The Book of 21 (31 page)

“OK,” Harry said, “John could need help, though.”

“I don’t see any blood yet,” Fanelli returned with a smirk. “Without knowing what is going on, we could be very wrong with all of our guesswork. For all we know, Detective McDonough isn’t even here. We only really know that someone with the cell phone of Amy Ritter is here. Even if he was here, he might just be enjoying his time off with a new girlfriend.” Fanelli cocked his head as he peered out the front window, and then nodded. “Here we are.” He let the car slow as they neared the church grounds.

As Harry watched the church gliding past the left side of the car, he said, “I just don’t see John as the type that takes his girlfriend to church in the middle of the week.”

Fanelli kept his eyes roaming over the view coasting past him, and replied distantly, “Neither do I, but he lost a friend in the lieutenant last night, and he was suspended to boot. There are a lot of things that go through your head when things get rough.”

“Whoever Amy Ritter is, she isn’t sunning herself outside, so she has to be inside the church.”

At the end of the block, Fanelli turned the left to circle the church. He eyed the rear driveway onto the church grounds and then took in the large Tudor and colonial houses across the street. In addition to the beauty of the elm-shaded neighborhood, the occasional BMW 5-series, Mercedes, or Volvo parked along the street confirmed that the residents were part of Philadelphia’s upper middle class.

“My guess is that the church is probably empty except for her,” Fanelli said. He pointed at the cars, and continued, “The people that live in the neighborhood are probably at work or at the King of Prussia Mall, spending money. What are the odds that she’s a contact on a case? She could work here. Is she someone that he might have been trying to get an interview with?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Harry replied with a shrug. “The idea that she’s tied in with the case somehow is the only one that really holds any water. This place is beautiful, so someone could bring a date here, but not John. Someone could date a girl that worked here, but not John. Someone could come here for solitude and prayer, but not—”

“John.” Fanelli moaned, ending Harry’s sentence. “I get it.” He turned the wheel again to return to the front facade of the church and complete the loop. As the car neared the front, Fanelli sighed, “The possibilities are endless Dr. Mulgrew, but
this
sure doesn’t look good.”

Harry followed Fanelli’s line of sight to the front door. There, a dark-haired woman in black opened the door and entered the church. A large man in a dark suit followed her. Another man, trailing the couple, stopped in front of the door and turned away from the church, as if taking up a sentry position.

“Somehow, they don’t strike me as particularly pious,” said Harry.

“Nope,” Fanelli replied. “Time to slip in the back door and see what’s going on.”

He began another loop around the church. As soon as he had turned the corner and was driving away from the sentry, he picked up the radio handset, and spoke into it, “Moore, this is Fanelli.”

“Go ahead,” came the response across the radio.

“There are three visitors here; they’re probably the people Ritter called. One is out front, and the other two just went in. We’re heading around to slip in the back door and see how much of a problem we have here. I need you to start getting close to the guy at the front.”

Moore’s voice came back, “Are there parking meters there?”

“Not out here, no.”

“Thanks for nothing.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out. It looks like the area is posted for two-hour parking. It’s a permit zone, too.”

There was a pause before Moore came back, “That will work. I’m on my way.”

Fanelli coasted around to the back of the church and turned onto the concrete ribbon that slashed across the grounds. As they approached the church, Fanelli saw the annex extending off to his right. At the end of the driveway, a parking area sat at the juncture of the two buildings. Two sets of white doors opened into the parking area—one from the church itself and the other from the adjoining annex.

Fanelli noted several other items. First, a small blue sub-compact sat close to the church doors. Neither the goons nor woman at the front seemed as if they would select a sub-compact as their vehicle of choice. Fanelli guessed it belonged to either Ritter or one of the staff that tended the church. Second, a green dumpster sat next to the annex doors. It could hold another sentry, but it was unlikely that anyone was out here yet, or desperate enough to climb into the stinking vessel. Everything seemed clear.

That made Fanelli nervous. He glanced in his rear-view mirror to see if anyone was following him up to the rear of the church, but he saw no one. If no one was coming up behind him to cover the rear of the church, the goon inside the church would probably be coming out the back door at any moment.

“We need to get in those annex doors as soon as possible,” Fanelli said.

“Yeah,” Harry responded. “I was just wondering why no one was posted out back yet.”

“If I had it to do over again, I would’ve parked on the street. Too late now; let’s get in there before they come out.”

Harry knew that they wanted to go in the annex, since the door on the church could open into a chamber that held the goon, thereby putting them directly into a confrontation. The door could also have a nice little bell attached to it, which would sound their entry. Even more problematic was the possibility that the doors were wired to an alarm system that sounded when the door was opened. Harry doubted that was likely, but if so, it would be as bad as having the town crier yowl their arrival to the whole building.

At the end of the driveway, the two men burst into a flurry of action. Fanelli hit the brakes and slammed the gearshift into park. Even before the car stopped its final vacillation, Harry had opened his door and exited the vehicle. He then drew his side arm and covered the church doors while Fanelli dashed toward the annex.

Fanelli grabbed the handle and tried the door. As he applied pressure, Fanelli waited for the latch to pop and hoped he could perform the action gently enough to minimize the noise. He continued to squeeze—harder and harder. He then looked down at his white-knuckled hand and realized what that meant. He gave a gentle tug, and the door remained stationary.

“Fuck,” Fanelli growled. “Who the fuck locks up a church?” He turned and closed on the doors that led into the rear of the church. As he did, he said to Harry, “Let’s go.”

Fanelli started to reach for the handle, but then he stopped and put his ear to the metal door. After a second, he moved to the side and motioned Harry to do the same. Fanelli positioned himself to be behind the door when it opened up, and pulled his Glock from its holster.

There were a few seconds of silence. In that period, Fanelli could hear a lawn mower in the far off distance that he was not aware of before now. He also could swear that the number of chirping birds around the church must have multiplied dramatically in the last few minutes. Most annoying, however, was Harry’s breathing; the belabored panting signaled that the tension was getting to the forensics expert.

The latch on the door let out a click.

The door swung open. Fanelli extended his right arm and stepped forward to allow the cold steel of the gun barrel to meet the temple of the six-foot blond man that exited. The man froze instantly. Fanelli grabbed the door handle with his left hand and, with a tilt of his head, motioned Harry to take the door.

Harry grasped the handle and gently glided the door toward the jamb. Before it closed, he thought about the possibility of a chimed alarm system. By keeping the door ajar, an alarm system would not have the chance to reset any chimes. He popped off his loafer and used it as a doorstop to keep the door from shutting completely.

“Make it quick,” Harry whispered. “This thing may be on a timer.”

Fanelli knew what Harry meant. Some commercial alarm systems would chirp when the door was ajar too long. Fanelli had the same technology on his refrigerator door. He nodded and handed Harry a pair of handcuffs.

“Can you cuff him with his hands to the front please, Dr. Mulgrew?”

As Harry placed the handcuffs on the man, Fanelli backed up and began a staring contest with their new friend. After a quick pat down, Harry produced a Kimber replica of a Colt 1911 .45-caliber automatic pistol from the man’s belt holster.

“Very nice, Dr. Mulgrew. Check him good, especially his ankles.” Fanelli then looked at the man, cracked a cocky smile, and said, “Don’t tell me; you must be the fucking grounds keeper.”

The man’s face went cold, telling Fanelli that nothing was coming out of this guy in the immediate future.

“He’s clean,” Harry announced. “Just a phone, keys, and wallet.”

Fanelli led the man to the car and stuck him in the back seat. He then grabbed the man’s hands and pulled them back out of the car. With the man stretched off balance, he released the cuff from the man’s near arm and quickly attached it to the door handle. That left the man reaching across himself. He shut the door, locking the man in.

Harry listened for the dreaded chirp that would tell him that the church door was on a timer, and hoped Fanelli would move more quickly. Just as he thought Fanelli was about to head back, he watched the cop stop, crawl into the front seat of the car, and talk into the radio for a few seconds. Harry strained to remain calm, torn between whether each passing second meant that a door-timer was closer to sounding, or confirmed that there was no alarm system at all.

Fanelli finally returned to the door, and whispered, “Let’s go.”

“Did you call in some backup?”

Fanelli kept his stare on the door, and said, “Moore already took care of that; Springfield PD is on the way. It was coming across the radio when I was in the car.”

“You’re lying.”

“I know,” Fanelli replied with a nod. “Now let’s find out what the fuck is going on in there before we get our panties in a bind.” With that, Fanelli twisted his face and whispered to Harry, “Is that smell your shoe?”

Chapter 41:
Back to the Old Grind

“Just give me your cell phone,” John groaned, with a roll of his eyes. “I need to see the other pictures we took at the tomb. I wouldn’t be able to get a signal down here anyway.”

Amy took out her phone regarded it for a second. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” she murmured.

She pointed the gun at him with her right hand, and kept her right arm bent—close to her body. Using her left thumb, she manipulated the phone for a few seconds. She then held the phone out, fully extending her left arm toward him, to display a picture of Evan Fields’ sarcophagus.

“No touching,” she snapped. “I’m assuming you want the side with the key on it.”

John squinted, and replied, “I can’t see anything on that. Can you?”

Amy squinted at the screen, set a few switches with her thumb, and tossed him the phone. “Keep the panel turned toward me,” she demanded. “If I see this thing even start to come off of airplane mode, I will blow your head off.”

“Good to know,” he sighed, as he eyed the cell phone screen. He zoomed in on the side of the sarcophagus with the key; the symbol along the top left of its border was a Sigma. He squatted down on the floor and looked at the symbols around the border. After a second, he found the Sigma on the middle of the right side. He placed his thumb firmly on the Sigma, and was about to push on it, when he stopped.

A few questions popped into his head. Was he moving too fast? Was he being too accepting of everything around him? Should he be applying the Key of David directly to the tiles before him—starting at the upper left side as he did on the sarcophagus—or should he be trying to push the tiles that matched the symbols from the side of Fields’ sarcophagus?

He sat back and sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Amy’s question echoed though the chamber.

“One thing I’ve learned from this case is that the easy answer, probably isn’t the solution.”

“Well,” Amy chuckled, “you’re finally catching on.”

John took a deep breath of the musty air and then exhaled slowly. He knew that he might not have the answer. As his mind combed through all the letters and other papers, his eyes reflexively rolled upward to the domed ceiling of the chamber, searching for a mental image of the documents. What he saw there, however, was something else.

Hanging above him, radiating light from the middle of the chamber’s domed ceiling, was a keystone. He glanced down to the key on the floor and back up at the keystone. Another possible symbol had now entered the mix.

He closed his eyes and thought a bit. Which route to take? Which path to follow?

Trumbull’s letter brought John to this place, and John wondered if it held the solution to this dilemma as well. The part about taking the key “to the grave” seemed like a dramatic pontification when he first read it. There was one other part of the letter that seemed to be spouting nonsensical rhetoric, but John now realized that it too was probably quite pointed information.

John muttered the words from the letter that once annoyed him with their sanctimonious tone, “Only we, who look to heaven for the true path, would have the way that we already knew confirmed.” Now, he realized those words were more practical and less pompous than he ever imagined.

He lifted Amy’s phone and flipped through the pictures of the sarcophagus. On the side of the sarcophagus with the keystone, the Key of David yielded three symbols: a Star of David, a spiral, and a bull. Applying the Key of David to the floor, he found the same three glyphs. He knew this was the right path.

Pointing at the tiles on the floor, John said, “I think these are the symbols we want.”

“Are you applying the key directly to the floor? Shouldn’t we use the symbols from the sarcophagus?”

“We should, but not from the side with the skeleton key.” John smirked, and then sarcastically pontificated, “Don’t rush headlong into greed, but look to the heavens for guidance.”