Ten Plagues

by Mary Nealy

  “Me, too.” Keren was surprised how much she meant it. “C’mon, we’re not going to solve you now. Let’s go check out Bugs R Us.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  All the livestock of the Egyptians died.

  Did they really think they could stop him?

  Pravus went through his daily routine just as he always had, but his eyes were always open, always hunting. He saw several that would have done. He’d watch them go in and out of the mission, and it was like they called to him, Stop me, in voices that only he could hear. Stop me, please, before I do more harm to the world.

  They cried out to him as always, but today the only ones who were alone were the bag ladies. The beast inside him growled and paced, demanding to be let out. Pravus knew the bag ladies wouldn’t be enough, not for long, but he felt as if the beast would start eating him, chewing his insides until he was consumed, if he didn’t feed this need to kill.

  He washed dishes because it kept his hands in the water and no one could see them shaking. He couldn’t shave, because his hands trembled until he thought he might cut his throat. The result was his false, full beard didn’t stick as well to his face. He worried constantly that it might slip. His own beard wasn’t gray and it was so thin it didn’t disguise his appearance at all. Even with the plastic surgery and tinted contacts and lifts in his shoes, he was afraid the reverend might recognize him.

  He was spending less and less time here. He didn’t want to look the reverend or the pretty detective in the eye—afraid he wouldn’t be able to conceal his triumph. So he ducked out when he could and was careful to make sure neither of them was around when he came back.

  Normally he helped with the cooking, but he kept feeling the beast erupt. The thrill, the pleasure, the power of being out of control with a butcher knife in his hand was enough to make him avoid food preparation. He washed dishes and listened. He’d overheard several of the women working out a schedule to never go out alone, even discussing moving in together temporarily. The urge to kill grew in him like volcanic pressure.

  He saw a woman leave alone and it drew him out of his rage. She didn’t suit him. She was the wrong type to sate his hunger. But he couldn’t wait any longer. He felt like he’d explode into a killing rampage in front of everyone if he didn’t put a stop to the evil around him. And if he exploded, well, he was too smart to be caught, but he’d have to give up this masquerade that kept him close enough to watch the reverend.

  The plague of boils was next. He had it all arranged. Not as much killing as the plague of beasts, but he’d inflict plenty of pain. And all the while he’d imagine it was his father.

  Pravus caught himself. He hadn’t meant that. He’d meant the reverend. He’d imagine it was the reverend he was killing.

  The beast snarled at him for making that slip. They both owed everything to his father.

  Impatience finally goaded him into going after her. He’d still be hungry when he’d taken her, but she’d be an appetizer. He’d be done with the plague of beasts after tonight. He couldn’t resist getting someone new. She’d do for now, but the feast was yet to come.

  He followed her out.

  Paul was afraid to lead the way on anything for a while, mainly because he was afraid to turn his back on Keren. So he let Keren go in first. The laboratory was as clean and sterile as any doctor’s office.

  Clean and sterile was where the resemblance to anything normal ended. The young woman who greeted them fit with the disturbing supplies this place sold.

  “Hi, I’m Frodo.” She spoke around a wad of gum. And it was the name printed on her name tag. Frodo Baggins. Paul wondered if she’d had it legally changed, her mother had actually named her that, or the name tag was whimsical.

  “I’m an intern.” She had enough rings pierced into her eyebrows to hang a shower curtain.

  “We need a look at your shipping files.” Keren tapped the badge on her belt, right next to her gun.

  Frodo looked at the paper Keren produced and couldn’t have been more cooperative.

  In fact, she was so eager to help, Paul wondered if she had a rap sheet. He decided to run her name on NCIC when he got back to the station. With a stab of dismay, he realized he was thinking like a cop—again. He should have been inviting her to church, not wondering if he could bust her on outstanding warrants.

  Frodo let them come around to look at her computer screen while she called up the shipping files. She scrolled down while they read.

  “Stop!” Keren grabbed Frodo’s hand.

  “Pravus Spiritu.” Keren looked at Paul.

  “We’ve got all his orders shipped.” Frodo pointed to the address.

  “Let me see what all he’s getting.” Keren leaned closer. “Flies, gnats, frogs, and a whole lotta locusts.”

  “He planned for us to find him. He deliberately used his name.” Keren jabbed at the screen. “Do you have a manager, or are you running this place single-handedly?” She did her best to intimidate the young woman.

  It worked.

  “Yes ma’am. Howie, uh … that is, Mr. Guthrie, is in back taking a break. I’ll get him right out here.” She disappeared through a door.

  Keren said, “Dilated pupils.”

  “I smelled weed.” Paul looked at the shipping address. It was the building where they’d found Caldwell’s paintings. “Pravus Spiritu.”

  “You used both those words earlier when you told me what pravus meant,” Keren remembered. “Spiritu, ‘spirit. Evil spirit.’“

  “The guy is nothing if not honest.”

  Howard Guthrie, early thirties, prematurely bald, wearing dress pants and a tie under his buttoned-up lab coat, looked a lot more like a scientist than Frodo did. Keren greeted him with a firm handshake and asked for his cooperation. He seemed to get the point instantly that his cooperation was only a formality. They were going through his files. Period.

  Paul said, “We need a printout of his file—everything you’ve got.”

  Frodo leaned her body fully against Howie to watch the monitor while he typed. “I’m the one who talked to him. He’s a pretty weird dude.”

  Paul wondered if this kid was a good judge of weird.

  “Weird how?” Keren asked.

  “Oh, just the way he fussed about the orders, like the bugs were gonna be house pets or something. And he was very specific about the address and the time of delivery. He made me read it back to him twice to make sure I’d gotten them right. I got the idea he was just obsessive in general, and it didn’t have that much to do with these shipments.”

  “What’s going on?” Guthrie asked.

  Paul arched an eyebrow at Keren. He’d let her decide how much to tell.

  “Have you read the paper?” Keren asked. “About the serial killer and the plagues he’s acting out? Frogs, flies, gnats? None of this rings a bell?”

  “I heard about it, yes.” Guthrie’s brows arched in alarm. “You mean those flies and gnats and frogs were ours? That’s what he used them for?”

  “Yes, and the locusts are coming up.”

  “Whoa, creepy,” the intern said.

  Paul got the impression the punkette thought this was all real cool, and it took a wrestling match to keep his temper under control. He leaned toward Frodo. Keren stepped between him and the girl. She probably thought he was going to go ballistic. She was probably right.

  “We’ll be sending someone around to talk with you. We’ll put a trace on your phone in case he calls back. You’ve talked to this guy. We have a profiler who will want to interrogate you.”

  “Hey, I don’t know nothin’ about him.”

  “You know he’s fussy. You’ve heard his voice. You’re one of the few people we’ve found who’s had actual contact with him who’s still alive.”

  “I’m not talking to the police. You can’t make me.” Frodo crossed her arms.

  “We can make you.” Paul took a step around Keren. “If you don’t, that makes you an accessory to murder.”

 
“Hey, I didn’t know anything about any murder.” She backed away until she could duck behind Guthrie.

  “You do now.” Paul’s voice was cold, pure cop. “To withhold information that could lead to his arrest makes you an accessory—an accessory after the fact to murder. You could do serious jail time for that, understand?”

  “I’ll see to it that I’m in charge of all phone orders until this is over,” Mr. Guthrie said. “And we’ll both cooperate with the police any way you ask.”

  “Howie, what’s the deal?” The intern slid her hand up Howie’s arm.

  Mr. Guthrie patted the hand. “We’ll be fine.”

  Keren and Paul exchanged a long look, then Keren nodded her head. “We’d appreciate it. He’s kidnapped another woman.”

  “And she’s going to be found dead,” Paul added. “Killed by this maniac.”

  “And covered with my locusts?” Mr. Guthrie swallowed hard.

  “No, he’s not up to that yet. Right now he’s reenacting the plague of beasts,” Paul said brusquely.

  The two “scientists” looked suitably sickened.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  O’Shea was on the radio when they got back to the car. He sounded exhausted and about fifteen years older than he had before this case started. “We found the next vic. She’s in the same park where he dumped LaToya.”

  Keren started driving. “How bad?”

  There was a long silence. “Bad.”

  She thought he wasn’t going to say anymore. “You have to see it for yourself. I’d say he brought a plague on the beasts.”

  “Did he get in the petting zoo? We had extra security on it.”

  “No, he isn’t interested in a frontal assault. He was more creative than that.”

  “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Use the siren. We’re not holding this site a second longer than we have to. The press is all over us and there’s a crowd gathering.”

  “On my way.” Keren clapped the light on her roof and hit the siren.

  “Wilma.” Paul buried his face in his hands. “God, I’m sorry for what I said. Forgive me.”

  He lapsed into silence and Keren looked at him. When she saw his lips moving, she knew he was still praying, and she thanked God for that. It was exactly what he needed.

  It was what she needed, too.

  “Plague of beasts,” Paul said. “He managed it.”

  “Well, he’s an artist after all. He’s bound to have a good imagination,” Keren said, resorting to a cop’s black humor.

  Wilma lay on her back near the spot Caldwell had left LaToya. Keren couldn’t see her, though. She was covered with dead birds and squirrels and rabbits. Caldwell had sprinkled poison birdseed and pellets on her, and little animals had been feasting themselves to death all night. They had piled up on her and were scattered across the park in all directions.

  The police had established a perimeter, and Keren had to gather her courage before she could duck under the yellow tape.

  Paul laid his hand on her back, and she looked at him. She saw his vulnerability.

  He couldn’t hold her gaze, so he looked away before he admitted, “I’ve got to get out of this, Keren. When you’re done with me here, I’m going back to the mission. I’ll help any way you need, but I’m not going to ride along with you, investigate with you anymore. I can’t bear this.”

  Keren nodded. She agreed he needed to go back to his own life.

  They walked toward Wilma. Some of the animals were still alive, fluttering and twitching from the poison. Keren said to O’Shea, who stood near the vic, “What killed them? Could we save the ones still alive?”

  O’Shea shook his head. “It’s arsenic. We had a vet called to the scene immediately. He said the effects are irreversible once they’ve eaten the poison.” O’Shea pointed to the area, surrounded by cops. “We’re having a terrible time keeping some of the bolder animals, like squirrels, from running out here and grabbing the poison. We have to get the crime scene work finished so we can get it cleaned up.”

  Keren tread carefully as she got near Wilma. The ground was so covered with dead animals that she had to nudge them aside to step on the ground. She shuddered when cold fur and feathers brushed her ankles. She slipped her foot under a squirrel and pushed it gently aside and was surprised at the lack of rigor mortis. She looked at the medical examiner crouching over the body.

  “Have you examined these animals?” she asked.

  The ME looked up, and Keren was taken aback. Through clenched teeth, Dr. Schaefer growled, “I’m busy, if you don’t mind, Detective.”

  Keren came up beside Dee and, careful of the little creatures that had fallen before this sick cruelty, knelt beside her friend. “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, Dee. This is getting to me, too.”

  Dr. Schaefer’s head dropped for a second, then she seemed to find something deep inside herself to draw from. Her shoulders squared, and she looked Keren in the eye. “Sorry. That wasn’t meant for you.”

  “No problem. I dish it out as often as I take it. I know how it is.”

  They worked in silence, gathering evidence.

  A crowd was building around the park. A press corps shouted questions to anyone who got too close, and they had to bring in extra police to hold back the crowd.

  The process of working the crime scene was tedious, and the sun had begun to lower in the sky when they had everything they needed.

  Dr. Schaefer seemed to relax with a long, slow breath. “What were you saying about the animals?”

  Keren said, “It’s just that I moved one and it’s soft. Shouldn’t it be stiff? It was killed hours ago. Would they be soft again after only one night?”

  Dr. Schaefer turned to move her gloved hands over several of the poor animals within reach. “You’re right. Some of them have been dead longer than others. Some may have been dead long enough that rigor has relaxed.” She shrugged and said, “He’s probably been killing them for a while and collecting them, just so his plague of beasts would really make an impression.”

  Keren recalled the night she and Paul saw the animals feeding together in the park, and she knew Dee was right. “Nothing in that revelation was important enough to interrupt you from your examination,” Keren said. “I know you’re trying to get her out of here.”

  Keren heard movement beside her and glanced up to see Paul coming close. She looked back at Wilma. He’d been hanging back all this time, and Keren couldn’t blame him.

  “The painting on her gown is the same as on the others,” Paul said.

  “It’s done by the same hand,” Dr. Schaefer added, “but the deterioration is getting worse. I can read the words because I know what I’m looking for. “Pestis ex bestia” written on the white dress across her abdomen. “Eamus Meus Natio Meare” across her shoulders. ‘Let my people go.’ I don’t know if they would be legible if I were coming into this case cold.”

  “He’s running amok now.” Keren studied the crude painting.

  O’Shea stood several feet away, where his weary cop’s eyes never quit surveying the area. “Everyone in the neighborhood has gotten really cautious,” he said. “The press reports have been so sensational that women aren’t taking a single step outside their apartments alone. A lot of them aren’t even staying alone, because the newspapers and television made a huge point of the first two being taken from their apartments. Even the pimps are staying close to their girls.”

  “So he’s down to street people,” Paul said. “Like Wilma.”

  “They’re all he’s going to be able to find easily. And he’s in too big a hurry to plot and plan like he did with Juanita. There was no sign of forced entry for her or LaToya. He found a quiet way to get inside.”

  Keren looked at O’Shea then glanced over at Paul. “Or else he knew them.”

  “We’ve suspected he poses as a homeless man to move easily around the area.” O’Shea looked at the throng of gawkers, gathered around the crime scene per
imeter.

  Like being hit by lightning, Keren was jolted by the feeling of evil. She leaped to her feet then froze, afraid a direct search might scare their quarry away. “He’s here,” she hissed.

  O’Shea looked up sharply then turned his well-trained eyes on the crowd, hundreds of people gathered, gawking. “We can’t corral all of them.”

  “We have to.” Keren itched to turn on the crowd of onlookers and try to pick out their killer. Trying to be casual, she turned, wishing the feeling she had was more exact.

  “How?” O’Shea studied the gathering. It lifted Keren’s heart to know he trusted her even when it made no sense that she would know this. “There are more coming, others leaving all the time.”

  “He’s not leaving.”

  “Keren, they’re standing in doorways and alleyways. Half of them would vanish if we even approached them, and you can bet our boy would be one who’d vanish.”

  “Is there someone here with a video camera?” Keren asked under her breath.

  “Sure,” Dr. Schaefer said, watching Keren closely. “Forensics always videotapes the crowd that gathers around a scene like this. Sometimes we find our perp standing, rubbernecking with everybody else.”

  “Have you done it yet?”

  Dr. Schaefer asked, “How can you know he’s here? What’s going on?”

  Keren snapped, “Have you done it yet?”

  “Yes, once.”

  “Get them to do it again—quietly and thoroughly. I didn’t feel him before, so he may have just joined the crowd. We can look at the tapes and compare who came in just now.”

  Dr. Schaefer gave her the look that she might normally have reserved for a mold slide under a microscope, but she turned to the closest assistant. “Norm, have Tommy take another video of the people gathered around.”

  Her helper was unfolding a body bag a few feet away. “He’s done already, Doc.”

  “Norm!”

  The young man, apparently not very brave, said with wide, worried eyes, “What, ma’am?”