Let the Dead Bury the Dead

by David Carlson

  He led her down the hallway toward the office. “Ally, this looks worse than it is. You believe me, don’t you?”

  Allyson nodded. “I’m so sorry, Daddy,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

  He went into the office first, holding her hand. “Yeah, me too, Ally,” he said, dropping to his knees. He took the handkerchief and placed it on the wound. “Just hold it right here. Push on it a bit, but not too hard. Okay?”

  Allyson knelt beside him, putting her hand gently where his had been. “Is that woman dead?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know, Ally,” he said, even though he did know. “Just keep the pressure on Nick, okay?” He rose and moved toward the door.

  “Daddy, where are you going?”

  He heard the alarm in her voice, knew he was wrong for making her deal with something like this, but he had a job to do. “I don’t think she did this. I have to see if whoever did left any evidence behind. Before the paramedics roll their equipment over everything, I need to look things over. I’ll be just down the hall. Do you want me to shut the door?”

  With a shaking voice, she said, “No, don’t. How long will you be?”

  “You’re doing just fine there, honey,” he said. “I’ll be back before the ambulance arrives. Three or four minutes, I promise.”

  His mind raced as he took another look around the bloody room, then quickly glanced over the secretary’s office. Father Fortis had been lured back to the church by the killer and had walked, good priest that he was, into the trap. But what excuse did he have, an experienced cop, for figuring things out so late? The killer had obviously left them to die and was probably miles away by now. The plan had already worked with the woman, he thought, shuddering at the image of Father Fortis lying unconscious, his lifeblood seeping into the carpet.

  He backtracked down the hallway to the side door, studying the carpet as he went. Nothing. At the door, he bent down and studied the lock. No signs of scratches. He’d have to wait for forensics to check for prints. He stood and looked down the hallway in the other direction. Where does this go? he wondered, before remembering that the kitchen and gymnasium led to the parking lot behind.

  Of course, he thought. Whoever it was probably came in the back. When Father Fortis had driven up, he wouldn’t have seen another car parked back there. And there were exits onto two side streets. The killer could easily have driven away into the neighborhood, hardly noticed.

  He moved slowly toward the back door, pushing aside his promise to Allyson. The paramedics would be here any minute, he told himself. Moving into the dark gymnasium, he thought of the photos he’d pored over with Nick only a few hours earlier. The killer’s luck was holding. Worthy had to face the fact that if his friend didn’t make it, the photos and the code would be useless.

  “Hang on, Nick,” he whispered, his shoes squeaking on the gym floor. Without his friend, there might be no trail to pick up, no address, no make of car, nothing more than two new bodies. The killer could be anyone, maybe not even someone from the photos, and he could be anywhere by now.

  He walked toward the glass door ahead of him, sunlight flooding through the panes. Even before he looked out, he knew what he would find—an empty lot with too many tire prints from the morning service to be of any help.

  He stood for a moment in the light, squinting out at the emptiness before dejectedly bending down to check the lock. No marks again, he thought. Did that mean the killer had a key? It wasn’t much of a trail, but at least it was something.

  He rose, surprised how long the ambulances were taking. He turned back toward the office, two emotions oddly warring for dominance. Soon, the paramedics’ faces would tell him about his friend’s prospects. He could see where the bullet had entered Nick, but without knowing the angle, he couldn’t tell if it had ripped through his organs or was sitting benignly in some muscle mass.

  But along with his worry, he also felt a sense of pride in his daughter. She may have called him Daddy, as she had when she was a child, but she’d behaved as an adult. She’d walked into a scene from which many would have turned and fled.

  As he started his walk back to the office, a third emotion rose within him, a particular anxiety he’d experienced twice before this day. Or was this more a foreboding born of experience? He was missing something regarding the killer, but it was coming to him very slowly. Yes, that’s it, he thought as his eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness of the gymnasium. The killer is the careful type. What would he do if he was unsure of having finished off the two people in the office? What if the killer heard him coming into the church and was forced to leave the scene before he’d finished tying up loose ends?

  Worthy paused in the darkness to ponder what the thought meant, so he sensed more than saw the figure coming at him from out of the shadows. He felt a sharp thud, then pain radiating from the top of his skull, as if a piece of the ceiling had fallen onto him. Then the floor rushed up toward him and everything went black.

  Worthy hovered on the edge of consciousness, his eyes closed, aware only that a hand was going through his pockets as he lay on the gym floor. Pain radiated from the top of his head down through his neck to his right shoulder and arm.

  He heard his car keys jiggle in the hands of the man over him. I have to play like I’m still out, he thought, and wait for my chance. He didn’t dare open his eyes as he waited for his attacker to decide his next move. He tried to wiggle his toes and felt them respond. His right arm, however, felt limp.

  He heard the man get to his feet and swear. Why doesn’t he shoot me? Worthy wondered. The church was quiet. Was that the reason? Had the ambulance already arrived, and did the killer know a shot would be heard?

  The man grabbed him by the legs and began to drag him off the gym floor. Did he risk taking a peek at the killer’s face? He opened his right eye a slit and saw the man’s red face as he dealt with his burden. Though the movement made him woozy, Worthy knew that if he fell back unconscious again he’d never wake up.

  Think, he commanded himself. The man’s name is Dr. Stanos. He tried to work out what the college professor would be planning. He risked another peek and saw that Stanos was pulling him toward a series of doors. Of course, Worthy thought, the kitchen. Who’d think of looking for me in there?

  Worthy assessed his enemy. Stanos’ face was red, but he was hardly puffing. That meant he was in good shape and strong. He was the type to think quickly and calmly. In the heat of the moment, Stanos had done a credible job making Father Spiro’s murder look like a robbery. Equally impressive had been Stanos’ return to professorial life as if nothing had happened. Not only had he avoided arousing any suspicion, he’d listened attentively to Worthy at the parish council meeting, figuring out how a simple brick borrowed from the projects could bring Sherrod back into the mix. The guy didn’t panic, which meant, Worthy realized, that Stanos must already know what he was planning to do with Worthy once he got him in the kitchen.

  How many minutes did he have to turn the tables on Stanos? As the man glanced over his shoulder, Worthy risked testing the strength in his arms. Okay in the left one, and the right was getting better. But any hope was immediately quashed by a tightening in his stomach. Allyson was still in the office and no doubt wondering where he was. Please God, don’t let her come looking for me.

  He welcomed the increased throbbing in his head as proof his brain was coming back online. He had to think clearly, to figure out Stanos’ plan for him so that he could make a plan of his own.

  Stanos’ object was clear—to finish him off and get away without being noticed. That meant Stanos believed that the two in the office were already dead and couldn’t implicate him. Now he had just the one loose end. But why the kitchen? Why not one of the education classrooms off the gymnasium? They were just as close.

  Worthy tried to remember the details of the church kitchen from his initial tour of the church. Pots and pans hung from hooks over the large ovens and the two sinks. Various utensils, knives,
and cutting boards were usually put away in drawers beneath the metal work station. Maybe Stanos intends to stab me with one of them, he thought. As the door swung back and Stanos pulled harder on his legs, Worthy remembered a pantry in the back for dried foodstuffs. Is he going to kill me and leave my body in there? The smell wouldn’t attract attention until morning. Was that enough time for his plan to work?

  Then it dawned on him, just as his careful peek proved him right: Stanos was pulling him in the direction of the walk-in freezers. I’m going to be left to freeze to death, my body not discovered for days. And before he leaves, if he’s smart—which he is, Worthy conceded—he’ll wipe down the gym and kitchen floor and in the commotion in the office he may even take my car. Please God, he thought, make Allyson go with the medics.

  Worthy had to admire the plan, improvised as it was. No weapon meant little blood to clean up. And dumping his body within an existing crime scene, while sending everyone in search of his car, meant he had time once again to slip back into his routine. The guy didn’t make obvious mistakes.

  Worthy was now close enough to the freezers to hear their distinctive hum. That’s his plan. So what’s mine? How crazy that he could die in the belly of a church. No, I have to find a way out, and not just for myself. Allyson would hold herself responsible, thus carrying on the Worthy family trait.

  His fingers twitched until he made a fist in the semi-darkness with his right hand. He could feel his nails dig into his palm. Yes, there was some strength, but was it enough? The door of the walk-in freezer was only ten feet away. Its metal handle, once closed, would seal his fate.

  The metal handle. Yes, that was his chance, maybe his only one. Stanos would have to drop his legs for a few minutes to reach back and pull on the handle. What if he jumped up at that moment and turned the tables on Stanos, pushing him backwards into the freezer and closing the door?

  His heart beat faster as his body was dragged closer to the door. Give me all the strength you got, he commanded his body. Through the slits of his eyelids he confirmed what he could feel. Stanos had slowed down and was readying himself for the final step.

  Stanos lowered Worthy’s legs and stood where he was for a moment. What is he doing? Worthy thought. Was it possible that he’d guessed wrong, that Stanos had brought him into the kitchen only to shoot him? The shot would echo off all the metal and surely be heard in the office. No, that can’t be it.

  Stanos remained where he was, looking down on him. Then he began flexing his arms, shaking out his muscles, and Worthy understood, even as his heart sank. Damn, the bastard thinks of everything, he realized. If Stanos hadn’t done that, Worthy realized, he’d be jumping a guy with cramped muscles.

  “Time to sleep, buddy-boy,” Stanos muttered.

  Buddy-boy? The way Stanos said those words, so casual and light, uncapped a new rage within Worthy, so that when Stanos turned, unlocked the door, and started to open it out, Worthy nearly flew to his feet.

  “Fuck you, buddy-boy,” Worthy snarled, hitting Stanos full force on his left shoulder and sending him reeling toward the open freezer. But in his fear that he wouldn’t have enough strength for the task, he’d executed his plan too quickly, so that Stanos’ other shoulder hit the edge of the freezer door and slammed it shut.

  Stanos fell back against the door and then down to one knee, even as Worthy felt a wave of lightheadedness roll up from his stomach toward his brain. He tottered back toward the metal work table just as Stanos regained his balance and rushed toward him.

  With his left hand, Worthy opened the nearest drawer on the table and grabbed a handful of utensils. With his right, he reached out, and just as he’d been trained, straight-armed Stanos directly at the base of his nose. Stanos’ head flew back, but only momentarily, and Worthy had no time to confirm what weapons he held in his hand. He gripped the largest handle and let the other utensils fall to the floor.

  He swayed a bit as he raised his arm toward Stanos and saw what he’d chosen. A soup ladle.

  “How terrifying,” Stanos muttered hoarsely as he ran at Worthy again. He hit Worthy full force in the chest and drove him to the floor. Worthy went down grasping Stanos as they fell, aware that his opponent had made his first mistake. On the floor, Worthy wouldn’t have to waste energy trying to keep his feet and his balance, dubious propositions at best.

  With one arm, Worthy tried unsuccessfully to break free before searching for what he’d dropped. In the gloom of the kitchen, he spotted what he wanted—a big meat knife, only three feet away and best of all, out of Stanos’ sight.

  Stanos struggled quietly, not wasting energy with words, as he tried to force Worthy’s torso and head down to the floor. With all his might, Worthy pulled himself and Stanos toward the knife. He managed a few inches, only to lose purchase when Stanos found Worthy’s free arm and grabbed at it. Worthy dove down and bit into Stanos’ hand, freeing his own hand in the process.

  “You fuck,” Stanos muttered, his breathing heavy.

  “Not so fun when it’s not an old man or woman, is it, Professor?” Worthy whispered, hitting Stanos in the ear with his fist before the man’s head rammed into his side again.

  “You don’t understand a damned thing,” Stanos spat back. “None of this had to happen.”

  Stanos went back for the free hand, and in the process, the two bodies edged a few inches closer to the knife.

  “Let me guess, a high school wrestler, right?” Worthy muttered, his own breathing heavy now.

  “You bet. And you fight like a basketball player.”

  Worthy felt a fist hit him in the ribs, and he fell willingly in the direction of the knife. With his one free hand, he reached to grab it. The cold metal burned his hand as he raised it and swung it down on Stanos’ arm. The blade glanced off, sliding down the hand until it caught on three curled fingers. Worthy leaned all his weight on the blade, felt the blade hit bone then slice through. He watched two fingers explode with blood even as they hung by flaps of skin from the retracted hand.

  If he’d expected Stanos to panic, he was mistaken. Stanos pulled away from Worthy and rose to his feet. Without a word, he grabbed a towel off the table and wrapped his hand.

  Worthy also managed to rise to his feet, the knife in his hand.

  “It’s no use,” Worthy said, as the two began to circle each other. “Whatever happens, they’ll find your blood in here.”

  “You think I’ve got a record? They’ll never be able to match my blood. Once I kill you, that is.”

  “You figure to kill me with this knife?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Stanos said, circling to Worthy’s left. “That very knife in your hand. The way I figure it, that head wound must be making you feel pretty dizzy.”

  Worthy rotated to face him. “My head’s fine. But let’s say you do kill me. Then what? You expect to lecture tomorrow with two missing fingers?”

  “A garden accident. The hedge clippers jammed. I may even be able to have them reattached, so don’t worry about me. You see, Lieutenant, that’s what I do for a living. I exercise my brain. If you didn’t have so little time left, I’d advise you to try it some time.”

  Worthy knew Stanos wouldn’t wait much longer. He’d caught his breath and felt a wave of nausea, despite what he’d said to Stanos. He also knew from the look in Stanos’ eye that he feared nothing.

  Stanos took a deep breath, feigned low as if to grab at Worthy’s legs, then drove high toward his face, his one good hand reaching for the knife.

  Worthy twisted away from the force coming at him, swung the knife in a high arc away from Stanos’ arm, and sank it deeply into his upper thigh. Gasping and off-balance, Stanos stumbled forward, even as Worthy held the blade in place, letting it rip through the muscle as Stanos fell to the floor.

  With a scream of agony, Stanos rolled onto his back. “Oh, God! Oh, fuck!” He looked momentarily at the gash and the blood pooling from it before his eyes began to roll back in his head. His head hit the floor with a dull thud.
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  “I guess I should have told you, Stanos,” Worthy stammered, breathing heavily as he rested his hands on his knees. “My little high school didn’t have enough guys for both basketball and wrestling. So they let us play both sports. One-fifty-four weight class, three years running.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Father Fortis opened his eyes and squinted at the two faces before him. The one was a younger, quite beautiful version of the other: fair-haired, tall, with a similar open countenance. “You must be Allyson,” he whispered hoarsely. “I heard one of the doctors tell a nurse I owe my life to a beautiful young woman. The doctor was right.”

  Worthy stood next to his daughter at the bedside. “I see your eyesight is okay. How’re you feeling?”

  Father Fortis looked over at the tubes running from both his arms. “Better than the alternative. Thanks to you, my dear.”

  Allyson coughed and crossed her arms across her chest. “I’m just glad you’re okay, um … Father, I should say.”

  “Call me Nick, my dear.”

  “Okay. And you can call me Ally.” She put a small bag on the stand next to Father Fortis’ bed. “These are for you.”

  “What are they, my dear?”

  “Mints, the kind you like,” she replied.

  “That’s so thoughtful,” he said, trying to smile. Every breath felt as if his chest was pushing against a wall. He glanced up at Worthy. “Is that a turban you’re wearing? Christopher, I hope you’re not going to tell me you converted to Hinduism or Sikhism while I was out of commission. I thought it was clear that I had dibs on your soul.”

  Worthy touched the bandage over his left ear. “Just another bit of Stanos’ handiwork. Like that bullet they took out of your side. What did the surgeon say? It passed half an inch from your pericardial sack and ended up even closer to your liver.”