Marker of Faith

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 23

The case meeting was in one of the front conference rooms, and John and Roddy had to push by several rows of cops to take their seats up in the front. The men were still spooked by the dark feeling in the parking lot, but being around so many people gave them a sense of security, despite the gruesome reason for the meeting. Crime scene photos were taped on a blackboard next to the podium, with various print outs and newspaper articles relating to the recent murders pinned on the walls around the small room.

Roddy apparently wasn't expected to be here -- his assistant, Frank Doyle, was in a corner talking to Williamson. When Frank saw Roddy, he smiled and waved, but it did nothing to temper the head Medical Examiner's annoyance. Roddy glared at Williamson, who ignored the look, and then sat down, fuming at the snub and muttering darkly in Spanish. Frank made his way over, leaning over Roddy so as not to be overheard by the Chief.

"I have no idea why he didn't call you for this," Frank admitted quickly. "I told him that you were the boss of me." He looked chagrined and was trying to make light of the situation. "I didn't even have time to call you. Williamson said bring everything and haul ass over here, so I did."

"No worries, you are just as capable as I am of relating the facts," Roddy said casually, leaning back in his chair. "Williamson has a bug up his butt when it comes to me. He thinks I should be his gardener rather than the coroner."

"Want me to go?" Frank asked. He actually didn't sound that eager to leave.

"No, you just make me proud, okay?" Roddy watched Frank relax. "Do me one favor, though."

"Sure, sir."

"Just don't be such a kiss ass to him when I'm around."

Frank blushed and took a step back. "Uh, I wasn't...uh," he stuttered.

"Just go. I'll be watching you," Roddy said with another smirk. John pushed Frank aside and sat down.

"You cool?" John asked.

"Bueno," Roddy said with an exaggerated accent, making John smile. He looked around the room and noticed two unfamiliar faces.

Another detective, Bill Wilkes, noticed John staring and leaned over. "State cops. Two more murders, same M.O. over in Marksburgh," Wilkes whispered, nodding eagerly in their direction.

"Great," John muttered. Before Wilkes could say anything more the Chief stepped up to the podium.

"Let's get things rolling," Williamson's voice boomed as he flicked a switch, a power point display filling the screen next to him. "We have a lot of ground to cover." The Chief looked out over the sea of faces, his department, staring back and hanging on his every word. Williamson enjoyed the feeling of power, and clearing his throat started in.

"First off, I want to thank each of you for working so hard on this. These murders are an anomaly in our quiet town and we owe it to the Mayor and the citizens of Portsmouth to solve it quickly. Remember, professionalism goes a long way, so let's keep our reputation intact and catch this psychopath," he said to the silent room. He stared out over the crowd of faces, his gaze settling on John for just a moment, and then turned to the screen.

"1: We have three murders here in Portsmouth and two in Marksburgh. Same M.O. -- manual disarticulation. The victims were torn limb from limb and ritualistically arranged post-mortem in intricate patterns, the limbs and torsos stacked around the severed heads. As of yet, we have been unable to discern the meaning. Is it a message? Is it just the murderer's sick compulsion? We have submitted this case for review and are waiting for word from the FBI's profiler unit. They are a bit stacked up, back logged by Homeland Security, and should have someone available in a few days. Until then, we keep working the facts as we have them.