Detective (14 page)

"I asked what they were. One was
an old, beat-up trumpet, the other
a piece of cardboard." She consulted
her paper. "The cardboard was cut in
the shape of a half-moon and colored
red."

Ainslie was frowning,
concentrating, searching his memory,
recalling again the bronze bowl at
the Pine Terrace condo. Addressing
no one in particular, he asked.
"Have there been objects left at
every scene? I remember there were
four dead cats in the Frosts' hotel
room."

Without waiting, Ainslie turned to
Bernard Quinn. "Was anything left at
the Hennenfeld killings?"

Quinn shook his head. "Not to my
knowledge." He glanced at
Sheriff-Detective Montes. "Is that
right, Benito?''

As a visitor Montes had remained
quiet, but now, responding to
Quinn's question, he said, "Well,
there wasn't something left that the
perp brought with him. But there

DETECTIVE I 13

was that electric space heater,
though it belonged to the
Hennenfelds. We checked on that."

Ainslie asked, "What space heater?
What about it?"

"It had been fastened with wire to
Mr. Hennenfeld's feet, Sergeant, then
plugged in. When we found him, the
space heater had burned out, but his
feet were completely charred."

Ainslie said sharply to Quinn, "You
didn't tell me that."

Quinn looked embarrassed. "Sorry. I
guess it was a detail I forgot."

Ainslie let it go, then turned to
Newbold and asked, "Lieutenant, may
I go on?"

"All yours, Malcolm."

"Ruby," Ainslie said, "can we make
a list of all the different objects
found at the scenes?"

"Sure. You want it on the computer?"

Newbold cut in. "Yes, we do."

Ruby moved to a small separate desk
containing a computer terminal. Since
joining Homicide, she had become
known to fellow detectives as "our
computer whiz," and even in other
teams' cases she was often asked to
lend her skills. While Ainslie and
the others waited at the conference
table, Ruby touched switches and ran
her fingers nimbly over the keyboard.
"Okay, shoot, Sergeant."

Referring to an open file in front
of him, Ainslie dictated, "January
seventh, Coconut Grove. Homer and
Blanche Frost. Four dead cats."

Ruby's fingers moved swiftly. When
they stopped, Ainslie continued,
"March twelfth, Clearwater."

"Hold it!" The voice was Quinn's.
Heads turned toward him. "At Coconut
Grove there were Mr. Frost's eyes.
Something flammable was poured in
them, then set on fire. If we include
the Hennenfeld burned feet . . ."

114 Arthur Halley

Ainslie told Ruby, "Yes, add Mr.
Frost's eyes." He turned his head
with the hint of a smile. "Thank
you, Bernie. I forgot. Happens to
all of us."

They completed the Clearwater
listing with the old trumpet and
cardboard moon, added Fort
Lauderdale with the space heater and
the male victim's burned feet,
afterward moving on to Pine Terrace
condominium number 18.

"There was a bronze bowl," Ainslie
said.

Ruby's fingers paused. She asked,
"Was there anything in it?"

Pablo Greene said sourly from his
seat at the table, "Yeah, piss and
shit."

Looking around, Ruby inquired
innocently, "Is it okay if I write
that as 'urine and feces'?"

The room erupted with laughter.
Amid it, someone said, "Ruby, we
love you!'' Even Newbold, Yanes, and
the assistant chief were laughing
with the others. In an atmosphere
where grisly death was an everyday
occurrence, a sudden, unexpected
flash of humor was like a cleansing
rain.

And then . . . as the laughter
died . . . swiftly, clearly,
plainly, Ainslie had it.

Now he knew. All the pieces fit.

It was as if an incomplete
hypothesis, which had been forming
tiresomely, vaguely in his brain,
suddenly took shape. His excitement
began to explode.

"I need a Bible," Ainslie said.

The others stared at him.

"A Bible," he repeated, his voice
rising, its tone assuming the sound
of a command. "I need a Bible!"

Newbold looked at Quinn, nearest
the door. "There's one in my desk.
Second drawer down, right side."

Quinn went to get it.

At Homicide the presence of Bibles
was not unusual. A

DETECTIVE I 15

number of criminals, when brought in
for arrest or questioning, asked for
a Bible to read, some sincerely,
others hoping their apparent
religiosity might earn them a
lighter sentence later on. There
were precedents justifying that
hope; certain offenders, notably
white-collar criminals, had escaped
heavy sentencing through religious
"conversion" and claims of having
been."born again." But at the in-
vestigating stage, Homicide
detectives, while skeptical, were
willing to oblige if a Bible would
hasten a confession.

Quinn returned, Bible in hand.
Reaching across the table, he handed
it to Ainslie, who opened it near
the back to the last book of the New
Testament Revelation, or, for
Catholics, the Apocalypse.

For Newbold, a light dawned. "It's
Revelation, isn't it?" he asked.

Ainslie nodded. "Every one of those
objects is a message."

He motioned to Ruby, still at the
computer. "Here's the first." Then,
glancing around the table, Ainslie
read out, "Revelation, chapter four,
verse six: 'And before the throne
there was a sea of glass like unto
crystal: and in the midst of the
throne, and round about the throne,
were four beasts . . . ' "

Quinn breathed, "The cats!"

Ainslie flipped back two pages,
searched with a forefinger, then
read again, "Chapter one, verse
fourteen: 'His head and his hairs
were white like wool, as white as
snow; and his eyes were as a flame
of fire. . .' " He glanced at Quinn.
"Mr. Frost, right?"

Quinn added softly, "Those two
things the cats and Frost's burned
eyes were within inches of each
other. But we never connected them .
. . not in the way we should have."
'

The room was silent. Assistant Chief
Serrano had leaned

116 Arthur Halley

forward in his seat and was
listening intently. Major Yanes had
been scribbling notes but now
paused. Everyone was waiting as
Ainslie turned more pages. He asked
Ruby, "A trumpet at Clearwater,
right?"

She checked the computer screen.
"A trumpet and a cardboard half-moon
painted red."

"Here's the first. Chapter one,
verse ten: 'I was in the Spirit on
the Lord's day, and heard behind me
a great voice, as of a trumpet. . .'
"

Ainslie turned pages again. "And I
believe I remember the red moon.
Right here. Chapter six, verse
twelve: 'And I beheld when he had
opened the sixth seal, and, lo,
there was a great earthquake and the
moon became as blood . . .' "

Looking at Benito Montes, Ainslie
said, "Listen to this. Chapter one,
verse fifteen: 'And his feet like
unto fine brass, as if they burned
in a furnace . . .' "

"That's just the way Mr.
Hennenfeld's feet were." Montes
sounded awed.

Sergeant Greene spoke up. "How
about the Urbinas, Malcolm?"

More page-turning. Then, "I think
I have it. The dead woman was either
touching that bowl or almost, wasn't
she, Pablo?"

"One or the other, yes."

"Then this has to be it." Once
more Ainslie read aloud from
Revelation. "Chapter seventeen,
verse four: 'And the woman was
arrayed in purple and scarlet color
having a golden cup in her hand full
of abominations and filthiness . .
.' ''

A murmur of appreciation rippled
around the table. Ainslie waved for
silence, protesting, "No, no!" While
the others watched, he put both
hands to his face and held them
there for several seconds. When he
removed them

DETECTIVE 117

his expression had changed from high
excitement to chagrin. His voice,
when he spoke, was halting. "I should
have got to it, I should have figured
out those symbols sooner, even at the
beginning. If I had, some of those
people might still be alive."

Sergeant Brewmaster asked, "How
could you have got it sooner? The
rest of us didn't get it at all."

Ainslie was about to respond:
Because I have a doctorate in
theology! Because for twelve
interminable years I studied the
Bible. Because all of those symbols
stirred the past inside me, but I was
slow and stupid, so it took until now
to realize . . . Then he decided to
leave the words unspoken. What good
would they do? But shame and self-
reproach seethed deep within him.

Leo Newbold detected it. And
understood. From the head of the
table, his eyes met Ainslie's. "What
matters most, Malcolm," the
lieutenant said smoothly, "is that
you've given us our first break, and
it's an important one. I'd like to
hear how you interpret it."

Ainslie nodded and said, "First,
it's narrowed the field of
investigation. Second, we know
roughly the type of person we're
looking for."

"Which is?" Yanes asked.

"An obsessed religious freak,
Major. Among other things, he sees
himself as an avenger from God."

"Is that the 'message' you spoke
of, Sergeant? Is that the meaning of
those symbols?"

"Yes, it is, keeping in mind that
each symbol has been accompanied by
two violent deaths. Most likely, as
the killer sees it, he's delivering
God's message, and at the same time
fulfilling God's vengeance."

"Vengeance for what?''

''We'll know that better, Major,
when we have a suspect and can
question him."

118 Arthur Halley

Yanes nodded approvingly. "It
looks like you've given us something
to work with. Nice going, Sergeant!"

Assistant Chief Serrano added, "I'll
second that."

Newbold resumed control. "Malcolm,
you know more than the rest of us
about this stuff from Revelation.
Can you brief us on what else we
ought to know?"

Ainslie considered before
speaking, aware that he must draw on
an amalgam of knowledge and
ideas his priestly past, his mindset
since, his current role as a
Homicide detective. Rarely, if ever,
had all three overlapped as now.

He tried to keep his explanation
simple.

"Revelation was originally in
Greek, and is apocalyptic, which
means it was written in code, with
many symbolic words, so that only
biblical scholars understand them.
To many people it's a crazy
hodgepodge of visions, symbols,
allegory, prophecy mostly
incoherent."

Ainslie paused, then went on. "At
times it makes some Christians, who
don't understand it, uncomfortable.
And the fact that Revelation can be
used to prove or argue anything is
why it's always attracted lunatics
and fanatics. As those people view
it, there's a ready-made
prescription for any evil they
choose. So what we need to know is
how the guy we're looking for got to
Revelation and adapted it to suit
himself. When we have that answer,
we'll go get him."

Lieutenant Newbold surveyed the
conference table. "Anyone have
anything to add?''

Julio Verona raised a hand.
Perhaps to offset his small stature,
the ID lead technician sat stiffly
upright in his chair. At a nod from
Newbold he said, "The fact that we
know the kind of person who is
committing these crimes is good, and
my compliments to Malcolm. But I
should remind you that even if you
find a suspect, we have very little
evidence right now certainly not
enough to con

DETECTIVE 119

vict." He glanced toward the
assistant state attorney, Curzon
Knowles.

"Mr. Verona's right," Knowles said.
"So we need to recheck every item
collected at the murder scenes to be
sure nothing has been overlooked or
misinterpreted. Obviously we are
dealing with a psychotic killer, and
the smallest minute detail left
behind could be the factor we need."

"We do have a partial palm print
from the Frost murders," Sylvia
Walden pointed out.

Knowles nodded. "But as I
understand it, there's not enough of
the palm for positive
identification."

"We could match six points on the
print we have. For positive ID we
need nine at least. Ten is better."

"So the partial would be only
circumstantial evidence, Sylvia."

Walden conceded, "Yes."

Dr. Sanchez intervened. As usual,
she was wearing one of her dark
brown suits, and her graying hair
was fastened back into a ponytail.
"As reported earlier, the knife cuts
on four bodies the Frosts and
Urbinas are identifiable," she
stated. "They were made by the same
bowie knife, ten inches long, with
distinctive notches and serrations.
I have photos of the wounds, showing
in detail the notches on bones and
cartilage."

Everyone in the meeting knew about
a bowie knife, sometimes called an
"Arkansas toothpick." The hunting
knife, invented in the
mid-nineteenth century by one of two
Texas brothers, either James or
Rezin Bowie, has been used widely
ever since for hunting both animals
and humans. The knife, distinctive
and deadly, has a wooden handle and
a strong, single-edge blade, the
back of the blade straight for most
of its ten-to-fifteen-inch length,
then curving concavely to join the
cutting edge at a single sharp

120 Arthur Halley

point. For a century and a half the
bowie knife has inflicted vicious
wounds, often as an instrument of
death.

"Dr. Sanchez," Knowles asked,
"could you match those wounds to a
particular bowie knife?"

"If someone produced the right
knife, yes."

"And you'd testify to that?"

"If I'm telling you now, of course
I'd testify." Sanchez added sharply,
"That kind of evidence has been
accepted before."