Exorcized (Episode Five: The Nightshade Cases) Read online

  Kinsey’s usefulness to Gerri was pretty much washed up at this point. But, the symbol itself intrigued her, if only for the use of it instead of a common word in English that would have done the trick just as well. Knowing she was pushing the boundaries of her agreement with Simone, but only using the symbols she’d taken from the necklace found with Emma Sonnicker, Kinsey flipped open her notebook and slid it across the desk to Father Delacruz.

  “Have you ever seen any of these before?” The Bible she’d taken from Roxy, the dead transvestite dancer, had looked like the King James version she was familiar with, but had references to other races and the paranormal. The Bible was long gone with the rest of the evidence the two dancers had been murdered. But, whoever made the case go away couldn’t erase Kinsey’s memory. Or her undying curiosity.

  Delacruz frowned down at the book, head tilting as he did, fingers sliding over the page. “How odd,” he said. “I have. But I can’t recall where.” He looked up. “Is this important for the case?”

  Kinsey didn’t get to lie to the priest, a fact she was heartily grateful for no matter her beliefs. The door to his office opened, a cheerful, shorter man poking his head inside.

  “Bishop Harrow.” Father Delacruz lunged to his feet while the Bishop waved him down again. Kinsey took the offered hand, standing to greet the kind-faced man as he pumped her arm with enthusiasm. “This is Dr. DanAllart,” Delacruz said. “She’s assisting Detective Meyers.”

  “A terrible tragedy, the loss of Father Schaefer.” The Bishop was as good a politician as the slickest layman, Kinsey was sure, though his regret and hurt seemed genuine to her. “Anything at all the diocese can to do help—”

  “You can start,” Gerri practically bellowed as she burst through the door, filling the last of the space with her massive anger while Ray hovered in the hall behind her, “by telling me why a young woman’s warning Father Harry was molesting kids was ignored.” She pointed at Father Delacruz. “Tell me you didn’t cover this up.”

  Delacruz’s lips flapped, his gaze panicked, falling on the Bishop whose entire demeanor changed. He spun on Gerri with a closed expression, gesturing toward the door.

  “I can assure you,” he said in a cool and professional tone, “nothing of the sort happened in my diocese.” His outrage rippled over him. And though Kinsey knew she was a terrible judge of character and should leave the instinctual trust of others—or not—to Gerri, she couldn’t help but believe Bishop Harrow was telling the truth. “Now, Detective,” he went on in the same voice, “I will answer all of your questions as soon as I have the diocese lawyers present. For now, this is a church matter and I will ask you to leave.”

  Gerri’s laugh was harsh, full of the temper Kinsey knew could get her into a whole heap of trouble. But, the redhead just stood there, shaking.

  “Changed your tune fast enough,” she said, voice soft and dangerous.

  The Bishop pushed past her, Gerri storming after him. Ray met Kinsey’s eyes, a worried look that told her the brunette was concerned what the detective might do. She was on her way to the exit herself, heart pounding, when the priest called out to her.

  Kinsey turned, felt a flash of disgust. “You did know,” she said. “After you sat here and told me you didn’t.”

  His face twisted in grief, frustration, fear. “I didn’t tell the Bishop,” he said. “I told Father Harry.”

  Kinsey left him there with his guilt. He didn’t have to answer to her, according to his beliefs. Maybe there was a God who would make sure Dante Delacruz paid for allowing his mentor to molest children.

  Hopefully.

  Kinsey was partway up the stairs when she heard the shouting, pushing herself to run the rest of the way, barely breathing, terrified of what she’d find. Please, she thought, just don’t let it be Gerri punching a Bishop of the Catholic Church in public.

  But, when Kinsey burst out of the foyer and into the streaming daylight, she came to a stunned halt, staring, as everyone else did—including Gerri, Ray and the Bishop—at the spectacle of a man standing on the center of the middle step leading up to the cathedral.

  Naked, filthy, matted hair and beard hanging around him. With a demon mask in one hand, he howled at the sun, a bloody saw in the other.

  ***

  INT. – 9th PRECINCT LOCKUP – AFTERNOON

  Gerri stood outside the cell block of the precinct lockup, staring at the raving lunatic she now feared murdered Father Harry. Not only did she emerge from the cathedral to the sight of him whipping around a demon mask, one look at the blood and flesh caked saw told her what she needed to know.

  And yet, could someone so screwed up actually pull his head together well enough to sneak into the second floor of a family home and, in under five minutes, subdue and saw off the privates of a priest without anyone knowing he’d been there? As the vagrant shrieked incoherently while jerking down the pants he’d been forced into by a pair of burly guards, Gerri doubted it. Especially when he grunted and strained, leaving a soft, steaming pile of his fragrant shit on the floor while wiggling his tongue at her.

  She didn’t know if she should laugh or be pissed off. He certainly seemed proud of his accomplishment. The tap of feet behind her caught her attention and half-turned Gerri around while she struggled with the growing stench of his bowel movement mixed with the worst B.O. she’d ever smelled.

  Shock made her breathe in a little more deeply than was probably good for her as her own therapist, Dr. Ocean Panther, padded to the cell bars and shook her head, face drawn down in sorrow. “Oh, Gage,” she said. “You stopped taking your medication again.” She gestured behind her to the two orderlies she’d brought with her, both as rugged looking as the cops who’d put him in here in the first place. Cici stood back with Gerri as the pair stepped through the door when the cop at the end of the hall keyed it open. The homeless man Cici called Gage began to scream the moment they crossed the threshold, falling into his own shit and rolling around in it while they struggled to pull him to his feet.

  “I’m part of a community outreach program.” Cici spoke as if they were having coffee in a nice café instead of watching a man who’d fallen so far from himself he smeared hot feces into the face of an orderly while cackling like a Hollywood witch. “I’ve been his primary care giver for six months now.”

  “You’re doing a great job, Doc.” Gerri couldn’t help the jab.

  Cici sighed and shot her a “screw you” look. “I do what I can,” she said. “He chooses to live on the street, refuses to take his meds. This is the result.” Cici’s jaw flexed. “You’ve arrested him for the murder of Father Schaefer?”

  “You talking to the news lady too, Doc?” Gerri would have to do something about Kara Tremaine.

  “No,” the therapist said as the pair of orderlies finally subdued Gage, pinning him to the bed. The one with shit on his face inserted a needle into the man’s arm and depressed the plunger. Within a few seconds, Gage stopped fighting, collapsing under what had to be a sedative. The orderlies, panting and weary, nodded to Cici before leaving the cell.

  “Thanks, guys,” she said. “I owe you both.”

  Gerri could just imagine. But, they seemed to take it in stride, sauntering off to leave her to the rest of the job.

  “Father Delacruz called me, if you must know.” Gerri hadn’t pushed her, but Cici seemed to think the detective’s silence meant something of that nature. “Since Gage was under the special attention and protection of Father Harry, Dante was worried about him, since he has no one to watch over him any longer.”

  “Considering he might have killed the priest by cutting off his dick with a saw before smearing the Aramaic symbol for pedophile on the wall, it could be his own fault he’s on his own.” Gerri ignored the hot look of anger Cici shot her way as she bent over the unconscious man.

  “He’s never been violent.” Even the therapist didn’t sound convinced.

  “Come on, Doc,” Gerri said. “We both know schizophrenia patients
with risk factors like his end up attacking people they care about.”

  Cici didn’t comment right away. “I’ll stabilize him as best I can,” she said. “The meds do help, when he takes them. But his mind is a jumbled mess.” She sat back, long, black hair shifting around her like a living thing. “He was addicted to meth before he was diagnosed. He’d already fried half of his brain cells by the time anyone knew he was schizophrenic.”

  “I need him coherent, Cici.” Gerri dropped her volume. “I need to know if this kid killed the priest. And if he has proof Father Schaefer raped those kids.”

  Cici turned around, brows arched over her dark eyes. “I’ll do what I can,” she said. “But even if he did do it, Gage is insane and will only end up in a hospital the rest of his life. Not in prison.”

  “Where he belongs,” Gerri said, pulling on all of her sympathy. “He shouldn’t be on the street in the first place.”

  Cici seemed to relent, standing, staring down with sorrow at her patient as he twitched in his sedation. “I hope he didn’t.”

  “You can toss that out the window.” Why did anything Jackson said in a cheerful tone of voice piss Gerri off so much she wanted to drive his nose through the back of his head? She snatched a file he waved in her direction as he joined them, smirking at Cici.

  The therapist looked up, resigned and angry. “Detective Pierce,” she said. Suddenly, her lack of berating Gerri over her little altercation with her partner in session seemed to make sense. It was pretty clear from her flat, disengaged attitude Cici hated his guts, too. So much for professional detachment.

  Gerri flipped the file open, but Jackson was already running his mouth off.

  “Pretty boy here has some ‘splaining to do.” What a jackass. And a racist, pulling a fake Mexican accent like that. “Turns out the blood they found on the saw he was waving around matches the priest's.”

  ***

  INT. – PHYLO’S BAR AND GRILLE – EVENING

  Ray sipped at her wine, loving the burst of coffee and chocolate undertones that invaded her mouth with every mouthful. She raised her glass to the glowering redhead across from her, saluting, already a little tipsy and they’d only just arrived. “To Detective Meyers,” she said. “Another case successfully solved.” Ray finished off with a further drink. The bottle hadn’t lasted long.

  “So sad.” Kinsey’s delicate features pinched as she sighed, sorrow filled where she hunched over her martini. “Those poor boys.”

  Ray stared down into her wine, no longer feeling like celebrating. Why did she bother forcing these two to come out with her when they were just going to be downers?

  “Something’s not right.” Gerri’s beer was long empty, but she just stared at it like she didn’t even see it, fingers tight around the dark brown glass. “I don’t know what, but something.”

  Kinsey perked a little, blue eyes brightening behind the lenses of her glasses. “You don’t think Gage did it?”

  “The suspect had the murder weapon.” Ray hiccupped softly. “And a mask that resembled the image of the demon Curtis Truman drew.” Why was she repeating the information Gerri had just told them a few moments ago? The redhead nodded, jaw bunching and jumping while her wide shoulders twitched under her suit coat.

  She really needed to learn how to let go and unwind.

  “Where could Gage have learned Aramaic?” Gerri’s green eyes locked on Kinsey.

  The anthropologist shook her head. “Part of his fixation, maybe? The voices his illness forces him to hear might have had religious overtones and told him to study the language of Jesus?”

  Gerri looked away, sharp, bitterness on her face. “It feels too easy,” she said.

  Ray leaned forward, patted her free hand where it rested on her knee. “Gerri,” she said, soft and low. The detective met her gaze. “Sometimes it really just is.”

  A tiny smile quirked Gerri’s lips. Enough Ray knew she’d be okay. “Not very damned often,” she said. Scowling at her empty beer bottle, Gerri stood and jerked the front of her jacket closed over her badge and gun. “I’m going to the office. Do a little digging. I just won’t feel right about this until I do.”

  Ray waved her off, Kinsey staring after their friend like she wanted to go with her. When she turned to the brunette, Ray smiled, glancing at her watch.

  “Just go,” Ray said. “I’ll be fine.” More than fine. Her date was going to meet her in fifteen anyway down the street. If Gerri hadn’t been the first to go, Ray would have dumped them in favor of dark eyes and luscious company.

  Kinsey stood, bending to kiss Ray on the cheek. “I’ll make sure Gerri’s okay,” she said, scampering out after the detective.

  Ray finished her wine, dropping money on the table. The warmth of anticipation heating her up, the brunette left the bar, hoping that this time she’d found the one she was looking for.

  That maybe, just maybe, with her lover’s help, her heart would finally heal.

  Ray was just getting up from her seat when a pretty blonde with hungry eyes sat down next to her with a full glass of wine she placed carefully in front of her.

  “Dr. Hunter,” Kara Tremaine said. “How lovely to finally meet you in person.”

  ***

  INT. – ST. MARY’S UNDERCROFT – MORNING

  Kinsey sat, hands folded on her knees to keep them from shaking, in the quiet, sun-filled kid's room in the basement of the cathedral while Gerri paced one end of the space like a caged tiger. Kinsey knew how she felt, would have loved to mimic her actions. But one of them showing outward agitation was bad enough. She was far too in tune with the unhappy vibe from the gathering of girls and boys to add to it.

  Bishop Harrow stood at the front of the room, fearful parents lined up behind the semi-circle of kids, no one able to meet each other’s eyes. Kinsey’s chest hurt from shallow breathing and tension. Her compassion for the families was so powerful she wondered if she was going to be of any help to Gerri after all.

  “Thank you for coming in this morning,” the bishop said. He looked anything but happy as he turned and gestured to Gerri. The tall redhead was intimidating looking enough without the deep scowl on her beautiful face. She came to a halt next to Harrow as he dropped his hands to fold in front of him again. “This is Detective Meyers. She’s handling the terrible case involving the loss of our beloved Father Harry.” The parents swayed, kids looking down. Which meant not-so-beloved after all. How many people knew and remained silent? One father looked about ready to lunge at the bishop, only holding himself back through sheer will and the firm grip his wife seemed to have on his arm. Father Dante Delacruz hovered in the back, dark eyes locked on the floor.

  “If you don’t mind.” Gerri pointed at the door. “I need to talk to the kids and their parents alone.”

  Bishop Harrow’s immediate negative reaction wasn’t lost on the families. Before he could protest, the angry father Kinsey had her eye on spoke up.

  “I think that’s a great idea,” he said, voice cracking. “Or we do this downtown and make it official?”

  The bishop’s mouth formed a thin, straight line of disapproval, but he nodded in a jerking motion. “The church is eager to assist, Detective,” he said, though he himself seemed anything but. “We want to get to the bottom of this disaster as much as you do.”

  “Disaster.” Angry father snorted while his wife bit her lower lip. “Is that what you call this?”

  The bishop fell silent, staring at the man a long moment before abruptly spinning and leaving the room. Father Delacruz went after him, a sideways glance at Kinsey his only acknowledgment before he was gone, closing the door behind him.

  The blonde breathed in a full, deep inhale for the first time since she’d arrived, unfolding her hands and forcing her shoulders to relax as she observed. She’d already told Gerri of Father Delacruz’s confession, that Bishop Harrow knew nothing of Betsy Huckle’s accusation. Not that it seemed to matter to Gerri. Her attitude toward the bishop hadn’t lightened even
a fraction. Kinsey couldn’t shake the feeling he was as devastated by all of this as the gathered parents, but had to keep her mouth shut. She wasn’t even supposed to be here. But she couldn’t leave Gerri to do this alone.

  Dust motes floated in the air, the room held in a moment of silence at the departure of the priests. The familiar scent of old books and underground places, so common in Kinsey’s life of research, helped to calm her as attention shifted from the closed door to Gerri’s grim face.

  “I need to ask some hard questions,” the detective said, her commanding presence no longer the pent-up anger of a caged animal, but the soothing power of someone who understood leadership and demanded attention from others. Kinsey was grateful for her friend’s natural charisma as the families focused on her and drew strength visibly from her confidence.

  “Anything we can do to help, Detective.” Angry father’s wife had a small voice, but her youthful face was as set and determined as her husband’s. “Nothing matters more to us than the safety of our daughter.” A young woman with pale red hair and freckles rocked at her mother’s feet where she sat cross-legged on the worn tile.

  All of the parents muttered agreement.

  “Whose idea was this group?” Gerri locked eyes with angry father.

  “Father Harry,” he said without hesitation. “He approached us last year. Said he was starting an after school class for kids in the congregation with special needs.”

  Nods all around. The children, most of them in their early teens from what Kinsey could tell, seemed so fragile as they stared up at the detective, eyes wide, mouths open. The ones who didn’t she worried for the most, lost in their own worlds. Of the dozen children present, Kinsey counted three who appeared to be autistic or, at least, unresponsive. The rest either had some level of Down syndrome or other mental disabilities. Only one young man was in a wheelchair.