Purgatory in the Eleventh Hour - Chapter 2
Chapter Two: A Strange Sign
I spent the next three hours behind a loaned desk calling the friends, family and congregation members of Father Molina trying to get all the information I could on his life. I quickly got a picture of the man; a dedicated and devout priest who had been in the service of God for most of his long life, active in and loved by the community he tended to. What I didn’t find was a reason why anyone would want him dead. To say he had no enemies doesn’t begin to cover it, and his personal life was completely beyond reproach. So why was he dead? Had he just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Unlikely, not when there was a sniper rifle involved. That screamed intent and premeditation. No, Father Molina had been chosen as the target but nothing from any of the interviews yielded a clue as to why. So, with almost nothing to go on, I was left with the reality that I needed help.
So I made another call, this time to Brother Alfred. I wanted his opinion on the photograph I’d been given; the picture that had disturbed Captain Yamashita enough to go to DSC for help in spite of the typical low-level animosity between them and the local law enforcement. The picture that had disturbed me enough to get involved with a case I might not be qualified to handle.
The phone rang several times but no one picked up. Finally the answering machine beeped and I left my message.
“Brother Alfred, it’s me, Manuel. I’ve just been asked by the Seattle PD to take over a case for them. It involves the murder of a Father Molina, a local priest. I’m beating the bush for leads but I have something very unusual that I want you to take a look at. I don’t want to go into details right now but it’s important.”
Disappointed, I hung up. Now I had to make a second call, and it was one I definitely wasn’t looking forward to. Reluctantly, I dialed Headquarters.
Agents in the Department of Special Crimes are different from police officers in many respects; for one we tend to operate independently or in small groups. There are branches spread out across the continent to provide support to agents but the centralized nature of the department means that there’s little direct oversight in the field. You’re expected to use your judgment and, more importantly, to get things done. DSC is, as the tell all the new recruits, the “big league” and as a result most agents try to avoid the appearance of not being able to handle their assignment. The emphasis on independence had been a great boon once upon a time, opening the door for incredible results, but now it could be as much a hindrance as anything else.
I’d like to say that I wasn’t worried about any of that crap. Unfortunately, I was as susceptible to that unspoken pressure as anyone else. It wouldn’t look good to fumble my first case here in Seattle. But more than looking bad, I was worried that they would take it away from me, send an agent with more “experience” to supervise a sensitive case like this. I wanted to come up big, I admit it. After the transfer from Chicago, unfair in my mind, I guess I felt I had something to prove. And a cop with something to prove is rarely a good thing.
There was an upside, however, a woman named Eva Ruiz who was an old friend of mine. We’d both gone to the Chicago Police Academy together and hit it off right away. We’d even dated a couple of times until, near graduation, she’d been snatched up by the DSC recruiters. Fraternizing with your fellow cadets was frowned upon; doing it in Special Crimes was entirely out of the question. We’d kept in touch for a while, that’s how I’d learned of her climb through the ranks. Last I’d heard she’d been posted as to the liaison office for the Pacific Northwest. With any luck she’d still be there. It would be good to talk to her again and, further, I could use someone I could rely on.
“Oficina noroeste, this is Ruiz,” came a familiar voice.
“Eva!” I exclaimed, the relief I felt seeping into my voice , “It’s Manuel Calavera.”
“Manny? I’ve heard from you in ages! How have you been? I heard the Department picked you up.”
“Yeah, scooped me out of Chicago and dumped me out in Seattle.”
I tried to affect nonchalance to mask the bitterness I felt. I didn’t understand at the time why I’d been transferred, only saw the disruption that had come to my life. Eva, on the other hand, seemed pleased at the prospect.
“Oh really? What do they have you doing out in that damp little city?” came her playful query.
“I was doing corporate investigation,” I told her, “Until very recently. I didn‘t expect you to answer the phone.”
“I was promoted a few months ago,” came her happy response. “I co-ordinate all the field operations in the region now.”
“That’s great, Eva, congratulations!”
I was genuinely pleased, not only because she was doing well but because this would make things a little easier for me. At least I wouldn’t have to fight with some pencil pusher behind a desk.
“Then you’re the person I need to talk to, in an official capacity.”
There was an momentary pause.
“What’s the situation, Agent Calavera?” she asked, her voice now a study in professionalism.
“Several hours ago I was contacted by a Captain in the Seattle police force, a man named Yamashita. At his request I’ve taken over the investigation of the murder of one Pedro Molina, a priest in the Seattle community. I have reason to believe killing was politically motivated.”
I could hear a sharp intake of breath over the line.
“Someone killed a priest to make a statement? Are you sure about this?”
“No, I’m not sure, not yet. That’s why I called. I’ve done interviews but didn’t find anything useful. There’s no obvious motive, no probable suspects, the crime scene is unknown and there’s no physical evidence other than the body. However, the murder weapon seems to have been a illicit high-powered rifle. I need Department resources to track it through the local underworld. Specifically, I need access to the local snitches and deep placements.”
“You want access to our contacts? I don’t know if I can work that, Manuel. You know how closely Internal Affairs guards their agents.”
“Eva, please. If we don’t find this guy quickly I have the feeling he’ll kill again.”
She sighed. “I’ll do what I can. In the meantime keep me posted of any new developments.”
“Will do,” I promised. I heard a click and the line went dead.
************************************************************************
I was on my way back to my apartment when Brother Alfred called. He agreed to meet me at the library in twenty minutes. That gave me just enough time to grab a coffee on my way over. I had a feeling I’d be needing the caffeine soon enough.
I parked across the street and looked over at the library. It was a big building, built fairly recently, with an all metal and glass exterior. It was one of those ultra-modern designs; in other words it was weird looking. But I’d seen uglier buildings and since I assumed it held books just as well as a square building it didn’t bother me too much. As I headed towards the entrance I spotted Brother Alfred and waved.
“Beastly looking thing, isn’t it?” he asked as I approached.
I grinned. “You’re not a fan of alternative architecture?”
“I would scarcely call it ‘architecture,’” he said with a grimace. “Libraries should be quiet and dignified, not flashy and pretentious.”
That earned a chuckle. “I’m sure Mr. Councilman hired only the best architect to design the building he so generously funded.”
The mention of the name Councilman was accompanied by a snort.
“Please, those people have no sensibilities. Why, you should of seen the design for the Cathedral they tried to build, Manuel. An abomination, I tell you! It wasn’t a place of worship at all but an dressed up office building.”
With another loud harrumph we entered the library. I could see my companion glancing at me, waiting for an explanation as to the purpose of our meeting. I didn’t say anything, just led the way to one of quieter rooms in the rear of the building. After I closed the door behind us I turned to him.
“Thanks for coming, Hermano. I told you in my message about the case I’m working on.”
He nodded. “Yes, a terrible matter. Have you found anything?”
I shook my head. “No, nothing. That’s what I need your help with. There’s one piece of evidence I have that might lead back to the killer. I have a picture of it here, a very unusual item found on the body.”
I took the photograph out of my pocket and handed it to Brother Alfred. He studied it in silence for a couple minutes. Then he closed his eyes and tilted his head back in thought. I battled with my impatience for as long as I could trying to let him think. After a few more minutes, though, I gave in.
“Does it mean anything to you?”
Brother Alfred opened his eyes and looked at me, a carefully neutral expression on his face.
“Yes, I’ve seen it before. I had to think for a moment before I could recall from where, however. It was years and years ago, all the way back during my schooling in England. I came across it during one of my research projects and brought it to my Professor. He told me it was a symbol used by one of the secret societies of the 1700’s set up to advance the causes of reason and free thought against what they saw as the oppression of the Church. It’s called ‘the All-Seeing Eye,’ a symbol of knowledge dating back to Egyptian times.”
I frowned. “Why would someone leave an ancient Egyptian symbol for knowledge with a dead priest.”
Brother Alfred’s face darkened a bit.
“While the original purpose was benign,” he explained, “a number of members apparently bore an animosity towards the Church and, indeed, all religious institutions and advocated more forceful action. At some point in the 1780’s they split off and formed their own branch but they continued in their use of the symbol. In their minds they were the true Keepers of the Light.”
“Forgive me,” I said, “but I’m still not sure I see how this symbol’s connected.”
“When this new group adopted the All-Seeing Eye they gave it a new meaning as well, a phrase that you might say was the motto of their group. It was a Latin phrase, ‘Novus Ordo Secularum’ which translates approximately to ‘New Secular Order.’ That was their goal, you see, to create a world without God by freeing mankind from the grip of religion.”
I raised my eyebrow; a motive was quickly emerging. I’d determined that no one could possibly have wanted Pedro Molina dead but Father Molina the priest might be a different matter. If there was a killer out there with an anti-clerical agenda things were a lot worse then I’d thought.
