Absence of Faith (32 page)

"Vancuso," he said forgetting that
he was home and off duty.

"Hello. Detective? This is Doctor
Carson Hyll."

"Oh yeah," Nick said in a groggy
voice. "I was just about to call you."

"I've found the dog killer," Carson
said.

"Who?"

Nick dropped the TV remote
device.

"Henry Graber. The autopsy report
indicated that he died of loss of blood due to a puncture of the
common carotid artery. The artery was lacerated," Carson spoke
rapidly.

"Slow down, slow down. Now can you
tell me in English," Nick replied.

"His jugular was torn and it looks
like an animal did it. There are small punctures around the wound
that look like teeth marks from an animal, and the skin was torn.
He died before he hit the tree," Carson explained. "Doctor Stokes
also found dog hairs in the trunk of his car, and it was the same
black Chevy I saw weeks ago by the disposal bin."

"What are you guys playing Sherlock
Holmes?" Nick asked. "What disposal bin?"

"I saw a man dump two dead dogs
into the bin when I was getting off my shift one morning. When I
looked at the dogs both had their throats cut. The car was an old
black Chevy...Graber drove a black Chevy," Carson explained. "We
couldn't believe it; then all the pieces fell into
place."

"Graber. He's one of yours, right?"
Nick asked.

"Yeah."

Well, thanks. I'll stop by tomorrow
and take your statement."

"Do you have any new information?"
Carson asked.

"No, but this is a good start. I'll
call you when I have something."

"Thanks."

Nick placed the receiver back in
its cradle and thought about returning to the office, but the
day-old sub and the cold bottle of beer was very tempting right
now. He started to pick up the bottle when the phone rang
again.

"Vancuso," he said.

"Nick, this is Kraas. The ME
identified the headless body as a visiting minister from
Louisville. He was visiting the Riverside Presbyterian Church on
River Road and left two days ago. They must have gotten him when he
was leaving that's why no one reported him missing. He was from the
Presbyterian Church in America."

"Shit," Nick said. "I’ll step up
the patrols around all the churches in the area, and maybe we'll
get lucky."

"Good idea," Kraas said and hung
up.

Nick wondered if Kraas was being
sarcastic or if he really meant what he said. He picked up the
bottle of beer and was about the twist off the cap, but stopped. He
thought about the case and was undecided.

"Pssssssst," and the beer opened.
Nick smelled the cool aroma of the hops rise out of the bottle. He
placed the bottle up to his mouth and swallowed. Then he pushed
back in his brown leather lounge chair and picked up the sub.
I'll start early tomorrow
, he thought.

* * *

The next day Nick arrived at his
office just as the sun was casting its first light on the modern
municipal complex. He drove up the long circular driveway that was
surrounded by a well-manicured lawn and then made a left to the
back of the complex and parked in a space labeled, "Police." He
walked to the rear entrance and opened a white metal box next to
the door. He pulled a white plastic card out of his wallet and
thrust it into the slot. The doorjamb clicked and he pulled the
door open. He walked through a narrow hallway, up one flight of
stairs, and past the maze of partitions that made up each uniformed
officers workstation. He didn't even get a cup of coffee from the
kitchen, where he would chat with fellow detectives and exchange
leads. Instead, he plopped down in his squeaky desk chair and
opened the area telephone book. He turned to animal shelters and
marked the page with a sticky note. Then he turned on his computer
and searched the Internet for animal shelters in the area. The
search page brought up 15 shelters in the county. He launched the
automatic dialer, a custom software program that dialed each number
on the search page and forwarded the call his desk phone. If no one
picked up after one minute, the dialer moved to the next item on
the list. After the dialer had gone through four listings with no
answers, he decided to get a cup of coffee. He stopped the program
and headed towards the kitchen. He poured himself a cup and went
back to his desk. After running through several more listings on
the site, the dialer connected to Casey's Animal Shelter & Pet
Store in Long Branch.

"Hello, Casey's," a youthful voice
said.

"Hello. I'm Detective Nick Vancuso
of the Middletown Police Department."

"Yeah." the youth said.

"Listen. I just have a few
questions," Nick said.

"Okay."

"Are you the owner?"

"No, that's Mr. Thompson. He's not
here now," the young man said.

"Well, ask him to call me. My
number is 555-1067. You got it?" Nick said not sure that the voice
on the other end was attached to a thinking person.

"Yeah."

"By the way, have you sold or given
away any Doberman Pincers say within the last week?" Nick
asked.

"No. Well, yeah. I sold two
Dobermans to a Mr. Jones. He's a breeder and didn't want me to tell
other breeders."

"When did you sell them to
him?"

"Last week, I think. It's the
second pair he bought. He bought two others, oh, about three months
ago," the youth said.

"Do you have a phone number or an
address for Mr. Jones?"

"No. He would just call in the
order, and then show up every few weeks to pick up the dogs. He
usually paid in cash."

"What did he look like?"

"I don't know. He was just an old
guy."

"If I showed you a picture, would
you recognize him?"

"Oh, yeah, sure."

"I'll be right there. Don't go
anywhere. What's your name?"

"Glenn Harris."

"Thanks, Glenn. You've been very
helpful."

Nick fired up his red Crossfire and
accelerated rapidly out of the police parking lot. He did that a
lot when he was excited about a case. As he sped out into the main
road, he noticed a run down white pickup truck appear to dart from
lane to lane seemingly trying to catch up with him. After a few
lights the truck merged with the normal flow of traffic and he paid
it no attention.

Nick found the pet store easily
enough since it is one of the larger buildings in Long Branch - a
cement one story warehouse that once served as a distribution
center for a large supermarket chain that went out of business. The
center had a duel function - it served as the city's animal shelter
and a commercial pet store. Nick parked near the wall-size glass
windows and walked in. The store smelled of dry dog food and one
could hear the faint barks of dogs from the shelter section in the
back. A short girl with long black hair and a dark complexion
approached Nick.

"Can I help you," she said
smiling.

"I'm looking for Glenn
Harris."

She turned and yelled,
"Glenn!"

A tall, lanky, young man with his
head shaved walked over.

"This guy is here to see you," the
girl said.

"You're Glenn Harris? I'm Detective
Nick Vancuso. I spoke with you on the phone a few minutes
ago."

"Yeah."

Nick said placed one 4x6 color
photo on the glass counter. "Is that Mr. Jones?"

The young man looked at the photo
for several seconds.

"Nope."

Nick took out another.

"Nope."

Nick finally brought out a
photocopy of a Henry Graber's driver's license with the name and
address blackened out with a permanent marker. The young man picked
up the paper and stared at it for several seconds.

"This is Mr. Jones. He looks a lot
different than this photo - fatter and balder."

"You're sure that's
him?"

"Yep, that's him. He always gave me
a big tip. You don’t forget people like that."

* * *

Nick returned to his office and
started searching through the piles of papers that covered his
desk. He pulled a yellowed newspaper clipping out of one of the
piles and placed it in a 3-ring binder with a black vinyl cover. He
grabbed the mouse to his computer and clicked on the icon for the
FBI's National Criminal Information Center. In the search field, he
typed in "Satanic cults, Monmouth County, NJ" and put in a date
range going back seven years. The search engine found 184 entries
and Nick clicked on the first one. The screen displayed

1. 7/9/06 suspicious fire - Asbury
Park

"An abandoned warehouse off Dugan
Street was mysteriously set ablaze at approximately 2 a.m. Mrs. Pam
Jacobs of 1497 Dugan Street reported the incident at 2:19 a.m.
Several animal bodies were found in the debris. Satanists are a
probable cause, but no leads found; Fire is labeled suspicious.
Detective Raymond Pierce investigating officer."

Nick clicked on the print icon and
then walked over to Pierce's office. He was an older man with
facial skin that hung off his face like a St. Bernard's. He smoked
cigars and had a raspy voice. He was the only one in the office who
smoked. He was normally given the "easy" assignments since he often
complained about everything when given a complex case.

"Hi Ray," Nick said as he walked
into the office slowly so as not to disturb any of the paper
stacks. Pierce had his head down intensely reading a report. He
looked up through emerald green eyes.

"Nick! Got something for
me?"

"Yes and no. I saw your report on
that warehouse fire back in July, and I was wondering why you
suspect Satanists were involved?"

"We found a lot of bones from dead
animals there - all in one spot. Cats, dogs, squirrels...I mean a
lot. Too many to rule out anything but Satanists or a cult of some
sort. I believe they were using it as a meeting place, and
sacrificing small animals there. Somebody found out so they burned
the place down."

"Any leads?"

"Nothing substantial. I did get an
anonymous call from a woman who identified the leader of the cult.
What was his name now?" Pierce hesitated and looked around the
room. "Wait I have it written down in one of my pads."

He opened a drawer in his desk,
rummaged through, and then pulled out a small pocket-sized
notebook. He leafed through it.

"Here it is," he said squinting at
his own handwriting. "Henry Graber. He's a doctor over in Ocean
Village."

"Did you ever talk to Graber?" Nick
asked deliberately concealing his excitement.

"Nope, I could never get a hold of
him. Called for weeks and even went to the hospital, but he could
never see me. Personally, I don't believe he was the leader of a
cult. He's been a doctor there for years," Pierce
explained.

"Anything else?" Nick
said.

"Yeah, now that I'm thinking of it
the caller said a nurse...her name was?"

Pierce began looking through the
small notebook again.

"Here it is, Janice Doherty. She
was supposed to be second in command, his high priestess, but like
I said I felt it was a crank trying to get even with
Graber."

"Did you ever talk to the
nurse?"

"Oh yeah. She was the sweetest
young thing. She was horrified by the whole thing and couldn't
believe there could be such a cult associated with doctors and
nurses at the hospital."

"Thanks."

"Sure, anytime."

Nick walked over to the laser
printer and took the pages of Pierce's report from the holding bin.
Then he went back to his office, picked up the black vinyl binder
and told the dispatcher he was going to Ocean Village Hospital. He
arrived at the hospital just before one and went to the information
desk in the lobby.

"Hi. I'm looking for nurse, Janice
Doherty. Can you help me?" he said flashing his badge in front of
the white haired woman behind the reception desk.

The woman looked through a
directory and then said, "She works on the second floor. You'll
have to contact the nursing supervisor to see her. Ask for Nurse
Silberg."

"Thank you."

Nick took the nearest elevator up
to the second floor and walked down a long corridor before he
reached the nursing station. He spoke with Nurse Silberg and she
told him that Nurse Doherty had just finished her shift and had
left. Nick walked back to the elevator. He pushed the down button
and waited. A few moments later, a nurse walked towards the
elevator. When she approached, Nick looked at her nametag pinned
below her blouse collar.

"Are you Janice Doherty?" Nick
asked.

"That's what it says here," she
replied, pointing to her badge.

Her face was tired and
gray.

"I was wondering if I can talk with
you a moment? I'm Detective Nick Vancuso of the Middletown Police.
I just have a few questions," he said.