Dark Justice
by Kenneth Harmon
The woman’s nude body lay on a patch of snow-covered grass behind the Carlyle Club. Her eyes stared into the night sky. Light snow fell, the flakes swirling inside the glow of a streetlight. Detective Kurtz gazed at the body, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes moved across the woman’s pallid skin. Under different circumstances, he would have liked to know her. Not now. Not like this.
His partner Hobbs squatted near the body. He used a pen to point at a wound on the victim’s chest. “Stabbed in the heart.”
Kurtz reached into a pocket and withdrew a packet of cigarettes. He struck a match and an orange flame rose against the darkness. “What is she, number four?”
Hobbs stood. He waved for the crime scene investigator. “Number five. What are you thinking, contract hit?”
“Perhaps.” Kurtz stepped back as the crime scene investigator aimed his camera. He snapped a photograph and white light flashed over the gloom. “What do we know about this girl?”
“Name’s Veronica. She’s twenty one…well—”
“I know what you mean.” Kurtz raised his nose and sniffed. The stench of vomit and urine and garlic was heavy in the air. “Is she a street walker?”
Hobbs scribbled in a small notepad. “That’s a good bet.”
“Dangerous occupation.”
“A lot of the girls work the street in the Eastwick District. They say its easy pickings.”
“Yeah, all they need is a short skirt and a great pair of legs.” Kurtz shook his head as he looked back at Veronica’s body. “You smell the garlic?”
Hobbs came alongside him. “Maybe the killer liked to eat Italian food.”
Kurtz took a drag on his cigarette and blew out a smoke ring. “You don’t believe that do you?”
“Haven’t you heard those things can kill you?”
Kurtz chuckled. “As if I should care.” He walked over to the crime scene investigator, a young officer named Shay. “When will you be transporting her body?”
Shay pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “Soon.”
“How soon?”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Good. The last thing we need is more cops to show up.” Kurtz turned to flick the cigarette into the darkness. “Call if anything turns up with skin and fiber.”
“Will do,” Shay said.
Kurtz gaze drifted to a man standing in the shadows near the park. “Who’s that?”
Hobbs glanced over his shoulder. “The bum?”
“He looks familiar.”
“Name’s Ross.”
“One of ours?”
“No, but he’s harmless. Used to work at Target, but they fired him for spying on women in the bathroom.”
“He’s a pervert?”
Hobbs punched in numbers on a cell phone. “I know what you’re thinking, but Ross isn’t the killer type.”
“You calling Debbie?”
“Yeah, got to tell her that I won’t be back tonight.”
“Why don’t you marry that girl?”
“You know why.”
“She can change. You can help her change.”
“I’m not sure she wants that.”
Kurtz jammed his hands inside his coat pockets. “I’m going to see if Ross knows anything.”
“Good luck,” Hobbs called out behind him.
Ross pawed at the ground as Kurtz approached, his broad shoulders sagging. The expression on his long face revealed nothing. Kurtz held out a cigarette. Ross snatched it from him and popped the cigarette into his mouth. Kurtz struck a match and Ross leaned toward the flame. He took a couple of puffs before straightening.
“Thanks.”
A gust of wind rustled through the trees. Ross turned up the collar on his coat. “You live around here?” Kurtz asked.
Ross nodded. “In the park.”
“Under the bridge?”
“Yeah. Gets cold some times.”
“I’ll bet.” Kurtz glanced over his shoulder at Hobbs who was talking on his phone. A feeling of envy moved through him as he thought about the empty apartment that awaited him. He turned back to Ross. “You know anything about that girl who got murdered?”
Ross took a drag on his cigarette and coughed. “Veronica.”
“So you do know her?”
“A bit.”
Kurtz watched a man jog past in the park. “How do you know her?”
“She brings her dates to the bridge sometimes.”
“You watch her with her dates?”
Ross’s gaze sank to the ground. “No, I gave her privacy for what she needed to do.”
“I thought you liked to watch.”
“You talking about Target? That was a set up, I did nothing wrong. I was watching a shoplifter who happened to be stealing panties.”
Kurtz heard shoes scrapping over the pavement. He turned to see Hobbs approaching.
“Anything?” Hobbs said.
Kurtz looked back at Ross who fidgeted. “You see Veronica tonight?”
Ross nodded.
“At the bridge?”
“In the alley.”
Hobbs pointed toward the Carlyle Club. “Over there?”
“With her date.” Ross dropped his cigarette into the snow. “They went there to…you know.”
“Yeah, we know,” Kurtz said. “Have you seen this guy before?”
Ross scratched the top of his head. “At St. Michaels.”
Kurtz and Hobbs looked at each other. “He works there?” Kurtz said.
“He’s a priest. Name’s Father Dan.”
Hobbs shielded his face from Ross and whispered, “Do you think he’s acting on the church's authority?”
“Perhaps,” Kurtz said, “if he’s the one who killed her.” He turned to Ross. “Did you hear or see anything unusual?”
“Like what?”
“You know a struggle, or someone screaming.”
Ross reached inside his coat and withdrew a half-eaten doughnut covered in sprinkles and lint. Sprinkles fell like raindrops as he brought it to his mouth. “Nothing like that,” he mumbled, the doughnut turning into mush, “but I did see Father Dan run from behind the building.”
“Was he carrying anything?” Kurtz said.
Ross finished off the doughnut and smacked his lips. “Yeah, he had something in his hand, but I couldn’t tell you what it was. Truth is I try to stay out of other people’s business.” He leaned to peer around the detectives. “Where are the other cops? I always see uniformed cops working a murder.”
“Not this time,” Kurtz said. He turned to Hobbs. “Let’s go visit this Father Dan.”
***
The snow started to fall harder as they drove to the church. Big wet flakes splattered against the windshield. When they arrived at St. Michaels, darkness shrouded the church except for a small light shining over the chapel entrance. Hobbs parked the car and they exited into the frigid night. Kurtz blew into his hands to warm them.
“Should have brought some gloves,” Hobbs said.
“My blood runs colder than the wind blows.”
Hobbs chuckled. “Yeah, but still.”
The world slumbered in quiet repose, heightening the crunch of their shoes over the snow-covered sidewalk. They stopped at the front door and stomped the snow off.
“I hate to think that the church is involved in this,” Hobbs said.
“Perhaps this priest isn’t involved, at least not in the way we suspect. Maybe there’s a psychopath on the loose who hates prostitutes.”
“Like the Ripper?”
“Perhaps.”
Hobbs sighed before ringing the doorbell. “That’s all we need. I never thought we’d catch the bastard, and we probably wouldn’t have if he wasn’t one of our own.”
“Bloch was insane. Look what he did to Mary Kelly. There was no need to tear her apart like that.”
The door creaked open and the doughy face of a young man emerged from the darkness. His gaze moved between the detectives. “How can I help you?”
Kurtz reached inside his coat and produced his badge. “We’re here to see Father Dan.”
“Is this official church business?”
“It is now,” Hobbs said.
The young man stepped aside to allow them inside the building. The detectives entered the vestibule. Shadows gathered along the walls and across the pews inside the nave, but a light shined down on a crucifix hanging behind the tabernacle.
“I will go get Father Dan for you,” the young man said.
“We’ll go with you,” Kurtz said. “We’d like to interview Father Dan inside his room.”
“Uh…well.”
“More privacy that way.”
The young man nodded. “I see. In that case, follow me.” He led them down a long narrow hallway. Paintings that depicted various events from the Bible decorated the walls. Daniel in the lion’s den, David fighting Goliath, and Noah receiving animals onto his ark. They stopped outside a door. “I’m sure Father Dan is sleeping.” He knocked three times, the sound reverberating across the silence.
“What kind of hours does Father Dan normally keep?” Hobbs asked.
“Well, the priests normally take breakfast at six.”
“That early, wow.”
“They stay busy throughout the day.”
“Yes, I’m sure they do.”
Kurtz moved alongside the young man and pounded on the door with his fist. “What time do they typically retire in the evening?”
“Uh, I believe around nine, but Father Dan sometimes stays up later to read.”
The door opened with the squeal of hinges. A middle-aged man with a ruddy complexion peered out with sleepy eyes. He ran a hand over his baldhead and yawned. “What is it Robert?”
The young man cleared his throat. “These men want to talk with you.”
Kurtz stepped past Robert. He held out a hand, “Father Dan, I’m Detective Kurtz and this Detective Hobbs.”
The priest hesitated before offering his own hand. When Kurtz grasped it, he felt blood surging through the veins. “May we come inside?”
Father Dan pulled back his hand. His eyes narrowed. “What is this about?”
“Veronica.”
“I should be going,” Robert said.
Kurtz watched until he was gone and turned back to the priest. “Can we come inside?”
Father Dan leaned into the hallway. He checked in both directions and waved for the detectives to enter.
They moved into a small living room furnished with a loveseat and a rocking chair near a brick fireplace. A small fire crackled and snapped inside. Father Dan motioned for them to sit. Kurtz eased onto the rock-hard loveseat. Hobbs stepped close to the fire and held his hands toward the flames. The priest considered him for a moment before sinking into the rocking chair. His gaze shifted to Kurtz. “What is this about detective?”
Kurtz waited to reply, allowing the priest to suffer in anticipation. “Do you know a young woman named Veronica?”
“You know that I do.”
Kurtz looked at Hobbs who straightened. “Then you know that—”
“She’s dead.”
“Murdered.”
Father Dan’s face betrayed confusion. “I wouldn’t call it that.”
“Why?”
The priest squirmed on the chair. “You’re not real police.”
“I assure you that we are real police.”
Hobbs moved to a bookshelf. He ran a hand over the spines of the books. “What did you use to kill her?”
Father Dan gripped the arms of the chair so tight that his knuckles whitened. “Veronica wasn’t human. She lured men into the park and killed them. She drained their blood.”
“Did you kill her on instructions from the church?” Kurtz asked.
“And the police. You should know that.” Father Dan sprang out of the chair. “I want to see your badges.”
Kurtz held out his badge. Father Dan picked up a pair of eyeglasses from the mantel and put them on. He leaned close to read the badge.
“Vampir Politia, what’s that?”
“German and Latin.”
“Did you kill her with a wooden stake?” Hobbs said returning to the fireplace.
“Of course, you gave it to me.”
“Who gave it to you?” Kurtz said watching the veins in Hobb’s neck pulsating with anger.
“Captain Spriggs gave it to me. Call Captain Spriggs.” Sweat pearled along the priest’s hairline. His breathing became rapid.
“Veronica is the fifth woman killed this year in Eastwick. Did you have anything to do with the other murders?”
“They weren’t murders I tell you! Those girls were the killers not me. Call Captain Spriggs, he can tell you.”
“We don’t work for Captain Spriggs.”
“Who are you, what do you want?”
“We want justice Father.”
The priest turned toward Hobbs who approached with his mouth agape, fangs ready to strike.
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