NationStates Jolt Archive

The first thing Jordan noticed was the blood. Even for a brutal killing like this, there was an unusual amount of blood in the apartment. On the walls, on the floor, even on the ceiling. Whoever did this sure went to town on the poor bastard... Jordan stepped over a puddle of fresh vomit and moved into the room. The corpse lay on the bed, arms spread, a grimace frozen on his pale face. Bending closer, Jordan brushed the victims hair from his eyes with a gloved hand, frowning at the puncture wounds scattered across his forehead. Something tugged at the corner of his mind, but he couldn't place his finger on it...

"Ah, Mr. Antioch. Good to see you finally got here."

Jordan stood, turning towards the speaker, a short mousy woman.

"Doctor Marlin, it's good to see you. It's been a while."

"Blame the Corp for not assigning you to a case around here earlier. Thank God that they did this time, you'll like this one. You're just in time for my post mortem, too."

Moving over to the corpse, the Doctor flipped on a tape recorder.

"Subject is a twenty six year old caucasian male, time of death is approximately twelve hours ago, evidenced by body temperature and rigor. At first glance, cause of death is most likely exsanguination from multiple wounds. Puncture wounds are present in the forearms and both feet, as well as around the head. Weapon used is unknown, with a large square blade-"

"Probably a railroad spike. Saw a guy in Vegas pinned up on a wall with the things, the wounds are pretty much the same."

"Thank you, Mr. Antioch. The wounds on the head are from a different weapon, also unknown. Hey, Jordan, gimme a hand turning over the stiff, would you?"

The pair lifted the body, turning it over on the bed. The man's shirt was torn to shreds, lacerations covering his back, and a gaping wound in his side. Leaning over the body, Marlin removed a forceps from her pocket, and removed a small shard from the wounds.

"Subject appears to have been whipped repeatedly, weapon is a leather strap with glass embedded in it. A peice of the weapon was lodged in the victim's back, which has been recovered and placed into evidence. On further investigation, the wounds on the victim's hands and feet completely penetrate the body. Additional stab wound in the victim's abdomen, caused by what appears to have been a large knife. Will get a cast of that wound when I get back to the lab. Lividity indicates the body has not been moved..."

Jordan bent over the bed, picking up a small silver crucifix. Sighing, he placed it into a evidence bag. As he turned, he noticed again, that sense of something tugging at his mind, something he should have noticed already...

Flowers. The whole room reeked of flowers. Standing, Antioch walked across the room, looking in the wastebaskets scattered across the apartment. Not a single petal...

"You smell that, Harriet?"

"No, I... wait. Flowers? I didn't see any vases in here, did you check the-"

"Beat you to it. There's not a single leaf in this place. Perfume, maybe?"

"Could be. Seems to be centered around the body. Tell you what, I'll finish this up back at the lab, you can finish up here on your own."

"Sure. I'm actually going to run out, too, leave the uniforms to finish up here. I have a friend who might know a bit more about this. I'll be in touch."

"Bless me father, for I have sinned."

"Since when haven't you, Jordan? Come on in, it's cold out here. You want some scotch?"

Father Maes closed the door against the cold. He stepped into the rectory, grabbing a bottle of whiskey off the bar in the corner and pouring a pair of shots. Handing one to Jordan, he moved into the sitting room and collapsed into an armchair.

"So Inspector, what can I do you for?"

"C'mon, Daniel, who's to say it's not just for your sparkling conversation?"

"Probably the fact that you haven't downed your Scotch yet. Drink up, you'll catch a chill with weather like this."

"Sorry, can't drink on duty. I came here to ask you a few questions about a case I'm working on, one you're rather well qualified to help me with."

"I'm just a priest, how the hell am I supposed to help you with police business?"

"I took the liberty of bringing the case file so far with me. While you look it over, I think I will have some of that Scotch..."

Jordan nursed his drink while Father Maes looked over the file. He started when the priest's face went white.

"Something wrong, Father?"

Daniel stood, face ashen, and handed the file back to the Inspector.

"I'm sorry, Jordan, but I can't help you with this case."

"But why? You're the expert on this sort of thing, you were on the force, you've seen things a hundred times worse than this!"

"That's not the reason, Antioch, and you should damn well know why I can't tell you!"

"But- You know who did it, don't you?"

"Of course I know who did it, you fool, the bastard confessed!"

"Goddamit, Daniel, you can tell me! I'm your friend, you know I won't rat on you!"

The priest slouched in his chair, cradling his head in his hands. His Scotch sat nearly empty beside him.

"You don't understand, Jordan. It's not that I don't want to tell you, it's that I can't tell you. Confession is a sacred bond, one that hasn't been broken by a single priest for almost two thousand years! Never, do you understand me? I'd be excommunicated if I told you, at best!"

"Daniel, you know he confessed to you on purpose. He knew you were the expert on this sort of thing, he knew you would be bound to not tell me anything because of this. You're just going to let him walk away? You're going to let him win?"

"DAMMIT, JORDAN, IT'S NOT ABOUT WINNING! You think I don't know he probably came looking for me on purpose? You think I wouldn't have turned him away if I knew what he was going to confess? I would have in an instant, and you know it! I was a cop for far too long to just let him get away with this, but my hands are tied! No priest has broken these vows for hundreds of years, I'm sure as hell not going to be the first!"

"Listen Daniel, if you don't help me, he's going to get away with this. He's going to get away with killing a young man named Franklin Harvey, and if he kills again, their blood is going to be on your hands. Neither of us wants that, Daniel, not you, not me. So help me, help me catch this guy, keep the blood off of your hands."

Father Maes collapsed back into his chair, a defeated look on his face. For a minute, he wavered, covering his face with his hands, but when he removed them, his expression was stoic.

"You're right. I don't want any blood on my hands, or anyone elses. I'm going to help you. But you have to understand, I can't tell you who it is. I'll do anything for you, I'll help you with the pathology, with his state of mind. I'll even tell you everything there is to goddam know about what he's done. But under no circumstances am I telling you, or even hinting at, the identity of the man. He's confessed, God has absolved him of his sins. But I'll be damned if he escapes the State's justice."

The smile on Jordan Antioch's face was the only responce he needed.