Wounds (36 page)

Bud and Hector each took a corner and slowly pulled back the covering.

Bile raced up Ellis's throat. He gagged and covered his mouth.

Carmen raised a finger. “So help me, if you puke on my crime scene I will shoot you.”

Ellis struggled to keep his gorge down. Being shot sounded pretty good.

“What I want to know is this: Is this what you meant by scourging?”

He wasn't looking.

“Look at the body, Dr. Poe.
Look
at it!”

He did. On the ground was a nude man who looked to be in his thirties. He lay prone, his head turned to the side, his back facing the early morning sky—a back with no flesh, just muscle tissue, and even some of that had been whipped away to reveal bits of rib and vertebrae. The shredded flesh ran from the shoulders, over the back, and down to the back of the man's knees. Just as startling was the razor wire wound around the deceased's head—a poor man's crown of thorns.

“Is it, Professor?”

Ellis nodded.

“I'm sorry, Dr. Poe, I can't hear you.”

“Y-yes.”

Carmen folded her arms. “Such a young man. If only there had been a way to stop the killer . . . oh, I don't know, twenty-eight years ago.”

Ellis couldn't speak. He could barely breathe.

“ID?” She directed her question to Bud.

“No. We'll run prints. Hopefully he's in one of the systems.”

Carmen stooped by the body. Ellis had no idea how she could do that.

“Ligature marks on the wrists similar to the others. Wait, this is different.” She turned one of the victim's hands so she could view the knuckles. “The skin is busted.” She examined his face. “Bruises. Jaw may be broken. Swelling around the eye. This guy fought back.” She stood. “I want those wounds examined closely. Maybe we can get some perp DNA.”

“Will do.”

Carmen faced Ellis. “See, Doc. I went easy on you.” She waited for a response. He didn't offer one.

The crime scene was at the bottom of a hill and the intersection of two well-traveled roads. Not main arteries, but busy enough that someone would find the body not long after sunup. Carmen pointed up the hills. “See those buildings, Professor? Know what they are?”

The sight of the body had so unnerved Ellis that he hadn't thought to look. “Naval Medical Center.” The Navy's hospital was a landmark in the city.

“Yep. Been around since 1917. Did you know that the grounds had once been a part of Balboa Park? Did you know that when the US entered World War I, the city of San Diego offered property to the various branches of the military? Did you know that in the early years, part of Balboa Park was used as military barracks?”

“No. I didn't know any of that.”

Bud Tock stood close to his partner. Ellis wondered if he was protecting her or him.

“She used to work in the park.” Bud offered a humorless grin. “She knows everything.”

“Seems you were right about the next body being found near a military facility.” Carmen looked down at the shrouded corpse. “Kinda got the crown of thorns thing wrong.”

He hadn't, but he didn't correct her. True, he hadn't anticipated razor wire being used, but he had been right that the body would have a crown of thorns on his head.

Carmen looked as if she had more to say but decided against it. She turned to Bud. “Where's Officer Heywood?”

“Scouting the area for surveillance cameras. We know the hospital grounds have cameras, but it's doubtful that they track what's going on here. We're too far from the buildings and there isn't much else around.”

“Who found the body?”

“Joggers.” Bud pointed down Bob Wilson Drive. “Access to the hospital passes through a checkpoint about a quarter mile down. It has a surveillance camera. Joe went there first and talked to the people there. No one on duty saw anything. It looks like our man just pulled up to the curb on Florida Drive and dumped the body.”

“It just gets better and better.” She looked toward the thin crowd and the media. “The ME is here. Let's canvas the area; then I want to talk to the joggers.”

“Hector and I'll check the grounds.” Bud stepped away.

“I wish I could help.” It was a sincere statement, but Ellis doubted it softened Carmen's opinion of him.

“You can. You've been right about so much of this, maybe you can apply that great intellect of yours and figure out who the killer wants to crucify.”

“I don't know how . . .” He thought for a moment. He owed her an effort, even if the odds were impossible. “Maybe . . . I need a place to work. Something with a computer and a phone. I have no idea how to start, but I'll give it my best.”

“You do that, Professor. You do that.”

For almost three decades, Ellis Poe had believed he couldn't feel more guilty.

He had been wrong.

37

T
hat was a pretty special thing you did.” Joe Heywood steered his patrol car south to the city.

Ellis looked at the big man. “Special good or special bad? I only ask because I excel in the latter.”

“Special good.”

Joe smiled and seemed genuinely amused. Ellis hadn't seen many smiles of late. Too bad he couldn't find much comfort in it.

The comment puzzled Ellis. “I don't follow, Detective.”

“First, I'm not a detective. Normally, I'm a uniformed officer, but I've been pulled up the ladder to help with the case. I oversee the uniforms during canvassing, review countless hours of video, and pretty much everything else that frees the detectives to do their job. When this is all over, I'll be back on the streets. Not that I mind. I was born for this work.”

“You don't want to be a detective?”

“Sure I do. I'd like to rise to captain, but I'm still paying my dues and learning the work.”

“It's important work. Not everyone can do it.” Ellis gazed out the side window at the passing scenery. Cars in front of them slowed, unsettled by the site of a black-and-white behind them. Several times, Heywood had to decelerate suddenly. He showed no irritation. Apparently he had grown used to such things.

A few moments of silence passed. “I was referring to your refusal to press charges against Detective Rainmondi for popping you one.”

Ellis rubbed his jaw. “I had it coming. That and more. I didn't see any reason to ruin her career. I already ruined an important part of her life.”

“Not many men would see it that way.”

“I can't see it any other way.” Ellis kept his gaze out the window as they transitioned to Broadway.

“It must be hard to live with. No doubt.”

Ellis didn't respond, and they finished the drive in silence.

The white-and-blue building loomed before them. The headquarters station had come to represent things Ellis didn't want to remember: the wall of death, the ceiling of the case room as seen from the floor, the inside of the homicide captain's office, and most of all, the look on Carmen's face when he came clean about Shelly.

“Detective Rainmondi said I should help you in any way I can.” Heywood parked the car.

“I don't know what good I can do. How can I figure out the target? I'm no detective.”

Heywood killed the engine. “Look, Dr. Poe, this is gonna sound strange, but Carmen believes in you. True, she hates your guts, but she knows that you're the one who put some of the pieces together. None of the trained detectives saw the connections. You did. Sometimes insight comes from unexpected places.”

“I appreciate the thought, Officer, but I don't fool myself. I'm a seminary professor and nothing more.”

Heywood's smile became a frown. “It's not my job to cheer you up, Dr. Poe, but I must admit that you surprise me. I've been assuming you're a spiritual man. I mean, you teach New Testament, right?”

Ellis finally faced him. “Yes.”

“Do you not believe what you teach?”

“Of course I do.” Ellis was surprised at the emotion in his own voice. “It's not just academics with me.”

“Well, I'm sorry, Doc, but I don't buy it.” Heywood slipped from the car. Ellis did the same. “I was brought up in church and was led to believe that spiritual men were men of prayer.”

“I pray more than you can imagine.” Ellis rounded the car, his anger growing.

“Let me guess, you spend your prayer time mewling and begging for forgiveness.”

“What's wrong with that?”

Heywood stopped and faced Ellis. The man stood six inches taller and was at least fifty pounds heavier. Ellis heart stumbled to a stop. It was one thing to be slugged by Carmen, but if this guy hit him, Ellis would be hunting for his head beneath the parked cars in the lot.

“We're talking murder here, Doc. Not
a
murder, a series of them, and it isn't over yet. We don't know how many people this guy plans to kill. If you're right, there's at least one more. Add to that the abduction of several women. Who knows what he's been doing to them? Frankly, Doc,
that's
what I'd be praying about.”

Ellis couldn't decide if he was furious, chastised, convicted, depressed, or something entirely different. His emotions had become a mixed-up stew. He had no response, but he had a sense that Heywood was right.

Heywood started walking again. “Who knows, maybe this is God's way of helping you make good, for your sake as well as others.”

The officer's words smoldered in Ellis's brain.

Twenty minutes later, Ellis was in the case room, surrounded by images and details he didn't want to see or know. In front of him was a laptop computer that Heywood set up and entered a password allowing Ellis access to the Internet. He had no access to the police department servers, nor did he want them. If there were details he needed, Heywood would retrieve them, or so he said.

For the first ten minutes, Ellis stared at the screen. He was well acquainted with computers, often using them for detailed translation work and the reading of online theological journals. Still, he was a man who appreciated a blank sheet of paper. He asked for one.

“Sure. There are markers for the whiteboard. I'll help you brainstorm.” Heywood stood.

“Okay.”

“I don't know where to begin,” Ellis said.

“Let's talk about what we know.” Heywood regurgitated the details of each death and the location of each body. He did so quickly. Those facts were already well known. Next he brought up the painful connection between Shelly's murder and the message left by the killer for Carmen.

“He's taunting her,” Ellis said. “I know, that's obvious.”

“The first note was a general statement. No personal reference. The mirror message was directed at Carmen.” Heywood stood at the marker board, but had yet to write anything.

Ellis's mind wasn't cooperating. Too much emotion. Too much regret and self-loathing. He pressed the emotions back and tried to conjure up the academic in him. He had no success until he started praying. His mind relaxed and the gears began to roll again.

“In 1985, I saw the man—the teenager. I know he was big. Bigger than you. At the time, he seemed twice my size. I remember that clearly.”

“But he was a teenager? Older than you?”

“Maybe, but not by much. I was a senior. My guess is he was a senior, too.”

Heywood wrote
teenager
on the board. “So . . . eighteen?”

“Yes. That seems right. I don't recall seeing him at Madison.”

Heywood turned. “That was your high school. Madison High. On Doliva?”

“Yes. The campus was full—fifteen hundred students or so—but I think I would remember someone like him. I remember he drove a yellow—”

“That won't help. Carmen told me the car had been stolen and traced back to a car lot in Mission Beach.”

“Well, if he is about my age, then he must have attended high school somewhere. Clairemont High? Mission Bay High? Kearney?”

Heywood picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Hey, Cap. Heywood here. I'm working with Dr. Poe on a few things while Detective Rainmondi and the others are in the field. I need a few errands run. Can I call up a couple of unis for awhile?” He paused. “Thanks.” He turned his attention to Ellis. “Yearbooks.”

“School yearbooks is a good idea. Have them get year books for '83 to '87.”

“It will be at least an hour before we see any of them, so let's stay on track. We've got a little mental momentum so let's focus on who might be the ultimate victim. Are you sure the killer is planning to crucify someone?”

“Sure? I can't be sure of anything. I have to believe that each murder reflects part of the physical abuse Jesus endured. It seems obvious now. Jesus went to Golgotha, where He was tied and nailed to a cross in front of His mother and a few others. The facts of the case all point to my conclusion.”

“Except that Jesus was one man. The killer did his torture to several people, not one. He killed them, so obviously he has someone else in mind.”