by Scott Young
“So she’s obviously up to something shady? Is that the implication, Mooney?” Crawley said through gritted teeth.
“Caroline didn’t say that, Kev. Calm down. Nobody is accusing her of anything,” Mancini said, putting his hand on his partner’s shoulder. He whispered in his ear, “Keep it together, man. We’ll figure this out.”
Crawley looked at Mancini and his face softened. He nodded. “Okay, sorry. Let’s get on with it,” Crawley said to the room. Nieves started the video again.
After another few minutes of examination, Maggie removed the shroud covering the body, balling it up and placing it in the proper container. She removed the toe tag and placed it in her pocket. The morgue assistant then stood in the center of the room and looked around hesitantly, as if going over a checklist in her mind. Finally, she went back to her desk, retrieved her purse and left the morgue. The IT tech paused it again.
“The hallway cam shows Miss Brelan taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter as she leaves the building. It’s logical to assume she simply went out for a smoke break,” Nieves stated, hoping to ease the tensions in the room.
“Are there cameras outside the building?” Crawley asked.
“None that cover the smoke area,” replied Nieves. “However – and don’t shoot the messenger here – Miss Brelan is not seen on any camera after leaving and never comes back into the building from any entrance. I checked.”
Crawley snorted derisively at the tech. “That doesn’t prove a God damn thing,” he muttered to himself.
“Is this what you considered so weird, Caroline?” Mancini asked.
“No, not even close. Keep watching,” Mooney replied, deadly serious.
The video began again. For long moments it showed nothing but the nude, lifeless body of Emily Sheppard. It was a slow form of torture for Jeff Mancini, forced to stare at his friend like that. It was almost more than he could take, so Caroline took his hand, innately knowing he needed support in that moment.
As the five officers stared intently at the video feed something truly unexpected happened. Emily’s body disappeared! It was there one second and gone the next.
“What the fuck just happened?” Mancini yelled, pulling his hand away from Caroline’s.
“That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Mooney replied. “It’s like some kind of horrible magic trick.”
“Has the video been tampered with?” Jeff asked frantically.
“No, sir,” Nieves said. “I’ve been over it front to back. There is no way anyone tampered with the surveillance tape. She’s just there one moment and gone the next.” “That’s fucking impossible,” Crawley said.
“Obviously,” Sasha said. “There has to be a logical explanation. This isn’t Harry Potter where magic and invisibility cloaks are the norm, but I’ve never even heard of something capable of doing this.”
“Even if the technology existed, why would someone use it to steal a dead body?” Mancini asked rhetorically, his right hand nervously rubbing his forehead. “As if this case wasn’t fucked up enough. Now it’s gone to Twilight Zone levels.”
“I know, right?” Montgomery said. “It’s beyond bizarre. How can we be looking for a possible serial killer who can not only drive a car or enter a room without leaving any evidence behind but now seemingly also has the ability to make bodies disappear? It’s friggin’ crazy.” Her words hung in the air as the group of officers struggled to come up with an even semi-plausible explanation for what they’d just seen.
After a few moments, Sasha picked up a file folder from Nieves’ desk and handed it to Mancini. “Not to change the subject but maybe we all need it right about now. Anyway, here’s something decidedly not crazy.”
“What is it?” Crawley asked.
“We finally got the results back on the trace amounts of petroleum I found in the mud from Emily’s car,” Sasha said. “Turns out it was airplane fuel, specifically gas used for small prop planes. Victor here narrowed down the possible locations to 9.” Montgomery slapped Nieves on the back.
Mancini looked over the file for a moment before saying, “and I’ve just narrowed it down to one. St. John’s Cemetery in West Babylon. That’s where Ava Vazquez was buried.”
“The key word being was,” Crawley added.
“Let’s go, Kev,” Mancini said “Maybe this time we’ll get some answers.” Mancini headed out the door. Crawley followed close behind.
It was after 9 p.m. when the detectives arrived in West Babylon, which meant the cemetery was closed to the public. St. John’s was located on a desolate stretch of road linking two major thoroughfares, but traffic was minimal at that time of night. It was Crawley’s suggestion to sneak in, just in case the killer was still using the cemetery as a base of operations. No sense alerting him to their presence by causing a scene at the main entrance, he reasoned. Mancini parked his unmarked police cruiser outside the west gate and the two of them used the hood to scale the 7-foot fence that surrounded the grounds. They decided to begin their search at the grave of Ava Vazquez.
As they walked slowly through the dimly lit graveyard, Crawley tried texting Maggie. Mancini covered his partner’s cell with his hand as he said quietly, “Dude, let’s not send up a flare, okay?”
“Sorry, man. I’m just out of my mind about where she could be,” Kevin whispered back, putting the phone back into his pocket. “I swear, if this is what it’s like to care about someone, it sucks. No, thank you.” He gave Jeff a half-hearted smile.
“I don’t believe that for a second, Kev. When you love someone, you do whatever it takes. It’ll all work out, you’ll see,” Mancini replied, trying to buoy the other man’s spirits. “At least, until you manage to screw it up somehow on your own.” Crawley kept oddly quiet, not even acknowledging Jeff’s attempt to lighten the mood.
Mancini had no time to dwell on it as they came over the last crest to the left of Ava’s gravesite. He recognized the wide headstone which stated: Here lies Ava Vasquez, Beloved Daughter. Taken too soon. Both men soundlessly drew their weapons as soon as they saw someone standing near the grave. Quietly, they worked their way down the hill and stopped behind a large tree about 40 yards from the unknown figure. Mancini used hand signals to inform Crawley to circle around a mausoleum to their right, while he took a more direct approach.
“NYPD! Don’t move!” Mancini yelled as he trained his weapon center mass on the shadowy figure’s back. The detective could see the gravesite was dug up, the empty coffin plainly visible within the hole.
The figure turned toward Jeff with hands raised. As she lifted her head, Mancini saw it was Yolanda Vasquez. She said in a quiet, steady voice, “This is where you promised to get justice for my Ava, Detective Mancini. You were standing right where you are now when you swore you would bring peace to her soul.”
“Mrs. Vazquez? What are you doing here?” Mancini asked, dumbfounded.
“Do you remember your promise?” Yolanda asked calmly.
“Of course I do. I’m trying to do that right now,” Jeff said. “Now tell me why you’re here and where is Kurt Sheppard?”
“I’m right here, Jeff” came a voice from behind the detective. He twirled around and there, standing in the shadows of a large oak tree, was his oldest friend in the world, Kurt Sheppard.
So relieved he was okay, Mancini rushed to his friend and hugged him. “Kurt! Thank God. I’ve been looking for you all day. What happened to you?” It was then that Jeff noticed Kurt wasn’t hugging him back, simply standing there motionless with his arms at his side. That’s when he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked behind him.
“Drop your weapon and move away from Mr. Sheppard, Detective Mancini,” Yolanda Vazquez said, calmly but firmly.
Jeff did as he was instructed, “Why are you doing this, Yolanda? This is insane.”
“No, Detective. Insanity is putting your trust in someone who pretends to care. Insanity is believing the false promises of a man like you,” Mrs. Va
zquez replied with no hint of emotion in her voice. “Isn’t that right, Kurt?”
Jeff looked into the eyes of his friend and saw the same mixture of pain and anger he’d seen at the bar the other night. There was no sign of grief this time. He had the same eerie calmness to him that Yolanda did.
Kurt looked right through Mancini, “I told you I’d do anything to get Emily back, Jeff. Yolanda helped show me the way.”
“A way to do what? Dig up coffins in graveyards?” Jeff asked impatiently. “That’s not going to bring her back, Kurt. Nothing is. She’s gone, buddy.”
“Don’t say that.” Kurt said quietly. “She’s not gone. She’s just...different.”
“Wha –” was all Mancini got out before Yolanda interrupted him.
She put the barrel of her revolver against the back of his neck. “Enough talk, Kurt. He’ll never understand as we do. Now do what we talked about.”
Kurt Sheppard slowly picked up Jeff’s Beretta and walked to the open grave. He tossed it into the open coffin. Then he used the officer’s handcuffs to bind his hands in front of his body. When he’d completed his assigned tasks, Kurt took his place back under the oak tree. The whole time Mancini kept thinking to himself, Where the hell is Crawley?
“Move over to the grave,” Yolanda said.
Jeff walked slowly over to the edge of the open grave. He looked down into the coffin, staring at the pink satin interior he remembered from Ava’s wake.
“If you’re going to kill me, you’ll never get away with it,” Mancini said.
“Kill you? Why would I kill you?” said a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. “It took so long to get you here. Ever since I saw you at Ava’s funeral I knew an introduction was in order. After all this time, I am eager to meet the real Jeff Mancini.”
Jeff looked around trying to find the source of the voice. He looked everywhere, searching the darkness for a figure or silhouette. He looked past the headstone, to his left and right before craning his neck behind him. When he turned his gaze back to Ava’s headstone, there was a tall, thin, man standing behind it. He wore a simple black suit, black shirt and black tie. His face was covered with an executioner’s hood, with large eye holes cut out. Those eyes bore into Jeff as he stood there silently. How the hell did he get there? He wasn’t there a few seconds ago, the detective thought. Despite his confusion, Jeff understood beyond any doubt that this was Emily’s killer; the man responsible for all the insanity of the past few days.
“Who are you?” Mancini demanded.
The man tilted his head slightly to the left the way a dog would. He didn’t seem to move at all, seemingly not even to blink. Those eyes never looked away, laser focused on Mancini. He exuded a confidence and tranquility Jeff had never experienced before. “I am Mikhail, Detective Mancini,” the man said, slightly extending his hands in front of him.
Suddenly, Jeff became aware they weren’t alone. He peered into the darkness and saw dozens of figures moving closer, surrounding them.
“Don’t be alarmed, Detective.” Mikhail said. “It is simply my coterie, my flock, my children.”
“What do you want? What’s this all about?” Mancini said, trying that control his rising panic.
“What does any man want, my dear Jeff? To learn, to understand, to leave a lasting legacy, of course,” the hooded man replied.
“And where do I fit in?” Jeff asked, attempting to get him to reveal something.
“You are a man of lasting character, Jeff Mancini. A rare commodity in this age,” Mikhail said, with a slight bow as a gesture of praise. “Excuse me a moment, Detective.” He turned to the right and said, “You can come out now, Kevin. The time for subterfuge has passed.”
Crawley came walking out from behind the mausoleum with his gun still drawn. He was sweating profusely and his hands were shaking badly. “Where is she? Where’s Maggie?” he said slowly before shouting, “What have you done to her?”
“Calm yourself, Kevin Crawley. I promised Margaret would be yours and so she shall,” Mikhail stated. “Captain?”
Mancini felt the air leave his body as Captain Mulvaney appeared from behind a large Angel of Hope statue. He was holding Maggie Brelan in front of him, his service revolver pointed at her skull. “Try an’ keep it together, Kevin. There’s a good lad,” Mulvaney said. “You know, none of this would be necessary if you’d done your part from the get-go.”
“Don’t hurt her, Cap,” Crawley said crying, tears running down his face. He turned to Mikhail. “Please, I did everything you asked! There is no way he would’ve ever connected the dots if it wasn’t for that fucking broken spring and that pain in the ass, Montgomery! It’s not my fault.” He fell to his knees sobbing. After a few moments he pointed at Jeff, “I got him here alone tonight, didn’t I? And I even told you about that bitch scientist from Gene-Tech!”
“Crawly, you bastard!” Mancini yelled, his anger rising at the never- ending betrayals unfolding before him. Mulvaney, Kurt, Yolanda and now Crawley apparently all part of some cult following this hooded madman? How was any of this possible?
The hooded man spoke again, “Please, Detective. Such outbursts do you a disservice.”
He walked to where Crawley was kneeling and said to him, “Once you complete your given task, Margaret will be yours, Kevin. All will be as I promised once you bring your erstwhile partner to my room.”
“Yes. I will, Mikhail. I will,” Kevin said, kissing the hooded man’s hand.
Mancini realized his chances of surviving this situation were getting worse by the second. He had no friends, no back-up, no one to depend on anymore, so he decided to take matters into his own hands. As soon as Mikhail had turned his attention to Crawley, Jeff fished the key to his handcuffs out of his belt. He was working on freeing his hands when he saw the hooded man looking at him. Jeff met his gaze with a steely, calm demeanor.
“I already feel a sense of resignation from you, Jeff Mancini. Acceptance is key. Perhaps you will understand what I have to offer sooner than most. I would expect nothing less from a man of your caliber. I look forward to our conversation,” Mikhail said before turning and walking slowly away. “Bring Margaret. Captain. Kevin will almost certainly need a continued amount of...motivation.” The dozens of others surrounding the gravesite, including Yolanda Vazquez and Kurt Sheppard, began to move almost imperceptibly in the same direction.
Crawley watched Mulvaney drag Maggie away before standing. He raised his Glock 22, turned and moved toward Mancini, “I’m sorry, partner. I really am, but you yourself said when you love someone, you do whatever it takes. That’s all I’m doing.” Despite his rationalization, Crawley was unable to look Jeff in the eye, which played into Mancini’s hand.
When his partner was close enough, Jeff unleashed a vicious uppercut to Crawley’s jaw, having freed his left hand from the cuffs. The Judas detective fell back, his weapon flying through the air. It landed 15 feet away as Crawley hit the ground hard, his head ringing from the blow. The surrounding figures turned at the sound and began to return to the gravesite. Mancini pressed the advantage and kicked Crawley in the ribs causing him to reflexively grab Jeff’s leg. Kevin twisted his partner’s leg until he fell, slamming his left side on the ground. Both men lay there breathing heavily and holding their heads.
“Damn it, Jeff!” Crawley yelled. “Look around you! Where do you think you’re going?”
Jeff could see the multitude of shadowy figures coming closer and it unnerved him. By sheer instinct, he kicked Kevin in the face, shattering his nose as blood spurted out in a stream. Crawley fell back in enormous pain, holding his face as Jeff scrambled to find the fallen Glock. After a few moments of panicked searching, he remembered Kurt had tossed his gun into the coffin. As quickly as possible, he crawled over to the open grave and dropped in. Mancini tried not to think of poor Ava as he frantically looked for his Beretta 9mm in her coffin. In his peripheral vision, he could see someone coming closer.
�
��Got it!” Jeff exclaimed as he raised his weapon and pointed it upward, out of the grave. What he saw shocked him so much that he dropped his arms to his sides, stunned. At the edge of the grave stood Ava Vazquez and Emily Sheppard looking down at him quizzically. “How?” Mancini asked in a quiet voice.
From between the two women appeared Kevin Crawley, Glock 22 in hand. He pointed it at Jeff Mancini’s head and pulled the trigger.
“Jeff!” Rebecca Miller screamed as she awoke from a nightmare.
Her body was soaked in sweat, her head pounding like jungle drums. She felt nauseated. Somehow she knew Jeff was dead, shot in the head by his own partner on the orders of a hooded psychopath. Her eyes began to tear up as her heart ached for him but how could she know this? How? It was as if she was at the scene, seeing through the eyes of another. It all felt so visceral, so real, as if she was actually standing in that graveyard. She could smell the trees; feel the cold of the night on her skin. Instinctually, she knew what she’d seen was real, that it all had actually just happened. Her lips quivered and her hands shook as she clutched herself tightly in the darkness, trying to will the image of Jeff being killed out of her mind.
“Mmmmfff?” came a voice from nearby, startling her. She jumped up and searched for a light, suddenly aware that she wasn’t in her own home, in her own bed. She found the light switch and turned it on, quickly closing her eyes from the sudden light. She held her hands up and blinked rapidly to adjust to the illumination.
“Oh...my.” Rebecca said, as she opened her eyes completely.
She was in a high end hotel suite, with two double beds, a hot tub, and full kitchen. She felt weak in the knees so she absentmindedly sat on the edge of the bed where she’d apparently been sleeping. On the other bed was a very attractive, muscular and obviously very excited nude male lying spread eagle, gagged with a red handkerchief and tied to the bed frame by his wrists and ankles. His chest was caked with congealed candle wax and his upper arms and thighs were covered in scratch marks. The man tried to speak again, his attempts coming out as grunts and incomprehensible noises. He looked at Rebecca with desire and she had to turn away, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
