John Jordan05 - Blood Sacrifice

by Michael Lister

  “I’m so sorry to do this now. You’ve been through so much. It’s not fair. But we just felt that it was going to come out soon because of the investigation and I wanted you to hear it from me.”

  “So you’re only telling me now because you’re being forced to,” she said.

  Sister Abigail frowned, then nodded. “I guess so. I’m sorry. Told you I was a coward.”

  Kathryn shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re my mother. It’s better than that retard story circulating around town. I knew you couldn’t just come out and say it, but you made sure I knew. Knew I was wanted. Knew I was loved. Knew I belonged.”

  It made much more sense now. What Floyd had done was for Abigail as much as Kathryn. No wonder St. Ann’s had taken in Kathryn. They had never taken in any other children over the years. Of course, they hadn’t actually taken her in. She belonged here more than anyone.

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Unlike the previous mornings, Steve didn’t appear sharp or crisp. His uniform was wrinkled, his face pale and hollow, large, dark purplish-blue circles hung in the loose skin beneath his eyes, and he talked more slowly than he had. I wondered if it was the case, Tammy’s death, Clyde’s crucifixion, Kathryn’s close call. It was a lot to process, and it was obviously taking a toll.

  “We caught Keith Richie trying to leave town last night with all his worldly possessions,” he said.

  “He say why?”

  “Said when God tells you to go, you have to go,” he said, shaking his head. “You religious people crack me up.”

  “Yeah, we’re a real riot. And all just the same. Where is he now?”

  “Station. I’m detaining him for questioning. His parole officer and the cop that busted him are supposed to call me this afternoon. I figure we’ll go at him after we’ve talked to them.”

  I thought about it.

  “How do you like him for it?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Less than some, more than others.”

  “Running sure makes him look guilty.”

  “Heat gets turned up. He runs. Might just be in his nature. Or maybe he really is guilty—but of something else.”

  “Or maybe he’s our guy.”

  “Maybe.”

  “He’s got the right blood for it. Oh, speaking of which…”

  He withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. “Medical center called me to verify you were working for me. Said you had requested this on my behalf.”

  I took it and looked at it. It was a faint photocopy from Floyd Taylor’s medical records.

  “I meant to tell you about it,” I said, “but with all that’s happened, I forgot.”

  “What’d you want with Uncle Floyd’s medical records? You don’t think he did it, do you?”

  “Thought we might need his blood type if the Gulf Coast Company tries to take St. Ann’s and his daughter comes out of the woodwork,” I said as nonchalantly as I could.

  “You could’ve just asked me. He was O negative, but you’re getting way ahead of things. I’m not gonna let them get St. Ann’s.”

  I glanced at the paper to confirm the blood type, and wondered if I should tell him all I knew—about the road and the wetlands, about the deeds and Grace Taylor being Kathryn Kennedy, but just couldn’t bring myself to trust him that much. He still had one of the strongest motives of anyone, and he probably already knew most of it anyway—especially after going to the clerk’s office.

  “Who knows their uncle’s blood type?” I asked.

  “A nephew he got blood from when he had an operation,” he said. “Suspicious son of a bitch, aren’t you? Come on.”

  He led me past the counseling center and kitchen, and around B-dorm. I followed him, letting him set the pace—of the walk and the conversation. The morning was cool and damp, the only light a difussed grayish glow. Though not really necessary, he held a long black metal flashlight in his hand.

  “We were right,” he said. “Clyde died from an overdose.”

  I nodded and thought about it.

  “So why crucify a man who’s already dead?” he said.

  “To conceal the real reason he died?” I said. “Send a message to someone? Bring more embarrassment and shame to St. Ann’s? I don’t know.”

  He nodded and seemed to think about what I’d said.

  We ducked beneath the perimeter of yellow crime scene tape flapping in the wind, and stopped in front of the cypress tree that had held Clyde.

  Pulling another folded piece of paper out of his pocket, he said, “Here’s a list of the blood types of everyone who was here the night Tammy was murdered. Father Thomas was right, he’s not the only guy with B positive.”

  I took the list and read over it.

  Kathryn AB+

  Brad Harrison B+

  Keith Richie B-

  Sister Abigail A-

  Father Thomas B+

  Sister Chris King O+

  Ralph Reid B+

  John Jordan AB+

  “It took some nerve to carry out the crucifixion,” I said.

  He snapped on the flashlight and moved its beam along the cypress tree.

  “A fair amount of time too,” he said. “You think we’re dealing with two different killers?”

  I shrugged.

  “Be a lot easier if Reid hadn’t been in custody and his boys dead at the time,” he said.

  “If someone killed Tammy in the landing right beneath Father Thomas’s nose, that was pretty daring.”

  “If?”

  “He could’ve done it,” I said. “She could’ve done it. Or—”

  “She?”

  “Tammy.”

  “I knew who you meant,” he said. “You think we could be dealing with suicide now?”

  “I meant she could’ve been driven to do it,” I said. “Or whatever was inside her could’ve done it. Have you watched the tape yet?”

  “Freaked the fuck out of me,” he said, shuddering. “I had to stop it, wait awhile and come back to it. I couldn’t believe it was Tammy. I wouldn’t’ve recognized her if I didn’t know it was her.”

  “I should’ve said something,” I said. “It was insensitive of me. I’m sure it was very difficult to watch.”

  “And it wasn’t just that it was scary. Had all that sexual shit too.”

  “Do you think she was faking?” I asked.

  “Don’t see how something like that can be faked.”

  “But you don’t think it could’ve killed her?” I asked. “Or made her do it? Whatever it is—mental condition or…”

  “Drug trip. I guess it could. Hell, I guess that means it could’ve nailed Clyde up too. What if we got a demon jumping from body to body and killing people? First the killer’s Father Thomas or Clyde, then it’s Richie or Harrison or Reid. How would we ever stop it?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was serious.

  “I can’t arrest a spirit,” he said.

  We grew silent a moment.

  Focusing the light where the crossbeam had been nailed, he said, “How the hell did he get him up there?”

  I studied the spot again, though there was nothing new to see.

  “What if—” he began, his voice filling with excitement, then breaking off.

  “What?” I asked, looking at the branches.

  “What if this was just what it looked like?” he asked. “An execution. What if the people here believed Clyde killed Tammy and they decided to do something about it?”

  I shrugged. “It’s possible, but they seemed genuinely shaken up.”

  “Maybe that’s why.”

  “Look at that,” I said.

  “What?”

  I pointed toward one of the branches above where the crucifixion had taken place. A couple of smaller branches growing off it were bent, and in one spot the Spanish moss and a narrow band of bark were missing.

  “Yeah?”

  “Did FDLE process that?” I asked.

  “What?” he asked.

&nb
sp; I took the flashlight and showed him.

  “If they did, they didn’t mention it to me. Why?”

  “Look at it,” I said. “It looks like a rope or a chain has cut into the wood. Could be how the body was raised into place.”

  “You mean—”

  “Like a pulley or just a rope around the branch,” I said. “Which doesn’t rule out it being a mob or a couple of killers, but it does let us know how one person could’ve done it.”

  He took a minute to process it, nodding his head, studying the branch. “I’ll get FDLE back on it, but if it is the work of just one person, who you thinkin’ it could be?”

  “Only one person on our list is a carpenter-handyman type and has B positive blood.”

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  “It’s cold out here,” Harrison said. “Why don’t we talk inside?”

  “Something about this place bother you, Brad?” Steve asked.

  Brad looked at him in disbelief. “Yeah,” he said, “a man was murdered in a way that mocks the way my savior was killed. It doesn’t bother you?”

  As if his uniform, Brad was wearing the same faded, paint-speckled jeans and camouflage jacket, and though his boots still looked newer than anything else he wore, they were now spotted with dirt and grime and flecked with paint.

  “We can talk about me some other time,” Steve said.

  “It’s just that there are evil spirits at work here,” he said. “Now, I’m not scared of the devil. That lyin’, thievin’ serpent’s under my feet. But I respect my adversary, and I know not everybody stays as prayed up as I do, so they can be vessels of wickedness without even realizing it. And the thing they want to do is destroy the light.”

  Steve gave him a perplexed look.

  Brad rubbed the whiskers on his angular face with his thumbnail, tracing his jawline from beneath his ear to the cleft in his chin, sighing heavily as he did.

  “People like me,” he said. “Bearers of the light. Satan wants to destroy us. We know how to bind and loose and—”

  “If that’s all it takes, why don’t you bind the forces of darkness at work here?” I asked.

  “Why don’t you?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be some hotshot prison preacher. Don’t you know how to conduct spiritual warfare?”

  “Did you rape and kill Tammy?” Steve asked.

  “What?” he asked in shock. “No. I’m a sinner and I hate to admit it, but I didn’t have to rape Tammy.”

  “But you slept with her shortly before you killed her?”

  “I didn’t kill her.”

  “We’ve matched your blood type,” Steve said. “We know you did.”

  His eyes grew wide, fear entering his face. “No. You’re not settin’ me up for this, I can tell you that. You hear me? I did not kill her. I did not rape her. I—”

  “You slept with her on the day she died,” I offered.

  He shrugged. “I might have, I can’t remember. We did it a lot. It all runs together, you know? But if I did, it was because she seduced me and I was led astray. I’m weak, but I didn’t kill her.”

  “Did you kill Clyde?” Steve asked. “Nail him up to this tree?”

  Steve moved the beam of his light up to the spot where Clyde had hung.

  “No,” he said, squinting up at the tree. “Of course not. I’m a man of God.”

  “A man of God with feet of clay who commits sins of the flesh,” I said, using his own words against him.

  “You’re also a handyman. You’re about the only one around here who could’ve done it.”

  “Well, I didn’t,” he said. “And anyone who knows me’ll tell you I couldn’t have.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Steve said. “Why’s that?”

  “First of all, I would never do anything that mocked my Jesus. I love him too much. And second, if I’d’ve nailed him up to that tree,” he would have never fallen down.”

  Chapter Sixty

  As Steve and I were leaving the abbey to go interview Reid and Richie, Sister Chris stopped us and asked to talk to me. Steve said he’d go talk to Richie’s parole officer and get things ready and I could meet him at the station.

  When he left, Chris and I stepped into one of the classrooms.

  Actually sitting face to face with Sister Chris, I noticed she was much rounder and heavier than she first appeared, and I realized her habit hid her weight well, especially how round and full her pale face was. We were seated in two desks that faced each other.

  Before she said anything, I said, “I read about you in Tammy’s journal.”

  I just wanted to see how she responded and what she might say.

  “I wondered if she wrote about us,” she said, adding with a sheepish wince, “I looked through your room when I heard you had it. I’m sorry. Someone had already been there, because it was a mess.”

  I nodded.

  Unlike the other classrooms, this one had been remodeled, and was now a smart classroom with built-in audio-visual equipment, carpet, new desks, handicap access, and a marker board, the sharp alcohol smell of erasable ink replacing the dull, dusty smell of chalk.

  “I’m relieved you know,” she said. “I’ve been tiptoeing around here waiting for this. Now, I’m just glad it’s over. Well, not over, but hopefully it’s the beginning of the end.”

  Wondering what she was relieved I knew, I said, “Tell me.”

  “It wasn’t a relationship really. Just sex—especially for her. I wanted more, but she had no interest in me as a person. I was just what was around when Kathryn turned her down.”

  I nodded, encouraging her to continue.

  “I realize it’s breaking my vows in a way. It’s just… I don’t think it’s a sin. I’m not sure what kind of minister you are, or what you believe, but I don’t take the Bible literally. The fact that lesbianism isn’t even addressed in scripture gives us some insight into the bias of the writers and their male-dominated worldview. The few times where homosexuality is mentioned, I think it’s either an example of what the writer considers wrong or it’s talking about things that would be wrong in heterosexual relationships too. Anyway, since I don’t see it as sin, I don’t think abstinence should be one of our vows. I’m certain I’m called to be a bride of Christ, so since my choice was between following my vocation without keeping all of my vows or not making any vows but not following my vocation, I chose the former.”

  I nodded my understanding.

  “It’s not like I’ve had a string of lovers, but God made me a sexual being just as much as he made me an intellectual and spiritual one, so I’ve never been completely abstinent either. I knew Tammy was troubled and I shouldn’t get involved with her, but she was so… anyway, I found it very difficult to resist. Also, and I know how lame this sounds, I thought I might be able to help her.”

  “I’ve been guilty of thinking the same thing before,” I said.

  She smiled, her pale, full-moon face seeming to grow even larger. “Of course, Kathryn doesn’t need helping, does she?”

  My face must’ve registered my surprise, because she quickly added, “Everybody knows you two have hit it off.”

  “You’re right,” I said, “she certainly doesn’t need rescuing or saving.”

  “It feels so good to be able to talk to someone about this,” she said. “Especially someone so understanding. I’ve been so sad and had to keep it bottled up so tightly.”

  “I was wondering why you were being so open and honest with me.”

  “I’ve been so preoccupied with it that I haven’t been myself. There’s something I’ve been needing to tell someone, but just haven’t been able to muster up the strength.”

  “What is it?”

  “I heard you guys have Ralph Reid in custody.”

  I nodded. “Steve does. I don’t have anybody in anything.”

  “Do you think he killed Tammy?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with it. I loved her. I couldn’t hurt her. I a
ctually hoped once she was free we might actually have a real relationship.”

  “You knew about the exorcism?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I was one of Father Thomas’s prayer warriors. I was shut up in my room praying while she was being killed.”

  “So you didn’t see anyone out and about that night?”

  She shook her head.

  We were silent a moment.

  “I wish I would’ve believed her. She just always had some drama going and told so many lies. I don’t know. I just didn’t believe her.”

  “About what?”

  “Not long ago she thought someone raped her,” she said.

  “Thought?”

  She nodded. “She was unconscious at the time. That was the other thing that made it even harder for me to believe. She couldn’t say for certain, but she knew. I mean, there was no way she could prove it, but she was convinced. She was certain who did it too.”

  “Reid?”

  “He drugged her. Talked her into meeting him for a drink, said he had some family business to discuss with her. Told her he could make her a very rich woman. She met him, had one drink, and the next thing she could remember was waking up in her bed the next morning. She was fully dressed—even had her shoes on, but he missed a button, and he was rough with her. She felt it. And she could smell him on her.”

  No wonder he had taken such extreme measures to get Tammy’s journal. If she wrote in it about what he had done, he would not only be implicated in her rape, but become the prime suspect in her murder.

  “Did she report it?”

  “Who would believe her? She had a reputation, you know? And it was well deserved. I even had a hard time believing her. But spreading your legs because you want to and having someone spread them when you can’t stop them are two very different things.”

  Chapter Sixty-one

  “I think Reid may have raped your cousin,” I said.

  Eyes narrowing, teeth clenching, jaw flexing, Steve’s face flushed with anger. “If he did, he’s a dead motherfucker.”

  I knew how he felt. There was something about rape that seemed even worse than murder.