Anointest My Head With Oil

by Debbie Viguié

  He grabbed hold of the handrail as tight as he could and closed his eyes, carefully feeling with each foot as he descended. When he finally made it to the bottom, he felt like he’d achieved a victory. He opened his eyes, let go of the handrail, and promptly lost his balance. Fortunately, he caught himself before he fell.

  He steadied himself then very carefully began to walk toward the kitchen, careful to keep his head as still as possible as he did so.

  “I made it!” he said as he walked in.

  No one was there and he felt vaguely disappointed. He continued to make his way slowly across it until he could grab hold of one of the counters. He kept one hand on the counter as he moved to the refrigerator.

  “Why don’t you sit and I’ll get you whatever it is you’re looking for,” a familiar voice said.

  Mark carefully turned and saw Liam in the doorway leading to the family room. He made his way over to one of the stools and sat on it before propping himself up on the counter with his arms.

  “What are you doing here?” Mark asked once he got himself settled.

  “I’m here to see you,” Liam said, moving toward the refrigerator.

  “Checking up on me?”

  “More like needing my partner.”

  “I’m here,” Mark said.

  “Great. What do you want to eat?”

  “Whatever I can get.”

  Liam smirked. “You do realize that an answer like that will get you cereal, right?”

  “Fine, whatever. Where is everybody?”

  “Joseph, Geanie, Traci, Ryan, and Rachel are all in the garden getting some exercise with the dogs. I don’t know where Jeremiah and Cindy are at the moment.”

  “Getting into trouble, most likely.”

  “Most likely,” Liam agreed.

  Liam found cereal and milk and poured them each a bowl. He joined Mark at the counter and they began to eat as they talked.

  “Any luck with surveillance cameras at the station?” Mark asked.

  “We caught the guy on two of the cameras as he entered the station, but he had his face averted so we couldn’t identify him,” Liam said, the frustration clear in his voice.

  “Curtis was a good cop. He didn’t deserve that.”

  “None of us deserve this hell,” Liam said with a grunt.

  “You can say that again.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “What else have we got?”

  “Well, we’re still waiting for Gordon to finish up with the blood from Cindy’s house.”

  Mark wrinkled his nose. “Gordon. I hate dealing with him.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “The guy’s a ghoul.”

  “But he’s good at what he does.”

  “That’s why the captain won’t fire him. I know, I’ve asked,” Mark said.

  “I can’t believe you asked.”

  “Okay, I didn’t. Paul asked, but I was there and I wholeheartedly agreed. Mark my words, one of these days they’re going to figure out that he’s some kind of vampire or serial killer or something.”

  “You watch too much television,” Liam said.

  “No, I’m telling you, there’ll be something.”

  “Well, until that day we still have to deal with him.”

  Liam’s phone rang and he pulled it out and looked at it. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered.

  Mark wrinkled up his nose as Liam answered the phone.

  “I’ve got you on speakerphone here with Mark. What do you have for us Gordon?” Liam asked.

  “I managed to figure out whose blood was used to paint that threatening message on Cindy Preston’s house.”

  “Not just what type but whose?” Liam asked sharply.

  “Yeah, we got real lucky,” Gordon said. “I talked to LAPD. An old lady turned up dead in her house. She was in hospice. At first the nurse didn’t think anything strange. Then they finally realized she’d been drained of most of her blood. Blood loss. That’s what killed her. Someone sucked her dry just like a vampire. Isn’t that… wonderful?”

  “The blood used to graffiti Cindy’s house was from her?” Mark asked, trying to ignore the last part.

  “100%.”

  “Did you get a name on the victim?”

  “Schmidt. Anna Schmidt.”

  “Anything else?” Liam asked.

  “That’s it for now,” Gordon said. “I’ll let you know if I dig anything else up.”

  “Like the graves of small children,” Mark said after Liam had hung up.

  “Tell me, have you always been this paranoid? Are you born with it?”

  “No, it’s a skill acquired with years and years of practice.”

  “Maybe I should retire before I become too much like you,” Liam said.

  “Nah, a little paranoia is good for you. Although the one time I really needed it my paranoia failed me,” Mark said, gingerly touching the bump on his head. “I can’t believe I let that biker get the drop on me.”

  “You were fixated on the arsonist and getting to the station. It could happen to anyone. Actually, you’re lucky your paranoia abandoned you. Getting jumped by that guy saved your life.”

  “I know. Life is strange. Back to the case at hand. Anna Schmidt. Why her do you think?”

  “She might be Jewish. It would fit his hate pattern.”

  “Yeah, but she’s the first person we know for sure he killed. And some old lady in hospice? That doesn’t seem like a crime of opportunity. That seems like he knew her, knew that he’d be able to get to her without anyone being the wiser for a few hours at least.”

  “I reached out to your FBI friend, Vince, this morning and asked him if he could help out with a list of known associates and members of hate groups in the area.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Take a number. Apparently, they’re busy.”

  “Jerk,” Mark muttered.

  “I did a little digging and I found out that hate crimes against Jews in this country are a whole lot more prevalent than I realized.”

  “I’ve never understood that.”

  “Me either. Turns out there are four times as many hate crimes a year against Jews as there are against Muslims.”

  Mark was stunned. “Seriously? All you ever hear about in the news are attacks against Muslims. There’s almost nothing about attacks against Jews.”

  “Yeah, four times as many each year. And that’s after 9/11. It was an even bigger gap before that.”

  “No wonder Jeremiah got so upset the other day. I had no idea,” Mark said.

  “A lot of people don’t,” Liam said grimly.

  “So, you’re basically saying we’re very unlikely to find our guy by researching hate groups.”

  “Yeah, too many suspects to choose between.”

  “That’s just great,” Mark said, shoving his bowl away from him. “So, let’s work the old lady angle. We can talk to relatives, friends, neighbors.”

  “You mean I can. Until the doctor clears you, there’s no ‘we’ in that scenario.”

  “I’m fine. I need to be out there solving this not cooped up in here,” Mark said, his temper flaring.

  “I sympathize, I do. Frankly, though, none of us wants you out there right now. You’re a walking, talking target. And no one wants to be standing next to you when the bad guy realizes he didn’t kill you the first time.”

  “Perfect, just perfect,” Mark grumbled.

  He got up slowly off the stool, holding onto the counter as the world tilted.

  “You want me to help you back upstairs?” Liam asked.

  “No, I’m sick of bed.”

  “Well, I’m not going to leave you wobbling around here.”

  “Fine. Help me into the family room. I can lay down on a couch. It will be a change of scenery, at least.”

  Liam offered him an arm and Mark took it. They walked slowly into the family room. As soon as they w
ere in the room Mark noticed stacks of papers all over the coffee table and a dry erase board with names on it.

  “What is all this?” he asked.

  Liam glanced at the papers on the table. “I believe they were trying to finish Curtis’ work and they were crosschecking the membership rosters at the various synagogues,” Liam said.

  “They were,” Mark said.

  “Yeah.”

  Suddenly something on the dry erase board caught his eye. “Liam, what was the name of that guy who burned down in the warehouse fire? The cold case?”

  “I believe it was Hyram. Hyram Schmidt.”

  “And the name of the old lady who got drained by the vampire?”

  “Anna Schmidt.”

  Mark let go of Liam’s arm and walked over to the dry erase board. He picked up the marker and circled the name Schmidt on the board. Then he turned to Liam.

  “I think we just found our connection.”

  19

  An hour later Mark was sitting in the family room still. Liam had left to pursue the Schmidt lead. Geanie, Traci, and the kids were still playing outside. Joseph finally came in to keep him company.

  “I just heard from Cindy and Jeremiah. They’re coming back for a while before returning to the synagogue tonight,” he said.

  “Great. Everyone gets to go places and do things except me.”

  “Come on, as prisons go this isn’t nearly as bad as the hospital, is it?” Joseph asked.

  “I guess not.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Mark filled him in on what he’d figured out.

  “Fantastic! That’s the break you needed, right?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “But what?” Joseph asked.

  Mark could feel something scratching at the back of his mind. There was something he was missing. He kept staring at the name Schmidt. There was something familiar about it, beyond Hyram and Anna.

  “I feel like there’s something I should be remembering, but I’m not.”

  Before Joseph could say anything, Mark’s phone rang.

  It was Liam.

  Mark answered. “Anything?”

  “There’s nothing in your case files involving anyone else named Schmidt. No victims, witnesses, suspects.”

  “Dang it! I know there’s something there. I just can’t remember,” Mark said.

  “Try not to think about it and maybe it will come to you.”

  “I can’t not think about it!”

  “Try. Try to distract yourself with something else. Let your subconscious work on it for a little while and it should bring the answer to you.”

  “I swear if you were here right now, I’d punch you,” Mark said.

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m not there because the last thing you need is another trip to the hospital,” Liam said. “Look, I’ll call the moment I know anything new.”

  Mark hung up and closed his eyes in frustration. “I just wish I could remember.”

  “You want to play a game to take your mind off it?” Joseph asked. “Chess, Scrabble, Poker?”

  “The only one of those I’m even remotely okay at is chess. And I still got my butt kicked by an old woman in a nursing home,” Mark said.

  “Harsh. Then again, she has years of game play on you.”

  “Nah. There’s a certain mindset you need to be really good at chess. She’s got it. So does Darren.”

  “Paul’s son?”

  “Yeah, well, Not Paul, of course, since he wasn’t the real kidnapped Dryer kid.”

  And then it hit him.

  “I know what it is!” he gasped.

  “What?”

  “Schmidt. I know why that name’s so familiar,” Mark said.

  “Why?”

  “Schmidt. Dietrich Schmidt.”

  “Who is Dietrich Schmidt?” Joseph asked.

  “The first kid the cult kidnapped. His body was never found.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “No one knows. Well, someone knows, but the police don’t.”

  “I can’t imagine losing a kid that way. Then years later someone goes after the same family. Why would they do that?”

  “I don’t know, but I need to make sure this is the same family,” Mark said. “I need to get to the station.”

  Joseph shook his head. “You’re not even supposed to be sitting up yet. You’ve got your phone, I can get you a laptop, but you aren’t leaving.”

  Mark growled at the other man, but Joseph refused to back down.

  “Don’t make me go get your wife,” Joseph finally threatened.

  Mark narrowed his eyes. “What kind of a man threatens another man with tattling to his wife?”

  “A man who is concerned for his friend’s health and safety,” Joseph said.

  “Fine,” Mark grumbled. “Get me a laptop.”

  Ten minutes later Mark had his answer. He pointed at the dry erase board. “Same family,” he said as he closed the laptop.

  “You’re sure?”

  Mark nodded. “Hyram was the boy’s father. Anna was his grandmother.”

  “Oh my gosh. What about the rest of the family?”

  “I need to make some calls,” Mark said, “but some of their names are up there on that board.”

  “Whose names are on the board?” Cindy asked as she walked in the room.

  “Mark found the connection,” Joseph said. “The Schmidt family are related to the first boy the cult kidnapped years ago.”

  Cindy stared. “You mean, the cult? The one that kidnapped Paul?”

  “The same,” Mark affirmed.

  Jeremiah followed Cindy into the room and they both sat down on the couch.

  “I just need to make a couple of phone calls to verify.”

  ~

  Cindy was stunned at the revelation. She couldn’t imagine why the arsonist would be targeting the family of a boy who had been kidnapped decades earlier. It made no sense.

  Finally, Mark got off the phone, and he was ready to share what he’d discovered. “So, the family lived here in Pine Springs when the kidnapping occurred. They were orthodox. Parents, Dietrich, and his younger brother and sister. The grandparents lived in Los Angeles at the time. The rabbi at the first synagogue confirmed that Anna Schmidt was a member there for the last few decades until she got ill. Apparently after the kidnapping the parents and two younger kids moved out to Los Angeles to be closer to her.

  The parents started going to the second synagogue that was burned until their divorce. At that point Hyram moved back to Pine Springs where he attended Rabbi Kravitz’s synagogue before being killed in the warehouse fire almost three years ago. The other synagogue in town that burned was where the younger brother, Randolph, worshipped. It turns out the Schmidts that attend that messianic synagogue, the one where you guys stopped the dumpster fire, are no relation.”

  “So, what, that was just an accident? A mistake?” Joseph asked.

  “I don’t buy it,” Cindy said. “Whoever did this was being very thorough and specific. You said there was a younger sister. Did you find out where she’s been going?”

  “No. In fact, I haven’t even been able to confirm her first name yet,” Mark said.

  “If she’s married, she won’t be going by Schmidt anymore,” Jeremiah said.

  “Exactly. So, we need to find a woman, maybe at the messianic synagogue, who is the younger sister of Dietrich.”

  “So, what? We just start randomly calling members?” Mark asked.

  “No,” Cindy said, as the truth dawned on her. “The family all have very German names. The secretary at the synagogue is named Frida and she told me she grew up orthodox.”

  Excitement surging through her Cindy grabbed her phone.

  “What are you doing?” Joseph asked.

  “I’m calling the synagogue. They have Sabbath services. She might be there.”

  The phone rang a dozen t
imes and then a woman picked up.

  “Frida, is that you?”

  “Yes, who is calling please?”

  “This is Cindy Preston.”

  “Oh, the hero of our synagogue! How can I help you?”

  “I have a strange question to ask you.”

  “Okay?”

  “Was your maiden name Schmidt?”

  “Yes, it was,” Frida said.

  Cindy put the phone on speaker. “Frida, did you have an older brother named Dietrich who was kidnapped?”

  There was a long pause and then Frida asked, “How did you know that?”

  “Frida, my name is Detective Mark Walters,” Mark said. “I’ve been working on the arson investigation and I have reason to believe that you are in danger.”

  “That’s why you have officers here keeping an eye on things.”

  “No, I’m not talking about the synagogue. I’m talking about you personally.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Frida, stay where you are, we’re coming to you,” Cindy said. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I will wait here,” she said.

  “Okay. We’ll be right there.”

  Cindy hung up and quickly got to her feet. She headed for the front door with Jeremiah on her heels.

  “Hold up, you’re not going without me,” Mark called.

  She turned to look at him. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

  “I can rest when we’ve caught the guy who blew up my house,” Mark said.

  Mark stood and immediately looked like he was going to fall over.

  “Joseph, a little help please,” Mark said.

  Joseph got up and offered Mark his arm to steady himself.

  “Once we’re on the way I’ll call Liam to meet us there,” Mark said.

  ~

  Mark could feel his impatience growing as Jeremiah drove toward the synagogue. After helping him to the car Joseph had promised he would round up the others and keep everyone inside the house with the alarms on until they returned.

  Mark had called Liam before they were down the hill letting him know where Jeremiah, Cindy, and he were headed. He’d asked him to double the police presence at both Jeremiah’s synagogue and the one they were heading to. He had a feeling in his gut that the arsonist would make a move against one of those soon.