Vicarious
Page 4
“Your brother had ties to organized crime. If they’d wanted him dead, it would have been a showy execution.”
“Bullets flying everywhere, yes.” She frowned. “But instead...”
“I know,” said Curran. “It doesn't make sense.”
“Something else that doesn’t make sense.” She peered into his eyes. “You.”
Curran grinned. “Me?”
“You don't seem nearly as fazed by this as the medical examiner did.”
“Yeah, well, I see a lot more garbage than Kwon does.”
She shook her head. “That’s not it. I get the feeling this case almost seems...familiar to you.”
She stared at him. Curran looked away and toyed with his chopsticks. “I might have heard about some cases sort of similar to this.”
Lauren frowned and stabbed her own chopsticks into the bowl of rice. “You’re lying.”
Curran removed her chopsticks. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
He pointed. “Never leave them pointing straight up in a bowl of rice.”
“You’re schooling me on etiquette now? That’s going quite a ways to change the subject.”
Curran shook his head. “Leaving your chopsticks like that means death in most Asian cultures. They look at it as an omen of sorts.”
“How’d you get so acquainted with Asian culture?”
“Military.”
“Before you joined the police?”
“Before I joined the FBI.”
Curran was a G Man? That surprised her.. “You were with the Bureau?”
He smirked. “Impressed? Don’t be.”
She smiled. “I wouldn’t tell you if I was. And I still think you’re lying.”
“Maybe I can’t talk about it in front of you.”
She frowned. “That’s ridiculous. I just sat here and spilled out a host of ugly skeletons that most folks would try to bury. And you can’t even discuss your experiences with unexplained deaths?” Lauren rested her elbows on the tabletop. “Any time you want to talk will be fine.”
He sighed. “You don’t give up easily.”
“I’ve been told that.”
Curran sighed. “When I worked in the FBI, I came across a series of murders that happened in Miami. Unexplained deaths, all of them.”
“How many were there?”
“That we knew of? Five in Miami. Privately, I suspected there were many more.”
“So what happened?”
“I got assigned the cases. I was a young hotshot eager for a tough case. I guess I wanted to prove myself as capable. I tried my damnedest to do just that.”
“But?”
Curran frowned and Lauren watched his eyes go dark again. But they didn’t stare at her any longer. Curran was a million miles away. She watched what must have been awful memories pour across his face in rapid succession. Dark shadows that creased his forehead and made the crows feet at the edges of his eyes seem more pronounced. What has he gone through, she wondered.
“It didn’t work out,” he said.
Lauren never blinked. “I just watched a dozen nightmares play across your face. That was some ‘but.’”
“Probably better if we don’t discuss that right now. I may not be as strong as you.”
“All right.”
He sighed and reached for his water. “They stopped eventually – the murders I mean.”
“In Miami?”
“Yeah. Thing is, for a serial killer, which is what we pigeonholed this guy as, it didn't quite make sense. The experts figured he'd start up again somewhere else. Once the fury got too much for him to handle.”
“You keep saying 'him.' Do you know for sure it was a man?”
Curran shrugged. “Statistically, most serial killers are white males in their mid-thirties. And I guess for some reason, right at the beginning, I felt the killer was a man.”
“So, were the experts right?”
“Yeah. They were right. Six months later. Dallas. Another bunch of bodies with no discernible marks on them start showing up. Each one during the post mortem had characteristics that fit with how your brother died.”
“Like what?”
“Like blood work showing an abnormally high level of glucose spikes just prior to death.”
“Glucose?”
“It’s a side effect of a sudden adrenaline rushes. Like what might happen if the victim knew they were in trouble. It’s that fight or flight instinct response programmed in us all.”
“But they didn’t fight, did they?”
“And they couldn’t flee, either. So this massive dump of adrenaline floods their system. On the outside, it almost looked like they’d been scared to death.”
“There was nothing else that would help unravel the case?”
“Each victim did have a peculiar oddity to them.”
“What’s that?”
“During the post-mortem examination, the prosector – that’s the guy who does the autopsy - discovered the victims – all of them – had green brains.”
Lauren leaned back. “Are you joking?”
“I don't have an explanation for it. I'm just relating what I found out.”
“Did my brother-?”
“Yeah,” said Curran. “Kwon and I did the PM last night – this morning really – and confirmed what I thought I might find.”
“You had a suspicion you’d find it?”
Curran shrugged. “I’m a cop, Lauren. I see scores of dead bodies. Most of them have gunshots, stab wounds, foamy mouths, something that tells me how they died. I came on the crime scene last night, your brother looked like the picture of perfect health. No reason for him to be dead. It kind of stood out as unusual.”
“Especially since Miami.”
“Right.”
“Have there ever been any witnesses?”
Curran motioned for the check and then frowned. “Well, in Dallas, some woman in a nightclub saw someone close to the victim right before it happened. She confirmed it was a man.”
“She saw him kill the guy?”
Curran smirked. “That’s the problem. According to the woman, the killer simply walked up and touched the man on his shoulder. After a few seconds, the person dropped dead.”
“You’re dismissing it.”
Curran smiled. “Well, come on. How silly does that sound? I’ve done a lot of research into Asian cultures and the closest thing I could dig up was a martial art technique called the death touch. But even that didn’t work that fast.”
“There are other traditions out there that might have something like that in them.”
“You know of any?”
Lauren shifted in her chair. “Actually, it sounds something like a reverse laying of hands.”
Curran shook his head. “Never heard of it.”
“Laying of hands is a traditional, albeit unusual method of healing.”
“You mean holistic?”
“Something like that. It’s widely accepted by the Catholic Church as a special occurrence. The healer places their hands on the afflicted and helps heal them using special energies.”
“Special energies?” Curran smiled.
Lauren pointed at him. “Don't look so surprised. A minute ago you were telling me about green brains, after all.”
“Touché.”
“Laying of hands has been acknowledged in the writings of the church for many years and while most consider it something of legend, there are reasonably accurate accounts of healers being able to cure in the name of God.”
“There’s a flip side – that reversal thing you spoke of?”
“I don't know.” She took a sip of water, thankful her stomach didn’t vomit it back up. “I could research it. See if there are any references to something like it anywhere. It sounds pretty odd, I know.”
“I don’t know if I need any help.”
“Sure sounds like you do.”
“Determined.”
“Let me think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. There might be more bodies.”
“I hope not.” And she could see in his eyes that he really meant that.
Lauren smiled at him. She felt certain he’d come around. “How come you’re not with the Bureau anymore?”
“To be blunt, I was fired.”
“For not solving the cases?”
“That and an evil manager who had it in for me. I couldn't win to save my life. The Bureau canned me and I came north to Boston.”
“Why Boston?”
“At the time, I was dating a woman who had family up here. I figured it'd be nice to be closer to her.”
“Your relationship didn't work out?”
“It was one of those instances where you like the family more than the person you’re supposed to be in love with.”
I wouldn’t know, thought Lauren. “How did you get into the Boston Police Department?”
“My last friend at the Bureau put in a good word for me. That was five years back. Things are good, but it's not where I pictured myself when I was younger.”
“Let me guess: you wanted to head up the FBI.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“A boy's got to dream, I guess,” she said.
“You're telling me you don't have any dreams?”
“I never said that.”
“So...share on.”
She folded her hands. “All right. Thanks to my evil brother, I grew up pretty jaded. I hated men. I became the antithesis of feminine. I felt scarred, broken, unable to figure out what I was supposed to be doing with my life.” She leaned closer. “It was a lonely time for me. I traveled a lot. Hitchhiking here and there, skirting danger and even flirting with the same path my brother had chosen for himself.”
“What changed you?”
“God changed me.”
“What do you mean - you found him?”
“Kind of. He came to me in a dream one night. When I awoke, something inside of me felt changed forever. I can't really describe it. It was as if the sorrow I'd been carrying for all those years suddenly lifted. My vision cleared. I wouldn't turn to evil like my brother. I would turn away from it.”
“Become good.”
“More than that. I'd become a soldier in God's army.” She smiled and hoped he wouldn’t think she was some sort of weirdo. “Don't laugh. I know it sounds extremely cultish. But it's not at all.”
“I'm not saying anything.”
“Think about it, Steve. The world is full of evil. If it isn't people out actively committing evil acts, then there are millions of apathetic souls who will never stand up to evil, they'll never sacrifice themselves for the greater good. Their only concern is what's in it for them.”
“I agree.”
“I thought you would. We're similar in that respect, I think.” Lauren looked at the table of food. “I’m sorry, Steve, but I don’t think I can eat any of this after what we’ve been talking about.”
Curran nodded. “No sweat. I’ll get it to go.”
“I’m not good at leftovers.”
He grinned. “Fortunately, I am.” He waved the waiter over and the food disappeared. After a moment, he looked at her. “So, how do you intend to combat all this evil?”
“I asked myself that same question for a long time. Finally, six months ago, I found my answer.”
“Which was what?”
She smiled. “It's quite simple, really. I'm becoming a nun.”
Curran looked like his stomach had just dropped twenty stories. “Oops.”
She grinned. “I thought that might throw you for a loop.”
“Sorry, I had no idea.”
“Of course, you didn't.” She winked at him. “But then again, this wasn't actually a date...was it?”
Curran’s smile looked as natural as a five-leaf clover. “Uh...of course not. No way. I'm just gathering information about the case.”
She grinned some more. “Pay the bill, Steve. You're an awful liar.”
Chapter Four
Curran's phone rang as soon as he reached the office the next morning. He swallowed the gulp of orange juice and grabbed the receiver.
“Curran.”
“So? Was she any good?”
He grinned. “'Morning Kwon.”
“Man, don't ‘good morning’ me. I told you, I want details.”
“No details to give.”
“Liar.”
“I'm not.”
Kwon’s sigh came through the phone. “I don't believe this. I spend my time humping dead bodies all over town, doing extensive reports for you, busting my balls to make sure you’ve got what you need, and you can't even be bothered to spill a little dirt about what happened between you and that lovely lady. Thanks a lot.”
“You want details?” Curran grinned.
“Absolutely.”
“She's getting ready to become a nun.”
“So, you can be a cowboy. I've done the dress-up thing, man. It's kind of cool.”
“I mean it, Kwon. She's going to become a nun.” Curran didn’t feel good saying it, either. Last night had been the first almost date he’d had in a long time and it had felt really nice sitting across from a good-looking woman.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Well...”
“Yeah.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah. I’m kind of fond of her.”
“’Fond of her?’ Curran, anyone ever told you that you got some weird old fashioned ways about you?”
“Yeah, I heard that before.” He bit into the muffin and chewed, but somehow the muffin didn’t taste as good today. “I like old fashioned.”
“She have any thoughts on why her brother's brain turned green?”
“I mentioned it but we didn’t stay on that topic for very long.”
“What'd you talk about, then?”
“The case. Her life.”
“Anything interesting?”
Plenty, thought Curran. But he wouldn’t share that with Kwon just yet. Part of him was still amazed Lauren had given up as much as she had last night. “She's running some stuff down for me.”
There was a pause. “I knew it.”
“What?”
“You aren't done trying yet. I can hear it in your voice. You old Devil. You're going to corrupt that poor woman, aren't you?”
“I'm not going to corrupt anyone, Kwon.”
“You know what kind of hard time you'll do for that, Curran? The man upstairs will bust your ass big time for messing with one of his ladies.”
“And I suppose that foul mouth of yours will get you a pair of wings?”
“Hey, I'm not freaking a nun.”
“I'm not freaking a nun!” He glanced around, but fortunately no one seemed to be paying attention. He turned back to the phone. “Jesus, Kwon, lay off, would you?”
“Yeah, whatever. I'll be waiting for the full report when you do, you dog. Call me if you find out why this dude's brain turned green.”
Curran hung up the and hauled out the pile of old case reports. Photographs, files, maps and assorted evidence came out in a jumble.
So did the memories.
Years of busting his hump to make heads or tails of this serial killer. Years of trying his damnedest to figure out the connection. The pain, the late nights, the unyielding complexity. Everything all at once came pouring out of him.
And the frustration, the final frustration at being heaved out on his ass when things didn't pan out.
That took the cake, he thought.
He sighed, God I need a smoke. But he wasn’t allowing himself a cigarette every time he felt the craving. He had to wean himself off those things. He wasn’t going to smoke for at least – he checked the wall clock – another ninety minutes.
Instead, he took another swig of juice and then began sorting things into piles. Maybe a fresh look at it would jar something lose. Some small piece that would connect everything.
Curran sure hoped so.
But he secretly doubted it.
After all, how long had he spent searching through this material when he was back in the Bureau? And at what cost?
His mind jumped back to the image of his ex-wife. Back to when they both seemed so young and carefree. And so in love. Evenings back then were spent in pursuit of whatever sexual antics ruled the day. Nights of passion and of whispered words of devotion and tender caring.
And then the case arrived.
Suddenly, the bizarre nature of the deaths absorbed Curran like a black hole suckling the light out of every nearby living thing. The names of the victims, the dates, the backgrounds, the abject surprise etched – frozen - into their dead visages.
Everything.
Curran became the case. He lost interest in anything else.
He shook his head like a dog trying to shed water after playing in a lake. That was the past, he thought. Surely, I paid for my overzealous enthusiasm enough.
Now, what hadn't he looked at yet?
What was the clue he needed?
He glanced at Gary Fields' picture again. The grim mug radiated a calm defiance and a cold confidence Curran found unsettling. The picture of pure evil, he thought. He smirked; for the first time, it's a bad guy getting killed and not some innocent bystander.
He stopped.
Miami.
Dallas.
The names. The rap sheets.
My god, he thought, they’re all like Fields.
They’re all evil.
He dug into the piles and began yanking out the backgrounds of all the previous victims. Within minutes, he knew he’d found a connection. He almost hit himself for not finding it before. He’d heard that happened sometimes. You got too close to a case and couldn’t see the most obvious thing of all.
But it raised a question.
Was the killer just a simple vigilante? Was he out to right the wrongs of society by killing off its dregs?
Curran frowned. Was killing justified if the victims were all evil?