Wounds (2 page)

“I'm fine. Didn't sleep well last night. Too much caffeine or something.” The lie came easily. “I'm having the body covered. Too many civilian eyes around here. Or there will be soon.”

“We probably have an hour before the crowds arrive. At least it's Thursday, not a weekend. What have we got?”

“Male, white, young, maybe early twenties. My best guess is he's been dead for six hours or so. I'll let the ME give us a better estimate on time.”

Tock pursed his lips. “So someone did him in the wee hours? Three or four a.m.?”

“Probably.”

“I think we should close the grounds to the public. The Botanical Building is a pretty big draw. I also suggest we have a couple of officers tape off the walkways.” He paused. “That is, if it's okay with you. You're lead dog on this sled.”

“Lead dog? I see you still know how to sweet-talk a woman.”

“My wife won't let me sweet-talk other ladies. She says it just breaks their hearts.” He pointed at the object in her hand. “Is that his wallet?”

“I just retrieved it.” Carmen opened the billfold. “It looks like he's had it for some time. The leather is worn at the fold.”

The first thing she looked for she found behind a clear plastic window. “California driver's license . . . Doug Lindsey . . .” She studied the date on the license and did the math. “Twenty-three. He would have been twenty-four next month.” She continued her search through the wallet. “Usual stuff: a credit card, debit card, a picture of his family. Looks like his mom and pop. Twenty-three dollars and . . .”

“And what?”

Carmen removed a thin, plastic-coated card from one of the wallet's compartments. “Student ID. It appears young Mr. Lindsey attended San Diego Theological Seminary.”

“Never heard of it.”

She grinned. “I'm not surprised.”

“Oh, is that how it is? I don't recall seeing you hanging around any churches.”

“They see me coming and bar the doors—afraid the roof will cave in.” She studied the card. “The address says the seminary is in Escondido.”

“What about wounds?” Tock moved toward the yellow tape. “See anything to make our job simple?”

“No holes from a knife or bullet that I could see. I haven't moved the body yet. Still waiting on the team.”

Homicide procedures demanded no work begin until the full team arrived on scene. The team members varied but always included a forensic technician, a sergeant, a scene detective, and another homicide cop. Sometimes individuals had to travel some distance to arrive. San Diego County covered more than forty-two hundred square miles, and San Diego City covered three hundred and forty-two of those. The county's population approached nearly three million, and a third of those lived in the city proper. Police staff could live in any of eighteen incorporated cities or seventeen unincorporated communities. It might take one team member ten minutes to arrive and an hour for another. In the meantime, detectives like Carmen had to wait and twiddle their thumbs. It made for lousy and misleading news coverage.

“There's something you're going to want to see,” Carmen said. “It's a new one on me.”

“What?”

“Words aren't going to do it justice. This is one of those have-to-see-to-believe deals.”

“I'm feeling impatient. Let's take a look now.” Tock moved toward the crime scene and Carmen followed a step behind.

The uniformed officer struggled alone to unfold a thin plastic tarp. Two older officers watched and snickered. As Carmen and Tock reached the tape barricade, one of the officers fast-stepped to help the rookie. Carmen said nothing to the man—the razzing new officers received at the hands of veterans was part of the cop bonding process that turned strangers into partners. It was the price paid to enter the tribe.

“Hold up on that,” Carmen said to the young officer.

“But you said—”

“I know what I said. Just hang on a minute. Detective Tock wants to see the body.”

Tock approached, careful of his steps.

Less than two minutes later, Tock shook his head. “What'd the guy do? Sleep on a bed of nails? He looks like a pin cushion.”

“I assume you noticed his face. Same small puncture marks.”

“They don't look deep, at least not at first glance. Can a man die from a hundred shallow punctures?”

Carmen shrugged. “I suppose it depends what he was punctured with.”

“A hundred poison darts? Not likely.”

“Agreed. He was alive when it happened.” Carmen gazed at the corpse. The two officers gently laid the plastic tarp over the body.

“Yeah, I saw the blood streaks. Looks like he was allowed to bleed for a while, but I don't see a pool of blood. Maybe the wounds are deeper than they look and he bled out internally.”

“Torture?”

“Maybe, but who would want to torture a seminary student? And where is the rest of his clothing? It's still a little cool at night to be running in nothing but shorts.”

Tock stared over Carmen's shoulder. “Here comes the cavalry.”

Carmen followed the gaze and saw several of the homicide team arriving. “Good. I'm itching to get started.”

“My gut tells me you're going to have your hands full with this one.”

Carmen's gut told her the same thing.

2

C
ontentment. That which Ellis Poe loved surrounded him: books, journals, student papers, and silence. Outside his office window on the campus of San Diego Theological Seminary shone a bright morning sun, which sparrows serenaded with chirps and twitters. He let the morning image paint his mind. The seminary sat on top of one of the many hills in Escondido. Ellis could see the sprawl of the city. At night the sight proved more pleasing than a painting. The daytime view was just as easy on the eyes, especially now that spring had sprung. Here, spring always came early.

Turning his back on the panorama, Ellis settled behind an oak desk that was older than his forty-five years. On its surface rested a Bible, a Greek New Testament, a copy of James S. Jeffers's
The Greco-Roman World of the New Testament Era
, and three stacks of student papers—one for each of the classes he taught this quarter.

There were no students today. Classes were dismissed for the remainder of the week and all of next week. After all, tomorrow was Good Friday and Sunday would bring Easter—Resurrection Day, as he preferred to think of it.

The work might be suspended for the students, but it had just begun for the professors. Most would take a few days off, but midterm exams fell this week and eager ministry students would be pestering the faculty for grades.

That suited Ellis just fine. He held no great love for grading term papers. Most were badly written, rushed, and poorly researched, but occasionally a student showed extraordinary promise. That's what he lived for. Professors loved to intellectually clone themselves, and he was no different.

The drip coffeemaker sputtered like a dying car engine, signaling its work had ended. Ellis rose and poured the Ethiopian blend into a mug. The cup had been a gift from a fellow professor. In a creative flare, someone had researched the insults that appear in Shakespeare's writings and printed them on the cup's surface. “I wish we could be better strangers,” and “You flop-eared, beetle-headed knave” were his favorites. He had no idea why.

Returning to his desk, he settled in again, hearing the familiar squeak of his chair. Pulling the first essay from the stack, he opened the folder and smiled to see a neatly typed presentation complete with the proper title sheet and the correct number of pages. It always puzzled him that graduate-level students couldn't follow simple instructions. This one had.

“
Potuit Non Peccare; Non Potuit Peccare
” the title read. The student was showing off his Latin and his research. Ellis liked that. Not a bad topic for a survey of systematic theology course. “
Able not to sin; not able to sin
,” the student wrote, “
the debate has lasted centuries. The impeccability of Christ (His ability or inability to sin) has troubled theological minds
—”

A knock on the door pulled Ellis from his reading. He heard the knob turn and watched the door slowly open.

“Dr. Poe?”

Dr. Allen Dunne, academic dean for the school, slipped in. Ellis liked Dunne. He had moved from the pulpit to the lectern almost a decade ago. In that time, he had gone from adjunct professor to dean.

“Come in, Dr. Dunne.”

Allen crossed the threshold, stepped to the desk, and sat in the “student's” chair.

Ellis offered Allen coffee but he declined. It took a few moments for Ellis to realize that something troubled his colleague. Normally gregarious and quick to laugh, Allen looked drawn and thin, like a man at the end of a protracted illness.

Allen pursed his lips. “Back in my pastor days, I learned the best way to deliver bad news is quickly, then deal with the emotions next.”

“There's bad news?” Ellis's stomach soured.

“Doug Lindsey is dead. The police found his body early this morning in Balboa Park.”

“No.” Something twisted inside Ellis. “Accident?”

Allen shook his head. “Murder. The police are sure of it. I'm talking to whoever is on campus. I'll call the other faculty when I'm done.”

“Murder? How? When?” Ellis's blood pooled in his feet. “I'm sorry. Apparently I'm incoherent.”

“Understandable. It took me ten minutes to get out of my chair.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“Words fail at times like this.” Allen paused. “You knew him well?”

Ellis nodded. “As well as a professor can know a student. Bright, clever, insightful, humorous. A class leader.”

“M.Div. student, right?”

“Yes.” Master of Divinity, one of the longer degree programs at the seminary—three years for the full-time student. “He planned to enter pulpit ministry, although I overheard him talking to another student about missionary work. I think he was still trying to find his role in the world.”

“Most of us go through that, Ellis. I know I did.”

“What can I do?”

“When I'm done talking to the on-campus faculty and making my calls, I'm going to pick up Loren and swing by the family's home. You're welcome to come along.”

Ellis feared Allen would say that. “I'm not very good at that kind of thing. I-I'm sorry.”

“No problem. The police are going to come by. It would help to have someone show them around and answer their questions.”

“I'll stay here until they arrive.”

Allen stood and Ellis joined him. “If you need me, Ellis, don't hesitate to call.”

“I won't. I'll keep you in prayer.”

Allen thanked him and left. Ellis returned to the window and looked on the panorama again. A few moments ago he saw beauty; now all he could see was a planet infested with evil—the same kind of evil that kept him withdrawn from others.

The same kind of evil that kept him frightened all the time.

3

C
armen Rainmondi pulled the black Crown Victoria up the grade onto the campus of San Diego Theological Seminary and tried to get her bearings. Several large, uninspired rectangular buildings with red-tile roofs formed a cluster around a broad concrete courtyard. A fountain bubbled in the center and concrete benches provided seating areas.

The parking lot and driveway extended around the buildings and a large open field of freshly mowed grass. She saw no chalk stripes indicating the lawn area was part of a sports field. Did seminaries
have
team sports? She guessed not.

“Nice place,” Bud Tock said. “Clean, nicely landscaped. Yup, a man could do some real study in a place like this.”

Carmen cut her eyes his way. “When did
you
last crack a book?”

“You wound me, Carmen. I began a new book just last night.”

“Did it come with crayons?” She smiled.

“I'm not talking a coloring book here. I mean a real live book. It's a novel.”

“Who wrote it?” She parked as close to the courtyard as she could. There were very few vehicles, which struck her as odd.

“I don't remember.” Tock opened his door. Carmen did the same with hers and they exited. The air had warmed as the day grew older.

“Yep, you're a scholar all right.”

“Oh, really? And what was the last book you read?”

Carmen struggled to look nonchalant. “I reread a Jane Austen novel and followed that with the latest Dean Koontz. I read all his stuff. Before those—”

“All right, all right, I get the picture. Can I help it if I prefer movies and television?”

They walked from the lot and through the center of the courtyard. Large, bronze, block letters marked the buildings. Carmen headed for the one marked “Administration.”

A pair of tinted glass doors opened to a lobby of green carpet, white plaster walls, a counter, and half-wall that separated the visitor's area from the offices. Several desks were visible beyond the counter. Carmen could see a hallway a few feet farther on.

A young woman seated at the closest desk rose and approached. “May I help you?”

Carmen judged her to be in her mid-twenties, fawn hair, clear blue eyes, and perfect skin. For a moment, Carmen wished she were twenty-five again.

“Good morning, I'm Detective Carmen Rainmondi and this is my partner Bud Tock. I called and spoke to Mr. Allen Dunne. He said there would be someone here to help us.”

“Dr. Dunne is visiting Doug's family, but he told me that I should direct you to Dr. Poe.”

“Poe? As in Edgar Allen?” Bud grinned.

“Yes. Dr. Poe is the head of New Testament studies. I'll let him know you're here.” She began to turn.

“Before you do, maybe you could help us.” Carmen beamed her friendliest smile at the young woman.