The Devil of Light

by Gae-Lynn Woods

  “’Lo?” she breathed, throat aching with the effort.

  “Blackie?”

  “Uhn umm.”

  “Where were you last night?” a voice hissed; urgent, frightened, relieved. “Nana was out of her mind with worry, girl. You’re too old to be doing this kinda thing.”

  “Jerome?”

  “Where were you?”

  A memory flashed in her mind – black night, dancing fire, a vision of the devil woven from light. She inhaled the fetid depths of the river bottom on her skin and in her hair, and fear clawed at her stomach. Blackie sucked in a deep gulp of Icy Hot and peppermint before pushing herself upright. “I’m gonna be sick, Jerome. I’ll call you back.”

  CHAPTER 44

  THEY ATE IN SILENCE, each acutely aware of the small crowd milling outside the ME’s office. Minnie had snuck out back for a quick smoke as Stan launched a marketing campaign with the reporters out front, taking orders for coffee and food before heading across the square to the Golden Gate Café. Munk had finished with the casts of the tire tracks and set out with young Officer Truman to try and locate Garrett’s vehicle. A quick drive past his house in Mole Hill community found his patrol car out front. His wife’s two-seater sports car was parked on the square after she’d driven it into town. But Garrett’s truck, a new fire-engine red Chevy, wasn’t at his house or the courthouse. And no one occupying a branch on his considerable family tree had seen it since Monday afternoon.

  Bernie patted a splatter of picante sauce from his safari vest while Cass emptied another small carton of cream into her cup. Grey drained his coffee and wiped his mouth with a napkin before snagging his left earlobe between his thumb and forefinger and beginning to rub. His assistant, Porky Rivers, recognized the signs that his boss was thinking and pushed his chair back from the desk.

  “Stay with us,” Grey ordered as the painfully thin black man stood. “I want you to hear all this.” Porky silently sat down, the wealth of small studs and barbells lining his ears and eyebrows, providing the source for his nickname of Porcupine, glittering in the overhead light.

  Mitch spoke first. “Kado, was there anything of forensics value on the cross?”

  “Cow manure and Garrett’s blood. The manure makes it pointless to try for epithelials. There were bits of flesh in the holes where his hands and feet were secured – most likely Garrett’s. The wood has no markings and the end cuts are clean, probably made at a lumber store. I did find tiny scraps of leather snagged in a couple of splinters. Maybe from a work glove.” Kado ran a hand over his weary face. “He used standard six-inch cut clasp nails, available in any hardware store. These are rusty, so they’ve probably been in somebody’s barn for years. They’re covered in Garrett’s blood and have no fingerprints on them. We found nothing on the courthouse lawn.”

  “Anything on the tire tracks?” Mitch asked.

  “Maybe. The sprinklers come on early. The ground was soft and damp but the tracks were a mess where he spun out. Munk got a few good casts – tires look big enough to come from a pickup. I’ll run them through the database.”

  Mitch took a deep breath and turned to Grey. “What have you got from the body?”

  “A lot. There’s some sticky residue over the lower part of his face. His mouth was taped shut at some point. Neither Bernie nor I saw anything other than dirt stuck in the residue, but Kado, you can check it for trace.” He rubbed his earlobe. “Mechanism of death was exsanguination, excessive blood loss. And given the way the wounds on his hands and feet are torn, it looks as if he was,” Grey cleared his throat, “crucified upside down.”

  Cass frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Grey released his earlobe and massaged his forehead, stopping to pinch the bridge of his long nose. “It’s easier if we show you. Think you can keep your breakfast down?”

  ____________

  THE BRIGHT OVERHEAD LIGHTS sputtered to life as Grey wrapped a fresh gown over his scrubs. Garrett’s body lay on a stainless steel table in the middle of the room, a clean sheet across his waist. The Y-incision had been folded closed but not stitched, and the edges of the skin were puckered and had a leathery look to them. Grey tugged on a clean pair of gloves.

  “He was secured to the cross through the palms, with the palm itself facing away from the wood.” He beckoned them forward, picking up one of the pale hands to show them the angry wound. “If the cross was upright, the hands would’ve borne most of Garrett’s weight. The flesh would’ve pulled or torn up and away from the palm toward the index fingers and thumbs as his weight pulled him down, and bones would be broken in that direction. Instead, the flesh is torn, but only slightly, as if his full weight wasn’t dragging on the palms. Also, the flesh is torn from the palm toward the little finger.” Grey replaced Garrett’s hand and moved down the table. “His feet were placed one on top of the other and secured with one nail. If the cross had been upright, we’d expect to see the flesh torn toward his ankles as his weight bore down. Instead, it’s ripped toward the toes, as if he was suspended by his feet.”

  “If he did hang upside down,” Mitch asked, “wouldn’t the weight of his legs and upper body be enough to pull his feet right off the nail?”

  “Good question,” Grey answered as he lifted Garrett’s lower leg. “We think he was bound to the cross around the ankles and calves to stop what you described from happening.”

  “What kind of binding was used?” Kado asked, leaning forward to examine the marks cutting into the bloodless tissue.

  “The individual marks are narrow. Some sort of fine, tight rope.”

  “Did you swab for trace?”

  “Yes, and we picked up some fibers. Swabs are on the counter behind you.” Grey lowered the leg to the table, choosing his words carefully. “As to cause of death, we think the cuts to his forearms and the hole in his head were placed there to drain the blood from his body.”

  “Drain his blood?” Mitch asked, frowning. “What made the hole in his head?”

  Bernie cleared his throat. “I believe it was a drill bit of some sort.”

  Mitch paled, making his blue eyes even brighter. “Somebody drilled a hole in his head?”

  “That’s what markings on the skull indicate.”

  “Was he alive?”

  Grey moved to the top of Garrett’s body. “Initially. As the bit ate through the skull, it sank into the brain. Trauma to the tissue indicates that Garrett wouldn’t have died from the injury, but if he were conscious, the pain from the drilling would’ve caused him to pass out. Regardless, given the size of the opening,” he lifted Garrett’s head, “blood would have drained quickly and he wouldn’t have lived long.”

  “Good Lord,” breathed Cass. “Goober wasn’t far off with his vampire theory. Why would somebody do that?”

  “To collect the blood,” Bernie volunteered.

  Kado’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Perhaps a ritual of some sort.”

  “It’s some voodoo thing,” Mitch announced. “Like Humberto Gonzalez and his foot. That’s downright creepy.”

  “Yes, it is,” Bernie replied. “And combined with the upside down crucifixion, it also appears torturous.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Crucifixion is a particularly horrendous way to die. The mechanism of death is usually asphyxiation over a long period of time – how long a period determined by the victim’s general health and upper body strength. Upside down crucifixion is not as well understood, but asphyxiation seems a reasonable cause of death given that the diaphragm will become exhausted from keeping the contents of the abdomen lifted from the lungs. However, if the person is in good physical condition, they could die due to exposure, shock or starvation, which could take much longer than death by traditional crucifixion.” He searched the faces in the room. “It has been suggested that death in this manner may be linked to the occult, or that it is something of an insult, indicating a lack of worth. Although unconfirmed, there are suggestions that Christ’s discip
le Peter was crucified upside down at his request, stating that he was not worthy to die in the same manner as his Lord.”

  “Great. A ritualistic murderer.” Mitch pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “What about the cuts on the forearms? Were they made with a knife?”

  “Yes,” answered Grey. “Smooth edge, very sharp. Possibly a hunting knife. And, there’s something else.” His quiet tone drew complete silence in the room. “We left the bandage on Garrett’s groin in place when we moved the body,” he began, reaching for his earlobe. “Once we looked underneath it, we realized that Garrett’s testicles had been removed. I think the same sharp knife was used, but the cuts hesitate. Either because the cutter had difficulty with the mechanics of the action, or due to the psychological difficulty of what he did.” Mitch and Kado covered their crotches in a defensive gesture. Grey smiled grimly as he nodded at Porky, who took a steel bowl from the counter and silently handed it to Grey. “These were lodged in his esophagus. He probably hadn’t eaten since lunch. His stomach contents were mostly bile.” He angled the container over Garrett’s body so the others could peer inside, swirling the dark, cloudy liquid to reveal two small, rounded mounds resting on the bottom of the bowl.

  Three pairs of eyes found the pasty lumps at the same moment. Mitch tightened the grip on his jeans and the color drained from Kado’s face as his jaw dropped. Cass sensed rather than saw both movements and her mind understood the horror that both men had instinctively known: Garrett’s testicles had ended up in his throat.

  “Did he –,” Kado cleared his throat and glanced at Mitch, “did he swallow them?”

  “There’s no trauma to his throat and the testicles appear to be intact, so yes.” The medical examiner gulped convulsively, Adam’s apple bobbing in his long neck. “He swallowed them. Given that they were lodged in his esophagus and he wasn’t able to cough them up, I suspect that they were fed to him shortly before he died.”

  “Tell them about the coating,” Porky prodded, thin frame shifting in his purple scrubs.

  Mitch slowly released the front of his jeans. “Coating on what?”

  Grey motioned for Porky to continue. “When we extracted them, the testicles looked like they had something on them. A golden color, maybe brown.”

  “Like they were cooked?” Mitch blurted.

  “Battered and fried.”

  “Oh my God,” Cass moaned, her legs buckling. She leaned against the counter and locked her knees. “I can’t believe this.”

  “What is it?” Mitch demanded.

  She closed her eyes. “I had words with Petchard last night. He got nasty about my family, and I snapped.”

  “Snapped how?”

  “Just got in his face,” Cass said, clenching the countertop for support. “I told him if he talked about my family again I’d rip off his balls, batter them, fry them, and…,” her voice caught, “shove them down his throat.”

  CHAPTER 45

  THE ROOM WAS SILENT for several beats, the silvery sluicing of water through a drain the only sound. Mitch folded his arms across his chest. “You can’t think Petchard had anything to do with this,” he stated.

  Cass shook her head. “No, but how likely is it that the exact thing I threaten him with comes true for Garrett?”

  “Not very,” answered Kado. “What time did you talk to Petchard?”

  “Must’ve been eight thirty, maybe nine o’clock.”

  “What did he do after your…,” a smile touched his lips, “encounter?”

  “We were in the squad room, and he just slunk out the door. I don’t know where he went.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I worked for another half an hour maybe –,” she stopped, eyes jumping to Mitch. “I need to tell you something about Lenny Scarborough’s case.”

  “Later,” Mitch said. “What happened when you were done at the courthouse?”

  “I went home. Had supper and went to bed.”

  “No sign of Petchard as you left the courthouse?”

  “None.”

  “Did he have any problems with Garrett?”

  “Not that I’ve heard of.”

  Mitch studied the floor for several moments. “I can’t see Petchard doing something like this, at least not by himself. For starters, he’s not strong enough to overpower Garrett or do the kind of heavy lifting it would take to move that cross with a body on it. Beyond that, the man is a wimp. He couldn’t have handled cutting off Garrett’s balls. If we rule out Petchard, there are two possibilities. One is that Garrett’s murder is completely random. I think that’s unlikely, given that this,” he gestured toward the cold body, “took some planning. Second, someone who knew Garrett decided to crucify him and cut him up, for some reason. If you forget that he’s a cop and think of him as a man, then having his balls sliced off could mean that he was involved in something of a sexual nature.”

  “Like molesting girls, raping them?” Cass asked.

  Mitch’s exhaled. “I hadn’t thought of that. I was thinking that maybe he had an affair, or was still having one, and got caught.”

  “Perhaps as with Abelard and Heloise, someone acted to extract vengeance for a perceived wrong to the lady?” questioned Bernie.

  Mitch blinked. “Who?”

  “They were lovers in the twelfth century. Abelard was a theologian and philosopher, much older than Heloise, entrusted with her education. She became pregnant, and after delivering their son Astrolabe –”

  “That’s straight from Frank Zappa,” Porky murmured.

  “– they married in secret. Heloise’s Uncle Fulbert was furious. She withdrew to a convent to escape his wrath, but Fulbert believed that Abelard was simply trying to rid himself of the girl, and ordered his servants to castrate Abelard in retribution.”

  Porky shivered. “He survived?”

  “Oh yes,” Bernie said. “He and Heloise continued their passionate relationship through correspondence. Quite tragic.”

  Mitch squinted across the autopsy room, gaze unfocused. “Garrett’s always been one of the boys, but I haven’t heard any rumors about him. We’ll talk to his wife and friends, find out if he had anything on the side.” He moved to the table containing Garrett’s body. “Truman said that all the men in those photos had scars on their right sides. Garrett doesn’t.”

  Grey moved alongside him. “What does that prove?”

  “Nothing yet. But, it’s less likely that Garrett was involved in molesting those girls. Which means that if there was something sexual going on, it probably involved another adult.” Mitch fingered a button on his shirt. “Grey? Was he, you know, abused?”

  Grey frowned. “Sexually?”

  Mitch nodded, holding his breath.

  “No, his body showed no sign of penetration.”

  Mitch released the breath. “Good.”

  Bernie cleared his throat and smoothed a hand over his unruly hair, flaxen in the overhead light. “There is a third possibility,” he began, looking to Mitch, who motioned for him to continue. “The crime may be primarily ritual in nature, with its focus on the collection of blood.” Bernie moved to the second metal table in the room, which held the remains of the man they’d dug up Monday afternoon. “Until I’d seen Officer Garrett’s body today, I was confused about what had happened to our friend here. But now, well, let me tell you my hypothesis. Porky, would you put x-rays of both craniums on the light box please? Include the one of this man’s neck, as well.”

  As Porky snapped the films in place, Bernie donned a fresh pair of gloves and moved to the head of Monday’s corpse. “There is a slight subdural hematoma near the base of the skull, suggesting that he was struck on the head before death. I was confused by the hole in the top of the head, and we speculated that it could have been the result of a gunshot.” He peeled scalp away to expose the skull and leaned closer. “But we found no exit wound, nor did we find a slug in the brain or neck and none appear on the x-rays. I am now sure that this hole was not caused by a
bullet, but by a drill bit, as was Garrett’s. A smaller one, perhaps a twelve millimeter bit.”

  Mitch frowned at Grey. “Translate?”

  Grey lifted his eyes toward the ceiling, mouth moving silently. “Half inch,” he announced.

  The others drew near to the corpse and in turn, took the magnifying glass to examine the hole. “Unbelievable,” Kado exclaimed. “You can see the spiral where the bit ate through the bone.” He shivered as he stood to let Cass examine the wound. “Brutal.”

  “Indeed,” answered Bernie. “I was also confused by the mummified appearance of the body. The arm that protruded above the soil was decaying as expected, but we saw little evidence of decomposition on the rest of the body. Burial slows the process, but our corpse should have been well into the state of decay known as putrefaction, where gas builds in the body, forcing fluids out and into the surrounding soil. We should have seen insect activity, or at least evidence of such.”

  “But there weren’t any insects, right?” asked Mitch, straightening from his examination of the skull.

  Bernie moved to the light box. “Very few. I believe this man’s blood was drained from his body, in the same fashion as was Officer Garrett’s. Look closely,” he said, pointing to a spot on the neck x-ray near the collarbone. “The horseshoe shaped bone is the hyoid, which can be damaged when someone is strangled or hung. In this case, the absence of ligature marks around the neck indicates strangulation.”

  Mitch frowned and started to speak, but remained silent when Bernie lifted a finger and moved to the corpse, pausing near the foot of the table. “There are, however, ligature marks on the legs. They wind along the calves,” he pointed to a long section of discoloration on the legs. “The color of the marks suggests that he was alive when his legs were tied, and that they were secured very tightly.” He moved to the torso and lifted an arm, drawing their attention to the different areas. “The arms and wrists are clear of marks suggesting binding. However, long slits have been cut in the forearms, along the radial arteries.” Bernie paused expectantly.