The Immortal Gene Read online

His cell rang upstairs. Athina barked from the front door.

  “Gotta get that,” Jake said as he ran for the phone.

  It rang four times before he seized it from inside his jacket on the closet door.

  “Wood here.”

  “Morning, partner.”

  “Hey, Kirk. What’s up?”

  “Bodies.”

  “Bodies? As in more than one?”

  “Three.”

  “What? Where?”

  “Farmhouse. Outskirts of town. It’s bad, Jake.”

  He plopped on the edge of the bed, bouncing twice. “How bad?”

  Cindy entered the room and stopped, concern on her face.

  “A whole family.”

  “Directions,” Jake said, his voice granite-like.

  Kirk told him where to go. Jake showered, dressed, and exited without a kiss goodbye from Cindy. His mind was on other things. Like what his nightmares would be like tonight.

  A whole family?

  “Fuck me,” he mumbled under his breath as he ran for his car, the cold November air chilling him to the bone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As Jake drove up to the Marcello farmhouse, he counted at least a dozen cars parked out front, scrambled in disarray. There were so many emergency vehicles, they obscured Kirk’s car. Jake parked for an easy exit.

  The sun peeked between soft, fluffy clouds, but did nothing for the chill he felt. After all the years of dealing with dead bodies, it never got any easier. The only thing that changed was the job, the paperwork, the investigation, the court room testimonies. But seeing more dead bodies, especially two in two days, would cause a week’s worth of nightmares.

  Kirk had said this was an entire family. Three people murdered. Grotesque fashion. The morning eggs and bacon Cindy had prepared weren’t sitting well.

  As he strode across the lawn, he watched two horses running around behind a fence, agitated by all the people and vehicles. They would’ve never seen this much activity unless the Marcellos threw large Christmas parties.

  After he examined the bodies, he would see if he could calm the horses down a little. Officer Tammy Feltz met him at the front door.

  “Need you to sign in,” she said.

  Jake took the pen from her and hesitated before signing. He always liked to scan the names of the people who’d trekked through his crime scene before him. Maybe an officer from another detachment was here, trying to snatch his case from him or connect it to another.

  To make the pause less obvious, he tried to sign in the wrong spot on purpose.

  “Not there,” Officer Feltz said. “Here.”

  She pointed at the empty spot below the last name.

  “How did I not see that?” Jake said jokingly.

  He signed his full name and added the time and date as per his Tissot watch. Kirk Aiken had signed in just over an hour earlier. Two hours before that, Detective Keri Joslin had signed in. Joslin was from the Toronto detachment. He’d worked with her on a few cases a decade ago. They’d never gotten along.

  The first signature was two and a half hours ago.

  He handed the pen back to Officer Feltz and stared out at the vehicles scattered in front of the Marcello farmhouse, sunlight reflecting off the roofs. Two and a half hours ago, the authorities had begun to show up. How had Joslin, out of the Toronto detachment, gotten here that quickly? Her home and office were over an hour’s drive away.

  A crime scene lab tech walked out and kicked his booties off.

  Whose crime scene was this, then? Geographically, it was his. Unless it was connected to other ongoing cases. Then it could be whoever was deemed in charge.

  He donned booties and gloves offered by Officer Feltz, who also handed him a small vial of Vick’s VapoRub for under his nose.

  “You might want this,” she said. “The smell.”

  “Fresh bodies or stale?” he asked.

  “Fresh. I’ve been at my post for over two hours, but someone said time of death was last night.”

  “Then why the vapor rub? It shouldn’t be too bad yet.”

  “Take it anyway. You decide for yourself.”

  Something in Officer Feltz’s expression warned him not just about the smell, but what he was about to see. It was probably something he would never be able to un-see.

  “Detective Wood,” a woman shouted from inside the house. “So glad you could join us.”

  He stepped up to the door and looked inside. Detective Joslin stood beside his partner, Kirk. She had a half smile pasted on her face. The kind of smirk that preceded a belittling remark about one’s attitude or lack of taste in clothing. He hated that look. It occurred to him that was probably the reason they had never gotten along well. Professionalism aside, Detective Joslin was not someone he worked with willingly. She was crass, rude in a tell-it-like-it-is way. No soft edges. But she was one of the best detectives Ontario had ever seen and everyone in law enforcement knew it.

  “What have we got here?” Jake asked, addressing his partner.

  “What we have here,” Joslin said in a raised voice, “is a failure to communicate.” A few of the crime scene techs turned her way. They were local. She wasn’t.

  “How’s that?” Jake asked. “Seems to me you’re a long way from home.”

  Just inside the Marcello farmhouse front door and he couldn’t see a single body yet. To the left behind a stairwell banister, a congregation of techs swabbed something. Other techs roamed in and out of the kitchen and several EMTs came down the hall that probably led to the bedrooms.

  “Jake Wood,” Joslin said, slowly swiveling her head back and forth, an appearance of distaste in her eyes.

  “Detective Jake Wood,” he said. “Orillia detachment. You’re stomping around on my crime scene. You want to tell me why? Actually, what I would love to know is how you’re one of the first officers on the scene when this farmhouse is at least an hour and a half from your office.” Throw her off balance. Offer her no quarter. Run roughshod over her before she could corner him and take the case.

  “I will do you the courtesy of answering your questions.” Joslin moved closer to him, her face masked in amusement. “We received the call when an early morning paperboy came by to drop the newspaper off and the front door was sitting wide open. The boy wandered in and discovered the bodies. The responding officer recognized the murder scene for what it is and called Toronto. They called me.”

  “Why would he do that? What does that even mean?”

  “Just listen to her, Jake,” Kirk said. “Let her have the case. You don’t want this one with the wedding coming up.”

  “What? Why?”

  Joslin said, “I had the authorities up here post an officer at the front door until I could get here.”

  “You haven’t answered the most important question yet.” He stepped aside to let two lab techs squeeze by, his anger brewing. He hated the politics of the job. The jurisdictional bullshit. Geography played a role in his job and this was his territory. That was one of the reasons he’d left the Toronto detachment all those years ago: to get away from people like Joslin and their bullshit. How could she not see they were all on the same side?

  “I have been granted the authority to take this case as it pertains to other known cases from previous years. Cases I’m lead detective on.” She scrunched up her face and sneered like a little girl who wouldn’t give him back his candy. “Safe to conclude this is now my case, irregardless of geography.”

  “Irregardless? Don’t you mean, regardless?”

  She offered him a blank stare.

  He let the nonstandard word go as it all came together quick in his head. “You’re saying the Marcello family killer has done this before? And you know this already? In all of two hours?”

  Detective Joslin nodded once, then turned away.

  “Come,” she said, waving her hand over her shoulder. An image of Meryl Streep’s character in The Devil Wears Prada popped into his head. That was who Joslin reminded him of. �
��Follow me and you’ll understand,” she added.

  Kirk leaned in close. “I’m warning you, man,” he stammered under his breath. “Let it go. Give her the case without a fight. It’s bad.” His voice broke. “Steel yourself.”

  Jake frowned. What could be so bad that it unsettled Kirk? His partner had seen dozens of dead bodies in his time. Those who had been raped and mutilated. Kirk’s warning only ramped up Jake’s curiosity.

  With each step into the farmhouse, something tickled his nose, like it was suddenly running. He sneezed twice rapidly. Stars hovered in his eyes for a brief moment.

  “Hey, you okay?” Kirk placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Yeah. Fine.” He took another step, then sneezed three times in succession.

  “Whoa.” Kirk was beside him. “Got a cold? Allergies?”

  “Don’t contaminate my crime scene,” Joslin yelled from beside the staircase.

  Jake wiped his nose with the back of his gloved hand. “Don’t have allergies that I’m aware of. It’s nothing. Just something in the air.”

  Detective Joslin was staring at him. “You coming?”

  She acted like he’d delayed her on purpose, as if she hadn’t heard him sneezing. Without answering, he made his way around the base of the stairs and looked at the body hanging upside down from the banister.

  “The father,” Joslin said, emotionless. Maybe she was the better detective for this case after all.

  “What happened to his back?” Jake asked, happy his voice didn’t betray how he felt on the inside.

  “It’s called a Blood Eagle.”

  Jake glanced at Kirk first, then Joslin. “This is the work of the Blood Eagle Killer?”

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  “There’ve been rumors that he’s tied to the Orangeville, King City, Hastings, and Bowmanville murders. Haven’t these cases been going on for quite a few years?”

  Joslin stared at the suspended body. “And now Orillia,” she said, ignoring his question. Since she was lead detective, and the case was ongoing, recognizing the length of time would embarrass her.

  Jake stepped back to allow a tech dusting for prints to ease by him. It gave him a moment to breathe and collect himself.

  “What happened to him?” he asked again. “Why the Blood Eagle?”

  “He’s an invisible killer,” Joslin said.

  It was as if she were in her own world, not listening to a word Jake said. He turned to Kirk who shrugged. He felt another sneeze coming on.

  “Invisible because we can never gather a single DNA sample from the house he performs in,” Joslin continued. “There are never any witnesses and he travels within a geographical radius of one-hundred-fifty kilometers from downtown Toronto.” Joslin faced Jake. “That leaves us with an extremely large number of people to sift through. He wears gloves, caps, masks, the whole enchilada. The hunter—”

  “Wait,” Jake cut in. “Hunter?”

  “Detective Wood, the man I seek is a hunter first, killer second. He deems his subjects as prey. Then he takes the family, soul and all.”

  “The family? Where are the other bodies?”

  Joslin nodded somberly. “Before we leave the father’s body, I’ll explain the Blood Eagle.” She pointed at the exposed vertebra. “With a sharp knife, the killer cuts the skin along the spine. Then he severs the rib bones on either side, detaching them from the center and spreads them apart as he’s done here.” Joslin waved a hand beside the ribcage that had been pulled back, exposing the man’s chest cavity. “He then reaches in”—she emulated the performance with both hands squeezing, pretending to grasp— “takes a hold of each lung”—she snapped a look at Jake, then turned back to the corpse— “and forces the lungs out of the body to place them on the exposed ribs where they flutter with the dying man’s last breath.”

  Unexpectedly, Jake sneezed violently. He reached for his partner and found his forearm as another sneeze took hold.

  “Turn away,” Joslin yelled. “Don’t contaminate my crime scene.”

  After another sneeze, he wiped his nose with his arm and gathered himself.

  “What’s this Blood Eagle signify?” Jake asked, his voice taking on a nasally tone.

  “The taking of the enemy’s soul. The bones and skin are pulled outward to give the appearance of wings. The lungs flutter until they stop, offering a semblance of wings attempting to give flight. The victim is unconscious while the bones are being pulled back due to the blood loss and pain. Our killer suspends his victims to simulate flight.” Joslin stepped back from the body. “It’s an ancient Viking ritual that some dispute actually ever happened. Whether it did or didn’t, it’s happening now.”

  “Why is the killer after his soul?”

  “He’s stealing the family.”

  “How do you know that? Is the father the only dead body and the rest are kidnapped?”

  “No. All dead.”

  “How does he steal the family then?”

  “Come. I’ll show you.”

  Jake followed Joslin to the kitchen where a naked woman lay on the linoleum. More white-coated crime scene techs worked on her.

  “The mother. If she’s the same as in the previous cases, she has died of compression asphyxiation. Our hunter uses chloroform to subdue and then applies pressure to the woman’s diaphragm so it can’t move, making it impossible to take on air. She dies as if someone is choking her.”

  “What happened to her crotch?” Jake asked, a part of him not wanting to know.

  “Our killer has sex with the corpse, then cleans out her insides with acid to leave no forensic clues.” She turned to face him, her eyes roving between Jake and Kirk. “Our killer is invisible. At least that’s how we’ve perceived him since he started. His semen would be all we need. But not this madman. We go over the bedsheets, the corpse, underwear, clothing, the floor, anywhere a tiny drop of semen could be left behind.” She blew out an exaggerated huff. “Never a single drop of DNA is left at the scene. Not even a hair.”

  “How is this possible?”

  “He is careful. Very careful. Probably does his deed on a bed of plastic and takes it with him. The acid ruins any evidence. The autopsies of all of the females have always come back without any semen available.”

  More tickling in his nose. He gripped his nostrils to suppress the sneeze.

  “The son is in his bedroom,” Joslin continued. “Compression asphyxiation as well.”

  “Nothing else?” Jake asked, hoping the boy wasn’t tortured in some way. “I mean, he didn’t do anything vulgar to the boy?”

  “He killed him. That’s horrid. Also, he’s missing a lock of hair.” Joslin shrugged, a hardened air about her now. Maybe the job made her the way she was. Maybe, deep down inside, she was a good woman, burnt out by the job, her psyche down for the count.

  “Hair?”

  “The killer steals the father’s soul, simulates having a baby with the mother, and takes a lock of hair from the children in the home. In this case there was only one child. In the other homes, he kills all the children in the same fashion. Then he steals the wedding rings from the parents and leaves nothing behind for us. Ever.”

  A man stepped into the kitchen and nodded at Joslin. He seemed too calm for the setting. Like he was entering the room to let them know dinner would be served in five minutes. The eyes of a professional who dealt with death daily, nine to five. The bald man wore a white lab coat and gloves and waited to get Joslin’s attention.

  “Jake, meet our resident medical examiner, coroner and whatever I need him to be, Dr. Gavin.”

  They shook hands.

  “Dr. Gavin handles all the bodies in this case for me. We thought it would be better to keep everything in-house once we saw a pattern forming at the second crime scene years ago.”

  “Been doing it since the Reilly family in Hastings back in 2008.”

  Jake sneezed twice before he could stop himself. He needed Kleenex and he needed out of this house. Somethi
ng was definitely bothering him. He hadn’t sneezed this much in a long time, if ever.

  “Sounds like you’re coming down with something, Detective,” Gavin said.

  “Might be.” Jake’s voice sounded like it was coming out of his nose.

  “We’re done here,” Joslin said. “We can continue outside.”

  Jake nodded at Officer Feltz, who still guarded the front door as he walked by her.

  “You doing okay?” Kirk asked as they approached the fence.

  “Yeah.” Jake placed a hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “Just something in the air. Bothering my nose something awful.”

  “I’ll expect your full cooperation on this case,” Joslin said as she came up to them.

  He was beyond fighting with her. If there was anything he could do to help catch the Blood Eagle Killer, he would do it without pause. A killer like that didn’t deserve to be free, out there on the streets with the rest of society. He didn’t deserve to live.

  “You will have access to our full resources.” Another sneeze overwhelmed him. He cleared his throat and sniffled. “How often does this hunter strike?”

  “About every two years.”

  “There’s your window. Catch this guy in that time frame before another family has this done to them.”

  “We’re doing everything we can. Right, Gavin?”

  The M.E. nodded. “Absolutely. We’ll scour for any signs of DNA that doesn’t belong to the family. I will personally conduct the autopsies. We won’t miss anything, I assure you. We’ll catch him this time.”

  “I’d stake my career on it,” Joslin added.

  “You might have to,” Jake countered. “A decade of murder and not a single suspect. This could end up like the Ripper, or the Zodiac Killer.”

  Joslin leaned in close, saw he was about to sneeze again, then reared back. “It’ll never happen,” she said. “I’ll catch the asshole who’s doing this. Before he strikes again. He’s human. He’ll make a mistake. He has to.”

  Jake sneezed so violently that he gagged. Kirk held him up as Detective Joslin trudged across the lawn, her medical examiner heading back into the house.

  Jake ambled toward the fence. One of the horses, a gorgeous shiny brown specimen with beautiful eyes, trotted over.