Voice of the Spirit (A Trinity of Death Romantic Suspense Series Book 1)

by Raine, Charlotte

  Voice of the Spirit

  A Trinity of Death Romantic Suspense Series

  Charlotte Raine

  Contents

  Authors Notes

  Copyright

  1. Lauren

  2. Tobias

  3. Lauren

  4. Tobias

  5. Lauren

  6. Tobias

  7. Lauren

  8. Tobias

  9. Lauren

  10. Tobias

  11. Lauren

  12. Tobias

  13. Lauren

  14. Tobias

  15. Lauren

  16. Tobias

  17. Lauren

  18. Tobias

  19. Lauren

  20. Tobias

  21. Lauren

  22. Tobias

  23. Lauren

  24. Lauren

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Also by Charlotte Raine

  About the Author

  Read More Books

  Authors Notes

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  Copyright © 2016 by Charlotte Raine

  All rights reserved.

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  Chapter One

  Lauren

  When I drive up to Tobias's apartment, his hands are shoved into his pockets. He moves around the car to open the passenger side door like he’s trying to be smooth, but even with his athletic build, he has never quite managed to be graceful.

  He gives me a quick kiss, his fingertips barely brushing against my throat before he plops down in the passenger seat.

  “Thanks for picking me up,” he says, pulling on his seatbelt. “The mechanic says my car will be ready in a few days.”

  "Did Frank at least get a good laugh out of how your car was damaged?" I ask, referring to the mechanic who always gives the police station a good discount.

  "If a good laugh means he nearly choked on his pastrami sandwich, yeah, a pretty good laugh," he says. “The perp didn’t need to run straight into my car with his monster truck. He would have gotten significantly less prison time. I was just going to question him about his friend—I didn’t even know about the cocaine.”

  I smile as he ruffles his dark hair in frustration. I didn't think I would end up in a relationship with someone like Tobias—he can be volatile, he spends a lot of his time being angry, and he can be blunt to the point of being rude. Looking back, after our near death experiences with the PVP Killer, I should have had doubts—maybe the high intensity of the case caused us to believe we loved each other when it was really only attachment to something stable. Maybe the excitement of the case and the fact that we had the same goals caused us to think there was something between us when there wasn't, and once our lives became boring, we would drift away from each other. But the doubts never came. Our lives have certainly been less interesting lately, but every time I look at him, I feel this burst of joy and comfort that I've never felt before.

  The volume to the radio is low, but as I hear the familiar beat of Mary Fitzgerald's song “Forgiven,” I turn it up.

  I give everything to You.

  And still have it all because You had risen.

  Because under all this mess and consequence,

  I will always be yours, always be forgiven.

  Tobias glances over at me, amusement lighting up his vibrant green eyes.

  "You really like this song?" he asks.

  "Oh, come on," I say. "She even has an apartment in Detroit because she went to high school here. She’s even going to speak at some of Detroit’s churches before her spring tour begins. I know you hate popular music, but this isn't like the other popular music."

  "All popular music is the same," he says. "That's why it's popular. There's a formula to the whole thing."

  "Well, I like Mary's voice," I say. "The girl had a record deal before she graduated from high school and she's been praised by some famous songwriters for her lyrics. Don't you at least respect that she's not just singing about boys and partying?"

  "Not really," he says. "When I listen to music, I do it to relax. Not to be preached to.”

  "So, talking about God is being preached to?" I ask.

  He doesn't answer, turning his head to look out the window. I stop at a traffic light. Tobias's body language is closed off—his arms folded over his chest, his legs pressed together with his feet side-by-side. He doesn't want to make this an argument, which is another reason our relationship has worked—he's been willing to let things he would usually rant about slide by without comment. But even if I hadn't studied psychology, I would know those emotions have to come out eventually, especially the important ones.

  I know You speak to me through all these people

  They hear your Spirit with the words I sing

  When I die and I finally see You,

  I’ll sing one more time for my King.

  "You don't believe in God," I say. I mean for it to come out as a question, but the answer feels obvious at this point.

  "No," he says, "I don't. That would require me to believe in magic, which I don't. Everything has an explanation. If I can't solve a crime, I don't assume God did it, so if I don't know the answer to something about the world, I'm not going to attribute that to God either. There's no proof of God. I'm a detective. I need concrete proof."

  “Jesus was a real person. Even historians agree on that,” I tell him. “There is actual evidence that He existed.”

  “Is there actual evidence that He performed miracles?” he retorts.

  “If there was evidence like that, there would be no need for faith,” I say.

  The light turns green. The car jerks forward as I press the gas a little too hard. After being together for four months, we had to find a point of contention in our relationship eventually. I just thought our point of contention was the first few weeks after we met.

  Because under all this mess and consequence,

  I will always be yours, always be forgiven.

  Chapter Two

  Tobias

  As soon as we walk into the station, I feel like I’ve just entered a beehive. Everyone is running around, there’s a loud buzz as officers try to talk over each other, and in the center of it is Cameron Mattinson, our new Chief of Police. He’s like a queen bee, except instead of reproducing worker bees, he reproduces anxiety.

  Our only hope is to avoid him, but the elevator is currently on the third floor—our homicide division—and there's little hope that it will get down to the first floor before he sees us and informs us that the whole world is going to hell and he'd like our help cleaning it up.

  Three police officers push past Lauren and me as she presses the up button. I look behind me to watch them rush out the door. Someone must have been murdered or is about to be murdered if they’re sending three officers out.

  “Rodriguez! Wil
liams!” Mattinson rushes over to us.

  Lauren turns toward him, but I pretend to be more interested checking messages on my phone. Three new emails since I checked this morning. All of them are junk mail. Buy one, get one free running sneakers at Frantic Footwear. Always good to know.

  Mattinson says, “We have an emergency.”

  “Considering our victims are dead, I’m not sure how much of an emergency it could be,” I say, putting my phone back into my pocket. He scowls, but his forehead is still wrinkled with concern.

  “A murder has been committed inside Pious Church. It looks ritualistic—”

  “So, the media is going to be all over it,” I finish. “Got it. We’ll get right over there as soon as I get my second cup of coffee—”

  “And Mary Fitzgerald was performing there this morning. Now, she’s gone.”

  Lauren crosses her arms, staring at me as if my disdain for the pop singer caused her bad luck. If I were powerful enough to cause misfortune, I wouldn't start with a pop singer.

  “We mean gone like nobody knows where she is? Or gone like she passed away and nobody is ever going to have to listen to her sing again?”

  Mattinson looks at me with the same expression as Lauren. I'm just getting on everybody's shit list today. “She’s missing. Not only is she famous, but her father is the Captain of a police force in California. He was about ready to send his own fleet over here to investigate, but I managed to persuade him not to. This means there’s a huge amount of pressure from the media, the public, her father, and a police force in California. We need to find that girl ASAP or we might as well all be looking for new jobs.”

  “Not to mention that her life could be in danger,” Lauren mutters.

  Mattinson looks down at his hands as he twists his fingers. “Look, you guys, I’m new here and I know I have big shoes to fill. But this is my first big case and I’ve heard you two work great together. I need you to help me out on this one.”

  “Of course,” Lauren reassures him. “We’ll go down to the church right now.”

  This is the bad thing about having a partner. They offer reassurances that you would never offer by yourself. If Mattinson falls to pieces over one big murder, then he's not cut out for this job and I won't have to deal with the fact that he's always one second away from a complete meltdown.

  I'm kind of hoping for the meltdown. Detroit has seen a fair amount of police chiefs, but we've never had one that ended up in the psych ward.

  Mattinson nods. The doors to the elevator open and he scuttles inside. I watch as the doors close.

  “He’s not going to survive a month in Detroit.”

  “You’re being a little generous with your time,” Lauren says. She pulls her cinnamon brown hair up into a ponytail. She has a slim body frame, but she has enough curves to make her feminine and enough muscle that she would never be considered fragile. “I’d give him two weeks. But who could be worse than the PVP Killer? It didn’t get much more ritualistic than that.”

  Chapter Three

  Lauren

  This is the most ritualistic murder scene I’ve ever investigated.

  A large wooden cross leans against the back wall of the pastor’s office in Pious Church. A man that appears to be in his late thirties or early forties with copper red hair and a wiry build has his wrists, his feet, and his sides nailed to the cross. Blood trails down from his wrists, as if his veins had grown over his skin. The blood from his sides has soaked through his tattered shirt, the two stains meeting in the center of his abdomen, and his bare feet are painted red by the blood. If I hadn't examined countless photographs of famous serial killers’ murder scenes, I wouldn't be able to handle this one. Still, I can feel my hands tremble as I clasp them behind my back so no one else can see.

  “So this is the love and peace that religion preaches so often,” Tobias remarks, examining where the nails have pierced through the man’s wrists. Tobias’s face is contorted with confusion. “This is insane. Who takes the time to nail someone to a cross? Did the preacher never notice this dead body in his office?”

  “He says it wasn’t here this morning,” an officer says.

  “Okay,” I say to Tobias, “I know you don’t like religion, but you can’t deny that religion has done good things as well.”

  He glances up at me, his moss green eyes even more vibrant in the monotone colors of the church. “Really? There’s a dead body here. On a cross. And you want to argue religion? Fine. Here’s my piece. Religion might do a little good, but the good doesn’t outweigh bad. We would be much more advanced if it weren’t for religion. Religion has always held back science. Galileo said that the Earth revolves around the sun, so the Pope put him under house arrest for the rest of his life and considered what he said to be heresy.”

  “That was four hundred years ago!” I snap. “And if you think religion held back science, you might want to inform Frances Bacon, who invented the scientific method.”

  “He didn’t invent the whole thing. Parts of it had been used by scientists for years—”

  “And Galileo was a Christian, so—”

  “For Christ’s sake,” Annette Harris, our medical examiner, interrupts. “Do you two use random historical facts as foreplay or do you just have the most boring fights ever?”

  “Foreplay,” Tobias answers.

  “Fighting,” I correct. I turn to Tobias. “You’re the one who brought up religion.”

  “Because clearly the killer is religious!” he says. “Who else would set up a victim like this?”

  “Maybe a person against religion?” I suggest. “Someone who is making fun of Jesus? A religious person wouldn’t do this. It would be sacrilege to pose anybody like Jesus.”

  “…I’m assuming it’s also frowned upon in your religion to kill people, but I’ve sent a lot of murderers to prison who had crucifixes tattooed on their bodies.”

  “Anyway,” Annette snaps, gesturing to the man on the cross. “There’s a dead body here. Would either of you like to know anything I’ve figured out about his murder or would you like to continue to argue about your strange certainty that you’re right about everything in the universe?”

  “Argue,” Tobias says.

  “Learn about the body!” I snarl.

  Annette rolls her eyes. “You guys would be adorable if you were six years old. But since you’re full grown adults and I need to get this body back to the morgue, you’re both just pissing me off.”

  “I’m sorry, Annette,” I say. “Please tell us what you found.”

  “Well, the body was dead for a few hours before it was found, though from his health level prior to his death, I think he would have taken a couple of days to die from crucifixion. From the lack of blood, it seems that he was killed in some other location.”

  “So, you think he died from crucifixion? His body couldn’t have just been posed after being poisoned or something else?” Tobias asks.

  “I can’t be sure because the medical community isn’t completely certain how people died from crucifixion. There’s a theory that crucified people died from asphyxiation,” she says. “It’s difficult for victims to inhale with the way their weight is pulling down on the rib cage. But it could also be caused by cardiac rupture, pulmonary embolism, possibly hypovolemia, or an increase of acid in their blood. In all those cases, it probably took this guy a day or two to die. It was not a pleasant way to go.”

  Tobias turns to Romano, a bulky detective with thick black hair and a constant scent of strong cologne around him. “There weren’t any witnesses?”

  “We’re thinking maybe Mary was a witness and that’s why the killer took her, but there was also about fifty people that came here to see Mary perform. They were in the main area of the church, though, so I don’t think they saw anything. I talked to them all as a group and they don’t seem to know anything, but I figured you’d want to talk to them all individually. They’re waiting in the pews.”

  Tobias moves past him. I follow T
obias, giving Romano a small smile as I pass by. I didn’t know him too well before his partner, Richardson, was killed, but his demeanor has definitely become more somber. Tobias went through the same thing when he lost his partner, Michael. Losing your colleagues and grief is part of the job, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

  We walk down a long hallway before we reach two thick wooden doors. Tobias pulls on the brass handle and we enter the main room of the church. A hundred eyes turn to look at us.

  “My name is Detective Rodriguez,” Tobias calls out, still walking to the front of the pulpit. He turns around to face everyone. “And this is my partner, Detective Williams. We’re going to question all of you and nobody is going to leave until we’re finished, so I’d advise you all to pick up one of those Bibles in front of you because you may be able to finish it by the time we’re done.”

  He points to the man farthest to the right in the front pew.

  “You,” he says. “Come over here and tell me everything that happened since you drove onto the church’s parking lot.”

  I glance around the room, trying to figure out who I should question first. There are five people who aren’t sitting in any of the pews and are leaning against the walls in the left corner of the room. Because of the instruments all around them, I’m going to assume they’re Mary’s band.

  “Hey guys,” I say, walking over to them. “Can I ask you some questions? Are you the band that plays with Mary Fitzgerald?”

  “We are,” the man with long blonde hair that touches his shoulders says, “I’m Fitz, the lead guitarist. That’s Lewis, the rhythm guitarist. Marcus plays bass and does some vocals, and Jeremiah is our drummer. Brian over there is Mary’s bodyguard.”