The Chosen (18 page)

Ben stared.

Rick's mouth dropped.

“You saying this guy's already been buried and dug up?”

“I'm not saying anything,” Fran said. “I just said I smell embalming fluid.”

Rick looked at the body one more time, then turned away and spat, as if the taste in his mouth was suddenly too disgusting to bear.

“Oh, great, ghouls and grave robbers. What's next…zombies?”

“Somebody could have lifted him from a funeral parlor,” Ben said.

Fran shrugged.

“Can you get us some prints?” Rick asked.

Fran nodded as she stood. “If I were you, I'd just check the obits and funerals for the past…oh, I'd say four or five days…find out how many men over the age of eighty have been buried, then go check the locations. The open grave site will be your winner. Meanwhile, we're going to take him back to the morgue and give him a nice cool slab to rest on while you go find where he'd been planted. Believe me, he more than needs to go back.”

 

January was downing her last bite of scrambled egg when the phone rang. She grabbed the receiver on her way to the sink with her dirty dishes.

“Hello?”

“Ms. DeLena…January…you didn't do as I asked, did you? Although I suppose I should have expected that. Your curiosity is what makes you a good reporter.”

January stifled a gasp. It was the same man who'd called her before. Only this time she was going to be the one doing the talking.

“We've met before, haven't we? In the park. Are you stalking me?”

“No.”

“Then leave me alone,” January said.

“Now you're starting to get the picture,” he said. “It's not pleasant to have someone prying into your private business.”

January frowned. He had her there. But she wasn't done.

“Your business ceases to be private when it becomes criminal,” she said. “You're killing people, aren't you? What's wrong with you, mister? Trying to live up to that name you gave yourself? Sinner. Not very original.”

Jay frowned. She was taunting him. He needed to let it go. Patience was a virtue.

“I want you to understand that I'm still walking in His shoes,” he said. “Every step He took, every path He trod, every lesson He taught us. The answers are out there. Look for them and you will understand.”

“You talk in riddles, Sinner man. If you want to teach the ignorant, you don't speak in riddles. You make yourself plain.”

Jay thought about that and decided she could be right. If the constant pain in his right eye would lessen up just a bit, he would be able to think more clearly on his own.

“Yes. I see what you mean,” he said.

January was more than a little surprised that he'd acquiesced so easily.

“So what's your name, Sinner? I mean your real name. And what game are you playing?”

“My name is of no importance, and I do not play games. I follow in His steps.”

January slapped the cabinet with the flat of her hand. The sound echoed loudly enough that Jay heard it and felt her disdain.

“That's nothing but a repeat of your same old story, buddy. Here's the deal. If you don't have anything concrete to prove to me that you're for real, just quit calling.”

Jay had wanted her off his back, but now that she'd offered him the option, he felt panic at losing their connection.

“You don't have to believe me. See the truth. Lazarus has risen.”

The line went dead in her ear. January slammed the phone down in disgust and then stood there for a moment, going back over the conversation they'd just had. And that last remark—
Lazarus has risen.
What the hell did that mean?

Lazarus died. Jesus raised him from the dead. January thought of Jean Baptiste and the missing men. The death of Bart Scofield. What could he mean by “Lazarus has risen”?

Then it hit her. She grabbed the phone and called a friend who worked at a local paper.

“
Washington Post,
Emily speaking.”

“Emily, this is January. How are you doing?”

“Great, girlfriend, but never as great as you. What's up?”

“I need a favor.”

“What else is new?” Emily said.

“It's not a big one. But I need you to check the obituaries for the past week and tell me if a man named Lazarus has been buried recently.”

Emily laughed. “Now what, DeLena? You looking for a miracle?”

“No, but I think someone else is,” January said.

“My computer is a dinosaur. It'll take me a few minutes to download the info.”

“If you don't mind, I'll wait.”

“Yeah, okay. I'm going to put the receiver down. Pretend you hear Elvis singing, ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight'? It's what I would play if I was important enough to have music when I put people on hold.”

January laughed. She could hear Emily moving around her desk. She heard her muttering to herself as the program stalled; then she heard paper tearing. She didn't have to ask to know that Emily was frustrated. Every time that happened, she broke out the chocolate.

A few minutes later, Emily picked the phone back up. January could hear her chewing.

“M&Ms or Snickers bar?” she asked.

Emily snorted softly. “What? It's not enough that you're beautiful, smart and slender? Now you've gone all psychic? If you are, I hate you.”

“I can hear you chewing. What have you found for me?”

“Only because I refuse to acknowledge the jealous streak in my body, I will share info.”

“And that would be…?” January asked.

“You were right. A man named Walter Leopold Lazarus was buried four days ago in Perpetual Care Cemetery. Want the address?”

“Yes, please,” January said, and took down the info Emily gave her. “Oh…Em, did he have any next of kin?”

“Yes, a wife named Etta. Want her address, too?”

“Yeah, sure,” January said, and jotted that down, along with the rest of what Emily had told her.

“Anything else?” her friend asked.

“No, but thanks a bunch. I owe you lunch.”

“It's a deal,” Emily said. “See you on the tube.”

They disconnected. The moment the line was free, January called Ben's cell.

 

Ben and Rick were almost back to the car when Ben's cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and grinned as he answered.

“Good morning, January.”

Rick wanted to listen, but he'd already messed things up once by being stupid. He wasn't going to repeat that mistake again.

“I'll just be over there,” he said, pointing toward the car.

Ben was too focused on January to do more than nod. “You're at work pretty early,” he murmured.

“I'm still at home,” she said. “And I just had another phone call from our preacher.”

“The hell, you say. Did he threaten you again?” All the humor was gone from Ben's voice.

“Not really. It's something else. I have a really weird question to ask you.”

“Like what?”

“By any chance, have you guys found the body of a dead man…No, wait, I didn't say that right. Have you—”

Ben interrupted, “Found a dead man who'd already gone through one funeral and was shooting for another?”

January gasped. “You have? Already?”

“Yes. He's on his way to the crime lab as we speak. Now tell me what you know,” Ben said.

“His name is Walter Leopold Lazarus,” January answered.

“Lazarus…as in—”

“Exactly.”

“Lord have mercy,” Ben said. “How do you know this?”

“Because the preacher, when he called, told me that Lazarus was risen. Knowing the other stunts he's been pulling, I took a guess and called a friend at the
Post
, who checked the obits. It's time to tell your captain everything I know. If I come in, will you be there?”

“Rick and I are still on the scene. Give me thirty minutes.”

“See you there,” January said.

B
en called the captain from the car and told him they were coming in with some breaking info.

“Make me happy,” Borger said. “Tell me it's going to help us catch Bart Scofield's killer.”

“And then some,” Ben said.

“I'll be here,” Borger said, and disconnected.

Ben and Rick arrived ahead of January only because they ran with the lights and sirens all the way to the precinct. While January's reputation with the public was good, it was less than favorable within the police department. Too many of her scoops had been at the expense of department mistakes or the result of someone with a big mouth willing to sell what they knew. Ben bet she would never make it to the captain's office unless he paved the way.

“I'll wait out here for her and bring her in,” he said.

“Want me to wait with you?” Rick asked.

“No. Go on in and prep the captain. Maybe he'll be through cursing by the time we get there.”

“Right,” Rick said, and hurried inside.

Less than five minutes later, January wheeled into the parking lot. Ben was coming toward her before she got out of the car. He grabbed her elbow as she started to exit, and gave her a quick hug.

“I don't like it that this Sinner feels the need to keep calling you.”

“You don't know the half of it,” January muttered. “Will your captain hear me out?”

“Yes. He won't like it, but he'll listen.”

“I brought all the notes I've been keeping.”

“Okay. Let's go.”

Ben and January ran the gauntlet of cops, their expressions ranging from curious to disbelieving as they headed for the homicide division. Minutes later, January was standing in Borger's office, Ben and Rick behind her. Borger eyed her without comment, then arched an eyebrow at his detectives.

“I don't know why she's on top of something we're investigating and we're standing around with our thumbs up our butts.”

“You'll understand when you hear her out, Captain. Not a one of us would have ever gone down this road in the investigation. We deal in facts, and everything she has is theory.”

“I don't have time for some bullshit theory, and you know it. Why are you wasting my time?” Borger snapped.

“You'll see. Just hear her out,” Ben said.

“She better have something worth talking about,” Borger said.

January glared.

“Well, Captain…
she
has plenty to talk about, but if you're reluctant to hear
her
out,
she
will be more than happy to take it to
her
boss.
H
e will be all over it like flies on shit.”

Borger stifled a grin. DeLena had put him in his place, and rightly so.

“Sorry,” he said. “Force of habit. Please, have a seat.”

“If you don't mind, I'll stand. I think better when I move.”

Having said that, she began to pace.

“I'm going to start at the beginning because if I don't, you're never going to believe me.”

“All right, I'll hear you out. But answer me one question first.”

“If I can,” she said.

“When you're through talking, are we going to have a suspect in the Scofield murder?”

“Yes.”

“I'm listening,” he said.

“This all started because I wanted to do a documentary on people who claim to have had near-death experiences. Several months ago, someone told me about a street preacher who made such a claim, but there was a twist to his story. He claimed that when he died, he went straight to hell, and that when the doctors resuscitated him, he changed his way of living. I've been looking for him ever since. At first, no one seemed willing to talk to me. As time passed, the stories continued, but no one seemed to know where he could be found. I was about to think he was just some urban myth when I heard a funky story about some street preacher passing out coupons for free fish sandwiches that could be redeemed at a fast-food place. By the time the owner of the fish place found out what was happening, almost a hundred counterfeit coupons had been passed at three different locations. I chalked it up to a scam and thought nothing more of it.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” he asked.

“I'm getting there,” January said. “Then a man was beheaded. It was when I learned his name that the notion I've been exploring ever since occurred to me. When homeless men began disappearing and I learned their names I knew I was onto something. It was also around then that Bart Scofield was kidnapped. Then he turned up dead and—”

Borger held up his hand. “Look, Ms. DeLena, this is somewhat interesting, but I still don't know where you're going. Can you condense this journey? I have a meeting in a half hour.”

January threw up her hands in disgust.

“Condense it? Sure. Here's the scoop, Captain. You've got a head case who's trying to recreate and live the life of Jesus Christ so that when he dies again—and he claims it will be soon—he'll go to heaven, not hell. If that holds true, then consider this.”

She began ticking off her clues on her fingers.

“The fish coupons…he was feeding the multitudes with loaves of bread and baskets of fish, compliments of the restaurant's generosity, but it was still bread and fish. He's been kidnapping homeless men whose names are the same as Christ's twelve disciples. So far, according to a Mother Mary Theresa who runs a shelter for the Sisters of Mercy, at least Simon Peters, Matthew, Andrew, James and John have gone missing. I'm guessing by now there are others. A man was beheaded in one of the parks. He was homeless, too. His name was Jean Baptiste. Say that in English and you've got John Baptist, or John the Baptist. The nut has been calling me for some time now. He knows I've been looking for him. When I asked him why he killed Bart Scofield, you know what he told me? He told me it was the wrong Bart. Bartholomew was the name of one of the disciples. For whatever reason, your Mr. Scofield was the only man he'd taken who wasn't someone off the streets. I can't pretend to know what's in his head, but I know what he said.”

“Is that all?” Borger asked.

“No. The drawing your sketch artist did of the man we think is the Sinner matched a man your people arrested for disturbing the peace some time ago.”

“We had him in custody?” Borger asked.

Ben shrugged. “For a few hours.”

“And we let him go.”

“It was disturbing the peace, Captain. How could anyone have known?”

“What was he doing?” Borger asked.

January opened her notebook and laid it in front of Borger. “He was trying to have the employees of the IRS thrown out of the building.” She tapped on the page in front of Borger. “Read it for yourself and do the math. IRS out of the building. Money changers out of the temple. Throw the money changers—the IRS—out of the temple…or the IRS building.”

“Crap,” Borger said. “Is that all?”

“At my last count, he was short a few disciples. Besides calling me, I have reason to believe he may be stalking me. He appeared out of nowhere in the park where I run. I believe he was waiting to confront me. I think he got off on talking to me when, at the time, I didn't know who he was.”

At that point Ben cursed aloud. January sighed. She'd known he wouldn't like that. She continued.

“And I understand your detectives were called out this morning to the discovery of a body tied to a bench. It fits into the growing pattern.”

“You saying he killed someone else?” Borger asked.

“No. The man was old. He died of natural causes and was buried days ago. Last night I think the preacher, in a manner of speaking, resurrected him.”

Rick Meeks slapped his leg.

“Morrow said the body looked funky.”

“What the hell are you saying?” Borger asked.

“This morning I had another call from the same man. Basically, he was intent on proving to me that my charges against him were faulty. He told me that Lazarus had risen. I called Ben, who informed me that the body of an unidentified man had been found tied to a bench. He said that the coroner thought the man had already been embalmed. I called a friend at the paper. Four days ago, a man named Walter Leopold Lazarus was laid to rest in Perpetual Care Cemetery. This morning your detectives found him sitting upright and tied to a bench.”

Borger leaned back in his chair, too stunned to comment. January continued.

“So now he's raised Lazarus from the dead. None of this is happening in chronological order as it's laid out in the Bible. It's just happening willy-nilly. Probably whenever the opportunity arises. Who knows? But he's not through. If you remember, a disciple will betray him. So I figure whoever he snatches to pass for Judas Iscariot is going to be hanged. I don't know how this man plans to crucify himself, but I can guarantee he's going to give it one hell of a try. I don't know if the missing men are alive or dead, but I believe with every fiber of my being that the man in your sketch is the one who calls himself the Sinner, and I believe he's not done wreaking havoc in our fair city.”

“Jesus Christ,” Borger muttered.

“Exactly,” January said.

“I want this man found,” Borger stated.

“The sketch is out,” Ben answered. “We're already doing all we can.”

“Maybe…maybe not,” January said. “I've been thinking about this for a lot longer than you guys have, and I was wondering…”

“Name it!” Borger snapped.

“Get your sketch artist back in here. See if he can do a reverse sketch…. You know, one of the man without the long hair and beard, and in regular clothes. Someone might recognize him clean-shaven and without the Middle Eastern clothing.”

Borger waved his hand.

Rick Meeks bolted from the room to find Brady Mitchell.

Ben leaned against the door with his arms folded, his gaze fixed on January's face. He didn't know what to make of the fact that she hadn't told him about being confronted by this man. He couldn't help but wonder what else she knew that she hadn't told.

Borger eyed January with renewed respect. “You're one hell of a detective, Ms. DeLena. If you ever decide to quit your present career, you might want to consider law enforcement.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” January said. “Too many rules.”

Borger grinned. “As I understand, you're quite good at breaking them.”

“Just doing my job.”

Ben interrupted. “Captain, I think we should keep Ms. DeLena under surveillance until this man is brought in. If he's stalking her…”

January turned around, her expression pleading with Ben to understand.

“I'm fine. If you tie me down, I can't do my job.”

Now he understood why she hadn't told him. And he remembered her specifically asking if they were going to search the parks for the Sinner, as well. She'd been telling him all she could without having her hands tied in return. He wanted to be angry with her, but he understood. He probably would have done the same thing, in the same circumstances.

Borger frowned. He saw Ben's point, but they didn't have the manpower to chase a television reporter all over the city.

“Let's see where we go with the other sketch. And for God's sake, someone go tell the Lazarus family that they're going to have to bury poor Walter all over again before they hear it on the news.”

Ben groaned. “Damn it, Captain, you know how I hate breaking bad news to families.”

“Well, it's not like they didn't already know he was dead,” Borger said.

“I'll go with you…if you want,” January offered.

Both Ben and Captain Borger answered with a resounding no.

January grinned. “Can't blame me for trying,” she said.

“Maybe not, but I
will
blame you if this shows up anywhere on the news before I say it can,” Borger said.

“Oh, you can bet it will be on the news, but not from me, and not with the details I've just described. When someone digs up a body and returns it to the land of the living, someone will tell.”

 

Jay had to resort to the phone book to find his Thaddeus. The name was so out of the ordinary that his hopes of ever coming across it accidentally were slim to nil, and he needed to complete his circle.

 

Thad Ormin drove a delivery van for a florist. It had been a simple matter for Jay to pay a call on the florist and ask for a delivery of lilies. It had bothered him some that he'd had to go to the shop to make the order, but without a credit card, he had to pay in cash, and no flowers would be delivered without payment in advance.