by Jim Laughter
“What?” Morris asked, confused that Keller didn’t see the link in the case as clear as he saw it. “You don’t think this is important?”
“You don’t have one damn shred of evidence these cases are related to each other, and now you want to fly off to Tennessee on the hope they are?”
“You’re kiddin’, right?”
“Hell no I’m not kidding! Do you seriously think Truck will authorize a trip to Nashville based on this one hospital report?” Keller asked. “You’ve not even called the hospital to see if this man is still there, have you?”
“Well no, but...”
“And you haven’t requested the case file from the local sheriff’s office either, have you?”
“No, but...”
“And besides completely destroying this office, which you know damn well I’m going to have to clean, you’ve not done one damn thing to associate this case with our case, which by the way is a murder case.”
Keller turned to George Benjamin who had been standing to the side listening to the two senior agents go at each other. He understood they had a relationship that allowed them to speak harshly with one another without endangering their professionalism. But he didn’t believe he had reached that point of intimacy with them yet.
“George, what’s your opinion about this?”
Benjamin had been studying the hospital report that Morris had printed. He read the page three times but he wasn’t sure he wanted to get between Morris and Keller. Was Keller asking his opinion because she believed anything he might say would be helpful to the case, or was she just trying to create an ally in her stand against Morris?
“He’s right, LK,” Benjamin answered as a matter of fact. “This is the next victim.”
Keller hadn’t been prepared for Benjamin’s response.
“He’s right? How the hell can you be so damn sure?”
“LK, your language. You’re starting to sound like Agent Morris.”
Keller paused for a moment then laughed out loud. She hadn’t realized that she’d used two curse words in the same sentence.
“Guess I should have dragged my lazy ass out of bed and gone to church this morning after all.”
Contrary to his nature, Morris sat quietly during the exchange between Benjamin and Keller. He knew he’d found the missing clue, but now to have Benjamin agree with him threw him off balance for a moment.
“You sure about this, George?” Keller asked. “You don’t have any more evidence than he does, and I don’t make the connection.”
Benjamin picked up the laptop computer that Morris had left running with the PowerPoint presentation. The list of disciples and victims were still displayed on the screen.
“I’m sure,” he answered. “I didn’t make the connection either until this minute, which is why I suppose Agent Morris called us in today.”
Morris still sat quietly at his desk. He was enjoying having the upper hand for once. He hadn’t slept in over thirty hours, and he was eyesore and had a headache the size of Kansas, but he was right, and he knew he was right.
“You see it, don’t you George?”
He could see in Benjamin’s eyes that the kid had made the connection. Morris was only happy that he’d discovered it first.
“Yes sir. I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. It’s so obvious. It’s right there in front of me and I didn’t see it.”
“See what, for crying out loud?” Keller asked. “What the hell are you two talking about?”
Benjamin highlighted the name of the Apostle John on the laptop computer screen.
“Remember when we were talking about how the apostles died?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And that I told you about John the Revelator being boiled in oil and exiled to the Isle of Patmos?”
“So?”
“Don’t you see?” Morris interjected. “The Apostle John was the only original disciple of Jesus Christ that died a natural death.”
“So you think...”
“Exactly!” Morris exclaimed. “It stands to reason that this killer would know that too, right George?”
“Yes sir. He’s obviously a biblical scholar. So it stands to reason that he’d know it.”
“Know what, for crying out loud?” Keller asked.
“That John the Revelator survived his exile on Patmos.”
“So?”
“Don’t you see?” Morris asked. “Are you dense? Can’t you see that he purposely didn’t kill this Dupont man? He kept him alive, just like the apostle.”
“My God!” Keller exclaimed. “He tortured this man and kept him alive?”
Morris nodded.
“But why?”
“One step at a time, Keller,” Morris said. “That’s why we only have two feet.”
“So you’re saying you don’t know?” Keller asked. “After all of this crap and you don’t know?”
“Not yet, but we’ll figure it out.”
“I know why,” Benjamin said.
He examined the document again. As unbelievable as his conjecture was, he was certain that he knew the answer.
Keller and Morris turned toward Benjamin, both agents curious about Benjamin’s statement. “George?” Keller asked. “You know why?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Keller’s gaze caught Benjamin’s eye.
“Sorry, LK.”
“What the hell is this LK crap?” Morris asked. “Who the hell is LK?”
“I am, you dumb-ass,” Keller answered. “I told George to call me LK instead of ma’am.”
Morris just shook his head. What the hell difference did it make what George called her?
“George?” Keller continued. “You were saying you know why the killer didn’t kill this man?”
“Uh-huh,” Benjamin answered. “It’s right here in this hospital report.”
He turned the document so the two senior agents could see it.
“Look at his occupation.”
Keller and Morris read down through the report until they found the block that told what John Dupont did for a living.
“My God,” Morris muttered.
“What?” Keller asked.
“He’s a writer,” Morris said. “A newspaper reporter.”
“A writer?”
“Just like the Apostle John was a writer. Is that what you mean, George?” Morris asked.
“That’s exactly what I mean, sir.”
He then handed Morris the sheet of paper.
“Chief Truck said you’d have full access to whatever resources you need to solve our case, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Then we need the bureau jet,” Benjamin said. “We’ve got to get to Nashville. This man has seen the interstate serial killer.”
Chapter Sixteen
Preach Preston spent Sunday afternoon alone in his RV parked at the All Faith Worship Center in Denver, Colorado. The grandkids had come over to visit for a few minutes after church while their parents busied themselves around the church after service. There was always someone who needed to see the pastor for a personal one-on-one sit-down conversation for one thing or another. Besides, Cheri was in charge of the praise team and they sometimes stayed around for a while after church to discuss their session that day.
The one thing that Pastors Simon and Cheri insisted on was that the praise team lead the congregation in worship, not just put on a good show. Each member of the team had to possess a certain degree of talent, but none of them were stars. And if any of them ever got to acting like anything other than a praise leader, Simon or Cheri would take their microphone and sit them down in the congregation until they got their priorities straight.
Now the motorhome was quiet and Preach could gather his thoughts. He lay down on the bed in the back of the RV and stared up at the ceiling. He knew his time was short and that he’d need to get back on the road soon. He had no idea how he would find his next sacrifice. The Lord will lead me. His ways are higher tha
n my ways, and his thoughts are higher than my thoughts.
Preach pondered the next step in his mission of apostolic martyrdom. He had already committed to go to Portland, Oregon to preach for a home mission’s pastor. He assumed this was all part of God’s grand design and that the Lord would provide the sacrifice somewhere along the way just as he’d provided Thomas Waverly a week ago.
He only wished he understood why the Lord had chosen him to carry out this violent mission. He thought about men from the Bible that had been called on to kill in the name of God–men like Samson who killed thousands of Philistines using the jawbone of an ass, and had eventually died when he collapsed an assembly hall on himself and thousands of the enemy.
The Prophet Elijah had killed four-hundred and fifty false prophets of Baal and four hundred prophets of the false goddess Asherah on Mount Carmel after calling down the fire of God on his sacrifice.
Gideon who had started out with an army of followers but who through the leading of God had dismissed all of them, then with only three-hundred soldiers had defeated an entire army of Midianites by blowing on horns and breaking pitchers with candles in them.
Or the Patriarch Abraham whom God had called to sacrifice his own son, Isaac, but had at the last moment provided a sacrifice. To be asked to kill one’s own family would be unbearable. How could any man be expected to do that?
Finally, Preach thought about King David, a man after God’s own heart; a man called by God to face the giant Goliath.
I have my own Goliath to face out there somewhere. And even though he knew he was acting in the will and plan of God, the images of the people he’d sacrificed haunted his thoughts and dreams.
He’d always been such a peaceful man–a man given to charity and good will. He’d spent over forty years pastoring people of every description, and had never once harmed any of them. He’d raised three sons, all adults now, and he’d never once abused them. Oh sure, he wasn’t adverse to corporal punishment when a child stepped out of line, but he’d never harm them intentionally. He loved his kids—he loved people. He loved the power and presence of God when he delivered the message of salvation to this lost generation.
“Why, God?” he prayed. “Why me? Why have you chosen me for this hour of sacrifice?”
Preach lay before the Lord all afternoon seeking after the Spirit of God until he felt it was time to continue on his journey. He knew it would take him two or three more days to prepare for the next leg of his mission.
He was tired–so tired. He only hoped his physical strength would hold out until he could fulfill the plan of God.
Chapter Seventeen
“Nashville?” Latrice asked Benjamin when he told her he’d be leaving for a few days with Keller and Morris. “When?”
“First thing in the morning.”
He continued to pack his suitcase and garment bag. He’d stored both of them in the back of a utility closet because he didn’t expect to ever use them while working in the fraudulent check department. Of course, he’d never expected to be assigned to a serial murder case either, so why would he need a suitcase or garment bag? It wasn’t like chasing paper hangers required a great deal of travel, not with travel expenditures curtailed the way they’d been recently.
“We’ve got to go interview this man in the hospital that we believe is a victim of the interstate serial killer.”
“But I’ll miss you,” Latrice pouted. “Who am I going to snuggle up to at night?”
Benjamin took his new bride into his arms and kissed her passionately.
“You can snuggle up to me until about 4 a.m.,” he said. “Then for the next few days, this luscious body of yours better stay unsnuggled by anyone.”
He ran his hands down over her shoulder blades and waist, right down over her perfectly-formed hips. He pulled her close to him where he could smell the scent of her perfume and taste the salt of the tears she had cried.
“You really are a beautiful woman,” he said. “How did I ever get so lucky?”
“I’ve asked myself that same question,” she teased.
“You know my folks are asking when we’re going to give them a grandchild, don’t you?”
Latrice played her long, delicate fingers over Benjamin’s face, caressing his lips with her fingertips. “You can tell them that we’d like to practice the baby-making process for a while before we produce a product.”
Benjamin smiled. “And I supposed tonight is as good a time as any to get in a practice session, right?”
“How’d you guess?” Latrice answered. “That is if you ever finish packing those bags.”
She turned and glided into the bathroom where Benjamin heard the water in the shower come on. A moment later, a silk blouse flew out of the bathroom, followed by a pair of black lace panties that landed at his feet.
He turned back to his dresser and grabbed several pairs of black socks, tee shirts, and underwear and stuffed them into his suitcase. His shirts and suits hung neatly in his closet so he would have no trouble getting them into the garment bag.
His briefcase rested on the dining table along with the murder case files.
I’ll pack them later.
He began to unbutton his shirt and walk toward the bathroom and the hot shower he knew awaited him.
Chapter Eighteen
Smoke puffed from the wheels of the FBI executive jet when it touched down at the Nashville International Airport. Morris, Keller, and Benjamin had boarded the aircraft less than two hours ago for the 550 mile flight from the nation’s capital to the seat of country music. But they weren’t there to attend the Grand Ole Opry. They were there to interview a man in a burn unit they hoped could shed some light on the series of murders they were investigating.
Keller had called the Vanderbilt Medical Center Intensive Burn Care Center yesterday to find out if Mr. John Dupont had survived his ordeal and if he was still a patient at their facility. The answer to both of her questions was yes.
While Keller spoke with the burn center, George Benjamin had contacted the Rutherford County sheriff’s department for a copy of their case file. The file showed that John Dupont’s feet had been repeatedly dipped in boiling oil and severely burned. He’d lost all of his toes and the muscles, tendons, and connective tissue in both feet and even both calves. He had regained consciousness after a month of drug-induced coma but the damage was extensive and he would never walk again on his own power.
A non-descript black Ford Crown Victoria pulled up to the jet when it came to a halt just outside of a government hanger set off from the commercial facility. A young agent in a plain dark suit, white shirt, and sunglasses stepped out from behind the steering wheel and waited beside the car for the three agents from the DC bureau that he’d been assigned to pick up. His bright red hair accentuated his extremely pale skin.
Morris, Keller, and Benjamin descended the steps of the jet and looked around for their ride. Morris motioned for the agent to come help them with their luggage and equipment. “You here to take us to the hotel and burn center?”
“Yes sir,” the agent answered. He approached Morris and extended his hand. “I’m Agent Grundy Cooper with the Nashville office.”
Morris shook his hand but didn’t act overly impressed. “Morris, Keller, and Benjamin.”
Benjamin stepped around from behind Morris to get a full view of their escort. “Cooper?”
“George?”
“I didn’t know you were assigned to Nashville,” Benjamin said. “I thought you went to Texas.”
“I did, or rather I was going to Texas but that got changed. They had an agent here retire so the agency diverted me to Nashville.”
“You two know each other?” Keller asked.
“Yes ma’am,” Benjamin answered. “I mean LK. We were at the academy together.”
Keller shook Cooper’s hand then signaled for Benjamin to start gathering their equipment together. She knew Morris was in a hurry and wouldn’t stand for too much chit-chat on the t
armac.
“We’re in a bit of a hurry here, Cooper,” she said. “So if you don’t mind, we’d like to get to the hospital right away.”
“You don’t want to check in at your hotel first, ma’am? Maybe get a bite of breakfast?”
Morris turned toward Cooper like a wolf turning on its prey. “You deaf, Cooper?”
“No sir.”
“So I assume you just heard her say we need to get to the Vanderbilt Burn Center, didn’t you?”
“Yes sir.”
“Then get our damn bags into the car and quit your jawin’.”
“Yes sir.”
Cooper helped Benjamin load their bags into the trunk of the car. “He’s a testy old son of a bitch, isn’t he?” he whispered.
“He’s just tired and frustrated,” Benjamin defended Morris. “Wait till you get to know him, then you’ll find out what kind of agent he is.”
“Ball buster, huh?”
“And then some.”
“How did you get assigned to a murder case on your first assignment?” Cooper asked while the two young agents loaded luggage and equipment into the trunk of the car. “I’m shuffling papers, making coffee, and carrying out the trash.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Benjamin answered with a smile.
With Cooper and Morris in the front seat, and Keller and Benjamin in the back, the agency car pulled away from the jet. They headed toward Interstate 40 which would carry them west approximately five miles to the burn center where they hoped to uncover a clue to help solve the series of murders that had confused Morris, Keller, and other senior agents at the bureau for the last six months.
“Where is Murfreesboro from here?” Morris asked Cooper.
“Twenty-five, maybe thirty miles southeast of Nashville. Straight down the I-24. Half an hour, depending on traffic.”
“So it’s right on the interstate?”
“Yes sir. The I-24 runs right through Murfreesboro. Why?”
“Just askin’.
He turned around to Keller who sat in the back seat next to Benjamin.
“You’re gonna visit that newspaper this afternoon. See if you can find out if Dupont had any appointments or interviews the day he disappeared.”
