted here. By anybody."

  I storm away from him before he can reply. I know it's not his fault, but I can't stop this anger inside me from bubbling over.

  I really need a drink.

  Chapter Eleven

  Teresa (Sunday afternoon)

  As I stand in the cold morgue, the medical examiner, Dr. Ulvo, takes a photograph of LaPonte's opened throat. Dr. Ulvo is barely above five feet tall, with sparse hair on his head, but he's stocky and broad enough to intimidate most people. I've worked with him on a few cases and he's definitely one of the best.

  "So, what did you find out?" I ask.

  "You're not very patient, are you?"

  "Not when there's a killer running around."

  "Well, the weapon was a knife—clearly—and one with a rather short width, though it's hard to figure out because the stab wounds intersect with each other. The blade of the knife had to be at least three inches long for the depth of the wounds, but most combat knives are, so that's not helpful. There was some soap residue on his face and neck, so it appears whoever killed him knew to get rid of their prints. The knife hit parts of his cervical vertebrae, causing nicks in the bone, so whoever killed him was quite strong."

  "That is likely the least helpful report I've been given in my whole career. Essentially all you told me is a knife was used, our murderer isn't an idiot, and they're strong. That's it? Can we at least assume the kill is a male?" I vent.

  "The thing is," Dr. Ulvo says, oblivious to my anger, almost admiring the sight of LaPonte's exposed throat. "I believe there was only one person stabbing him, but I think there was someone else in the room helping the killer."

  "Why?"

  "Well, whereas the person stabbing LaPonte was likely male, considering the amount of strength it took to stab him, there were tiny cuts on his neck, which appear to be from fingernails. Generally it's women who have long enough nails to puncture into the skin and the size of the fingernail marks
indicate someone with small hands—also generally attributed to females. Also, there are bruises around his arms as if someone was keeping hold of him while he was being stabbed. Those are also seem rather small for a man."

  "So, we have a Bonnie and Clyde thing happening? Just more religious and they don't seem to be after money?" I ask. He shrugs. "Have there been any murders similar to it around here?"

  "I would have started with that fact if we had any," he says. "I could look into similar stab wounds, but it'll take awhile. There are two bodies here and the police think the Carmody family is responsible, so I'm getting a lot to pressure to finish it."

  The Carmody family. Damn. I still need to make a decision about whether I'm going undercover or not.

  "You look like you just saw a dead body." He winks. "Not fond of the Carmody family?"

  "I can't talk about it."

  "Ah," he says. "I see. Well, as someone who has seen their damage up close and personal for the last couple of decades, I can say they're getting much worse. They're getting bolder, which in the criminal world means they're getting more violent. Some people believe they're trying to take over the Idoni family's territory. So, what I'm saying is…if you have the chance to take one of them out…take the shot."

  I swallow. "I'll keep that in mind."

  After my ex-husband and I got married, I compromised my career in order to make our relationship work. It made me resent him for being the reason why I wasn't who I wanted to be and it made me resent myself for resenting him when it was my choice. I had never been that kind of woman and I never wanted to be again.

  I can't refuse this job for the sake of my unsteady relationship with Aaron. I have to let him go.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sarah (Sunday night)

  Paper lanterns made by the children of the Alpha and Omega Temple have been hung all in the trees and strung up on pickets. Large platters of food cover the center of several tables, which have been pushed together on the walkway between the temple and several huts. There's a massive dish of lasagna, mini steak sandwiches, a large roast turkey, chicken pot pie, mashed potatoes, salt potatoes, corn, peas, and a boiled mixture of carrots and broccoli.

  As the members of the temple sit down at the table to eat, I finally get to see how many there are. It's hard to keep count with how many children are running around, but there's definitely thirty-four adults and about twelve kids. While the adults seem solemn as they pass around dishes (except the lasagna, which Jonah dishes out while people pass him their plates), the kids are little balls of energy that seem uncontainable.

  After everyone has gotten the food they want, and the children have sat down, Jonah stands up. Everyone bows his or her head, so I follow suit.

  "Thank you, Lord, for the food we are about to receive. Thank you for the health of our people, the health of our children, and the unfathomable benevolence of Your sacrifice in order to save us from the fires of hell. Thank you for allowing Elijah and Sarah to complete Your mission and show our complete faith and devotion to Your grand plan. Please help us always be your most devout servants. In Jesus's name—"

  "Amen," everyone murmurs. I mouth the word quickly before glancing up. Everyone picks up their silverware and begins to eat. I take a bite of the lasagna. It's a bit burnt and there's too much cottage cheese, but otherwise it's not bad.

  "Are the kids scared about the Apocalypse?" I ask Elijah, who sits to my right.

  "Um, no," he says. "They've known it's coming for a while and they know Jesus will take care of them."

  "Still, I think it would be a scary idea for a kid."

  "It's not," he says. "Don't you remember being a child? If an adult told you it's going to be okay, it's going to be okay. Except now it's more than an adult—it's God."

  "So, you're not afraid either?" I ask.

  He shakes his head. "No. Why? Are you?"

  "I'm not sure how I feel."

  He smiles. "At least you're honest."

  I feel someone tug on the back of my blouse. I spin around, paranoia rushing through my veins until I see a young girl with pitch-black hair styled into two pigtails and a pale-pink dress.

  "Hiya," she says, swaying with her hands behind her back. "I'm Anna."

  "Hi, Anna," I say. "Aren't you hungry?"

  "Yeah, but I wanted to give you something." She pulls her hands out from behind her, revealing a bracelet with large plastic beads of various colors. "It's a friendship bracelet 'cause I wanna be your friend."

  "Oh, Anna, thank you," I say, taking the bracelet. I put it on my wrist, though it's too large to remain there for long. "It's beautiful. It's my new favorite piece of jewelry."

  "Can I tell you a secret?" she whispers.

  "Sure," I say. She leans forward so her lips are close to my ear.

  "I think you're prettier than my mama."

  I have to hold back a laugh as she totters back onto her heels.

  "That is a very interesting secret," I tell her. "But you're prettier than anybody else here."

  She giggles before running back to her seat, which is about eight chairs away from me. I make sure she's safely in the chair before I turn back to my food.

  "She seems to like you." Elijah mentions.

  "Yeah, I guess," I say, picking at my lasagna. "I've never really spent that much time with kids."

  "Have you ever thought of having any?" he asks. "I mean, I know you can't anymore on Earth, but I imagine if someone wanted to have children in heaven, they could."

  I flush. "I don't know. I've never really thought of it."

  "I think you'd be a good mother."

  My cheeks burn hotter. "I don't know…"

  "You don't have to be sure, because I'm certain enough for the two of us."

  We continue to mostly eat in silence. I listen to the other temple members chat about their God, their vegetable gardens, and silly things that their husbands or children did. Their lives seem so simple, but maybe that's the way to become happy. Maybe if you cut everything down until only God matters and you follow a strict set of rules, everything falls into place.

  After we're done eating, Elijah turns to me. "Can we talk? Alone?"

  I nod. We both stand up as the other members of the temple begin to scatter as well. He leads me back toward the route that leads to the river I was baptized in. The only sound for several minutes is the sound of grass rustling against our skin.

  When we're almost to the river—hearing the rush of water—he turns to look at me. "I saw your face…after we killed LaPonte. There was such…joy…exuberance in it. I felt such a rush of emotion like you did, and it was the most thrilling feeling to see that you felt the same way."

  I grin at him. "I'm glad. It really was such a rush."

  "I think it was God's blessing," he says. "It's God's way of telling us we are on the right path."

  I don't quite agree, so I don't say anything. We reach the edge of the river. I take off my black flats and dip a toe into the water. "Let's go swimming."

  He laughs, but it sounds more nervous than humorous. "We don't have our swimming suits."

  "We don't need any." I pull my blouse off and drop it on the ground. When I turn back toward Elijah, his face is beet red.

  "You—you can't just undress in front of someone who isn't your husband," he mumbles.

  "Is that in the Bible?"

  "It's implied."

  "Does it ever say anything about enjoying everything God has created?" I ask, peeling off my jean shorts.

  "A bit in chapter three of Ecclesiastes…" he says, turning around, so that he's not facing me. After I've pulled all of my clothes off, I wade into the river. It should feel colder than when I was baptized, but the heat of my body must make it feel refreshing. So. Damn. Good.

  I dive under the water to get my face and hair wet. When I come back up, I slick my hair back. Elijah is fumbling with his clothes now, dropping them beside him. I allow him some privacy, moving into the deeper parts of the water.

>   When I hear the splash as he enters the river, I still don't turn around. The water is just above my breasts and I'm amused as my hands move down my body, feeling smoother than silk from the water.

  A wave of water hits against the top of my back as Elijah steps up behind me. I can feel his body heat through the water. He runs his fingers along my hair, moving it off my back and over my shoulder. He kisses between my shoulder blades.

  "I've never met anyone like you," he says softly.

  "I feel the same way," I tell him, which is strangely true. It makes me wonder if I've felt numb in the world because I've never loved anyone, and no one except my mother has ever loved me. Am I finally starting to feel things because love is bringing me back to life? I've heard people say loving someone is the easiest way to be connected to God and maybe they're right.

  I turn around, my thighs brushing against him.

  "We shouldn't do anything we'll regret," he says. "I can enjoy you without sinning."

  "And how would you do that?" I ask. He cups my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. As I bow my head, glancing down into the water, flustered by all of these emotions, he kisses my forehead. It makes me feel blessed.

  I give him a small smirk, before I dive under the water. I grab his ankles, causing him to fall with me. I swim over on top of him, wrapping my arms around him, and kiss him until he kisses me back. It makes me think of Judas, betraying Jesus with a kiss because none of my thoughts are pure and all I want to do is lead him astray.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Aaron (Sunday night)

  After receiving a call from Teresa, asking me to meet her at The Charcoal Grill, I sit down across from her in a booth. She's sipping a glass of water while there's a root beer in front of me.

  "I thought of getting you a water, too, but I know you like root beer," she says.

  I nod. "Thanks."

  She crumbles the straw wrapper between her fingertips until it's a tiny ball. Then, she flattens it. The silence is filled with so much tension I wonder if the waitresses are avoiding our table because they can feel it.