An Apple for Zoë ~ The Forsaken (18 page)

"Something wrong with your cell phone? I've been trying to call you for the last 10 minutes." James reached into his pocket fumbled around until his found his phone. Looking at it he realized he had it set to silent and then he noticed he had indeed four missed calls. The first three were from Captain Shelton. The last one was a missed call, from Michael Kirkland.

"Cap, I think there
is
something wrong with my phone."

"We need to talk, Tommy and not over the police band."

"Tell her to call my number," said Summers.

"Agent Summers said to call us on her phone."

"Okay, I'll call you in two, over."
 

James replaced the handset. Summers gave him a puzzled look. What do you think that was about?"
 

"I don't know, but I think there is something definitely wrong with my phone," said James as Summers' phone rang. She quickly handed it over directly to James.
 

"Thomas James here."

"Tommy, it's Shelton. You're gonna have to cancel your trip to see Charlie."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Seems Charlie is in the prison hospital. Another inmate decided to go all
Jim Morrison
on him and
light his fire
this morning. He's suffered multiple burns to his face and chest."

"Is he alive?"

"Last report he was."

"Cap, this is too much of a coincidence. Clem burns to death in our station right in front of us along with this guy Rolan Chessman and now you're telling me someone tried to burn Charlie too?"

"That's the long and short of it Tommy. Seems like the Devil is working overtime. You better get back here right away."

"We're on our way. Oh, and Cap, one more thing. I think it's time we found out just who in the hell
is
Rolan Chessman."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Rolan Chessman

James sat parked on the side of the road, listening intently to his voice mail messages. As he heard the missed call from Kirkland's number his face became white as chalk. Summers noticed his reaction and instantly James threw the car into gear and flipped on the silent police lights as he began to navigate through the streets of San Francisco to Kirkland's home.

"What's going on?" asked Summers.

"Apparently someone doesn't want Charlie talking to anyone. An inmate tried to burn him this morning."

"You're kidding?"

"I wish I were," said James, turning the car away from the station. "Can I can drop you off for about half an hour, Ashton?"

"Where are you going?"

"I need to check on something and I don't want your investigation to become compromised."
 

"No, I'll go with you."

"Seriously Ashton, I'd rather do this alone. It's personal."

"It's personal now for me too, Tom. Whatever it is you need to do, you can trust me. I know something has you spooked and it's not Charles Manson."

"Okay look, I know this will sound crazy, but I just missed a phone call from Michael Kirkland."

"Your partner? I thought he died in the hotel."

"The call, it came from his house."

"Was it Kirkland? What did he say?"

Both James and Summers were startled by ring of her cell phone. "Agent Summers here. Sure just one second. It's Captain Shelton again." James reached over and took the phone. "Yeah Cap, what's up?"

"Tommy, I just got a call from the warden over at Quentin he said they reviewed the security tapes. No one attacked Manson. The asshole lit himself on fire."

"He burned himself? That doesn't make any sense at all," said James.
 

"Warden said Charlie did it at 11:13 a.m. exactly, same as the fire here in the station," stated Shelton. There was a brief pause on the phone. "Tommy you still there?"

"Yes, I'm still here."

 
"What the hell do you think it means?" Captain Shelton asked.
 

"Cap, I have to check something out, Agent Summers and I will be back in an hour."

"No, I want you back here right now. There's some heavy weather coming Tommy, don't fuck around. I don't need to lose another detective today," she demanded. James dropped, the handset and spun the car around a sharp corner, accelerating up the hill to Kirkland's house. The front bumper scraped the curb as he screeched to a stop and climbed out of the car. Summers quickly tried to keep pace. "Tom, slow down and tell me what the hell is going on."

James didn't listen to Summers. He was practically running to Kirkland's house and when he reached the door, he kicked it, hard, without knocking. Summers made her way up the stairs and met James as he was gaining entrance to Kirkland's home.

"Hey you realize this is illegal right?"

"Not if a Federal Agent suspects a known felon to be hiding inside," said James.

Both officers drew their guns and slowly made their way inside the house. The entire place was trashed. Garbage was dumped upside down on the floor. The furniture was turned over and broken.
 

"Someone was here looking for something," said Summers as she made her way deeper into the small living space. James looked at the mess. Holes were punched into the walls and it looked as if someone had sprayed some graffiti while they were wrecking the place. James stopped suddenly as he noticed a painting over the fireplace.
 

"What is it?" asked Summers.
 

James pointed, "That painting doesn't belong there." Summers looked up noticed the back of a large piece of artwork. It had been hung up oddly, causing the image to face the wall. The picture wouldn't be visible unless you picked it up and turned the frame over. Written on the back of the canvas in black were words James could not make out.
 

   
ÃÂÒÚÓ
,
„‰Â
‡Ì„ÂÎ˚
ÌÂ
̇ÒÚÛÔËÚ

"What the hell is that?" he asked.

Summers looked curiously at the odd writing.

 
"That, my friend, is Russian."

James looked at her confused. "Russian?" he asked. Summers nodded. "It says,
The Place Were Angels Will Not Step
or stand, something like that."

"You read Russian?" he asked. She smiled back at him. "Read it, write and speak it fluently. It was part of my training. Does it mean something to you?"

"Yes it does. Those very same words were written on a can of film, but were in German. In Nazi script, no less. I found it in the crawlspace inside Room 1220 at The Aleris Hotel."
 

"Have you seen the film yet?"

"No, I put the can inside my jacket pocked, that was before..." James paused as it made him think of the events that followed.

 
"Before what?" asked Summers as she used the camera on her phone to capture the image of the Russian script. James quickly changed the subject. "What's on the other side of this thing?"
 

Summers turned the painting over and immediately recognized the image "It's the 'Witches Sabbath' by Goya."

James felt a sick feeling come over him as he looked at the painting. There were several old women surrounding a large goat that stood on its hind legs. Some of the women were holding dead infants. Other women waited in a line with living babies. In the distance there were three dead infants being hung by the neck from a spear impaled in the desert sand. It appeared that the women were sacrificing the children to the goat.
 

"You said this didn't belong here. How can you be sure?"

"I've been here a thousand times and Mike would never have anything like this in his home. He's a Christian. Something like this would disgust him."

"So what
was
here on the fireplace before?"

"A painting of Jesus with the children."

Summers looked at the painting again. It was obvious that this was the absolute antithesis of the image Kirkland had placed here before. Summers felt there was a definite message being presented here.

"Let's keep looking," said Summers.

 
The two investigators resumed their search of the house. James pushed through the garbage and overturned furniture as he made his way into Kirkland's bedroom. The door was partially open. Quietly he pushed the door open. The room was as much of a disaster as the rest of the house. James stepped inside and stopped when he saw fresh writing on the wall above Kirkland's bed.
 

James stepped over and lightly touched the dripping wet words. To his fear it was exactly as he suspected, the writing on the wall was blood. James called out to Summers.

"Agent Summers, I've got another one for you in here."

Summers moved as quickly as she could to get through the house without tripping. Finally reaching the bedroom she immediately saw the writing. She looked at James and then back to the wall. The fear in her eyes was apparent.

"It's Russian again, isn't it?" asked James.

"Yes it's definitely Russian,"

"What does it say?" asked James.

"Tom, the missed call on your cell phone. The one that came from here at the house, who was it?" asked Summers as she continued to examine the words written in blood.
 

"I don't know, but I can tell you it was a girl," he said.
 

"A girl? What did she say?"
 

James began to speak when his voice left him. Taking a moment to regain his composure he whispered the words as if he were telling a secret. "She said, 'Kirkland isn't dead.' "
 

The words caught Summers by surprise.
 

"Did she say anything else?"

James hesitated and then finally spoke. "No, she hung up right after she said it. Why, is that what it says?"

"No, that's not what it says."

"Then what
does
it say?"

"It says,
Julie Jackson burns in hell.' "

James became white as a ghost and backed into the wall.

 
"Tom, are you okay?"

James turned and looked directly into Summers eyes.
 

"The voice on the phone..."
 

"You recognized it?" she asked.
 

"I can't be sure, but I think it was Julie Jackson."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

 
Julie Jackson

Agent Summers slowly turned her head to emphasize her puzzled expression. Her body shook with a chill as she started to speak but she stopped herself.

"Is something wrong Agent Summers?" asked James. This time it was Summers who needed to find her voice. "Did you just say Julie Jackson?"
 

James stared at her silently. "Yes, why?" he asked cautiously.

Summers looked around the room as if she was attempting to be certain they were alone.

"Why are you here?" asked James in a curious tone that caught Summers off guard. But before she could answer James continued, "I assumed that because you're FBI, you were here because of Hermann Kritzler. But you didn't flinch when I mentioned the film can in the crawlspace at the hotel. So you obviously didn't know anything about that. What happened at the station house was as much as shock to you as it was to us. So if you didn't come here for Kritzler, Valerie Rivera, Amanda Carlyle, or Clem..." James hesitated as he looked at Summers. Running the names through his mind he tried to sort through why she was here. He narrowed his eyes and looked dead into hers. "It's me. You came here for me. Why? Does it have something to do with Julie?"

"Yes," said Summers in a flat, matter of fact voice. She left the room and made her way out of the front door and back to the car. James quickly followed her feeling frustrated and confused.

"Do you know Julie? Is she in some kind of trouble? Just what the hell does that writing on the bedroom wall mean!" he shouted after her.

Summers reached into the backseat of the car and pulled an evidence pouch from her interview folder. With her back to James she clutched the folder against her chest. She closed her eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" James demanded.

Summers took in a deep breath and then turned to James so that they were face to face. She held the evidence folder out, offering it to him.

"This is why I am here."

James looked at Summers cautiously and then opened the file. A series of photos spilled out from the folder and onto the ground.
 

James looked down at the top photo and recognized it immediately. The glossy black and white photo had captured the image of a bisected nude female laying in a vacant lot.
   

"You're here because of The Black Dahlia?" asked James.

"I wish, look again," she said as she pointed to the second photo. This one was a close up of the face of the victim. The eyes were glazed, the mouth gashed into a sardonic grin.

"It's Elizabeth Short, so what?"

"No, Inspector James, it's not. Her name is Julie Jackson."

James looked at Agent Summers with disbelief in his eyes. She felt the pain of his lost blank stare.
 

"This is Julie? What happened?" asked James through gritted teeth. "I mean, do you know what led up to this? Is there a suspect?"

"No, there's no suspect."

"You must have some idea otherwise you wouldn't be here in San Francisco talking to me."

"I believe our cases our linked but I'm not supposed to tell you that," said Summers as she pulled the report from the file and handed it to James. His eyes scanned the page of the coroners notes:
Nude bisected female found in vacant lot. Jane Doe identified via fingerprints as Julie Anne Jackson.
 

"This murder was obviously meant to be a copycat of Black Dahlia, just as yours was supposed to be a reconstruction of the Arbuckle scandal," said Summers. James thought hard about what he had seen in the hotel and looked again at the photos Summers had shared with him.

"This is your case? This copycat of Elizabeth Short?" asked James. Summers nodded as she tried to read his expression.