Perfect Sinners

by Rick Murcer

  Ellen felt her comfort level rise above the clouds. This was her world.

  “Several circumstances suggest she was a victim as well. Firstly, they both died about the same time, maybe within minutes.”

  “How did she die?” asked Agent Williams.

  “Good question. And I’ll get there. Neither victim had enough water in their lungs to drown. After examining Ramona’s body, we found no significant wounds or damage to her physical body. No ligature marks, no gunshot or stab wounds. No blunt force trauma. That sent us to the next level.”

  “Which is?” asked Bella.

  “Tox reports. I had Aaron run a full spectrum of standard reports like blood and urine to measure any alcohol, drug and medication levels, carbon monoxide, and any heavy metal levels, like arsenic and mercury.”

  “Again, the water can mess with those results so we went deeper and processed some less common tests. We also biopsied both livers and the Vitreous Humor, the gel substance in the eyes, and went through the stomach contents of both victims.”

  Aaron stood up, stretched his neck from one side to another. “I have to add that we’ve got the best lab this side of the Feds. It took a dozen techs all day to get these tests completed and documented in the file you have right there,” he said, pointing.

  “I get that everyone works hard, but what the hell does all of that mean?” asked Big Harv.

  Ellen held up her hand. “We need to get the details right, so just hang on to your butt, okay?”

  “Yeah, okay. It’s been a while since I’ve been in this kind of meeting,” he said, sighing.

  Ellen continued. “Each of the vics had what appeared to be a fresh tattoo. Identical intertwining ropes tied into what is call the Hercules Knot. It stands for strength, love, and unity. It’s sometimes called the marriage knot.”

  “I didn’t know that,” said Dave.

  “They were located in the middle of their backs, so I wouldn’t think you would. At any rate, we tested the ink from each and found out that the material was the same. We’re still looking for the source of the ink, but that shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  Ellen reached for the bottle of water in front of her, poured some into her hand and lowered it to Beaux. He drank gracefully then leaned in against her again.

  “Here’s the synopsis from all of that information,” she said, straightening up and peering around the table. “They both had the same food in their stomachs. They had identical tattoos. They died within minutes of each other. It appears they both had or wore the identical silver crosses that somehow came off from their bodies. Something that could have happened while floating in the water. It’s hard to ignore that much information and call it coincidence.”

  After another glance back to Dave, she found Brice’s face. What was coming next wasn’t going to be easy.

  He nodded. She returned it. “That brings us to the rest of the toxicity reports. Mr. Castle had a prescription drug in his system used to treat bipolar depression and two recreational substances. Cocaine and a new one out there called Molly. It’s a synthetic hallucinogen used for all sorts of party moods. It’s ecstasy on steroids.”

  “Shit. He had both of those?” asked Bella.

  “He did,” answered Ellen. “The funny thing about that is that neither drug had been in his system long because they weren’t completely broken down to their most heightened form.”

  “So he died before it took full effect?” asked Brice.

  “We would say that’s true.”

  Dave Ackles got out of his chair, paced in her direction, then moved close to Big Harv. The next moment, he threw his bottle of water against the wall in the far corner of the conference room.

  “What about my girl, Ellie. I can’t stand this much longer. Tell me how she died, please.”

  Doing something she’d not done before, Ellen got up, walked over, and put his hands in hers.

  “Dave, she died from a massive overdose of Molly. She had ounces of the junk in her stomach and some stuck in her esophagus. There were marks and lesions in her throat, indicating it was forced on her. “I’m sorry. There is no doubt she was murdered.”

  Ramona’s father lost all expression, then quietly sank beside Big Harv. This silence was different than any she’d experienced. Pure grief released no prisoners.

  She was ready to break the silence because it had to be, and they had to get to the next set of murders, when she caught Manny’s movement out of the corner of her vision as he and Sophie made eye contact.

  The gift of profiling wasn’t necessary to see what they had communicated.

  They had not only seen this MO before; they know where it was headed.

  CHAPTER-25

  The Father scanned the newest edition of his potential flock, then glanced at the yellow-faced clock on the wall behind the six rows of seats. The sound of each second was audible, almost teasing, as the second hand marched forward. Reminding him that time waited for no one. Not even the most fragile of God’s children could afford to waste opportunities. Life passed far too quickly for that to be true.

  He stole another look at the clock.

  They were late.

  Two of his future friends, his disciples, were not here.

  He shifted his weight, glancing at the door again.

  Junkies were notorious for their unreliability, a fact not lost on anyone who’d ever lived with or tried to intervene for one. He got it. Looking for the next fix consumed most of them. Bizarre behavior to accomplish that was never out of the realm of possibility when the need evolved into a consuming obsession.

  Yet, God had placed in him an almost uncanny ability to discern if any of the lost souls he had come into contact with were insincere. He had gotten that right far more than wrong. While sincerity never guaranteed success, the initial effort to whip this demonic addiction was always there. Hope drew them and, in his experience, no one had more hope that someone wanting to rid themselves of hard drug addiction. No one.

  “Good evening, Father.”

  His attention was drawn to a medium built, bearded man with a shaved head, bloodshot eyes that nevertheless possessed a bright blue aura, and tattoos covering both arms.

  “Good evening, Henry. You’re looking more and more like one of the Lord’s finest.”

  Henry’s smile, missing one tooth on the backside of his canine, almost matched the brightness of his eyes. “Thanks to you and Jesus,” he answered. “I’m eight weeks clean today.”

  There was no mistaking the joy in his tone. Gratitude was out of style for many these days, but not here, not for Henry.

  “All praise to God. Now, what are you going to do to celebrate?”

  His answer was quick and sure. “I’m going to celebrate after tonight’s service with Glen and Cindy. I’m going to eat a big old cheeseburger, greasy fries, and a chocolate malt so large that it will make me sick.”

  In spite of his angst at his missing new friends, Father laughed. “That sounds like a fine celebration. And it makes me hungry.”

  It was Henry’s turn to laugh. Then he bowed his head, his foot making a small pattern on the worn wooden floor. “You could come with us, if you wanted.”

  He leaned in close, put his hand under Henry’s chin, raising Henry’s eyes to his. “You don’t have to bow to anyone, Henry. After this long battle, you are finally a new creature with a new start. You are the king Jesus says you are. You’re loved. Got it?”

  “Yes sir. It just takes a while to let all of that sink in. I’m trying.”

  “I understand. We’ll keep working at it. And, you know what? That meal celebration sounds incredibly tempting. That just might happen. I thank you so much for the invite.”

  The clock drew his attention again, as he stood straight. He reached out and touched Henry’s arm. “We can decide that later. We’ve only got a few minutes before we start our confession service and folks are still coming in, I can see that. But I’m praying you and Glen might indulge my concern an
d do me a favor?”

  “Of course. Anything, Father.” He thought Henry might hurt himself standing to attention so quickly.

  “Thank you. I would like you to go look for the young man and young woman who left here this afternoon. They are not here and I sense something wrong.”

  “Joel and Cheryl?”

  “You know their names?”

  “Of course. You taught us well. Plus, before all of this, well, this addiction crap, I had what they call a partial photographic memory. My gift had to do with keeping names and faces together.”

  “That’s a fine gift. Joel didn’t leave a way to reach him, but Cheryl left us an address a mile or so away.”

  “Do you think they are together?”

  The father thought about Henry’s question, then nodded. “I’m not one-hundred percent, but they had a connection. You know how that works with addicts. They may have wanted to spend time with one another.”

  “I hope spending time means only talking.”

  “As do I, my friend, as do I.”

  The Father handed him a piece of yellow paper. “Here’s her address. Let’s see if we can find her, and hopefully him. God has a plan for both of them.”

  “Yes sir. I’ll grab Glen. We’ll be back as soon as The Lord allows.”

  Henry then turned and hurried toward the back. The Father watched as he sought out Glen, a stout young man in his early twenties with brown hair and thick glasses. Henry finally found him, tapped him on the shoulder, spoke briefly, and a moment later, the two disappeared through the front door.

  The Father looked at the clock and then stepped back behind the pulpit.

  It was time to do his job, his ministry, as it were. He needed to take care of his new flock. There was little he could do about the missing sheep. At least not now.

  He stepped to the pulpit and cleared his throat, looking out over the small group that had to be taught how to get past where they were.

  His heart broke a little because of the four empty seats. He’d do his best to make sure none of the others in front of him would be lost in this apathetic world. That they would not go down the divisive road he warned them about concerning self-service and indulgence.

  No more missing sheep. He had lost too many of them already.

  Far too many.

  CHAPTER-26

  After reviewing the second crime scene, Ellen stood and placed both hands on the table. “We’ll get more reports as the night goes on, but just on the silver crosses alone, these four are linked,” she said. “I don’t think we’ll get a lot of fiber matching hits for all four or some of the other evidence matching we look for. Some of the wounds, excluding the saw cuts on Castle’s body, were similar in location, force, angle of entry, and weapon used. Too many to think this was the acts of two killers.”

  She turned toward Sophie Lee and Manny Williams. “I think it’s time you enlightened us with your thoughts.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Are you ready?” said Sophie.

  Ellen nodded, but the vibes of her inner dread argued against it.

  “Williams? Educate these fine folks so I can eat and drink.”

  It was his turn to smile. A beautiful one at that.

  “I think you’re going in the proper direction. Based on the way these four were killed offers a little more insight into who you’re looking for,” said Agent Williams, his eyes alive. “But first, tell me if you noticed anything else at the scenes. Just off the top of your head. Both you and Aaron.”

  “I’m leaving that up to the Queen. We’ve talked about what I think. She knows,” said Aaron gesturing toward Ellen.

  Ellen raised her eyebrows toward her partner. Shy had never been mentioned on his personal or verbal resume, yet that’s what she noticed in his response. There was something else, too. There was trust. She liked it.

  Armed with that trust, she reviewed her thoughts and her unwritten notes filed away in that special place in her brain. After a few seconds, she was ready.

  “Alright. I’m going to throw some things out there. The first pair of murders, if you ask me, were committed separately and in different locations, but close to the same time. I think the same about the second. Two of the women were treated more kindly, Amanda and the redhead, if murder can be kind. Ben Castle and the second woman at the cemetery weren’t so lucky. You know about Castle and the severed limbs.

  “Our second victim at the cemetery had far less blood loss than the other, yet they were dumped in the same place. I, we, couldn’t really tell that kind of thing in the first murders at the river until we examined Ben Castle’s limbs that were so conveniently placed in our vehicle. Our locked vehicle.”

  Ellen reached for her water, realizing she was rapid firing her thoughts and that maybe they could be better organized. She thought better of it. Unorganized could mean unintentional exclusion of something important.

  “Those severed limbs revealed perimortem injuries and a great deal of blood loss, in my opinion. He must have been in hellish pain. I’d guess the same awful scenario for the second woman at the cemetery.”

  Manny was watching her every move. In most cases, she’d feel a little uncomfortable at being scoped like a pinup, but not with him. She guessed that he wanted her to talk so he could learn how she was thinking.

  “Why the limbs in your SUV? Why you, why your side?” asked Manny.

  Why was a heck of a question. It had obviously crossed her mind, but when Agent Williams asked out loud, the perspective seemed different. Besides, it wasn’t like she didn’t have a few other things to deal with in these cases than to ask why the limbs were presented to her.

  She glanced at Aaron, then to Brice, then to Bella. Bella shrugged. “You’re doing fine, girlfriend, stay after it.”

  “Thanks.”

  She turned back to Manny. “I’m not sure. Not really. But two things struck me. First, it was as if whoever left them knew the time frame of when the tissue and blood would begin to alter because of lividity and chemical changes. We were able to keep that relatively excluded from the testing process and got good, solid accurate reports. That means to me that someone understood the forensic process, or at least has access to someone who does. The other thing that Aaron and I first thought was that someone was trying to help. But not help in a conventional way. It was like someone wanted to help, but in a puzzling way.”

  “How was it puzzling?” asked Agent Williams.

  “Well, if I had access to limbs that were removed from another during a murder case, then turned it over to the cops, particularly to me, I’d have not only knowledge of what had happened, but where, and probably who did actually kill the victim.”

  “So why would I risk that kind of exposure? How dangerous would that be for me to make sure this got done? To give you evidence you would never have gotten on your own?” he asked.

  Ellen hesitated. He was right, this made no damn sense. None at all to her analytical mind, and almost none to her common sense thought process. Almost.

  “I don’t get—”

  Then it struck her so hard she caught her breath. There could only be one true reason for someone giving her that bloody package of limbs. She crossed her arms over her breasts and leaned toward Manny and Sophie.

  “Someone is trying to set up the real killer.”

  CHAPTER-27

  Not walking too fast was difficult to control. The very fiber of his existence wanted him to run, run to where Cheryl called home. Not lived so much, but where she laid her head. Then again, any place in this part of Chicago could hardly be called a home. More like a shithole.

  Still, she, like all who had fallen from grace and indulged in the darker side of life’s offerings, had been no angel when the craving had engulfed her reasons for living. She had taken what she could get.

  There was nothing off limits and nothing that she wouldn’t do, and hadn’t done, to score the next fix. The next escape, the next euphoric embrace from a devil that no one else could recognize
save another wrapped up in the bittersweet talons of addiction.

  He shook his head, bitter without question, but there was nothing truly sweet about any addiction, and he had owned a few in his life. Never mind the constant battle to never embrace any of them again. There was no more difficult battle on this rock then fighting an addiction.

  Henry ceased to fight the desire to walk and began to jog, turning toward Glen. “Come on, brother. Pick up the pace. The Father wants us to bring Cheryl and Joel, if he’s with her, to the meeting.”

  “I’m trying but the knee isn’t cooperating,” Glen huffed.

  Glen’s pained response was of no real surprise. His friend had never been a real athlete, according to him. His knee was weak because of three surgeries resulting from an injury that occurred when he’d jumped from the second-floor window at a home he had been burglarizing.

  Risking injury, even death, was simply another in the long list of pitfalls he and his friends had humored. Even now, that didn’t seem as crazy as it was.

  He slowed down to wait for Glen.

  A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “I know you and Cheryl shared some moments the last few days, Henry. I’ll get there as soon as I’m able, but you should get there quickly. I can see it in your face that you’re worried.” Glen pushed him forward with both hands. “Go. I’ll be on the way.”

  Henry nodded. “Thank you Glen. But I’ll wait for you. We need to do this together. We’re only about a half-mile away.”

  “Your call and thank you. That would be nice to get there together.”

  They walked on in silence. His friend had been right when he said that he and Cheryl had had a few moments.

  Maybe, in a different place in time, they would have been wife and husband. They even got naked together, but nothing truly happened. It was as if they were destined for something else.

  There were hearts of gold, as the saying went, then there were those rare souls who took that saying up a notch to truth. Cheryl personified the latter. He’d not met many more kind and gentle. At least from what he’d seen.