The Last Amen

by C. C. Jameson

  That can’t be him again, can it? Oh shit.

  “Did you see that?” the man sitting next to her asked.

  “Yes. Crazy, uh?”

  “Hope you don’t mind me saying, but you kind of look like those two chicks. Ain’t you lucky to be living far away from there?”

  “Yeah. Lucky me.” Pixie dropped a handful of small bills next to her half-empty bowl, then darted out to the street, her stomach knotted and her heart pounding.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Monday, June 25th, 2018

  “Sorry, I’m late. What can you tell me, Doc?” Kate asked as she rushed into the examination room, wearing scrubs that matched those of Dr. Cooper, except hers were still clean.

  “Same manner and cause of death. This one was just found sooner.”

  “Rape?”

  “I don’t believe so, although there were signs of recent sexual intercourse.”

  “How recent?” she asked while her eyes darted toward the bloody organs that had been taken out of the vic already.

  “Hard to tell. Sperm can live for five days. But I collected a sample for you to compare with that of the other victim.”

  “What about stomach contents? Empty like last time?”

  The doctor joined her by the side of the organs and lifted a plastic bag. “No, some pasty red stuff.”

  “Looks like grape juice and crackers in there. Drugs?”

  “Hard to tell if the same poison or drug was used, but the irises and pupils point to that, as well as the clear lack of struggle.”

  “Whoever the killer is, he’s not taking delight in being in charge or earning that kill. Is the rosary the murder weapon again?” Kate asked.

  “The victim technically died of heart failure due to asphyxiation. Ligature strangulation with a few of those rosaries. Like the last victim, there are too many beads imprinted for just one rosary. The pattern is much clearer this time since the body isn’t bloated or discolored yet.”

  “Did you bag the rosary for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll have the DNA analyzed. Thanks, Doc,” Kate said before grabbing the evidence bag he offered.

  “One more thing,” the doctor said, holding another evidence bag with just a swab in it.

  “What is it?”

  “I didn’t notice this on the previous victim, but it may have been there as well. Decomposition and insects may have made it harder for me to notice. There was an oily residue on the middle of her forehead, shaped like a cross—”

  “Someone performed a religious rite on her?”

  “Possibly. That’s for you to determine.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Kneeling in front of his altar, he lowered his head and began praying, his voice a soft whisper.

  “Dear Lord in Heaven, give me the strength to carry on with Your plan. Allow me to save those young souls before they burn in the fires of Hell, destroying their only chance at being reunited with You in Heaven.”

  He paused as visions of flames engulfing a body came to mind.

  Her. Again.

  While their fraternal bond had never displayed the kind of connections some twins seemed to share while she was alive, he most certainly felt her burning pain these days. Perhaps it was because his connection with God had gotten stronger with each soul he’d saved.

  Maybe watching her—and sometimes hearing her screams—as flames flickered around her body was his incentive. The vision of her body in Hell was clearly a sign sent by God to motivate him to move forward with His plan.

  “Please ease her pain. I don’t know if You can help since she’s not in Your Kingdom, but…”

  Before he could find the words to continue his prayer, his vision worsened. Suddenly, the fire swallowed his sister whole, her skin burning, melting, and exposing her bones, turning her beautiful face into a scene from a horror movie. But as unbelievable as it was, her blonde hair remained immune to the heat. As though his vision was becoming reality, he started sweating. His heart threatened to push its way out of his chest as it increased its cadence. He could hear the blood pounding in his head.

  But suddenly, her blonde hair turned jet black and her terrified eyes stared directly into his soul, leaving a burning sensation in his chest.

  He snapped out of it and blinked. Making the sign of the cross, he thanked the Lord for His vivid message then got up.

  “I won’t just save blonde women anymore. I’ll expand my reach. Prevent other souls from burning in Hell. Thank You, Lord. Thank You for selecting me as Your servant in this very important mission.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Sitting at her desk, Kate picked up the phone for the third time in less than a minute, then finally worked up the courage to dial the number she’d written down.

  “Hey, Sheriff Ramsay. My name’s Kate Murphy. I’m the daughter of Steve and Jocelyn Murphy.”

  Silence filled the air for a few seconds, then the man spoke up.

  “Oh dear. I remember you. I’m so sorry we never tracked down the killer.”

  “Actually, that’s what I’m calling about, Sheriff. I’m now a homicide detective with the Boston PD.”

  “Oh! Congrats on that!”

  “Thanks.”

  “I saw on the news. You guys seem to have your hands full these days. Are you involved with that investigation?”

  “I am.”

  “I hope you find him fast.”

  “Yeah. You and me both. We don’t have much to go on, but listen, I’m not calling to discuss that.”

  “Obviously,” he said, even though Kate wondered what was so obvious about it. Perhaps just a pattern of speech.

  “I’m calling about my family’s case.”

  “What about it?”

  “My partner—” hearing her own word to refer to Luke made her realize how odd it sounded “—convinced me to look at the case files. He seems to think that, with what I know now, and perhaps with a bit of luck, I may be able to find something. Now, I’m not saying you weren’t thorough with the case back then. Far from it—”

  “I understand. No need to apologize or explain why you’d want to have a look. I’ve got nothing to hide. As a fellow law enforcement officer, you’re more than welcome to look at our case files.”

  “How would I go about that?” Kate asked.

  “It’s been a cold case for nearly two decades. We got very little room here, so the files were moved to a secure facility out of town.”

  “Any chance you can hook me up with the address and permission form so I could go and access those files?”

  “I can take care of that. No problem. Why don’t you give me your badge number, phone number, and email? I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  Kate provided all the information he needed, then added, “It most likely won’t happen until we find our serial killer here, but I thought I’d touch base and get the ball rolling sooner rather than later.”

  “I get it. Those homicide scenes really mess up one’s mind, don’t they? I still think of your parents nearly every day. I never really got over their case, you know? Their bodies—”

  “Sheriff,” Kate interrupted. “Can I ask one question about the case?”

  “Shoot.”

  “How would you describe the stab wounds on each of my parents?”

  Quite a few seconds passed, then a loud exhalation reached Kate’s ears. The sheriff cleared his throat.

  “Your dad wasn’t stabbed. His throat was slit. That takes a lot of work, or knowledge, to do right.”

  “And my mom?” Kate prompted.

  “She was stabbed. Multiple times in the chest. Her throat was slit as well, but nothing like your dad’s. I don’t know why, but I’m sorry for describing it to you like that. It was horrible. And you poor thing found them like that. I’m amazed that the sight of those wounds didn’t ingrain itself in your mind forever.”

  “The mind is a funny thing. I think it
filled in some blanks for me over time. I really gotta go, but thanks again for your help, and I’ll be in touch.”

  “Hope you catch your killer soon.”

  Chapter Forty

  When Rosebud walked into their shared office, he saw Murphy hanging up the phone and grabbing her jacket.

  “Any of the priests react oddly?” she asked when she saw him.

  “Nope.” Rosebud dropped his body into the old chair and tested the strength of its support as he leaned way back. He loosened his tie and exhaled loudly while retrieving his notebook. “Their personal takes were all slightly different but nothing major.”

  “What do they think?”

  He began scanning his notes. “Some boring stuff. Colossians is the twelfth book in the New Testament, written by Paul, although that wasn’t globally agreed upon—”

  “Who cares who wrote it? That was centuries ago. What does it mean?”

  He scanned through more text, his finger sliding down past his scribbles. He then flipped a page. And another.

  “Father Miller, the older priest, talked lots about the history behind it. Let me get to the good parts.” He flipped one more page. “Here. This particular 3:17 section is about the rules for Holy Living.”

  “What do you mean? Like what constitutes a sin?”

  “That’s pretty much how I understood it. But one of them, Father Matthews, went on about the Old Self and the New Self. I honestly didn’t get that part.”

  “So, we’re back to square one.”

  “Except we know the killer’s targeting sinners.”

  “Are the sins identical between the two passages? Lori’s and Jessica’s ribbon marks?”

  “Similar but not identical. How was the autopsy? Did I miss anything important?”

  “I missed a big chunk of it myself. Fucking paparazzi and journalists have been following me around. They were at my house this morning! Can you believe it?”

  “Since when do the press care about detectives investigating homicide cases?”

  “I know, right? The questions they yelled all implied I was to blame for our lack of progress since I was the lead. The world’s going crazy. Anyways, they eventually understood my ‘no comment’ and left me alone. The M.E. confirms it’s pretty much the same as with the first vic. Recent sexual intercourse, no rape. And there was some dark red paste in her stomach.”

  Rosebud shivered as he imagined that. “Glad to have missed it.”

  “One new thing, though: some oily residue was used on her forehead.”

  “What oil?”

  “I sent it to the lab to get it analyzed. I bumped it up in the queue. Anyways, I’m heading out to meet our second vic’s BFF, a woman named Lucy Hamilton. She has a strong alibi, she was attending a race, and it checked out; she won third place. I was just on the phone with the organizers. But she could know more about where Jessica was prior to her death. I’m heading out to talk to her now. Want to come with?” Murphy asked.

  “Sure. Beats doing paperwork. But could we grab a coffee and donut first?”

  “I’ll do you one better. She works at an Italian coffee shop. Why don’t we grab something to eat there? We should have enough time before my meeting with the profiler.”

  “Great!”

  Chapter Forty-One

  As Rosebud drove to Lucy’s place of employment, Kate sat in the passenger seat, going through her notes from the interviews she’d conducted already. The father and one of their neighbors had stated that Jessica wasn’t seeing anyone that they knew of (nobody came to the apartment on a regular basis).

  The medical examiner’s findings sure didn’t add up with what those two had said.

  Jessica had obviously been seeing someone. Or perhaps the killer had left his DNA and was indeed raping his victims. The lack of struggle… But with unprotected sex, fluids would have oozed out of her if sexual intercourse had occurred just prior to or post death. It would have been a mess to clean up. Leaving blatant DNA behind like that when all of the prints had been wiped clean? Nope.

  That scenario didn’t make sense.

  Not for the killer. And not for Jessica.

  “Jessica had to have been seeing someone. And not a woman, obviously. So this removes homosexuality from the list—or at least makes it much less likely. Who knows? She could have been bi, but she had obviously had sex with a man recently. What else did you have on that list again?”

  “What list?” Rosebud asked, taking his eyes off of the road for a second.

  “The list of sins from the Bible. For Jessica.”

  Rosebud tilted his head. “Idolatry, sexual immorality, moral impurity, promiscuity, hatred, anger, jealousy, selfishness, envy, drunkenness, sorcery—”

  “Sorcery?”

  “Yeah, that one’s on the list. Ri-di-cu-lous. I don’t think it applies here. I think our killer has to get his kicks from one particular sin.”

  “But why the two passages then?”

  “Damned if I know. But let’s start with giving Jessica the facts, and we’ll see where things go from there.”

  After finding a parking spot near the Italian coffee shop where Lucy worked, Kate and Rosebud headed in.

  The aroma of freshly baked pizza and the delighted faces on various patrons made Kate turn to Rosebud. “What do you think? A pizza to go?”

  “I thought you’d never ask, you slave driver!”

  “Let’s find Lucy and see if we can have our questions answered and get an order ready to go in time.”

  The order ended up being the easiest of both tasks, the chef insisting on Lucy being absolutely essential for the next five minutes. After the detectives showed their badges, Caesar salads appeared. “On the house,” a short man said as he delivered the plates.

  “We can’t accept free food,” Kate explained, “we just need to talk with Lucy for a few minutes.”

  “Ah, come on. It’s not a big deal,” Rosebud said.

  “Accepting free food is clearly against our department’s policy.”

  He’d already stuffed two forkfuls down his throat. “In your world. But fine. We’ll leave a generous tip that covers the cost of those salads. How about that?”

  “It blows my mind. How you can navigate through shades of gray like this when the policies are black and white.”

  “It gets easier with time. I promise. I’ve got a solid decade of detective work over you, so—”

  “Detectives, you wanted to see me?” Lucy said.

  Kate turned away from Rosebud to stare at the woman wearing white from head to toe—except for various orange stains on her apron. Her eyes were hollow and heavy, as though she hadn’t slept much the previous night.

  “I assume this has to do with Jessica. Her dad called me last night. It’s so horrible what happened to her—”

  “Lucy!” someone yelled from the kitchen.

  “That’s the chef. I really don’t have much time. We’re understaffed and have lots of orders to fill.”

  “We’ll make it quick. I attended the autopsy earlier today. Turns out that Jessica was seeing a special someone.”

  “Well, she was seeing someone. But it was very secretive. Nobody but me knew about it.”

  “You, Jessica, and him,” Rosebud said, his mouth not fully empty yet.

  Kate resisted the urge to elbow him. “Who’s he?” she asked Lucy instead.

  “If I tell you, will it stay private?”

  “We’ll have to look into him. He could be a suspect.”

  “No, I don’t think so. Plus, he’s married. Nobody can find out.”

  Rosebud cleared his throat. “Perhaps the man’s wife found out. We need to know.”

  “Well—”

  “Lucy!” the chef yelled again from the kitchen.

  “Give us a name and you can get back to work,” Kate prompted, noticing the hesitation in the brunette’s eyes.

  She exhaled deeply. “All I know is that his first initial is A, he’s married, and he’s friends with her da
d. That’s it. I’m sorry I can’t give you any more because I don’t know anything else. Please don’t smear her name. Or his.”

  “Thanks, Lucy,” Kate said as she finished noting things down.

  A pizza box arrived just as Lucy returned to the kitchen. The waiter insisted on transferring Kate’s untouched salad to a to-go container, then they covered their meal—all of it at Kate’s insistence—and headed to the station.

  With heavenly smelling pizza in their hands, a solid lead, and their upcoming meeting with the profiler, things were starting to look up.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Tuesday, June 26th, 2018

  Amanda McCutcheon tried to stare at herself in the mirror but couldn’t meet the reflection of her own eyes.

  Was it my stupid tongue that got her killed?

  Who am I to judge her for getting it on with David? He’s freaking hot. I probably wouldn’t have stayed a virgin as long as she did.

  Am I responsible for her death?

  Digging a hand down into her pocket she pulled out a little baggie with two pieces of candy her friend Joshua had given her. “To ease the painful memories,” he’d said.

  She’d never taken any drugs before, but if she was to blame for her friend’s death, she might as well check out. The gaping hole in her heart was unbearable, and the more she thought about Lori, the larger that hole got, as though widening with her surge of pain and guilt.

  She popped one in her mouth and waited. As she sucked on the slightly-odd tasting candy, she considered calling David.

  No. I can’t do that. Not with the police still considering me a suspect.

  She walked to the kitchen, slightly anxious to have the chemicals kick in. Would she pass out? Or start giggling for no reason? She had no idea how it would work.

  All she knew is that nothing was happening right now.

  Desperate for something—anything—to kick in, Amanda pulled the cork from the wine bottle she’d opened the night before and took a swig right from it. She didn’t particularly enjoy the taste of wine, but at least she was doing something to numb the pain. She downed another swig then returned the bottle to the counter before corking it once more.