“Yeah, why wouldn’t he be?” Paul asked with disdain.
I opened my mouth to tell Paul what an asshole he could be sometimes when I saw the fear in Joyce’s eyes. “I’m on my way, Paul. Don’t move the body until I get there,” I said and hung up. Looking at Joyce, I was conflicted. I could take her back to my apartment and park a patrol car outside while I was gone. It probably was the right thing to do, but the thought of her being out of my sight for that long made me nervous. If I stopped long enough to analyze that, I would be paralyzed and impotent. I couldn’t let that happen. “Okay, I’ve got to go so I’ll drop you off at my apartment on the way.”
“What happened? Did something happen to your brother?” she asked.
“No, he’s fine. They found a body by the church where he is a priest.”
“The same church I was at?”
“Uh…” Just tell her the truth. “Yes. Paul thinks it might be connected to you, but he didn’t say how.”
She shook her head and crawled over to the door. “Then I’m coming with you.”
“You understand, it’s a dead body, and I don’t know how long it’s been exposed to the elements.”
She turned back and looked at me. “I understand, and I promise, I can handle it.”
Why Me? – Sister Emily aka Joyce
Trina explained everything on the way to the church, which wasn’t really very much. A dead body that was somehow connected to me. That was it. And yet, just that little bit of news made me incredibly anxious for some reason. Not at seeing a dead body, but that the body was connected to me somehow. Was he someone I knew… when I had my memories? I glanced over at Trina, who looked so unbelievably handsome. A strong jaw line that I found myself fantasizing about kissing, shallow dimples in her cheeks, and lips that I longed to press mine against. Get a grip. It will never happen. She was probably hoping to be done with all this and with me. If the woman had a fault, it would be that she was too generous, taking me in, giving me her bedroom, protecting me around the clock. She was trying so hard to help me and I needed to try harder to remember, to help her. And even though I’d grown so close to her, and I knew it would hurt me to have to leave her, I owed her that much.
There were police cars everywhere in front of the church. A police officer blocked our way in until Trina showed him her badge, then he waved us through. We pulled up to the church and parked.
Trina turned the engine off and then swiveled in her seat and looked at me. “There are reporters here so stick close to me and don’t speak to any of them, okay?”
“Why would I talk to them?” I asked curiously. It’s not like I know anything.
“Reporters make their money by sniffing out a story and reporting it. With your memory gone, and you back at the same church where the first crime happened, you would make a good story. Until we catch your attacker, I don’t want you to be exposed like that.”
“Oh, okay. That makes sense. Thanks for looking out for me.”
“Always… uh, I mean, yeah, it’s my job to look out for you. Ready?”
Always. I locked that thought away and unbuckled my seatbelt. “Let’s go.”
Trina got out and opened the backseat door. She pulled out a dark blue windbreaker with Houston Police written in bold, white letters on the back. She slipped it on as we walked toward the church.
We were greeted at the church’s entryway by a man in blue jeans and a t-shirt that had the same symbol the church sign had on it.
“Trina, I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, looking nervous. Then he looked at me. “Oh. Is this the woman who tried to hit me with a candlestick?”
Blushing, I look him straight in the eye. “Yes, and I am sorry about that. Did I hurt you?”
“No, not at all,” he replied, relieving some of my anxiety. “I’m so glad to know that you’re all right.”
Trina put her hand on my shoulder. “Father Corey Wiles, meet Sister Emily Ann Sutherland.”
His mouth gaped open. “A nun? No shit?”
“Father Wiles, for shame,” Trina teased.
He blushed a bright amber and shuffled his feet. I couldn’t help but laugh. He laughed with me and leaned closer. “Don’t tell holier than thou Father Matthew. He’ll report me to the diocese.” His tone sounded serious, but his eyes were playful. He had kind eyes, like his sister.
“I’m sure we have a few holier than thou sisters in our order, too,” I reciprocated.
“Corey, where’s the body?” Trina asked, getting back to the reason we were there.
“In the graveyard around the back,” Corey answered and then glanced at me. “Father Matthew insisted that I stay here, but I’m the one who found the body.”
“You did?” Trina asked in disbelief.
“Yes, I almost wet my…” He glanced at me again. “I was really scared when I saw him.”
Trina let loose with a loud snort.
Clearly, Corey was used to talking with his sister in a familiar way and everyone else in a formal way. People expect it of priests and nuns. I had felt that way around people at the police station and just kept my mouth shut and let Trina do all the talking.
“Tell me what you saw and everything you did. Everything, no matter how insignificant you might think it is,” Trina ordered as she pulled out a small notepad and pencil from inside her jacket.
“I go out to the churchyard every morning to pray. It’s kind of a ritual I’ve been doing since before I was ordained. Makes me feel closer to God, for some reason.”
“The closer you are to death, the closer you are to God. I remember Dad telling me that when Grandma was so sick,” Trina said. Corey’s eyes grew large and Trina shrugged. “So, anyway. Did you touch him?”
“Yes, to feel for a pulse, which I didn’t find,” Corey reported. “Then I checked his jacket pocket for identification.”
“And did you find any?” Trina asked.
“No, but then I didn’t check his whole body. I came in here and called 911.”
“Okay, I’ll go check it out,” Trina said, putting her notepad away.
“Uh, be careful where you step out there,” Corey advised.
Trina looked at him closely and then nodded. He did look a little pale. “Got it,” she said and then turned to me. “Sister Emily, you stay here with Corey, and—”
“Nothing doing,” I warned her. “You said I was connected somehow so I’m going with you.”
Trina shook her head and chuckled. “I see you remembered your stubbornness… All right, come on. Corey, you can come, too, if you want.”
“Uh, okay,” he said indecisively.
We walked through the auditorium and out the back door. The graveyard was across the lot from the back of the church. A wrought-iron fence surrounded it and I could see a road on the far side. As we walked over, Corey explained that the graveyard was owned by the church and the only entryway was through the church. He said it was a private burial ground for priests, sisters, and parishioners of the church. Surprisingly, it was smaller than I expected.
A plethora of police officers were gathered at the far end of the churchyard, some huddled together, and some scurrying every which way. As we approached the yellow tape that cordoned off the area, Trina had to show her badge again before the three of us could pass. I admit, it was a bit overwhelming, and my stomach twisted in knots.
“Uh… I think I’ve changed my mind,” Corey said, stopping at the tape.
Trina turned to him. “Good, because I need you to write down everything you remember, just like you told me. I’ll be back in a few minutes to get your notes.”
He looked positively relieved and hurried back to the church.
“Do you really need his statement now?” I asked after Corey was out of earshot.
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “The uniforms will take a formal statement later.”
Trina had a way with her little brother that warmed my heart. It was obvious she loved him and wouldn’t belittle hi
m about something like this.
“Over here,” Paul yelled.
The sea of blue shirts parted, and I could see a shadow of a form lying on the ground next to a tombstone. As we walked closer, the body came into focus. Something’s not right.
Paul was leaning over the body and when he saw me, he stood up and walked a few steps toward me. “Sister Emily. What are you doing here?”
“You said it was connected to her, so I let her come,” Trina answered for me.
“It rained this weekend so he’s not pretty. It might be too much for her…”
Paul’s voice faded out as I studied the dead man for a moment. He was wearing a mask, the same one he wore when he attacked me, and his eyes, glassed over in death, were still the beady eyes coming at me in the dark.
“Why me?” I screamed and jumped on top of the man, pummeling his face with my fists. “Why?”
Chapter Thirteen
See a Dead Body, Punch a Dead Body – Trina Wiles
Joyce screamed and then she jumped on top of the body, punching it in the face. I couldn’t move. I was taken aback by this timid woman with tiny fists punching a corpse. She wasn’t slapping his face like a girl; she was using her fist like a pro. This girl could hit.
Paul grabbed Joyce up and practically threw her at me. “Are you crazy?” he yelled.
“He raped me!” she screamed and tried to go after the body again.
I grabbed her by the waist and held her back, surprised and oddly proud of the rage I felt emanating from her. She recognized her rapist, and she wanted to give back some of what he gave her. I only wished the bastard was alive, so she could. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and tried to calm her. “You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
I could feel her begin to relax when Paul waved at us to follow him. We walked to the back of the lot, which was more of a park, with a water fountain, flower beds, and wooden benches to sit and reflect. I pointed to one of the benches and the three of us walked over. Joyce and I sat down, and Paul began to pace. It was his way of lining up the pieces and getting a picture of the events.
“Okay, Sister,” he began. “You recognized the body lying on top of that grave as your rapist.”
“Yes, I recognized him from his cold, dead eyes,” Joyce stated succinctly. “And the cut over his right eye that I gave to him.”
“Tell us about that,” I said. This was a fresh memory that she had not mentioned before, and I was almost giddy with anticipation. The more she remembered about the attack, the more ammunition we’d have to track down the other attacker.
“When I was grabbed from behind and that guy,” she waved toward the graveyard, “came at me, I kicked him in the nuts and when he grabbed them, I kicked him in the forehead.”
“Brilliant!” I exclaimed proudly. “What happened next?”
She darted her eyes as the memory surfaced. “The man who held me from behind yanked me around and hit me in the face and I fell to the ground.” Joyce ran her fingers across her cheek as if she were still feeling the punch. “I must have blacked out because when I opened my eyes again, the guy was on top of me, grinning and slobbering like a rabid dog.”
I could feel her trembling even though she put on a brave face. I put my arm across her shoulder again and pulled her closer. Paul stopped pacing and glared at me. I normally comfort female victims while on the job, but his insinuation that I was doing more than protocol was correct. I removed my arm, reluctantly, and said, “Can you tell us what happened next?”
It was obvious, he raped her. But if she could get it all out in the open, she could face the monsters in her mind, which would be different than facing a corpse. In her mind, he was still very much alive.
“I know it will be hard, Sister, but give us all the details,” Paul requested gently.
Joyce looked at me, and I nodded.
“You can do this,” I assured her.
She took my hand in hers and stared at it, running her fingers along my bones, as she recounted the attack. Tears ran down her cheeks as she spoke, and by the time she had told the horrific story, she was sobbing in my arms. I held her, rocking her softly, caressing her hair as I rubbed her back. Paul cleared his throat, and I glared at him. I wasn’t backing down this time. She needed me.
“You did very well, Sister,” Paul said. “And I’m so sorry to have to ask this, but can you tell us what happened next?”
Joyce shuffled in her seat and wiped her tears away with her palms. “He was a very large man and there was a lot of pain, so, um, things got hazy after that. He climbed off of me and the other man who had been holding me down by the shoulders came around to face me. He wore a mask also, and I thought he was going to rape me next. I tried to fight him off. God, I tried so hard.”
“Did he? Rape you, too?” I asked, terrified of the answer. Tests showed only one type of semen was found on Joyce, but the guy could have used a condom.
“No, I don’t think so. He had a syringe in his hands, and I can’t remember anything after he stabbed me in the arm with it.”
“What about the second guy’s eyes?” Paul asked. “Anything unique about them. Color, pupils enlarged, pinpoint, cross-eyed?”
Joyce shook her head. “I guess after what I had just been through, I was too afraid to look him in the eyes.”
It was my turn to ask a question. “You told me that you thought the dead guy, who is Caucasian, smelled like Mexican food. What did the second guy smell like?”
Joyce closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose. “Cologne. It wasn’t strong, but it smelled like wood and spices.”
“Not something a rapist would waste time putting on,” I surmised.
“Unless it was premeditated,” Paul countered.
“What are you thinking?” I asked, wondering if it might be the same thing I was thinking.
“I’m thinking this was not an opportunist rape,” Paul said. “The drugs, the burned fingertips.”
“The guy who raped her was collateral that needed to be eradicated,” I added.
“My thinking, too,” Paul agreed.
“Also, I haven’t had a chance to tell you, Paul.” I began as I pulled out my cell phone and, tapping on the photo app, brought up the picture of Joyce’s family. “She has a twin sister. I found out that twins have the same DNA but not the same fingerprints. I think Joyce’s… I mean Sister Emily’s attack was a case of mistaken identity.” I handed him my phone.
“Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed as he enlarged the picture and then looked at Joyce. “So, she could be the other twin, not the nun?”
“It’s the only thing that would explain the fingerprints being burned off.” I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. “I have a theory, if you’d like to hear it?”
“All right, let’s have it,” he replied, handing my phone back to me.
I had laid awake most of the previous night thinking about this. “The best scenario I came up with was that the rape was strictly for effect. Someone hired the dead man over there to rape a nun and mistook Joyce for her sister. They needed his semen to leave their message, snitch, and once that was done, they killed him. And the message they left in her underwear wasn’t for her, it was for her sister, Joyce. I don’t think the plan was to kill the nun. They would send a more powerful message by letting her live.”
“Trina…” Joyce hesitated for a moment, thinking through what I had just said. “Do you think my sister is alive?”
“I do, and I think it’s imperative that we find her.”
She looked up at me with such a look of determination. “So do I.”
On a Mission – Joyce aka Jane Doe
If what Trina theorized was true, then I was back to not knowing who I am. Joyce? Sister Emily? Twin number one? I was back to being Jane Doe.
“Okay, now hold up just a damn minute,” Paul barked. “Why would they want the nun to know her sister was a snitch?”
“No, not the nun,” Trina countered. “Joyce
. They thought they were raping the nun to send Joyce a message.”
Paul shook his head. “Okay, let me see if I understand your crazy theory.”
“It’s not a crazy—”
He held his hand up. “You think they did all this to send a message to Joyce, who, according to your theory, is not the nun. If she’s not, then who is she and why didn’t they just kill her instead of going to such lengths?”
“Well, again, my theory is that Joyce is part of a task force or maybe an agent with one of the federal agencies like the FBI.”
“If that were true, then her DNA would have turned up something in the inter-agency databases.”
“Not if she were working undercover,” Trina argued. “Wouldn’t they wipe her record clean so she wouldn’t be detected?”
If Trina’s theory was right, that meant they could realize their mistake and go after my sister again. What if they already did and she was laying hurt or dead somewhere? “Can I say something?” I asked.
“To that kind of extreme?” Paul challenged. “It would have to be a damn big op for that to happen.”
“It’s either that or we stopped looking after the first ID was made,” she dared.
“Hello?” I said, louder this time.
“I had the tech run a thorough DNA test, using all the databases we have,” Paul asserted.
Trina shook her head. “I know, but we didn’t plan for her being a twin. We should run it through again.”
“Listen to me, damn it!” I yelled, and they stopped, their mouth gaping open as they looked at me. “None of this matters right now. We should focus on finding my sister. She’s vulnerable and all alone out there. She may be in danger. Please, we have to find her.”
“She’s right,” Trina agreed, filling my heart with hope. “We find her, we solve the mystery.”
“I don’t care about the mystery, damn it!” I yelled, catching them both by surprise again. “Just find my sister.”
“We will, I promise,” Trina said assuredly.
“Alright. We need to start over,” Paul decided. “I’ll process the body; you go back to the convent.”
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