Cleansed by Death

by Catherine Finger

  Whatever. I let my breath out in a long, low stream, bracing myself against the office door for a second. What was I doing here today? Oh, yeah, Sheriff Frank wanted me here. But I needed to be here for me. To have a place to call my own, to keep my world spinning, to get back to my normal life. Guess it wasn’t working all that well so far.

  Two raps sounded on the door. “Chief? Can I come in?”

  “Yes, of course. C’mon in, Liz.”

  “I just wanted to let you know I’m here for you—if you need anything.” She stepped up to my desk as she appraised me. What did she think of my formal attire, fabulous hair, and the deepening bags under my eyes? I should’ve known she’d be way ahead of me. “I’m so glad you’re here for the holiday party. Commander Mitchell would have done a fine job, but it’s you everyone really wants to see. I know you’ll be your amazing self, and the families will appreciate your personal attention.” And in one smooth motion, Liz pulled me back into my work world. I’d forgotten all about today’s party. Liz had her notebook out and was bound to get me caught up. So I tuned in.

  “So far, nothing unusual has come up. I was here for the six o’clock report this morning. York called in sick. Again. I already asked Hernandez to check it out. Probably not legit, but doubt we’ll be able to prove it, again.” She flipped a page. “And you didn’t miss much last week. Just the usual, not-so-happy holiday domestic calls. Nothing you haven’t seen before. All handled by Commander Mitchell. We do still have that three o’clock meeting scheduled to review the personnel investigation results with the mayor. I’ve already heard from him that he’d be happy to reschedule.”

  I looked up into Liz’s clear-blue eyes, catching the hint of a nod. Her way of telling me the mayor knew about my personal nightmare. And if he knew, everybody knew.

  “No, let’s keep it. Thanks. And the ceremony’s at what, six?”

  “Actually, we have it set for four-thirty tomorrow over at the Paradise County College conference room.”

  “What? Why are we at the PCC? I hate that conference room.”

  “Because it’s the middle of winter, and it’s the only place that will hold the ceremony unless you want to go back to the courthouse. Do you not remember having this conversation last week?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s all coming back to me now. Thanks. Anything else I should know about or remember?” I winked at her and moved around the desk, letting her know we were back to being on the same side again. She was nervous, and I wanted to reach out to her as she’d reached out to me.

  She shifted her gaze downward and fidgeted for a moment before she spoke again. “Well, nothing more for today. But you were scheduled to be out of town starting on Wednesday, you know.”

  I gasped and sat down hard on the edge of my desk. My stomach roiled. My head started pounding. Del and I had planned on spending the holidays at our timeshare in Maui. We were set to leave on Wednesday for two weeks in paradise. Some paradise. “Yeah, about that.”

  “I’m just so sorry!” She set her notebook on my desk and clasped my hands in both of hers as tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “I can’t do this right now, Liz. Please… leave me alone... just for now, okay?”

  She nodded, retrieved her notebook, and stepped out of my office. I sat on the side of my desk for a very long time, watching the shadows grow longer in the afternoon sunlight.

  Then, I rallied and spent the next few hours reviewing case notes on the Mentor Sister Serial Killer. Nick was following up on Jazmine’s murder, and we both feared the killer would strike again. But he wanted me to take some time before leaping back into the case. I tried to release my mind to sift through the notes and make connections, but it wasn’t working. And every time I thought about the once-vibrant women dying so horribly, an overwhelming darkness spread through me, rendering me nearly powerless. All I wanted to do was stop. Stop being. Stop doing. Stop existing.

  Force-feeding myself happier scenes, I wandered into memories of my first ride on my horse, Scooter, and the exhilaration of winning our first equestrian event together. But Del had been there, and scenes stretched out and included him against my will. I must stop thinking about Del, but that made it impossible to think about anything else.

  The texture of his leather jacket under my eager hands as he tore through mountain passes on his Harley, our bodies shifting and leaning in unison as he navigated switchbacks and narrow roads on our way to the top. The devil-take-all plunge on the way down in the moonlight, my happy screams bursting forth at every surprise in the road on our way toward forever together. The brevity of the mountain top experience we’d shared but could not sustain, no matter how hard I scraped and clung and scaled. A pinnacle reached that could not keep me from the unrelenting nose-dive down the other side.

  Darkness enveloped me like mist over a riverbed, and my whole body seemed foreign and depleted. I tried to think of happy memories or objects to ward off the pull of this cauldron of emotions, but all I could find was a deepening sense of hopelessness, with a burgeoning side of self-hatred.

  Where was this coming from? Maybe I should see a psychiatrist. But who? And how to describe this despondency? I closed my eyes and envisioned a red briefcase with a brass clasp and matching hinges. I visualized picking up the dark thoughts by the scruff of the neck and placing each one in the smooth, leather briefcase. Then I snapped it shut and locked it tight.

  I had to pull it together for that afternoon’s dreaded meeting. One of our finest had been accused of being a little heavy-handed with the jail’s “overnight guests,” and I was scheduled to share a summary of investigation results, as well as my recommendations, with the village leadership team.

  As much as I wasn’t looking forward to the confirmation of inappropriate behavior I was about to deliver about a member of my staff, at least I finally had to face some bad news that wasn’t my own. Beat the stuffing out of the chat I’d have to have later with the sheriff.

  The meeting went off without a hitch. The most notable aspect was how difficult it seemed for the three amigos to look me in the eye. From initial review to final deliberations on my dismissal recommendation, we spent less than thirty minutes together. And that included me watching them shift their weight from one leg to the other in long, awkward silences at the beginning and end of our meeting.

  If this was how the boys were going to respond to me, I should go through debilitating personal circumstances more often.

  I had just enough time after my meeting with the ’village people’ to call Donna and catch her up. In a previous life, she’d been a kick-butt personal injury attorney, and she hadn’t lost her killer instincts. I listened to her spout off legalese long enough to write down names from her own short list of divorce attorneys. She suggested I call one before the sun set. Today.

  Then she dropped a bomb by suggesting I go see a counselor, right after I told her about the strange visions and dark feelings I was experiencing. And she had an idea of who she thought I should see. So much for attorney-client privilege. Might as well tell my doctor I ate ice cream for breakfast. Just as I hung up, Mitch’s customary two quick raps on the door announced her arrival right before she let herself into my office.

  “How was your chat with Donna?”

  I caught Mitch up on everything, including the recommendation to see a shrink.

  “She give you anybody good to see?”

  “Yeah,” I snorted. “Kira.”

  “Kira?”

  “Figures it’ll look good for the court case she’s sure will come out of this gunfight. Wants me to get right on it—made an appointment for me and everything.”

  “You have an appointment with Kira?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re going to see the she-devil shrink without being ordered to?”

  “Yes. No. Well, turns out Kira’d received a friendly, off-the-record call from the sheriff, strongly suggesting she talk me into it. So much for needing to see Frank today. Took care of that wit
h a quick call too. He wanted to ease me into the idea of seeing someone. A certain someone.”

  “Was that before or after he called Donna and told her what to tell you?”

  “My point exactly.”

  “Well, happy holidays.”

  “Ho, ho, ho.”

  “When you going to see Kira?”

  “Nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Why not? Might as well get it over with. I can tell by looking at you that this isn’t exactly a coffee break. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

  “Hit me. Bad news first, please.”

  “Well, the bad news is, you might want to reconsider the holiday party this evening.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s gonna be a bunch of cops who are on Del’s side. He got to them before you did.” Her eyes held pain and a hint of embarrassment.

  I was missing something. “Mitch?”

  “Del just sent in his RSVP. With a plus one on it. And a smiley face.” She spit out all this information, staccato, both eyes riveted to the floor.

  “What! Who does that…? It’s not enough that he’s ruining me at every turn. Now he wants to embarrass me in front of the guys? He needs to be taken out!” I tried to conjure up my tough-girl act, but it fell flat and unconvincing, even to me. Especially to me.

  The raw pain hung heavy between us, drowning out words and sounds and heartbeats. Every cell of my being weighed a ton. “So what’s the good news?”

  “Turns out there isn’t any.”

  “Yeah. I figured. Mitch?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I can’t go tonight,” I whispered.

  “I know. I’m on it.”

  “Thanks.” I turned to face the library area in the back of my office. Shame burned across my face. I didn’t want to look into the eyes of pity from a colleague—friend or foe.

  “Chief?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You don’t deserve this. I can’t believe what that rat is doing, and we will not let him get away with it. We will find a way to see he gets his.”

  “I know.” My voice was in danger of breaking, but I wasn’t about to cry in front of her again today. “Thanks. I couldn’t get through this without you. It gives me a world of comfort to know you’ll be there in my place tonight. Now go and raise some Cain for me, would you please?”

  She straightened up to go. Almost as an afterthought, she dropped a bomb of her own. “Oh, and I’ve taken the liberty to schedule a little meeting for you before you leave today. With Bruce.”

  Bruce Schofield was one of two part-time village attorneys.

  “Bruce? What is it with you guys taking it upon yourselves to set up all these unwanted meetings?”

  “Think about it.”

  “All right, not a bad political call. I get it. Look at me. I’m thrilled. What time?”

  “About ten minutes ago. He’s sitting outside in the reception area. I haven’t mentioned a thing to him, but I don’t know whether or not he’s heard anything from the rumor mill. All I told him is you have a personal matter you might wish to discuss with him in private. He made himself instantly available.”

  “He knows.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured too. Don’t shoot the messenger.” Mitch winked at me before turning and letting herself out.

  I stepped into the reception area to greet him, and we walked into my office together.

  Bruce’d come up through some unusual ranks. Harvard educated and from a family of tremendous wealth, he’d eschewed it all and gone into the public defender’s office for the bulk of his career. We all thought he had political aspirations a mile long, but turns out he just wanted to do his own version of the ‘right thing.’ We shared a deep and genuine respect for each another.

  “Chief Oliver, I’m sorry for your loss. I’ve only heard a few of the rumors, but I know enough to be extremely sorry. And to let you know if there is any way at all I may be of service or support to you in the upcoming days and weeks, I really want to be.”

  “Thank you. Have a seat.” I turned my head to the side and looked at his reflection in the office windows. He was tall and muscular, neither fat nor slight, and always seemed to be one of those ready-for-action guys. He sure looked military to me, but he’d denied it so often that I kept my thoughts to myself. He was ruggedly handsome and wore well-cut suits. Nothing about him seemed to fit the ‘lowly public servant’ profile he projected. But then, maybe I puzzled others, too. “Any friendly advice, one village official to another?”

  “You need a lawyer. Immediately. And just a little truth: You’ll be better off without him in your life. That man wasn’t worthy of you. Period. He was an anchor tied to your leg—a fool, and an embarrassment to men everywhere, and he didn’t deserve you. Everyone is on your side here. Everyone.”

  “Does it really have to come down to sides? Can’t my personal life stay personal? Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”

  “Your personal life can’t stay personal. It’s way too late for that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that I’m on your side.”

  “Is there something else you’d like to share with me?”

  He looked at me in silence for several seconds and then shook his head. I couldn’t read his eyes, but he was hiding something. Something big.

  “No. Just that I’m here for you. Anytime. Please remember that.”

  Something in his voice gave me the chills, and my throat dried up. I stood, offered him my hand, thanked him for coming, and walked him to the door. After his exit, I sat behind my desk in the waning light. What just happened?

  There was something very unsettling about Bruce’s message. I wanted to believe him when he said he was on my side. And I did believe him... until he repeated the same thing. Twice.

  If I stayed in the station, I’d be risking more face-to-face. But who in their right mind would feel like heading to my newly barren tomb of a home no matter what Donna managed to do to it today? I stood in front of my desk and stared into nothing for way too long before I sat down and flipped open my computer. While waiting for the screen to turn from black to green to action, I fumbled around in my top left drawer and found a half-empty bag of barbeque corn nuts next to a pile of unopened mail. I pulled the mail out and plopped it on the desk.

  The first envelope was a perfect square, adorned with the signature calligraphy of one of my dearest friends—Georgi. I was by her side the night she fell in love with her husband, Cliff, over stale beer and bad dancing. If only I could escape to the comfort of their cozy living room. Soon. I nudged the bag of corn nuts open, leaving it in the drawer to minimize crumbs, and popped a few tangy-sweet nuggets into my mouth. The rest of the mail was holiday cards and junk.

  I sat back in my leather swivel chair as I poked at my phone screen until I reached the current files on the Mentor Sister Serial Killer. Nothing new had come in.

  What mysterious force drove this psychopath toward each of his victims? What happened in his early life to drive him to such heinous acts of cruelty? Would his secret past lead us to him in time to stop another murder? And why did victimology seem to clearly indicate some sort of connection to me? I couldn’t muster one shred of compassion for this killer. He needed to be captured or killed as soon as possible.

  I looked at my watch. I had just enough time to stop by and see Samantha during her after-school program, but I’d have to hurry. I raced to the parking lot, pausing only to pull out my phone. Laughing, I texted the word incoming, our secret code. This unexpected visit would make her so happy. I made it there in record time.

  Saint Camille Catholic School spanned a city block, though that included the church, playgrounds, parking lots, and a century-old convent. I pulled my squad car to the front of the building, mindful to leave the spot marked ‘Fr. Hank’ vacant. I’d learned the hard way not to mess with him or his parking spot.

  The hallways were
dimly lit as I walked toward the cafeteria. Student art filled the walls, leaving them awash in the smell of fresh paints mixed with crayons and slow-drying paste. Both wooden doors stood open, letting loose a cacophony of happy sounds. I entered and came to a stop, scanning the room for her. Rectangular tables, seating twelve kids each, had been painstakingly set in place five deep on each side of the room.

  Samantha was seated all the way at the back of the room, at the last table on the left, as far away from the door as possible. Protecting herself by losing herself in the crowd? Where was the undercover agent that Nick had set up to watch over Samantha? Sister Angela was on duty, and she noticed me before Sam did. She was standing next to a statue of Saint Theresa, facing the kids. She wore a full habit, complete with the requisite large, blocky, olivewood rosary.

  “Hey, Chief! Great to see you. Are you here to take a snack break with Samantha?” Angela’s voice was sweet like cotton candy, and she flooded the large space with her smile. Sam loved her, and for that reason alone, I’d do just about anything she asked of me.

  “I am. I hope I’m not intruding. How much time do we have left? Would you mind if we spent a few minutes together? I probably should have called first. I’m sorry.” I was falling all over myself, weak-kneed at the thought of seeing Sam. This version of “Mother May I” usually bought me an extra minute or two.

  “As soon as she’s done, I’m sure she’d love to show you her art project from this afternoon.” Sister Angela beamed.

  “I’d love to see it. On the way in, I enjoyed the lovely pieces you’ve already posted in the hallway. Quite a bit of talent resting here before us, I’d say.”