Marker of Faith

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 41

John slammed open Chief Williamson's door and stomped towards the surprised man. John knew the other detectives were watching and he shrugged, bracing himself for Williamson's tirade.

"Where the hell have you been?" the Chief shouted as he stood up.

"Chief, I need--"

"I have been calling your cell, paging you, I've even left messages at your house," Williamson bellowed.

John smirked briefly, remembering the blinking lights on his answering machine. "I didn't get any messages."

"What the fuck!" Williamson's face was scarlet. The scrape of chairs across the floor behind him meant the others were leaning back to get a better view of the performance in the Chief's office.

"Chief, I really need to talk--"

"We've got a call out on Manuel Rodriguez's place --" the Chief shouted, "--it's been vandalized and there's a dead, fucking cat spiked to the wall like some side show art piece. Rodriguez is AWOL."

"He's fine, he's in my car right now," John said quickly between the Chief's outbursts. "But listen, I've got to tell you about--"

"There's a shit storm brewing in this town!" Williamson cut him off again and John finally lost his temper.

He shouted, "God damn it, will you shut the fuck up and listen to me!" Williamson's eyes bugged in their sockets and his mouth popped open, but he was speechless. John took the opportunity and spoke quickly.

"Yes, there is a shit storm brewing in this town, worse than you can imagine, and if you'll stop interrupting me I'll explain everything." John looked over his shoulder at the nervous faces of the detectives watching him. They were staring open-mouthed, some exchanging confused looks with each other, but for the most part they were shocked into silence.

A slow flush was creeping up Williamson's face and he glared at John as he slowly sat back down. The man didn't look good. Williamson had beard stubble, and the man's usually crisply pressed suit was wrinkled and dingy. It looked like the Chief hadn't been home in days. Things were starting to fall apart in Portsmouth, definitely, and John took no satisfaction in seeing the Chief like this; it just pointed out how quickly the chaos was moving.

"Chief, you probably aren't going to believe me but the murders are just the tip of the ice berg. You think I'm losing it because of Dave," John said caustically, the Chief narrowing his eyes at the dig.

"Detective Bergenson--"

John put his hand up. "Look, I've been a good cop, a good detective for you for ten years. Solid as a rock." The Chief cleared his throat to interrupt again and John raised his voice.

"Just listen to me. All of this started with the priest and I don't have time to go into great detail." John shook his head. "Suffice it to say that all the murders lately are connected, and it's something Roddy and I can stop." John thought of Rattle and held his tongue.

The Chief doesn't need to know about him yet.

"John." The Chief's voice lost some of the edginess and the man sounded tired. "I think you need some help."

"Hear me out," John pleaded, turning to close the door. "I don't have much time." Hopefully Williamson would listen and the rest of the squad would be safe.

Ignoring the questioning glances from the room, John pushed the door closed as the man sighed heavily behind him. John knew that he was running out of time. He walked over and sat down in a chair facing the desk.