‘EVEN SAINTS HAVE A DARKER SIDE’
ISBN: 9781483517858
The woods were thick, dark – deadly quiet. The site where the priest had chosen had an opening, a view of the moon and the stars that seemed to be shining directly on the ceremonial ritual he was performing over the naked body of a young female.
The girl, the sacrificial lamb, wasn’t dead. She wanted to scream in pain, but the sound wouldn’t leave her throat. Her eyes darted around to the lit torches, the huge bloody stones, which seemed to be topped by globs of bloody masses of raw meat – human organs. She felt paralyzed. Nothing was holding her on the altar, but she couldn’t move a muscle except for her eyes. Things were blurred but she was aware. Her senses were highly alert, especially of the pain. She strained through the pain to see the priest – her fixed, unblinking gaze took in everything; his crimson robe, which was partially opened, revealing his arousal. His breathiness as he chanted over her.
The young girl saw the priest cutting out her intestines – the pain, the severe pain and every detail happening around the young girl, made her know it wasn’t a nightmare, but her reality, what few seconds she had left, seeing her own heart being raised above her by the priest.
Ellis Collins, my best friend, was in the Birmingham City morgue with a forensic team cutting open the stomach of a 13 foot alligator. He wasn’t a doctor. He was a detective, but looked more like a fashion model for Ebony Man – 6’3”, dark and athletically built.
The tip of Ellis Collins’ hand all the way to his elbow was in the alligator’s stomach, searching, feeling for anything, finding rings and watches, a partially dissolved arm, leg and Nike shoe.
“Damn!”
Ellis Collins stepped away, removing the protective gloves and gown with his body language showing his anguish and remorse.
“We’ve got them.”
“I was hoping they were still alive. … Run the DNA and freeze them as evidence.”
Ellis Collins had set a standard for himself and made a conscious decision to live up to it – subconsciously he held everyone else to it also.
……
The District Attorney was at Ellis Collins’ cubical silently awaiting an answer when the detective arrived. The look in Ellis Collins’ eyes told the DA what he wanted to know.
“Well at least we got the bastards off the streets.” He knew it wasn’t a consolation to the deceased victims. “Good job.”
Ellis Collins watched him leave, then sat and lowered his head, staring at the pictures of the missing elderly people from the aftercare center – they had no one. The couple that ran the home knew no one would check on the missing elderly people, and they could continue to receive the grants and the social security checks of the victims.
Ellis Collins didn’t know if the owners of the aftercare had fed the old people to the alligator alive or after they had died, but if it wouldn’t have been for the missing pets and ducks, Ellis Collins would’ve never thought to check the stool found around East Lake park, and stumbled on what he thought at first were mundane objects until he realized one was a diabetic bracelet—which led him to inquire about the owner that was supposedly a resident of the aftercare center.
When Ellis Collins looked up, the captain stood in his cubical staring at him. She saw his tired demeanor before his expression returned to his normal energetic self.
“What’s next?”
His captain had given him the missing pet cases as a way to allow him to relax. She’d been concerned that he was over stressing. She knew some people met whatever challenges thrown their way with enthusiasm, resolve and good nature – while others retreated, and became bitter. Ellis Collins hadn’t back down but his captain; she could see the bitterness creeping in every so often. She didn’t want him to become cold, unemotional and uncaring. She knew it was his warm and compassionate soul that made him such a great detective.
“A paid leave of absence. A reward for your fine service. You and Annette go enjoy a real honeymoon …This isn’t debatable. You’ve got that look. I don’t want you to burn out. This city needs you. So take this break. Go do whatever you need to rejuvenate yourself. I’ll call you when I need you back.”
Dr. Annette Wright-Collins was considered the leading criminologist in the field, and the wife of detective Ellis Collins. She was at home, in her study, on her laptop communicating by Skype with a FBI agent Geneva Smith in DC, trying to assist in the capture of the riddle killer.
Annette was naturally even tempered, with a calm vocal delivery. “Nonsense. Why didn’t you contact me sooner?”
“For some reason, they went with someone else until now.”
“What do you have?”
“This was left in the room.” The agent zoomed in her camera on the sheet of paper. “A five letter word that precedes the creation of all.”
Annette’s grandmother, Dr. Wright, was on the other side of the room doing her own research, but answered the question. “Labor.”
Annette’s grandmother was a woman who choose to let her hair go gray – truly a strong statement she was comfortable with herself and her age.
Annette wasn’t surprised that her grandmother knew the answer, but was shocked by grandmother being in the study without her knowing.
“Thanks.” Annette then cut her conversation short. “Email the information to me now. Bye.”
Annette and her grandmother, both beautiful and highly intelligent women, had stern expressions, glaring intently, as if trying to stare the other down. But her grandmother’s was of concern, not uninviting or even threatening like Annette’s.
“What was that about?”
“I can’t say.”
“It sounds like something we’ve dealt with before.”
“It can’t be. It’s not. It’s different.”
The idea itself had Annette off balance, but she kept her composure by politely gathering her belongings, signaling the discussion was over – or that she was done with it. But they both knew what people don’t want to discuss can be extremely revealing.
Before Annette’s grandmother could pry farther, Ellis’ mother-n-law from his first marriage, who also lived with them, entered the study with a thin package from UPS.
“This arrived for you.”
Connie Cox, a freelance investigative journalist, was in Atlanta. The national attention she’d received from the Horric case articles had made her name nationally recognizable. But the aftermath from the case, which hadn’t received national attention had left an unpleasant taste in the views of her by many of the people of Birmingham. Connie Cox had endured the scrutinizing and harsh criticism of her investigative reporting tactics, but in the end she had decided life in a larger city would be more convenient.
Outside, across the street from Justine’s Restaurant in Atlanta, two agents were parked taking pictures of Connie Cox who was inside the restaurant meeting with a nervous looking guy.
Unknown to the agents, Coop was only parked four cars away, keeping an eye on them while also observing Connie Cox. Coop was another Birmingham native. Surveillance and protection was the perfect line of work for him. His unassuming character allowed him to blend into almost any backdrop, but once he was in your presence his stature and demeanor overshadowed any thoughts of trying him.
Coop had been studying Connie Cox over the last few days. He’d learned how different she was from the image she presented to the outside world – the loud, outgoing boisterous and cocky type – but she was more complicated than assumed. She made investigative journalism look glamorous, as fashionable as she was; her hair short, chic and carefully cut reflected her sensual and creative nature. But she worked agonizingly long dangerous hours, armed with nothing more than a lifetime of experience. Her job involved a lot of field work conducted in very unlady-like environments.
Coop admired Connie Cox’s courage and beauty, plus the fact she’d scratched and clawed for everything she had; whether financial or emotional. He knew a person that had to fight so hard to survive tended to be more watchful but sometimes believed the ends justified the means. He’d lived both walks of life so he knew the positive side of pulling yourself up by your bootstraps too; it took being focused, hard work, and a dedication to achieving your goals.
When Connie Cox stood to leave the restaurant, another well-dressed man bumped into her. He brushed her off while placing a thumb drive into her pocket.
“My bad. I’m sorry. I’m so clumsy.”
Coop realized he wasn’t the only one who saw the exchange once the agents exited their vehicle. But before the agents could approach Connie Cox, the valet had brought her car. The agents returned to their car, then trailed her to a coffee shop where she printed the pictures from the thumb drive; gruesome photos of the butchered bloody victims’ bodies at three ritual murder sites, along with close-up headshots of the young victims’ faces.
Coop could see the distortion in Connie Cox’s expression, as if something was bothering her while she returned to her car. He then followed the agents that trailed Connie Cox to Little Mexico, a section in Atlanta highly populated by immigrants.
Connie Cox placed her camera around her neck, then walked the community showing the headshots of the victims.
“Have you ever seen these children?”
Eventually Connie Cox was pointed in the direction a person thought the boy might have lived. Once at the house; the family had been arrested and a new family had moved in.
Only one family remained of the children in the pictures: a mother and a grandmother. Neither spoke English but both broke down crying and praying when they saw the headshot of the dead little girl.
Connie Cox’s Spanish wasn’t excellent, but she understood both the mother and grandmother worked two jobs, and the seven-year-old girl never came home from school. They were illegal immigrants, so they prayed – and begged Connie Cox to be their voice.
……
Since the agents hadn’t tried to approach Connie Cox again, Coop kept his distance behind the agents’ car, trailing them as they followed Connie Cox.
Once headed north on Hwy 285, the agents sped pass Connie Cox’s car as if she was no longer important. Coop continued following Connie Cox to the garage of her apartment building, then he spotted the agents’ car on the other side of the garage.
Coop tried to approach Connie Cox’s car without startling her, but she ran into the elevator and began urgently pressing the buttons. The door was closing when Coop stuck his hand in then grabbed the bumper to reopen it.
Connie Cox tried to scream, but Coop muffled her mouth with his hand while explaining, “The person sending you the cashier checks is also my boss and has assigned me as your guardian angel. Two men have been following you all day.”
“Get your hands off me!”
Coop could tell she was afraid but was impressed by her standing her ground.
“Listen! More than likely they’re in your apartment waiting to do you bodily harm.”
“My discs and notes are up there!”
The elevator opened on to Connie Cox’s floor, then all the power in the building blacked out. Coop immediately pulled her into his arms, hiding behind the panel. Bullets from guns with silencers whistled, riddling the back wall of the elevator.
Coop took the camera from around Connie Cox’s neck but couldn’t get it to flash automatically – the flash went off every three seconds. The flash blinded the night vision of the two masked figures, making them easy targets for Coop’s two head shots.
Connie Cox stopped Coop from leading her to the stairs, “My things!” Pulling away from him.
Inside the apartment, Connie Cox got the candles out of the kitchen draw then became pissed that her place had been destroyed. Her hiding spot for her discs were under the liner of the garbage basket in the bathroom.
“Get my laptop. It’s in my pillow case.”
Coop entered and sensed someone else was in the bedroom with him. A third figure was behind the bedroom door who knocked Coop’s gun and the candle out of Coop’s hand.
Coop’s quick reaction dislodged the gun out of the masked figure’s hand. The flame from the candle had set the carpet ablaze. Coop and the masked man both were throwing close range marital art blows; blocking each other’s kicks and punches. Coop used a head butt that sent the figure across the bed. The figure came up with a knife. Coop immediately grabbed the pillow near the night stand, which also had silver reading glasses and a book on it. The figure came down with the knife, but it wouldn’t penetrate the pillow Coop used to block it. The figure tried again giving Coop the opportunity to use the reading glasses for a weapon, plunging the eyeglasses deep into the figure’s neck, hitting the jugular.
Ellis Collins arrived home to find Annette packing her suitcases. She’d informed him of the riddler case she was assisting – so he assumed she was headed to DC. It would be the first time they’d been apart since their wedding, which had been only seven months earlier – two days after he’d almost lost Annette and her grandmother to a soldier suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.
“Would you mind if I tagged along to help out, if I’m needed?”
“What about your job?”
“Paris is making me take a vacation.”
“Good. But we’re going to Atlanta instead of DC.” Before Ellis Collins could speak, Annette handed him the UPS package that contained newspaper articles, and the pictures of the 14 murder victims – mostly children, but some adults and teenagers. “These were included…Our expenses are covered, but this is a pro bono job.”
Ellis Collins accepted the cashier check and became a little startled seeing it was worth $2 million. “Someone really wants you on this case.”