Silent is the Grave

by Candle Sutton

  Had he really come to this? Believing God was talking to a strange foreign chick and looking at that as his best option for solving a case?

  Laziness. That’s what it was. He didn’t need a voice from heaven, he needed to work harder. Do his job and do it well. They’d find Monica just like they always did, through good old fashioned police work. None of this supernatural junk.

  Still, the reality was that Elly had connected with Monica so she was still their best shot at finding the girl.

  He couldn’t deal with her right now. Not until this headache passed.

  He’d track Elly down later. For now, he still had reports on yesterday’s incident waiting for him.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Zander approached the youth center.

  Was he crazy? It was the question he’d asked himself the entire drive over, the one that still hounded him even as he climbed the stairs.

  No matter how many times he told himself that he was doing his job and checking on her, he couldn’t deny how often she’d invaded his thoughts all morning. Guilt? Maybe. Or maybe something more dangerous.

  Still, the lady had to eat, right? No harm in asking her to join him for lunch.

  It’d give him time to see firsthand that she’d recovered from yesterday.

  Then maybe his mind would let him move on.

  Somehow, he doubted it, but he had to do something.

  There was no future with her. She wasn’t a US citizen and was, by all appearances, a seafaring nomad who drifted along following the whim of God.

  If he pursued a relationship with her, he was setting himself up for another heartbreak.

  Well, at least thinking about her had kept him from dwelling on Jave. Although somehow that felt disloyal to Jave’s memory.

  Kids dotted the dining room, scarfing down sandwiches like they hadn’t eaten in days.

  Then again, maybe some of them hadn’t.

  He scanned the area. No sign of Monica. Certainly no copper curls to identify Elly.

  Well, he didn’t see Betty either. Maybe she and Elly were in the kitchen making more food.

  He nodded at Felipe, who offered an enthusiastic wave but wouldn’t leave his seat at the table, and continued toward the double doors leading into the kitchen. Pushing them open, he found Betty at the island alone, assembling sandwiches, her back to him.

  “Now you just go on back out there and have a seat. I told you I’d bring these when I’m…” She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes widened. “Oh, Zander! I didn’t know it was you. Marcus has been pestering me for the last ten minutes for more sandwiches and I told him that patience is a fruit of the Spirit and he could develop it now but you know how kids are.”

  He wanted to ask about Elly, but found himself saying, “Then it sounds like you need another set of hands. Just let me wash up.”

  Betty’s grin stretched the saggy skin on her face. “Aren’t you the sweetest?”

  After washing, he took up position beside her, adding lettuce and tomato to the meat and cheese.

  “Is Elly around?”

  Betty’s eyebrows flew into the mop of white hair topping her head. “You sure do ask me that a lot. You sweet on her?”

  Heat rushed his ears.

  Drawn was a better word. Like a fly to a bug-zapper.

  The results could be every bit as devastating to him.

  Still, he’d never admit that. “Concerned. She was… uh, hurt yesterday. I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

  If not for his promise to Elly, he would’ve told Betty the truth, but he wouldn’t break his word. No one would learn about Elly’s healing ability from him.

  Betty’s hands stilled.

  He sensed her looking at him and glanced over to find her eyes studying his face.

  “Hurt?” Unusual intensity radiated from her. “You mean she used her gift, didn’t she?”

  “You know?”

  Betty shook her head. “You kidding? She’s always healing someone around this place. That’s how I know not to call a doctor when she gets all weak on me.”

  Made sense. Betty had been remarkably calm each time Elly went down.

  She still hadn’t answered his question, though. “So is she here?”

  Betty slapped a piece of bread on top of the sandwich he’d just finished assembling. “She didn’t come down today. Least now I know why.”

  Didn’t come? Her pale face from the night before stampeded through his brain.

  Something had happened. He knew it. Why hadn’t he insisted she go to the hospital?

  Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. She might’ve just needed a break from all this. “Have you heard from her?”

  “Hon, she’s a volunteer. She doesn’t owe me a call or explanation if she decides to not come in.”

  “Still, she doesn’t strike me as the type to not show up.”

  Betty just shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll be here tomorrow. She does have a life outside of these walls.”

  Did she? From what he’d witnessed, her life pretty much revolved around the kids at the center. Well, that and God.

  Either way, for her to not show up after a day like yesterday was significant.

  “Betty, you don’t understand. The…” He glanced around to make sure they were still alone, even though he hadn’t heard anyone enter. “Healing was major. Knife wound to the thigh. Possibly hit the femoral artery.”

  Not that he’d had that medically confirmed. In spite of the healing, he’d found a scar on his thigh, although it looked years old instead of recent. Sure, he could have a doctor examine the scar, but they’d never know it had just happened and sure as heck wouldn’t be able to tell him the extent of the damage that Elly had taken on.

  “Hon, the good Lord’s got her firmly in His hands.” Betty’s voice held a confidence he wished he possessed. “She’ll be back when she’s ready.”

  Man, did he hope so.

  Betty picked up the tray of sandwiches. “Now are you hungry? I bet the boys would love to have you eat lunch with us.”

  Well, since he obviously wasn’t taking Elly to lunch… “Sure. But I want one without tomato.”

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  The morgue’s chill seeped into his core.

  Would he ever walk through these doors without thinking of that horrible day four years ago?

  He still remembered clinging to the hope that they were wrong, even as he’d approached the sheet-draped form. Still remembered Jave’s stiff face as the sheet fell back. Still remembered intercepting Madre in the hall so she wouldn’t have to see Jave that way.

  Thankfully Morgan didn’t seem to notice his faltering steps.

  Inspecting the bodies and talking to the ME post-autopsy were some of his least favorite aspects of the job. Yet so necessary. There were things they could only learn from this step.

  Morgan pushed through the double doors.

  The temperature dropped at least ten degrees as they stepped inside.

  Adams, a solid man with hair that resembled a squirrel’s tail, jerked his head up. “Finally made it?”

  Morgan grinned. “Finally finished?”

  Same exchange every time. Seemed it never got old.

  To them, anyway.

  Adams lumbered toward them. “Good to see someone with a pulse down here.”

  Zander shook Adams’ clammy hand and tried not to think about how many bodies Adams had touched today.

  At least he wore gloves when working with the bodies. That was something.

  Adams led them into the storage room. “I think you’ll find this fascinating.”

  Not likely.

  Adams checked the tags on the storage locker before swinging it open. “Here we have your first vic. Amber Sheridan, aka Jessie.”

  Adams pulled back the sheet, revealing Jessie’s very white, naked body.

  They all focused in on the wound.

  Snapping on gloves, Adams gently probed the wound. “Note the clean slice. Blade was sharp and our k
iller didn’t hesitate.”

  Adams pulled off the gloves and opened another locker, sliding out another sheet-draped form. “Now here’s where it gets good.”

  They obviously had very different definitions of the word good.

  Putting on fresh gloves, Adams drew back the sheet. Zander’s gaze locked onto the crushed heart tattoo on Hector Gutierrez’s arm. The frozen face blurred in front of Zander, morphing into Jave’s face from years ago.

  Didn’t matter that they looked nothing alike. He saw Jave in this guy.

  Maybe it was the tattoo.

  He forced himself to tune into what Adams was saying.

  “…same cut.” Adams probed the wound. “See here. And here.”

  Morgan nodded. “So same MO?”

  “Possibly.” Adams grinned. “That’s why you get paid the big bucks, isn’t it?”

  Big bucks. Right.

  “You think this guy’s connected to her?” Morgan jerked his head backward at Jessie’s corpse.

  “All I know is that the wounds share some commonalities. I can’t say that they were killed with the same blade, but the depth of the wound and the slicing pattern is similar. Both vics died from exsanguination, wounds are in the same location with the same angle of entry.”

  Likely the same killer, although Adams would never admit such a thing without DNA evidence linking the two.

  Maybe not even then.

  Even so, the method of killing was highly effective and unusual enough that Zander was willing to bet the murders were connected.

  But how?

  The most logical answer would be drugs, but there wasn’t any evidence that Jessie had been using.

  Although they had found that stash at the gazebo. Maybe it had belonged to her.

  “Have you gotten the tox report back on Jessie… uh, Sheridan?” Maybe it was his connection to the youth center, but he had trouble seeing her as anyone other than Jessie with no last name.

  Adams shook his head. “Not yet. Lab’s pretty backed up and, well, a street girl just isn’t high priority, I guess.”

  So they didn’t know if she had drugs in her system.

  Morgan crossed his arms over his burly chest and rocked slightly on the balls of his feet. “So what’s a teenage runaway got to do with the Alma Negra?”

  Adams drew the sheet back over Rodriguez’s face but said nothing.

  Not that he had any answers. That was the problem. None of them did.

  “You get any foreign DNA off either body?” Morgan’s eyes shifted to Jessie’s corpse. “Signs of sexual assault?”

  “It’s in my report.” Adams slid Rodriguez’s body back inside. “Several samples were sent to the lab. Not uncommon for someone in her line of work.”

  Unfortunately.

  It’d be weeks before they got the results back. All they could do now was speculate.

  “You think maybe she was involved with one or more of the gang members?” Zander nodded at the locker door Adams had just closed. “Maybe she had some connection to our second vic?”

  “Possible.” Adams moved toward Jessie’s body. “The DNA will tell us for sure.”

  Yeah. If they hadn’t died from old age before it arrived.

  “Any bruising or signs of a struggle on either vic?” Morgan stepped closer to the gurney, his eyes traveling down Jessie’s arms and legs as if checking for things Adams might have missed.

  “No. Our killer was very proficient.”

  Not to mention very fast. The security video from the youth center proved that much.

  While a girl of Jessie’s size might not have been able to put up much of a fight, he would’ve expected Rodriguez to fight back. So the killer must’ve been someone Rodriguez knew and at least somewhat trusted.

  “Any other cases that have had a similar MO?”

  Adams shook his head. “Not that I’ve had, but I’m not the only guy in this city doing autopsies.”

  They’d have to check the databases and see. If the killer was as good as he appeared to be, he’d likely had practice. Lots of it.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  “Cops got some of our guys.” Ray’s voice brought Celestine’s head up.

  “How many?”

  Ray stared at her for a heartbeat. “Five.”

  “Anyone of concern?” The very fact that Ray had brought the update was troublesome. Usually she heard about it through the grapevine, not from him.

  “Fernando. But Carlos is the most concerning.”

  Her loose-lipped brother. Great.

  The man was weak. It wouldn’t take much interrogating for him to crack and once he started talking, there’d be no shutting him up.

  She picked up her phone and called her family’s lawyer.

  If anyone could get her brother out of this, he could.

  “What happened?”

  “Details are still a little spotty, but Fernando spotted a girl who escaped a while back and pursued. Turns out the cops are also after this girl.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  Ray hesitated. “Rumor is that she may know something about Jessie’s death.”

  “You left a witness?” Such sloppiness was unlike him. It was also unacceptable. If he didn’t have such a good track record, she’d pull the Ruger from beneath her desk and take care of him right now.

  “I didn’t know.” His steely eyes locked on her. “But I will take care of it.”

  At least he didn’t make excuses.

  “Do it. And make sure our boys know what will happen if any of them even think about snitching.”

  Ray nodded and left the office as silently as he’d entered.

  Five guys captured. Because of one girl.

  She was surrounded by idiots.

  She had a fresh batch of cocaine due in tomorrow. This was not the time for loose ends.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  It wasn’t going to attack him.

  Zander stared at the bottom drawer of his desk as though afraid of what he’d find inside. In some ways, he was.

  He slid the drawer open and reached for the worn file at the back.

  Javier. Written in his own block print.

  The word was a knife to his heart.

  Four years. Would it never get easier?

  His hand shook as he lowered the file to the top of his desk.

  At least Morgan had already gone home. The last thing he needed was Morgan reminding him that it’d be easier if he didn’t revisit the case every year.

  What Morgan didn’t understand was that he had to. Until the killer was caught, reviewing the case on Jave’s anniversary was part ritual, part duty.

  Clenching his jaw, he flipped open the file.

  A grayscale photo of the wound burned into his retina.

  He closed his eyes. Why had he left the picture on top? At least the copy wasn’t in color. That helped.

  Not that anything in this file was in color.

  The pages were all photocopies. The originals were safely housed with the other cold cases.

  He opened his eyes and looked at the picture.

  The knife had cut deep, severing the artery. Jave hadn’t lasted more than a few minutes with a wound like that.

  He studied the wound. No. Nothing he hadn’t already seen many times before…

  Wait a second.

  He looked closer. There was something familiar about the wound.

  In fact, it looked a lot like the ones he’d seen earlier today, the wounds on both Jessie and Hector Gutierrez.

  Could it possibly be the same killer?

  Ridiculous. Wasn’t it?

  Only one way to find out. He glanced at the clock on the wall. He’d bet Adams would still be at the morgue. If he hurried, he just might get his first lead on Jave’s case in four years.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  “Well, it’s consistent. But I can’t say for certain that it’s the same weapon. Or killer.” Adams emphasized the word.

  “But it might be.”

 
; “Possibly. The angle of the wound matches here,” he pointed at the pictures he’d taken of Jessie’s wound before gesturing to Hector Gutierrez’s wound, “And here. And while I didn’t do this autopsy, the notes indicate similarities on the internal damage inflicted.”

  “Similarities.” Zander narrowed his eyes. “That’s a pretty distinctive method of killing someone.”

  Between the precision in the location to the highly controlled slicing, the crimes hadn’t been committed by the standard thug on the street. Zander would stake his badge on it.

  Adams didn’t deny it. “Still, to say that they are definitively the same killer would be premature.”

  Premature or not, they were the same. He knew it in his gut.

  His phone buzzed at his side. A glance at the clock showed he was late for dinner.

  It didn’t matter. He had his first solid lead in four years.

  A lead he couldn’t tell anyone about. Not yet. But if it panned out, he’d finally have Jave’s killer brought to justice.

  Twelve

  The sinking sun sent shadows stretching across the graveyard.

  A chill shivered up Zander’s spine, even though he wasn’t cold.

  He armed the alarm on his car and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he crossed the lawn. Jave’s grave was out of sight, just over the rise.

  Dinner replayed in his mind. Madre’s tears. His sisters’ brave faces. His nieces and nephews running around, blissfully oblivious to the harsh realities of life.

  And now here he was. The final stop on yet another painful anniversary.

  He crested the hill and jerked to a stop.

  A woman knelt by Jave’s grave, her arm around a young girl, their heads close together. Straight black hair brushed her shoulders, which were hugged by a black leather jacket.

  A friend of Jave’s?

  She wasn’t family.

  He was also pretty sure she hadn’t been at the funeral. The day was a blur, but he’d been keeping a close eye on those in attendance, just in case any Alma Negras showed up, and he didn’t remember her.

  She glanced over, caught sight of him, and froze. Arm dropping from the girl’s shoulders, she slowly rose, turning as she did.