FIFTY-TWO
When Jessica and Maria rounded the corner, into the alleyway behind St Simeon’s, they saw no one. Weapons drawn, they found a door into the church, the glass in it broken, slightly ajar. Jessica kicked open the door.
The nave of the church was empty. It looked to have been recently cleaned. All the pews were gone, the altar had been dismantled, even the confessionals removed.
Jessica and Maria made their way slowly across the empty space. They passed through the church and found a doorway leading to stairs.
They still-hunted down the steps into the basement, their weapons over their Maglites, one tread at a time. If the killer was waiting for them, he would see the light. It was extremely risky, but there was no choice. The basement was pitch black.
‘Listen,’ Jessica whispered. The two detectives stopped, held their breath.
It was the sound of water dripping.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, there was a large empty room in front of them. Jessica scanned the walls to the right. There was only one other doorway. If there was a body in this basement, it would be in that room.
‘Jess,’ Maria said. She pointed to the floor. There in the dust were smudged footprints, as well as two long lines which appeared to have been made by someone or something being dragged.
Sirens rose in the distance. Jessica and Maria could not wait. They walked quickly over to the far wall. There was no choice but to announce themselves.
‘Philadelphia Police!’ Jessica yelled. The sound of her voice echoed off the stone. No reply. They inched closer and closer to the opening, weapons and flashlights held high, leveled.
When they got to the opening Jessica paused. She took a deep breath, exhaled. Her breath was silvery and vaporous in front of her.
The basement, she thought.
She spun into the doorway. In the other room she saw a body hanging from an I-beam in the center of the ceiling. The victim was a light-skinned black male. He was nude, awash with blood. On the floor beneath him, as with the other victims, was a pile of clothes. But what made this sight horrifying beyond Jessica’s grasp was what else lay on the floor beneath the victim.
Hands. The killer had cut off the victim’s hands. It wasn’t dripping water they had heard. It was dripping blood.
The two detectives stepped fully into the room, turned 360º. The room was clear.
Outside, they heard the sector cars arrive.
‘Set up a perimeter,’ Jessica said. ‘And get me two patrol officers down here.’
Without a word, Maria Caruso holstered her weapon and ran out of the room. As Jessica heard her footsteps heading up the steps, she walked forward. She put on a latex glove, gently lifted the victim’s chin and shone her light in his face.
‘Oh my God.’
The hanging man was DeRon Wilson, the drug dealer with whom Byrne had his run-in. Jessica’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She answered. It was Mateo Fuentes.
‘What’s up Mateo?’
‘Talk to me, detective.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you have the suspect?’
‘No,’ Jessica said. ‘We’re just setting up a perimeter. We couldn’t have missed him by much.’
‘Did Detective Byrne get a good look at him?’
At first, Jessica thought she’d heard wrong. She had not. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Who are you partnered with?’
‘Detective Caruso,’ Jessica said. ‘Why?’
‘I thought you were out with Kevin.’
‘Why would you think that?’
Another long pause. Way too long.
‘Mateo.’
‘Because I’m looking at footage from a minute ago. Footage taken from the north side of St Simeon’s.’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s Detective Byrne,’ Mateo said. ‘And he’s running away from the church.’