Carrie took a sip from her coffee mug. She’d only eaten half of the apple pie she ordered an hour earlier. The diner was crowded for that late at night. Mainly it was bar-goers who needed greasy food to absorb all the liquor in their bellies.
“Molly and I would come here for breakfast sometimes after we were out partying,” Carrie said.
Rein finished his coffee and set it on the edge of the table to be filled again. “I arrested a serial rapist who used to work here.”
Carrie rolled her eyes. “Is that all there is to you?”
“What?”
“I arrested a serial rapist who used to work here because I have no other context to relate to anything with,” she said, imitating him. She tilted her head at the church where Pennington was working. “Isn’t there anything more to you than sitting here doing this?”
“Of course there is. If you recall, I walked away from this and never looked back.”
“Oh, okay. Sure.”
“What? I was perfectly content cutting grass and digging ditches. I’d still be landscaping if you hadn’t come and found me.”
“First of all, I saw where you were living, so don’t sit there and tell me you were content,” Carrie said. “Second of all, when I found you, you were like one of those divorced dads who lives in a hotel surrounded by pizza boxes and empty booze bottles that cries himself to sleep every night. Except in your case, the thing you were divorced from was being a detective.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Rein said. The waitress refilled his coffee and he pulled it close, holding the warm cup between his palms. “Yes, there’s more to me than this. I just think that, when I went to prison, and what my life was like when I got out, I had to bury so much of that so deep inside that I haven’t been able to find it again.”
Carrie dug into the remaining apple pie with her fork. “Linda didn’t want you working with me. She yelled at me about it.”
“She yelled at me about it too,” he said.
“Is that because she wanted to be with you?”
“I’m not sure what one thing would have to do with the other.”
“Come on, Rein. How could anyone be in a relationship with you? You’ve spent your whole life running off to hunt wackos. Hey, we have dinner tonight. Sorry, I’ve got to go track down a bad guy. Hey, it’s our son’s birthday party. Sorry, I have to go track down a bad guy. You put this before everything else and that’s why when it went away, you stopped living.”
Jacob stared down at his coffee. “I only missed a few of his birthday parties, for your information. And I always tried to make it up to him.”
“Hey. That’s not what I meant. Come on,” she said, poking him in the arm. “Don’t get mopey. I’m just busting your balls.”
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. He looked through the window. It was dark enough outside to both see through the window at the church where Pennington was cleaning and see himself reflected in the glass, watching.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I was just teasing. You’ve helped more people than anyone I know. There are a lot of kids walking around right now because of you. There is nothing else more important than that in the whole world, Jacob.”
“I’ve spent my entire life doing this because it’s the only thing I’m good at. I wish I knew how to fix cars or build houses. To create something that’s real and exists and people can see it and know there was more to me. But there isn’t. This is what I am good at, Carrie. It’s a terrible thing to be good at.”
* * *
At first daylight, the Penningtons returned to the church and waited in the parking lot for their son. Father Ihan opened the doors and let Tucker out. He carried his cooler with him as he slid into the backseat and then they left. There was no need to follow them.
Carrie’s stomach hurt from too much coffee. Her body was buzzing from the bizarre combination of caffeine and lack of sleep. She’d worked all-nighters before, plenty of them, especially during her days on patrol, but they’d usually been planned.
She followed Rein out of the diner and yawned into her hand. She thought seriously about sleeping in the diner’s parking lot for a little while. Just enough so that she didn’t drift off and wreck her car on the way home.
A police siren sounded from far away, approaching fast. The patrol car came ripping up Main Street, coming toward the diner. There was another behind it, following close.
“What the hell’s that all about?” Carrie said.
The police cars flew past and a state police car ripped around the corner three blocks away and screeched its tires trying to make a left onto Main Street to follow them. In the distance, two more police cars from different jurisdictions appeared, lights and sirens blazing.
Carrie felt her phone buzzing in her pocket. Harv Bender was calling her. She plugged her finger into her ear so she could hear over the sirens. “Hey, Chief. Is something going on?”
“What!” she shouted into the phone over the sirens. “That’s not possible.”
Rein put his hands in his pockets and watched the cars whip past.
“We had eyes on him all goddamn night long! Jesus Christ. This is a nightmare. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She thrust the phone into her pocket and pounded her fist against the roof of her car. “Son of a bitch!” She ran both hands over her face to collect herself and said, “Patricia Martin is dead. So are both her parents. It sounds like a mess.”
Rein went around to the passenger side and said, “We’ll go over there together.”
“How the hell did he do it, Rein? We were watching him. Did he sneak out of the back of the church and run there on foot? Did he have time to do it during the day? What the hell is going on here?”
“It’s simple,” Rein said. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. “Pennington isn’t the killer and we have made a grievous mistake.”
16
“Tucker Pennington is absolutely the killer, without a doubt,” Harv Bender said. “I want him arrested. I do not give a fuck what he is arrested for. If he tosses a bubble gum wrapper out of the window, I want him arrested. If he jaywalks, I want him arrested. Do I make myself clear? Until further notice, every county detective is assigned to containing Pennington. The FBI is on their way to take over the crime scene. Now go out there and get this bastard in handcuffs.”
Carrie raised her hand. There were more cops in the Martins’ front yard than had been at her police academy graduation. Bender had called everyone in. Every available local cop from every nearby jurisdiction was there. All the county detectives were there. State Police were there. The FBI were on their way.
“I have a question,” Carrie called out. She was standing deep enough in the group that she had to raise her hand to try and get Bender’s attention.
Rein pulled her arm down. “Stop talking.”
She yanked her arm away from him, “How are we—”
“Stop talking.”
Bender clapped his hands together and shouted, “Let’s go, people!”
When the crowd dispersed, Rein told Carrie to wait there and maneuvered toward Bender. He was barking commands and directives to the people nearby him. Telling them he wanted to be notified immediately and make it happen now and I want it done yesterday. Rein just waited.
“You two were out watching him all night?” Bender said, once he and Rein were alone.
“That’s right. He got dropped off at the church and picked up in the morning.”
“Guess the Great Detective got outsmarted after all, then,” Bender said.
“I guess so.”
“It happens to the best of us.”
“I’m sorry to admit it, but you’re right.”
“What a total goddamn unholy fucking massacre,” Bender said. “I hate this little fucker. I’m not a church-going man, but I do have religious feelings just like anyone else, and this fucking asshole is making decent folks into sacrilegious playthings. I won’t have it. You hear me?”
“I hea
r you,” Rein said.
“Not in my fucking county. Not on my fucking watch!”
“You’ll get him, Harv,” Rein said. He clapped Bender on the arm and said, “You’ve always been the most committed cop I know. I have faith in you.”
“I appreciate that, Jacob. I really do.”
“Listen, do you mind if Carrie and I have another look at the crime scene?”
“The FBI told me not to let anybody else in there until they arrived.”
“Well, that’s par for the course. It’s okay. I’m sure their people will keep you in the loop.”
Bender sniffed to clear his nose, then leaned close to Rein. He kept his voice low. “You see something useful when you went down there?”
“I think so, but I’m not sure. I need a second look. If I’m right, it could help us get a head start.”
Bender ran his tongue over his teeth, making sure no one was close enough to hear them. “You go down there and work your magic. Look, but don’t touch. If you find anything, I mean anything to help us nail this bastard, I want to know about it like that,” and he snapped his fingers.
“Understood,” Rein said. He hurried back through the crowd and waved for Carrie to follow him. “We don’t have much time.”
The Martins’ house was a large single home. Not as nice as the Penningtons’ but way nicer than any that belonged to the people Carrie knew. It had a large front lawn and the neighbors were far apart and separated by wide stretches of woodland trees on either side. There were statues of lions on either side of the front steps leading up to the house. A large stained-glass window sat above the entrance, filling the foyer with multicolored light.
The large house was silent. The faint scent of decay lingered. Carrie slid on a pair of gloves and said, “Okay. I get that correcting Bender in front of all those people would have been a mistake. But what good does it do to have everyone focused on Pennington if we know he isn’t the suspect?”
Rein slid on a pair of gloves. “What do you know about the Freemasons?”
Carrie rolled her eyes. “Can’t you just give me a straight answer? You pissed me off back there. I have enough trouble trying to establish myself in the old boys’ club without you telling me to stop talking in front of everyone.”
“It had to be done.”
“Why did it have to be done?”
“Because you needed to stop talking.”
Carrie flicked the light on to the basement steps and said, “I really hate you sometimes.”
“Duly noted. So what do you know about the Freemasons?”
“Let’s see. A bunch of old dudes who secretly run the government. Most of the presidents were Freemasons. Their symbols are hidden all over the dollar bill. They’re the Illuminati. They control most of the world governments behind the scenes, and for some reason, all the best rappers in the music industry.”
The copper smell of blood grew stronger as they descended into the basement. “That’s all part of the popular folklore,” Rein said. “Maybe once they had power, but now all the Masons really do is get dressed up in costumes to put on plays for each other and have meetings to argue about who’s running the spaghetti dinner that month.”
The Martins’ basement was an enormous room that had been finished but never furnished. Its thick plush carpeting squished under their feet and the walls were painted and tall, but nothing had ever been hung on them.
Carrie felt herself sag at the sight of the dead bodies inside the room. She’d seen them already, and there was no more of the shock or horror their strange positioning was meant to convey, but as she looked at their vacant eyes and wide-open mouths, she simply felt diminished. Like the value of human life was lessening each time she saw another ruined corpse. It was like standing in a black ocean with the undertow pulling the sandy floor out from under her. She could feel her footing giving way. No matter how hard she tried to stay upright, it was only a matter of time before it took her away too.
“All Masonic temples are set up the same way,” Rein said.
Mrs. Martin’s naked body was slumped along the wall to his right. Her throat had been cut so deeply that Carrie could see the white of the woman’s spinal cord within. Mrs. Martin’s hands were cupped in her lap, holding a length of blackened meat. It was her own tongue, Carrie realized. Torn out at the root. “Did you notice the sun coming through the stained-glass window when we came in?” Rein asked.
“I did,” Carrie said.
“Where is north?”
“What?” She could not take her eyes off the woman’s severed tongue. What had it been removed by? Had she been alive when it was done?
“The sun rises in the east and sets in the west,” Rein said. “You said you saw the sun coming through the window. Which way was it shining and which way is north?”
Carrie thought, trying to orient herself. She pointed at the staircase behind them and said, “That’s north.”
“Exactly,” Rein said.
In the center of the room was a wooden crate turned upside down. Sitting on top of it was a large, leather-bound, family Bible. There was a clump of something burnt on top of the Bible. It looked like a coil of black sausage surrounded by a pile of charred worms.
There were three black candles placed around the crate. Two on the north side, and the other, facing south. It was only a few feet from where Mr. Martin’s body sat on the floor. He was bare-chested, and his round hairy belly bulged over his waist, hanging to the floor. The left side of his chest was ripped open, a long cut that opened him up from his collarbone to the center of his breastbone.
The skin and muscle there had been hacked away and the killer had scooped out the man’s heart and left lung. They were tossed over his left shoulder, suspended by a tangle of artery and vein, and left to hang.
At the left side of the room, in the east, where the sun shined high above her but could not be seen in this room, lay both halves of Patricia Martin.
Her naked body had been severed in two at the waist. Her upper torso was laying so that her head faced the wall behind her. The lower half of her body was laying a foot away from her on the carpet, displaying the blue and gray coils of her severed intestines. She looked like she’d been cut in half during a children’s magic show from hell, Carrie thought.
What kind of a tool can cut a human body in half? A hand saw, sliding across skin and bone until it cuts all the way through? A chainsaw, filling the room with gasoline fumes, as it splattered Patricia Martin’s body in two? Had she been alive when it was happening? How long did it take someone to die when their body was being ripped in half?
The horror was in not knowing.
Carrie thought of all the times she’d been in a hardware store, looking for tools. Things with sharp edges. Implements, designed to cut and angle and work raw materials into shape. To impose order on the chaos of nature. Tools were supposed to be a prized and almost sacred thing, born of balance and mathematics and ancient, proven, design. They’d elevated the apes who’d first invented them into something new. Something that could plan and create entire civilizations. To use those same tools to do something so base as to rip another human being in half offended her on every level.
Patricia Martin’s entrails had been cut loose and carried over to the Bible in the center of the room. The killer had lit them on fire there and left them to smolder. Spray painted on the floor in the center of the room, with the crate and Bible at its center, was a large pentagram.
“All prospective masons must go through a series of three degrees to attain the final rank and become full members. The idea is that a mason can visit any Masonic temple in the world, and as long as he knows the secret word or handshake, he will be treated like a brother. Every temple practices the same basic rituals and are all set up the same way.” Rein pointed at Mrs. Martin and said, “The Senior Warden, who sits at the West. Her injuries, the severed throat and removal of the tongue, are the penalties for anyone who violates the oath of the Apprentice Mason.�
��
He nodded toward Mr. Martin, sitting across from them. “The Junior Warden, who sits at the south. The second degree is called the Fellow Craft, and if you violate the oath you take during it, you agree to have your heart and innards taken out and cast over your left shoulder.”
“So much for only doing spaghetti dinners,” Carrie said.
“It’s meant to be symbolic,” Rein said.
“Clearly, someone didn’t get the memo.” She clenched her eyes shut and turned away. “Shit, when I said spaghetti dinners, I looked right at all the veins holding Mr. Martin’s heart attached to his chest. I’m not getting rid of that mental image for a long time, Rein.”
Rein stood in the middle of the room, looking down at the Bible. “The altar is surrounded by the three lights, always formed into a triangle, for the sun, the moon, and the head of the lodge.” He pointed at pentagram spray-painted on the floor and said, “Another clumsy Satanic reference. It doesn’t fit, though. Masons used pentagrams and other mathematical symbols centuries before Anton LaVey turned it upside down and adopted it for Satanic iconography.”
He circled around the altar and stood looking down at the remains of Patricia Martin. “And here we have the final station. Always set in the east. The punishment of being torn in two and having your organs burned is exactly as described in the third degree oath.” He pointed at Mrs. Martin and said, “Apprentice.” He pointed at her husband, “Then, Fellow Craft.”
Rein turned to regard the display made of Patricia Martin’s body. “The mason who passes through all of these degrees to reach the east, who is deemed worthy, is given a title. Do you know what rank you achieve once you reach the east, Carrie?”
She knew. The killer had cut Patricia Martin’s body in half and made a desecration of her entire family to make a petty little statement. He was laying claim to his title in the most sickening way. “You become the Master.”
17
Carrie kept the gas pedal down as she weaved through the highway traffic in front of her. There were troopers hidden all along that stretch of highway, but it didn’t matter. If they saw her, they either recognized she was in an undercover police car or just didn’t feel like coming out of their hole. She glanced at her GPS. They were twenty miles away from Sunshine Estates.
Blood Angel Page 19