House Infernal by Edward Lee

by Edward Lee

  Ash-shaytan, read the bare brick.

  And in the room that corresponded to the third comer of the drawing-Dan's bedroom-the words Lux Ferre, were revealed after a few more hammer blows.

  By then it was no surprise when they found the word Iblis beneath the plaster of the fourth comer room.

  Driscoll pinched his chin in thought. "Four names for Satan in the four corners of the house, and they also appear on four different comers of that sketch ..

  "So what should we make of this?" Venetia asked. "It really is strange."

  "And unnerving!" Mrs. Newlwyn added. "How appalling for a priest to write such words in a religious building."

  "You know what I think?" Dan asked, eyes wide, as if to make a revelation. "I think it's just a bunch of devil-cult bullsh-BS."

  "Though I can't say I agree with Dan's choice of words, ' Driscoll said, "I do agree with his conception of this. It's part of human nature to hunt for intriguing mysteries but nine times out of ten, there's no intrigue at all."

  "So there's no real significance to these words being here," Mrs. Newlwyn ventured, "and also being on the drawing?"

  "I don't think so."

  A thought came to Venetia. "But isn't it at least possible that this might be connected to the murders that happened here? Satanic cults have been known to use murder as part of their rituals."

  "Satanic cults are rarely serious, Venetia," the priest explained. "They consist of disgruntled youth and other misguided folk."

  "Just looking for a new way to party," Dan added.

  "Right. New Hampshire isn't exactly a haven for that sort of thing."

  "No, but it was three hundred years ago," " Venetia said.

  Mrs. Newlwyn added, "And remember that there's a Salem, New Hampshire, just as there's a Salem, Massachusetts, and both have histories of witchcraft and devil worship."

  Driscoll smiled and held up his hand. "I think that's stretching it a bit. It's all a cliche these days, Mrs. Newlwyn. I don't think I've ever heard of any Satanic cults operating in New Hampshire, and as for those regrettable murders? They were committed months ago. Tessorio died in the seventies. It's impossible for there to be a connection."

  Venetia was inclined to agree.

  They all looked to the window at the sudden sound of a car horn.

  Dan peered out. "Looks like a limo from the diocese ... with a monsignor's flag."

  A fretful expression lengthened Driscoll's face. "It's that late already? I promised the monsignor I'd play golf with him!" Then Driscoll rushed out.

  "How's that for church business?" Dan said. "And any time you play a monsignor, you have to lose on purpose."

  They all went to the stair-hall rail and watched amusedly as Father Driscoll huffed across the atrium and out the front door, his golf clubs clattering on his back.

  "Hey, where's Betta?" Dan asked. "I haven't seen her all day."

  "She's out helping John with the hedges," Mrs. Newlwyn said.

  That might not be all she's helping him with. Venetia kept the thought to herself.

  "I better round her up to help me with the laundry."

  "And I guess Dan and I will be spending the next few hours fixing the holes we just knocked in the walls," Venetia said.

  "Piece of cake," Dan promised.

  Mrs. Newlwyn made for the stairs. "See you both at dinner. It's hotdogs and beans night!"

  As she and Dan meandered down the hall, Venetia was still at odds with the disturbing dream last night that seemingly told her the definition of the word Eosphorus and where it was located. I saw it beforehand and forgot, she told herself yet again. Those nightmares about the voice simply confused me.

  It was the only thing that made sense, but why didn't she feel convinced?

  Then they headed downstairs to get the plaster and paint.

  "It's just creepy," Venetia commented, scanning around, "knowing that over thirty years ago Tessorio was hiding little homages to Satan in a prior house that he built specifically for the Catholic Church."

  "Same as Black Mass in the Middle Ages," Dan said. "It was all done in secret. These congregations of heretics had to hide their reverence to the devil or else be hanged and burned at the stake."

  "Do you think he did it in other buildings he constructed for the Vatican? All those beautiful churches and rectories?"

  "It depends on when he lost his faith but sure, it's possible."

  Another glance over her shoulder showed her the brooding portrait of the previous prior, Father Whitewood. He seemed to scowl at her as she descended the stairs.

  "But as much as Driscoll steps on my tail, he's right about a lot of things. The devil-worship cults of today are just people who're screwed-up in the head, or looking for identity because they're social misfits, or-as in Tessorio's case-looking for a more flamboyant excuse to get drunk, take drugs, and have orgies. None of it's very serious at all."

  Venetia half-smiled. "What about Lucifer's wings burning as he fell from Heaven? When you're a priest, what will you say if some kid in your congregation asks about it?"

  "I'll say the same thing Driscoll said. It doesn't matter if it really happened or not. All that matters is God's word."

  "And the figurative versus the literal?"

  "Same thing. Do I really believe that a woman named Eve plucked an apple off the Tree of Knowledge and took a bite after God said not to? It doesn't matter. It's got nothing to do with how we live our lives and stay on the Holy Spirit's path."

  Venetia wondered. Did it make actual sense, or was it just a bunch of hip Holy Roller talk?

  Downstairs they began to cross the atrium toward the dropcloths, where the supplies sat.

  "So you're not even a little creeped out by the fact that these two Catholic women-a nun and a clerical assistant-were murdered in this building only a few months ago?"

  "No," he said at once, then paused. "Well, sure. A little."

  "Then why couldn't a ritualistic cult have existed? Formed by Tessorio all those decades ago, and carried on by followers today?"

  Dan grabbed some cans while Venetia grabbed some brushes and a trowel. "It's too far-fetched, Venetia. The state cops already investigated. It was probably a botched burglary by dope addicts. They broke in-"

  "And then the two women surprised them."

  "Right. Then the perps freaked out and killed them so they couldn't be identified. It's a commonplace crime these days-this one just doesn't seem so because a nun was involved. The state police are convinced that the murders were random and not cult-related."

  A man's voice startled them. "But that's not necessarily the opinion of the local police."

  Venetia almost dropped her brushes. She and Dan eyed the stocky, goateed man in the sports coat standing across the atrium.

  "Who are you?" Venetia asked.

  The man smiled. "The local police." He flashed a badge. "Captain Berns. I'm with the Rockingham County Sheriff's Department, and I'd like to ask you a few questions...."

  Guess I scared the shit out of them, Berns surmised. "The door was wide open so I stuck my head in and heard you two talking."

  The other two introduced themselves. The guy, Dan Holden, had a straitlaced look on the outside but Berns sensed a touch of the smart aleck on the inside. He had a Roman collar but when Berns addressed him as Father, the guy laughed and said, "Oh, no, please don't call me that. I won't be a priest for another year." Whatever, Berns thought. The blonde, Venetia Something-or-other, was all business behind the eyes and-Jesus, what a bod. And stacked ... Berns didn't get the clothes, though: sneakers with a black skirt like girls wore at private school, and a blouse knotted up to show her bare stomach. She said she was a theology student, of all things.

  "I heard this place was reopening," Berns told them, "so I came up." He looked around and tried not to frown. What a mess, he thought as he surveyed the drop cloths, paint cans, ladders, and covered furniture. He wasn't even sure exactly what a prior house was. "I understand that the guy in c
harge here is a Father Christopher Driscoll. Is he around?"

  "Did you see a big black mafia-looking limo pull out of here a minute ago?" Dan asked.

  "Yeah, at the end of the driveway."

  "That was him, on his way to the golf course," the blonde said.

  Berns looked at Dan. "So when he's not in, you're in charge?"

  Dan chuckled. "From the church end, I guess you could say that, but the only thing I'm in charge of is cleaning up this dump."

  Berns felt for him. Impulse kept tempting him to steal a glance at Venetia's cleavage. Damn! "Well, I really need to talk to someone who knew any of the previous staff. You know-last March, before the murders."

  "That would be me then," Dan offered. "I knew everybody. Not very well, but-"

  "Did you know the two women who were murdered?"

  "Lottie Jessel and Patricia Stevenson-yes. And when I say I knew them, I mean I knew them enough to say hello to them. I was kind of like the diocese's errand boy. I'd drive up here once a month to fill Father Whitewood's supply orders."

  "The guy who used to run the place..."

  "Yeah."

  "And then disappeared," Venetia added.

  Berns nodded. "The state police talked to him, though. He didn't have anything to do with the murders, but he had sort of a-"

  "Complete trauma-triggered mental breakdown?" Dan cut in.

  "That's pretty much the case." Well, this could be worse, Berns thought. "Would it be too much trouble to ask you to come down to the county sheriff's station in town?"

  Dan wavered. "I ... guess not. Why?" He grinned. "Should I be getting uncomfortable?"

  "No, no," Berns laughed. "We've apprehended another suspect. I'd just like you to take a look at her, see if it's someone you've ever seen up here before..

  "Sure." Dan tapped the blonde on the shoulder. "Why don't you come along, too? You haven't been to town yet."

  "I guess the wall repairs can wait," she said.

  Then they all went outside and got into Berns' unmarked car. Wall repairs? Berns wondered.

  Dan let the blonde ride up front, which only teased Berns more. Stop looking at her boobs! Berns told himself. I'm a cop for God's sake!

  It wasn't easy; she was that attractive.

  "So, Captain," she inquired just as he was pulling off. "You said you've apprehended another suspect?"

  "Yes. Last night-"

  "And it was a woman?" Dan asked next.

  "Correct. Susan Maitland."

  "Never heard of her," Dan said. "And I'm sure no one by that name ever worked at the prior house, at least for the time I was going up there."

  "It's probably an assumed name. We get a lot of drifters in port towns. They're sweating warrants in other states, or they get tired of raising their ten kids in the trailer so they just leave, abandon them. Not saying that's the case here. I just need someone from the prior house to take a look at her."

  Venetia turned toward Berns. "Isn't it unusual for a woman to be a suspect in a murder case like this?"

  "Oh, yeah, but it happens."

  "And you referred to her as another suspect...."

  "A guy got busted several nights ago. He'd made it all the way up to Maine before they got him. That's two we've got now, but we believe there were three perpetrators, and you can call it a hunch, but I'm pretty sure the third one hasn't left town either."

  Venetia cast an alarmed look back at Dan.

  Oh, come on, give me a break! I'm trying to drive! Whenever Venetia turned to look out the window, Berns caught her breasts in the passenger-side rearview. "But it's kind of interesting, what you and Dan were talking about when I walked in."

  "What? Devil cults?" Dan said, laughing.

  "Right," was Berns' simple reply.

  The silence left Dan and Venetia to stew. Finally Venetia ventured, "You mean the murders were part of a cult activity?"

  "Well, let me just say that it's looking that way." Then he thought, And it's also looking like you'll be sitting in the back when I drive you back to the prior house, because your tits in my rearview are gonna make me drive off the road!

  "That's shocking," she said. "What evidence do you have?"

  "Well, at this point it's kind of confidential." Berns chewed on a thought. "But I can say that we don't believe the murders were random."

  "Can you tell us why?" Dan asked. "It's not like we'll be blabbing to anyone."

  "I appreciate that." Berns eyed the sigh: wA.1 fspogr-3 t to s. Didn't realize the prior house was so close to town. An hour's walk. "Unlike the state police, we believe the victims were specially selected."

  "Because of their vocation, you mean," " Venetia said.

  "Yes, their close connections with the Catholic Church."

  Dan and Venetia traded another glance.

  "Hence the suspicion of cultism," Venetia continued. "An anti-Christian motivation. One thing you might want to know, Captain...," but then her words trailed off. She looked to Dan, as if seeking permission.

  Dan picked up where she left off. "Just a little while ago we found some curious occult artwork in one of the attic coves at the house. One in particular is an old oil painting of an anti-Pope named Boniface the Seventh, among other things."

  Holy shit, Berns thought. I'll have to get technical services out there again.... "Thanks. That could be of great interest. But for now, I'd just like you to take a look at this woman."

  "Sue Maitland?" Venetia recalled.

  "Right. Part of me is disappointed because she doesn't look like someone who might be in a sacrilegious cult."

  "Neither did Boniface the Seventh," Dan-offered with a smile. "He was a Pope. The Crusades and the Holy Inquisition didn't look like Christian undertakings either."

  "I get your meaning," Berns told him. "Looks are deceiving. But here we are. You can judge for yourselves."

  The small harbor town of Wammsport was suddenly before them as they turned off the winding country road that had taken them away from the prior house.

  "Looks like a miniature version of Portsmouth," " Venetia said, taking in the marinas and fishing docks. Old clapboard houses grayed by salt air and harsh winters leaned off rising roads.

  Berns offered the only observation he could make without sounding too cynical. "It's quaint ... on the outside."

  But Dan already knew the town fairly well. "And redneck as hell on the inside."

  "Uh, yeah." Berns parked in a reserved lot at a lick building along the main downtown road. A sign Thad,. ROCRINGHAM COUNTY SHERIFF'S DEPARTMENT-WAM! ORT srATION. In the past, Berns had had very few occasions to come here, but this was his second time today. "And it's nice and cool inside," he promised, showing them in. "Your tax dollars at work."

  Dan and Venetia both sighed when stepping inside. Berns nodded to the officer at the booking desk and the watch commander, who both stiffened when they saw him. "Is she still in the interview room?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good. I'm taking these two back." Berns unloaded his Smith revolver and handed it to the watch commander. "We don't need them to sign in."

  "Sure thing, sir."

  "Something just occurred to me," Venetia said with some amusement. Berns took them down a shiny-floored but dark hall. "I've never been in a police station before."

  "I have," Dan said. "This one, believe it or not. I got arrested when I was a juvenile."

  Berns turned. "You're kidding me. What was the charge?"

  "Pot."

  Berns laughed and so did Venetia.

  In the next room, Bents showed them to a long table and some chairs. There was a window in the front wall with a curtain on the other side of it. "Have a seat here, and take a good look at her. You especially, Dan. I already questioned her once today, so this time I'll keep it short. The state police will be taking her for a more detailed interview tomorrow. I'll try not to keep you here too long."

  "Keep us as long as you want, Captain," Dan said. "Venetia and I are in no rush to get back to the prio
r house-"

  "Where there's no air-conditioning and no fans," Venetia added.

  You can have that shit.... Berns left them and entered the other room.

  "You again. Officer Chuckles."

  "I'll take that as a compliment, Sue-if that really is your name."

  Berns opened the curtain and sat down opposite a thin woman in jeans and a baggy NASCAR shirt. Thick hair hung just past her shoulders, a blend of auburn and black, with split ends. "Did the photographer see you earlier?"

  Her voice sounded rough. "No. What for?"

  "To take pictures of your body."

  The crows feet at the corners of her eyes deepened. "My body, huh?"

  "Identifying marks, such as tattoos. For your prison file, Sue."

  Smoke-darkened teeth showed behind her salacious grin. "Don't worry. When your photographer comes, I'll give him a good show."

  "The photographer's a two hundred-pound woman, so you can forget about sexual harassment."

  "Shit."

  Her face and arms were well-tanned but also a little wrinkle-webbed: the look of someone who'd worked the docks for a long time. She sneered up at the window. "Who's on the other side?"

  "Just some friends."

  "Bullshit. You don't have any." She shot her middle finger at the glass.

  "Friends from St. John's Prior House."

  She only looked at him.

  "So you're a boat cleaner, huh?"

  "And painter, barnacle scraper, deck hand."

  "We haven't been able to verify that yet. Which means you either get paid off the books or don't really do anything except sell crystal meth."

  She gave a pained looked. "Hey, man, I don't go near that shit, and I lie to cops any chance I get, but I ain't lying about that."

  Berns nodded, the tiniest smile tinting his face. "Well, tomorrow you're going to the state police, and they'll interview you a lot more thoroughly. They're not nice like me. They can even get a court order to inject you against your will with a drug called sodium amobarbital. Then you won't be able to lie."

  "Oh, good, a downer. I like stuff that makes me mellow."

  "I'll bet." Berns guessed she was midthirties but looked fifteen years older. "My point is, the state police don't like your kind."

  She sat slouched but the remark brightened her eyes with amusement. "My kind?"