Suicide Serial (10 page)

“Definitely our guy,” Jake muttered softly.

He stood up, knees popping, and examined the counter top. There was ample blood spatter on it and several papers and pieces of mail that had been placed there. Directly in the center of the counter top lay the killer’s butcher knife.

Jake shook his head and removed his gloves. Turning to Stacey, he stated, “He knows its over. I doubt he accidentally forgot this. In fact, I’m willing to bet he left it here on purpose. He wants to show us that he doesn’t need it anymore. He’s confident that whatever game this is that he is playing, he is going to win.”

Jake searched around for a moment, taking in the entire scene. It was easy enough to connect the dots. Marci had been home alone with her son. Henry had broken in here easily through the glass door, held the child hostage, and forced Marci to kill herself to protect the life of her child. Any mother would do the same thing if left with no other choice. Jake also knew that Henry couldn’t be that far away. Marci’s vehicle was still sitting in the driveway, and Henry had ditched his Buick at his Father’s house only a few blocks away.

While he could be wrong, Jake had a feeling that Henry was on foot and still in the area, but was struggling to think where he could be hiding out. Nearly the entire police department was now in the neighborhood, evacuating homes and conducting a manhunt for him.

Suddenly from behind him came Stacey’s voice, cutting though his thoughts. “He’s only got two pieces left, Jake.”

Jake blinked for a moment, realization sparking, and said, “The bishop and the king.”

“Stacey, who was the homecoming king the year that Marci graduated? Do you remember?”

“Rick, um, Francis. He was Marci’s ex-boyfriend and played football. He won a scholarship to state. He was dumb as a rock but one hell of a tight end. Last I heard he was actually playing for the pros, up in Wisconsin.”

“Ugh,” Jake complained, “Unless he’s in town or something I doubt he’s a target then. Did he ever abuse Henry like the others?”

“Actually, he didn’t like the fact that Marci and the others were always picking on him. He wasn’t really friendly to Henry from what I remember, but he didn’t abuse him either.”

“Well, then I guess –“ Jake was suddenly interrupted.

His cell phone began to ring again. Stacey looked at him with a shocked expression. He grabbed it and looked at the caller ID on the front panel. It was only marked as PRIVATE.

Jake looked back at her, sighed, and said, “It’s him. I know it.” Jake answered the call, “Homicide, Harris.”

His ears were greeted once again by the raucous laughter of Henry Engel. Jake wished that he could simply reach through the phone and wrap his hands around his throat.

“What do you want now; to tell me you’re down at the animal shelter? We know it’s your logical next step, freak.”

“Ahh, Detective Harris. Such a pleasure it is to talk to you again,” Henry said, sounding a bit out of breath, “That was a close one, wasn’t it? I thought you would catch me for sure that time!”

“We know you aren’t far away, you sicko. We’ll catch you,” Jake threatened.

“Oh, I’m sure you will. I’m counting on it. I do hope your partner has come along for the ride, I would hate for her to miss this.”

“Just leave her out of it, Engel. She already knows you’re just a scared little child with mommy and daddy issues.”

“Those issues have been resolved. Or didn’t you notice?” Henry said.

Jake didn’t respond and continued to listen. Henry seemed a bit distracted for a few seconds, and then the sounds of rustling came across the phone before Henry’s voice returned, once again. “How rude of me, I almost forgot. Someone here wants to talk to you, Detective.”

Chapter 12

Twenty two minutes ago.

Henry had broken out into a run as he cleared the back porch of the Harrington house. He knew it would only be fifteen or twenty minutes at most before the police flooded into the neighborhood. He nonchalantly tossed aside Marci’s phone into the wood line as he cleared a large fallen tree branch blocking his path. Gazing across the backyards of Marci’s neighbors, Henry didn’t see a single soul. Most of the residents were probably at work, and only the closest neighbors would have heard the gunshot from inside the house. He didn’t want anyone to see which way he had gone, in case they directed the police to him instead of the house first.

Leaves crunched loudly as he crashed through the woods. Small briars tore at his clothes as he snagged a nearby cluster of the things with his shirt sleeve. Overhead, the hot sun was beginning to wane, and dark clouds began to accumulate across the sky. Rain would be coming soon.

He could have waited to place his call to Jake informing them of his location, but he wanted them to be rushed and off-balance.

Halfway through the woods, Henry scooted down beside a tall oak tree. He fumbled around in his jeans pocket for a moment. He fished out a small velvet bag that had been secured with long threads of black yarn. He spun the bag around in his hand, feeling the objects clattering around inside through the soft velvet. Then he untied the bag, pulling out a stone king chess piece. Henry held it up in front of himself, taking in every small detail, running his fingers over the smooth sides and the sharp edges which formed the cross-like crown on the top. He raised it to his lips and gave it a soft kiss, then placed it gently back into the velvet bag.

A chattering squirrel looked down at him, twisting its tail. It didn’t want him around, either. His whole life Henry had felt like nothing more than human garbage. Not one person had ever shown him love or affection. He had been ridiculed constantly at school. His Father would set up chess games and beat him severely when he made mistakes. His Mother avoided him like the plague, only ever stopping long enough to tell him that he was a fuck up and an accident.

His first experiment with killing and death began with a neighborhood dog that tried to bite him. Henry ran home, stole some hamburger from the refrigerator and a box of rat poison, and fed it to the dog. He had dug out a small hole to trap the dog and lured it there with the food. He could remember feeling happiness for the first time as the animal whined and panted in pain before it succumbed. Everything seemed right for a few years as he found new ways to kill and torture every pet and animal he could in his neighborhood. Henry took great joy in capturing and starving an animal. He would then place a bowl of poisoned food in front of it.

His fun finally ended the day the girl from next door found out his secret. They shipped him away to a place worse than home. Even the doctors and nurses that were supposed to help him at the mental institution expressed only disappointment in him between shock therapy treatments or being strapped down to a bed and pumped full of drugs.

Finally, Henry buried the velvet bag back in his pocket and rose from the leaf-covered ground. He briefly considered ending the game now and just placing the revolver next to his temple, pulling the trigger, and scattering his brains against the nearest tree. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He decided that it wasn’t quite time yet. There was still much to do and he wanted to finish his game. Henry looked around to make sure no one was behind him and once again began running.

Within minutes, he cleared the small patch of woods leading out to the other end of Birch Landing Road. Directly ahead of him stood Saint Paul’s Catholic Church. It was a giant white building, well over three stories in height, and regularly housed several hundred churchgoers on Sundays. The sign outside read,

“
Give God what’s right, not what’s left.”

Confession: M,W,F – 10am until 2pm

Mass: Saturday and Sunday, 8:00, 11:00, 2:00

A few cars dotted the parking lot on this Wednesday, mostly church workers. They would be in the annex building, which was not much more than a large trailer on the opposite side of the chapel. The sprinkler system was going, coating the large lawn of the church and creating tiny rainbows in the falling water mist.

Henry could hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance for a fleeting moment, and then they seemed to become silent all at once almost immediately. He knew the police had probably stopped to stage their entry into the Harrington residence a few miles down the road. In minutes the police would burst into the home to discover more of his handiwork. He smiled as he once again visualized Marci placing the gun under her chin and blowing her brains out.

Henry ceased his run and began to walk briskly once he reached the church parking lot. He didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention to himself here, yet. He began to casually walk up the long sidewalk to the huge, ancient-looking wooden doors located at the front of the church. A quick tug, and he opened one of the doors and walked inside the peaceful, quiet chapel.

Lit candles lined the aisle all the way up to the altar. There was one tall brass candle holder standing beside each row of polished wooden pews. The pews held large, flat, dark red cushions that were starting to become worn with age and use. Across the walls on both sides were enormous stained-glass windows, each displaying a different Saint in multi-colored and beautiful scenes. Above the altar was the largest window, with an image of Saint Paul. He was wearing purple robes and had a bright green halo surrounding his head. In one hand he held a large sword and in the other, a book.

Reaching into the velvet bag, Henry withdrew the bishop chess piece. He placed it carefully on the small lectern that was used to record the names of church visitors. As the door behind him creaked to a close, he moved silently and with purpose down the carpeted aisle way.

Henry shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling the handle of his revolver resting in one and a cell phone in the other. He lowered his head a bit, passing by an old man who was sitting in one of the front pews. The man never even raised his eyes and appeared to be praying, holding open a thick bible containing a bright yellow silk bookmark.

Henry eyed his target ahead, to the right of the altar. It was a sturdy-looking and small confession booth. It gave the appearance of a miniature church, with rising steeples and crosses adorning the top. Carvings of angels and other religious figures stood out prominently on all sides. Henry reached forward, pulled open the solid wooden door and stepped inside.

The inside of the confessional was cool and dark. Henry could just make out the silhouette of the priest, who was sitting silently on the other side, separated by a modest screen. Henry eased himself into the padded stool, formed the sign of the cross with his fingers, and began to speak.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I have never confessed before today.”

“Go on, my son,” The priest calmly spoke.

“I have done things that God will never forgive me for, Father, and I’m not done yet.”

The priest seemed taken aback, and stammered, “This might not be so…confess your sins to me. Perhaps I can help you find your way.”

“Perhaps you can, Father.” Henry pulled out the cell phone and swiftly dialed a number. A loud beep was audible, coming from the priest’s side of the confessional.

“What was that?” asked the priest, looking around, bewildered.

“I would advise you to hold still, Father. That sound was an explosive device I took the liberty of installing under your seat. It’s set on a timer to explode in ten minutes.”

“What?” the priest shouted out, making the old man sitting in the pews look up curiously for a moment before return to his prayer. “What have you done? Why?”

Henry looked through the screen that separated them, barely making out the shocked expression on the priest’s face. The man looked absolutely petrified.

Henry said, “Hold still, Father. If you get up off that seat, the bomb will send a signal to another, much larger bomb located in the gymnasium of Lee Arthur Miller Elementary School. I’d hate for you to be responsible for the deaths of over two hundred children. If memory serves, they’re having a science fair today. Gee, what bad timing, huh?” Henry just smirked to himself, watching the priest weigh his decision through the fine screen of the confessional.

“You’re insane. Your soul will burn for an eternity in the hottest fires of hell,” the priest said, shaking with disbelief.

“Are you saying that the official Catholic stance on insanity is eternal damnation, Father?”

“Why – I…”

“Never mind,” Henry said, and smashed his hand forcefully against the screen, breaking it out of place. The small screen popped out easily and fell into the priest’s lap. The priest tried to back away a bit, but stayed glued to the seat. He could see the madness in Henry’s eyes, and dared not doubt his threats.

The disruptive noise had finally alerted the old man sitting outside the confessional. He rose and hastily walked over, shouting, “Father Douglas? Is everything ok? What’s going –“

The deafening blast of Henry’s revolver filled the entire chapel. The bullet flew from his gun and punched through the wall of the confessional. The old man could hear it whizz by his head and through the air, finally wedging itself into the concrete wall below the stained glass portrait of Saint Simon. He threw himself to the floor and looked around, stricken with panic, before stumbling to his feet and moving as quickly as he could towards the exit.