Santa Clawed (14 page)

M
any families gather together on December 24, go to vespers for the traditional Christmas Eve service, return home for a late supper, and then open gifts. Others go to Christmas Eve service but wait until Christmas morning to open presents.

Despite the weather, the Reverend Jones held the St. Luke’s service, attended mostly by those who could walk through the snow or who drove 4×4 vehicles. Even though attendance was low, Herb enjoyed the special event. Two enormous poinsettias, flaming red, graced the altar. Red and white poinsettias filled the vestibule, too. The glow of candles added to the soft beauty of the night service.

Dr. Bryson and Racquel Deeds made it, as did Bill and Jean Keelo. Susan and Ned Tucker attended. They lived not far from St. Luke’s. Susan had carried her shoes while walking in her boots, Ned teasing her as they plowed through the snow. Once at church, she left her boots in the cloakroom and laughed to see the rows of boots, other women making the same choice she did. She was happy that her son, now out of college, and her daughter, still attending, had accompanied her.

Alicia and BoomBoom, although living farther out, took this as an opportunity to test the Land Cruiser. Worked like a treat.

The cats entered the church’s back entrance with Herb at 6:30
P.M
. The service was at 7:00
P.M
. Lucy Fur, Elocution, and Cazenovia sat off to the side where they could view the congregation. Cazenovia, tempted to scoot under the altar, decided against it, since she’d be peeping out from under the embroidered altar covering. She wanted to see everything but knew her poppy would either laugh or be furious. She felt she was a good Lutheran cat, but Reverend Jones didn’t always see things her way.

She remarked,
“Racquel is cool to Bryson.”

Lucy Fur looked at them.
“Even has her shoulder turned away from him.”

Elocution, tail curled around her paws as she sat straight up, evidenced scant interest in the Deedses’ marriage.
“Good thing we aren’t Catholic. They have midnight Mass for Christmas. Roads will be even worse then.”
She couldn’t see out the large stained-glass window.

Afterward, when Susan finally got home, she called Harry.

“Beautiful service.”

“Always is.”

“Can you believe it’s still snowing?” Susan sipped on a delicious hot hard cider that Ned handed her.

“It’s been so many years without a white Christmas, without enough snow, that I’m glad for it.” Harry added, “Helps keep the bug population down come summer.”

Harry wanted to tell her best friend about what had happened, but she kept her mouth shut.

“You know, the entire choir made it. That was a big surprise.”

“What about the congregation?” Harry was curious.

“About half. Made it more intimate. Brother Luther came, which surprised me. They have their own service.”

“He was raised a Lutheran—plus his name, you know.”

Susan laughed. “Let’s hope the original Luther displayed more personality than Brother Luther.”

“Dour,” Harry agreed. “The rest of them seem cheerful enough, or they were.”

“Don’t think I’d be too happy being one of the brothers right now.” She switched subjects. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in eons.”

“I know. But this time of year is crazy enough, and when you add the weather, it’s amazing anything gets done. Susan, do me a favor. Don’t tell anyone you’ve spoken to me. I’ll explain later.”

Brother George, not happy that Brother Luther drove down the mountain in the first place, complained, “You’d better get your ass back up here by midnight. We have our own service, you know.”

“I’m on my way now. You’ll be pleased to know that Bill Keelo, overflowing with Christmas spirit, made a generous donation to our order. I knew if I went to St. Luke’s service, I’d see him.”

Brother George’s tone became warm. “Good. Much as we appreciate Bill’s legal work for the order, coins help. Liquid assets, Brother Luther, liquid assets. You as treasurer understand how vital they are more than anyone else.”

“Do. Well, I’ll be up there in an hour or so. Slow going, but it’s going.”

“How much, by the way?”

“Ten thousand dollars. Bill handed me an envelope and I didn’t open it until he was back in the Jeep. But he did say that he knew we’d lost business at the Christmas tree farm from being closed two whole days, so he hoped this would help us.”

“How thoughtful.” Brother George’s voice crackled a little on the cell. “I’m losing you. See you soon.”

Soon was an hour and a half later. Brother Morris met Brother Luther at the door, thanking him for the foresight to see Bill Keelo at the Christmas Eve service.

“Called ahead.” Brother Luther smiled slightly.

“Yes, yes, sometimes it takes a gentle prod.” Brother Morris winked, then headed to his quarters to rest before the service.

As Brother Luther headed to his own quarters, he passed Brother Sheldon, hands in his long sleeves. The hallway was cold.

“Your hands must be cold,” Brother Luther said.

“Everything is cold. I wish you’d told me you were going down the mountain. I would have liked to go to St. Luke’s service. It’s such a pretty church.”

“Ah, well, next time.”

“Next time is a year away.”

“Sheldon, maybe by then you’ll stop crying at the drop of a hat.”

Brother Sheldon’s face flushed crimson. “We’ve lost two good young men.”

“Yes, we have, but you can be glad of one thing.”

“Which is?” Brother Sheldon glared at Brother Luther.

“At least it wasn’t you.”

At midnight, Racquel called the sheriff’s department. After St. Luke’s, Bryson had dropped her off at home and said he was going to see if the convenience store was open, as they needed milk. They didn’t. She’d checked the fridge the minute she walked inside the house.

Furious, she called on his cell, but he didn’t pick up. She was beyond suspicion that he was having an affair. Now she just knew it. How stupid was he to leave his wife and family on Christmas Eve? She thought he’d be back in an hour. He wasn’t back by midnight.

She reported him as a missing person and devoutly prayed he’d be picked up if his SUV had slid off the road, or perhaps an officer would cruise by the house of whomever he was sleeping with, to find his vehicle in the driveway, a mantle of snow already covering where he’d cleaned it off.

Still, she couldn’t believe he’d be stupid enough to do this on Christmas Eve.

What was his game?

W
hen Officer Doak received the call from the dispatcher, he was driving back from a wreck on I-64. Some fool, filled with good cheer and in a nice Nissan Murano, had disregarded the treacherous conditions, only to sail through a guardrail and down an embankment. The loaded twenty-six-year-old bank teller didn’t even have a scratch. The Murano was totaled.

Much as Officer Doak wished he wasn’t working on Christmas Eve and now early Christmas morning, he knew Rick would be taking over at four. The sheriff had many good qualities as a leader, one of his strongest being that he would pull duty on days when others really wanted to be with their families. Rick and Helen had no children. Their parents still lived, so they’d visit both sets over the holidays. However, Rick often worked during a holiday, feeling those people with children needed to be home. If the boss worked in the middle of the night on Christmas, no one in the department could complain about their schedule.

So Doak cruised slowly in his squad car. All the people in the department had special driving training, which paid off on nights such as this.

Racquel, wide awake and still dressed in her Christmas best, greeted him at the door. The boys, both teenagers, slept, unaware.

Once in the kitchen, far away from the stairs up to the second floor, Racquel filled him in on the time frame of the evening.

“A navy-blue 2008 Tahoe with Jamestown plates.” He checked the number on the plates, which she’d provided for him.

Officer Doak marveled at her coolness, her ability to supply necessary information. “This has been going on for six months. Late calls, emergencies at the hospital.” She tapped a painted fingernail on the hard surface of the table. “Not that there aren’t emergencies for a cardiologist, but let’s just say there was always one too many. We’ve been married eighteen years. I know the drill as well as he does.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Could I offer you a Christmas drink?”

“Oh, no, thank you, ma’am. Can’t drink on duty.”

“Coffee?”

“No, thank you. Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“No. At first I thought it was one of the nurses, but I’ve seen the nurses. I think not,” she said in a clipped tone. “But when doctors stray, they usually do so in the confines of the hospital. It’s a closed world, a hothouse.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stood. “I’ll be on the lookout for a navy-blue Tahoe.”

“The one thing that keeps me from picking up a shotgun and going after him myself is that it’s Christmas Eve—well, Christmas. I simply can’t believe he’d pull a stunt like this on Christmas.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Officer Doak politely took his leave.

He had two and a half hours remaining. He’d planned to go back to headquarters. With the exception of the one drunk on I-64, there wasn’t any traffic. Usually the state police handled I-64, and they had arrived a half hour after Doak. He was close by, so he hadn’t minded heading to the Deedses’ house when he heard the call. For one thing, it staved off boredom and loneliness.

Being unmarried and still under thirty, Officer Doak tried to imagine what he’d do if he were having an affair. If the woman was unmarried herself, he could go to her house, but most people would be with their families. Many people from other places would have been taken in by locals. No one should be alone on Christmas Eve and Christmas.

If it was a quick rendezvous, he supposed they could park under the football or soccer stadium, in a parking lot that was hidden. He slowly circled the university holdings on the west side of business Route 29. Didn’t see a thing except snow.

He rounded by the law school, part of a series of buildings erected from the ’70s onward and sadly out of character with the core of the University of Virginia. Not that they were butt ugly. The shape and proportion of the Darden School and the law school might have even been welcome in many a Midwestern university, but not here, where things should have been built in Mr. Jefferson’s style. Jefferson, could he have seen the new additions, would have suffered cardiac arrest.

Officer Doak’s heart ticked fine, but he possessed enough aesthetic sense to recognize a mistake—a quite expensive one, too—when he saw it.

Driving out of the university, he came up behind Barracks Road Shopping Center, which was still central to economic life in Charlottesville. The windshield wipers clicked as he turned into the center. One lone snow-covered car reposed in the parking lot in front of Barnes & Noble, which was a real gathering spot during business hours.

He drove up, got out, wiped off the license plates to be sure. It was Dr. Bryson Deeds’s Tahoe, all right. He wiped off a window. No one was inside.

Snow fell on his nose. He pulled his cap down tighter around his head, but it offered little by way of warmth. He climbed back into the squad car, his feet already cold. He drove along the main row of buildings. Even with the overhang, the winds swept snow inward. He passed the small fountain areas and noticed a lone figure wearing a Santa Claus hat sitting on a bench. He kept the motor running, got out, and identified Bryson, throat cleanly sliced.

Doak immediately called Rick.

The minute the sheriff heard Doak’s voice, he was wide awake. “What?”

“Dr. Bryson Deeds is dead. M.O. like the monks.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Rick arrived in fifteen minutes. He lived up the hill behind Barracks Road but drove cautiously. “Thank God no one’s around.”

“Right,” Doak replied.

Rick wished he’d put on more layers. “Until the coroner examines the corpse, we can’t assume it’s the same killer.”

“Copycat?”

“Possible. The variation in this murder is that Bryson is not a monk.”

Officer Doak informed him of Racquel’s call and his visit to the house.

Rick had called the ambulance squad and managed to rouse one person from the forensics team, since the rest were out of town. He checked his watch.

“Should I go back to his wife?”

“Not yet. You’re off duty in an hour. I’ll do it.”

The young man blew air from his cheeks. “Thanks, Chief. I hate that.”

“I do, too, but sometimes you can pick up useful information.”

Officer Doak looked at Bryson’s corpse and said, “Arrogant bastard.”

“Could be, but he was also one of the best cardiologists on the Atlantic seaboard. I expect his fan club consisted of those he’d saved and few others. Is the Tahoe unlocked?”

“Didn’t check.”

Rick pushed his coat sleeve back to check the time again.

“The coroner will have to take a crowbar to pry him off the bench.”

Neither of them could help it—they laughed a little.

“Want me to go through the Tahoe?”

“In a minute.”

The young man folded his arms across his chest, stamped his feet a little. “Coop and I were talking about the murders. The killer believes he’s unassailable, which could be dangerous.”

Rick nodded. “Anyone that arrogant, if pinned down, will try to kill again.”

“Or hire an expensive lawyer.”

“Maybe,” Rick said, then continued, “but I’ve been a cop long enough to know that whoever is doing this has a gargantuan ego. The offense to that ego of being outsmarted by a ‘dumb cop’ like me or you or Coop, I’m telling you, is going to make the son of a bitch snap.”