The Damascus Road: Acts 9:4

By L. A. Jaworski

Judas Coon Seols is a simple family man with a strong faith in God and a new purpose as deacon of a church founded by his acquaintances, Sister Patricia and Father O’Brien.

 

Sister Patricia is a forensic pathologist who, along with Father O’Brien, has finally determined her identity as a practicing Christian. As she carefully examines her most recent corpse tattooed with Michelangelo’s The Last Judgement, Judas looks on as both are filled with questions, especially since this is just one of many recent strange deaths. Meanwhile as two detectives begin an investigation into the murders, they are less than successful—until they stumble upon Sister Patricia’s possible involvement. While attempting to fully understand the killer’s motive, the detectives must overcome several obstacles as those involved are forced to trust not just themselves, but also their individual beliefs. Unfortunately, as they are all about to discover, people are not always who they seem.

 

The Damascus Road chronicles a perplexing series of murders as a pathologist, church deacon, and two detectives become immersed in a battle of good versus evil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: May 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781480870932

L. A. Jaworski

L. A. Jaworski is a professional business man, licensed CPA, Attorney with an LLM. His specialization is Taxation. The author has been successful in previous endeavors. Writing was a natural progression of events given his lifelong passion and desire. The timing could not have been more perfect. Skills were honed telling stories to his children. Unfortunately, they grew-up and graduated college as children sometimes do. The extra time provided has been spent writing. Publication seemed the next logical step.

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Copyright © 2019 L. A. Jaworski.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-7094-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-7092-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-7093-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019933761

Archway Publishing rev. date: 03/28/2019

CONTENTS

Present Day

Several Months Earlier

Precinct 131, Brooklyn, New YorkFriday, July 1

Saturday, July 2

Tuesday, July 12, Public Library

PRESENT DAY

A nd he fell to the earth, and heard a voice saying unto him, Saul, Saul, why persecutes thou me? I remember reading that passage as if it were just yesterday. Somehow it resonates within my being, an unfulfilled purpose…a second strike against me. In sin did my mother conceive me and in name did I betray thee. How best to repent then through action of the highest order…to serve…

Hello, my name is Seols, Judas Coon Seols. My mama was a conjuring woman deep within the bayou country of Louisiana. Only it’s pronounced Leez-e-ann-a. Ya say it slow, too. What’s the hurry? Ma said Pa (she pronounced it Pooā) was always in a hurry. I reck’n that’s why he was never with us much. Ma and I moved too slow for him. I reck’n he’d be proud of me, though. I learned ta move fast…er—that is, all except this one time—

*     *     *

Then Judas which had betrayed him, when he saw that he was condemned, repented himself, and brought again the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders. —Matthew 27:3

SEVERAL MONTHS EARLIER

S ister Patricia, good morning, Deacon Seols said as he noted her arrival.

Deacon Seols, Sister said, pausing for a quick look before continuing on. How are you this early, predawn morning?

Seols realized he had not even noticed the time. He’d simply responded to Sister’s call. Robotic reflex, he thought. He stifled a reflexive look, given they were in the dungeon. La-bor-a-tor-e was how Seols always thought of this part of the building.

I am fine, Sister. Thank you for asking.

Neither waited as they went about their business. For both, this early-morning meeting was becoming all too normal for their liking.

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Sister Patricia was a forensic pathologist. The body prone on the table was the most recent victim. Sister was clinical in her exterior postmortem examination. She noted that the tape recorder was on as she began her narration of the examination.

The body is that of a white male, approximate height…seventy inches, weight…197 pounds, hair color…coal black, length…beyond shoulder length, earlobes…seven gauge. The individual’s back is heavily tattooed. The artwork is nothing short of magnificent. Sister paused for a quick look before continuing. "It is a reasonable facsimile thereof of Michelangelo’s The Last Judgment." Sister took one last look and was about to continue before being interrupted by Deacon Seols.

Sister, excuse me, but is this a guess or are you certain of the depiction?

Sister pursed her lips. She nodded in the affirmative. It was a long time ago but not so long that she had forgotten the tapestry-draped hallways of the Vatican. She could still see the tattered edges of The Stoning of Stephen; feel the tassels brush against her fingertips. The light was sparse, the air stale with age. The caretakers sought to preserve the relicts and frescos for generations to come, with little concern for those in attendance today.

Sister was still looking at the tattoo but her expression had changed—reverence on a past life experience. Her image of the Sistine Chapel had been shattered that year as had many such illusions. She recalled standing in line awaiting her turn to enter. The anticipation, the physical shock that ran through her body once she crossed the threshold. Then the disappointment. It happens. The room that had loomed so large in her mind was small and dim in reality. Youthful innocence lost yet not her faith. Crisis averted. Struggle overcome.

It is a certainty, Sister said as she stopped the tape and looked at Deacon Seols.

She had appraised him initially several years and several times prior to this moment, and each appraisal resulted in an answer that belied her initial impression. Deacon Seols stood over six feet tall. Six feet, one and one-half inches tall to be exact. He was average beyond that—average looks, average intelligence, average personality, average, average, average. Yet here he stood. Where others had failed, he had succeeded. She only prayed she would live to see the fulfillment of his purpose.

"Deacon Seols, Michelangelo’s The Last Judgment is one of the most famous frescoes of the Sistine Chapel. It is over sixty feet in height and nine feet in width. It is located on the wall behind the altar and is a must-see for all. Just short of the plane ticket, hotel, and entertainment costs, I strongly suggest that one simply gaze upon this man’s back."

Deacon Seols looked at her and grinned. Sister Patricia was like no nun he’d ever had as a student. The school district that Seols had resided in was extremely poor. His family was no richer than poor. Dirt poor to be exact. Thankfully, his mother cared enough for his education to enroll him in the local parochial school. It cost some, but she found a way to pay for it. I du what I must, she always said. The spirit is in ya, Judas. Ya have da pow’r. Ya what I nev’r was.

Those words resonated in his head as he looked at Sister. He almost smiled at the memory of his mother. A tear welled up in the corner of one eye. He thought of wiping it away with the index knuckle of his right hand but decided against it. Sister, being Sister, might frown at such a display of emotion. She might see it as a weakness that could later be exploited. Sister was always vigilant. Just short of an outright wipe, Seols blinked more frequently instead.

"The Last Judgment, you say," Seols said as he took out his smartphone and snapped several pictures from different angles. He then pocketed the phone and took several more pictures with his camera from virtually the same angles plus one or two more.

Looking up, he smiled at Sister. Saving myself the cost of a plane ticket. He smiled again but continued taking photos. When he was done, they stood there for a moment, admiring the artwork.

The use of color is amazing, Seols remarked.

The detail and artistry are even more so, Sister Patricia commented. This was one of Michelangelo’s more famous paintings. The rewards of eternal happiness versus the horror and punishment of hell. You’ll notice Michelangelo used wingless angels to carry the cross Christ died upon. Beneath them, the blessed gathering in heaven. Notice Christ is in the center. His right arm is raised. Those on the left rise up to heaven, and those on the right are damned to the fires of hell for eternity.

Left is right, and right is wrong, Seols mumbled, more to himself than Sister. The tape recorder was sensitive enough to pick up his comment for prosperity’s sake.

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Sister began examining the body more closely. She looked for needle marks, puncture wounds, anything that would provide them with an idea as to what they were dealing with. This was the third body, and very little had been learned other than the artwork. But even that left them with little or no direction.

Anything, Sister? Seols asked as he looked at his watch.

No—nothing. No pin or needle marks. Other than the tattoo, everything seems to be the same as the other two bodies. I’ll scrape the skin, as with the others, but I am certain the ink will be the same as that used on the previous two individuals. Sister no longer thought of them as victims. They were not; of that she was certain.

I will be finished with my examination here shortly, she continued, so if you could wait and help me roll the body onto his back, I would be thankful.

No problem. Maria would still be asleep. Thankfully she had become accustomed to the recent odd hours and unusual demands of the job…or was it a profession? Vocation? Maybe it is again time to consider where I am going and what I hope to accomplish in my life, Seols thought while Sister went about her duties.

Several minutes later, the examination complete, Sister and Seols rolled the individual onto his back. There was some uncertainty on Sister’s part as she quickly looked over the body.

This is unusual, Sister said.

What? Seols asked without really looking at the body. But as she spoke, he noticed the branding.

The right and left upper pectoral regions have been branded. Notice the way the skin has healed. Alpha and omega…beginning and end.

Significance? Seols asked.

Sister hesitated. How much to say? What is enough versus too much? she wondered as she began: As we know from Scripture, Jesus proclaimed himself to be the ‘Alpha and the Omega.’ The book of Revelation is filled with passages. They are the Greek alphabet’s first and last letters. Jewish rabbis reference the alpha and omega as the whole of everything. Revelation 22:13 is Jesus’s proclamation: ‘the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.’ Sister paused and looked up.

Seols was listening intently. He wanted to ask, What? But held off.

Then there is Second Peter, Chapter 3, Verse 10: ‘And his second coming will be the beginning of the end of creation as we know it.’ There are many who believe the United States is symbolic of the end. The dollar bill, for example, has the omega symbol on it as it shrouds Washington. Sister produced a dollar bill and showed Seols the hidden symbol. What does one believe? When is something just a coincidence?

But that would be the opposite of what we believe is happening, Seols countered.

Yes, it would, Deacon. I believe this man may have been a defrocked priest, and the symbols are meant to mock him. This is just a quick guess. But as for the case at hand, I would say this individual was more than just a minion. He may have been a lower type of priest.

A deacon, Sister? Seols asked, feigning hurt feelings. Sister only peered over her glasses, providing Seols with a look confirming her lack of interest in taking the bait. Her pale gray eyes still held a spark. Seols had seen it a time or two. He had even been the recipient of her wrath. In her youth, she may have been called a spitfire. A tomboy even. Never would she have been considered attractive. Intelligent…yes. Personable…yes, but only if she made the choice to befriend you.

Are we good? Seols asked. I was hoping to clean up, say good morning to Maria, and then assist Father O’Brien with early morning mass.

Yes, you can go. I should be done by the time mass is complete. I will discuss everything with you then. How is Maria, by the way?

She is doing better. This being her second miscarriage, though. I mean…I don’t know…

I am sorry I asked. I don’t mean to pry. I pray for you both. If there is ever anything I can do, you know you need only ask.

I know, Sister. We both appreciate the support the parish, the church, you, and Father O’Brien have shown us, Seols said as he glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time. It was just after five in the morning. He was looking at an hour-plus of sleep, max. Thankfully, they lived right next door to the church. It helped in avoiding traffic.

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Seols walked up the twenty-three steps to the basement and from there the twenty-seven steps to the cafeteria/meeting room. Only nineteen more steps to the church. Who counts the number of steps they climb? Seols thought as a smile crossed his face. He silently remembered his high school biology class and the teacher, Mr. McMullen. He was a socially inept man but a fair teacher. An extra-credit biology question involved the number of steps to Room 101, which was the room above the high school gymnasium. Twenty-one had been the correct answer. The high school was Saint Vincent de Paul. The town was Baton Rouge. Seemed like only yesterday…

Seols stepped out into the fresh air of Brooklyn, New York. Immediately he was reminded that the city never sleeps. He noticed the business taking place on the street corner. Clichés abound.

Although the church was in one of the more challenging neighborhoods, the neighborhood was far from having project status. The Rebirth Church of Christ was a nondenominational church that also operated a soup kitchen and a thrift shop. Bills have to be paid, Father O’Brien frequently could be heard saying.

Seols walked next door to the attached four-story structure that served as the thrift shop, office, and housing unit for the church. The thrift shop was located on the first floor. Apparel was donated by the neighborhood and offered for sale to the general public. Some items were sold on consignment…again bills.

The Rebirth Church of Christ was a section 501(c)(3) tax-exempt organization. The Determination Letter also provided for the deductibility of charitable contributions per section 170(c) of the Internal Revenue Code. Sounds impressive, Seols always thought when he handed someone the slip of paper with the church’s name and taxpayer identification number on it. Branding of a different type.

As Seols climbed the stairs, he again wondered why he’d voted against the elevator. The contractor had provided favorable terms, yet he’d voted against it and thus found himself counting the stairs secretly in his subconscious. Father O’Brien occupied the second floor, Sister Patricia and Sister Mary occupied the third floor, while he and Maria occupied the fourth floor and the roof. The roof had a garden and eating area for their use, weather permitting.

The surrounding buildings were much taller yet there was still a respectable view. The church was an old dual movie theater that had given way to the multiplexes of the modern era. It had a brief transition to plays, and for a time that appeared promising; however, Broadway was well-established as was off-Broadway. Off-off-off-Broadway was too much of a stretch.

Father O’Brien purchased the building with the help of a parishioner. Together, they were able to effect the necessary renovations. The church seating was for 965. The church had a respectable newsletter mailing list that claimed 127 active members. The newsletter application included information such as name, address, cell phone number, e-mail address, annual income, net worth, estimated monthly tithing, etc. On paper, it was the start of a budget. Seols reached the fourth floor and went inside.

Their apartment was tastefully decorated. Two bedrooms, one-and-a-half baths, kitchen, family room, and separate dining room. The kitchen was nice, modern. The dining room sat eight comfortably when they had an opportunity or a reason to entertain. The living room/family room, as it was sometimes called, sported a fifty-inch fish-eyed television viewing screen and a built-in bookcase holding a selection of various best-selling New York authors. Clancy, Balducci, Frey, Paterson, Hemingway, to name but a few. The final two rooms were a master bedroom and a second bedroom, which currently was in use as an office. It was there that Seols first stopped.

The office held a desk, a StairMaster, one wall of built-in shelves currently used for various best-selling books of a different genre, and a computer complete with an all-in-one printer, copier, scanner, and fax machine. Seols found himself sitting at his desk typing in the thoughts of events just past. Present sense impression is what he termed it when asked. It was important and currently had assisted them in making some headway albeit more administrative. Seols was blind to the time when there was a knock on the door. Maria entered wearing only a pullover negligee. She still had the look that caught his eye.

Honey?

Sorry, babe, just wanted to take care of some notes. Let me take a quick shower before joining you, Seols responded. Maria smiled in thanks. An hour together was better than nothing. Seols asked God for the strength to get him up by six-thirty-ish. Less than an hour and a half of sleep. An additional cold shower appeared to be in his immediate future.

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Good morning, Deacon Seols, Father O’Brien said.

Father, Seols responded. How are you?

Fine, thank you. I was beginning to think that you left me standing at the altar, Father O’Brien responded. He included a laugh with it, which seemed genuine, although it was early, and with less than two hours of sleep, Seols found it difficult to tell.

Father still kept to the teachings of the church. Even after the scandal, his faith never wavered. His life could have changed when Governor Jindal confirmed that Louisiana would adhere to the Supreme Court’s decision in Obergefell granting, permitting really, same-sex marriages. Unfortunately, Father O’Brien’s partner got cold feet. Father was opposed to anything less than a more public life together. As such, he left the church. Retirement versus a more public censorship. He had worked too long and hard to forgo the pension…Bills have to be paid.

The church as well could not afford the publicity of excommunicating Father O’Brien or, worse yet, having him defrocked. The church was still reeling from the various sexual abuse scandals. Father O’Brien left quietly but found that he still believed so he started The Rebirth Church of Christ in Brooklyn, New York, his place of birth. Home.

Sister Patricia and Sister Mary joined Father six months later. Retirement. Seols joined Father O’Brien at about the same time as the Sisters. He simply needed to complete his formal education first.

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Father and the deacon stepped up to the altar and looked out into the audience. There were close to twelve individuals in attendance. Tithing may cover the electric bill, Seols quietly thought. More would wander in but not many. Friday and Saturday masses were better draws. Sunday at ten and twelve were not bad either. State grants, church status, and three retirement pensions helped pay the bills, including the deacon’s small salary. Stipend would be a more accurate description.

Today’s mass and prayer service was well received. Father invited Judas to do the homily, and he readily accepted the honor. For it was (is really) an honor to help spread the word of Our Lord. He was a student of the faith more than a preacher of one.

Your youth, personal beliefs, and feelings are more in tune with what these hopeful souls want to hear. They are not interested in the words of an old man who’s preaching sounds more like a diatribe than warm rays of hope. Father O’Brien smiled and placed his hand on the deacon’s arm and squeezed. It was safe to say that Judas loved and admired Father.

As with every other day and time that he was asked to speak, Seols requested that the listeners come forward, so he did not have to shout. This day being like most others, everyone got up and moved to the first ten rows. Eighteen people. They’d gained another six. Not too shabby, Seols thought as he looked upon the eighteen faces and smiled. Good morning, he said as he walked the three steps down from the altar to the center aisle. He began his homily by making eye contact with each of the individuals who had taken the time to find Christ and listen to the Word as written. Interpretation provided by Seols, of course.

Matthew 13 is always one of my favorite chapters in the Bible. In this chapter, Jesus tells us the parable of the four soils. My interpretation is slightly different than that of the experts. We each have various stages of our life. Four soils could be childhood, adolescence, adulthood, and old age. Each of these categories can be further divided into four subcategories. Those subcategories can be further subdivided into four sub-subcategories. A microanalysis. Alternatively, we can simply stop with the four major categories that I have stated and apply the teachings at a macro level. The beauty of the parable’s meaning is that it applies to any analysis, any situation.

Seols paused for effect as he looked at his listeners. His flock, if you will. He had their attention and found that he had walked up the aisle so that he was now standing behind them. Each one was turned around in their seats. He felt a sense of responsibility to them. It was his hope that he did not fail them when it counted most.

Life is a struggle, he began. Matthew says in Verse 39, ‘The enemy who planted the weeds among the wheat is the devil. The harvest is the end of the world. The harvesters are angels.’ Again, he paused before further explaining what he believed to be the nuances of each aspect of Verse 39.

We will have weeds in our lives, he said as his voice dropped lower. He found that he was now sitting on the arm of a vacant aisle seat. He was close to the middle of the group. A few more stragglers had entered and walked down. Smiles, nods, waves exchanged.

He raised his head before continuing. Weeds for me sometimes are nothing more than my life. The harvest is when I find myself speaking with you as a group or individually. For each one of you are my angels and I yours. Again, there was silence as he got up from where he was sitting and returned to the altar after first making eye contact with his flock. Father O’Brien waited before continuing the service, allowing each of the individuals to understand the responsibility they had to each other as well as what he had to them. The silence was not even disturbed by the unseen individual exiting through the side door.

The service ended as all services must. Both Father O’Brien and Deacon Seols walked out to the front of the church with the morning’s parishioners. They spoke with each of them, thanking them all for their attendance.

It’s your sincerity that attracts them, Father O’Brien said as the last individual had left. It’s genuine. You should see how they listen and react to you. I just wish we had a larger group for you.

We have not been here that long. Let us hope that our message spreads to the street, he said as they turned to see Sister Patricia coming through the entrance to join them both on the sidewalk.

Good morning, Father, Sister said as she walked up.

Good morning, Sister. It is a beautiful Friday morning, is it not, Father O’Brien replied as they all said hello to the neighborhood foot traffic while conversing among themselves.

Seeing you this early, Sister, I am given to understand that there was a ‘happening’ again last night, Father O’Brien asked. It was a way to break the ice on the subject.

Deacon Seols would find himself in a better position to answer such a question rather than I, Father, Sister Patricia said as Father O’Brien turned to the deacon. His look was inquiring more than curious.

Curiosity had left Father O’Brien’s vocabulary regarding certain aspects of Deacon Seols when they’d first met three years earlier. Judas Coon Seols was a parishioner at Saint Vincent de Paul Church in Baton Rouge. Father O’Brien was the pastor and the driving force behind Judas’s pursuit of his deacon studies. O’Brien saw in Seols what most speakers of the Bible, and speakers in general, only dream of glimpsing. Seols possessed a gift, a spiritual gift, that belied certain aspects of his name. Yet if asked, he would defend his given name…and his argument was a winner.

Seols had a sincerity. A genuine sincerity that went beyond honesty and bordered on refreshing. Today’s summation of Jesus’s parable of the four soils in Matthew had each of the listeners seeing themselves as an angel. What a way to begin a Friday for a wayward soul, Father O’Brien mumbled as he looked at Deacon Seols.

Father realized that he must’ve said that out loud, so he quickly explained, I was reflecting upon your homily. Sister, I wish you had seen the expressions on the attendees’ faces, Father said before recognizing the meaning associated with Sister Patricia’s presence. But I digress. Deacon, what do we know? Father O’Brien asked as he turned and walked back into the church. Sister Patricia and Seols followed Father into the building, across the vestibule to the church proper, down the center aisle, onto the altar, and off to the wing on the left side, the west side of the building, where a fresh pot of coffee awaited them. They each took a seat after pouring themselves a cup of joe doctored to fit their individual needs. Having done that, both Father O’Brien and Sister Patricia sat and looked at Seols, expecting nothing short of rapture.

Where do I begin? Seols said. How do we explain the unexplainable? I somehow knew that it was Burehc. When I called out to him, he looked at me, if not through me, before he laughed, turned, and ran, he said. He sat there looking at both Father and Sister. They both seemed to know that his confidence had grown since this all began. He now looked at them and spoke about the encounter when previously he could not.

So I followed…

*     *     *

And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea: and the third part of the sea became blood. —Revelation 8:8

PRECINCT 131, BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

FRIDAY, JULY 1

J ulian walked into the precinct like a man on a mission. His meeting downtown had gone exactly as expected. Fuck the commissioner, Julian said to the duty officer as he assaulted the stairs two at a time, forcing others to the side. Adrian Peterson who? an officer could be overheard saying as Julian bulled his way through the crowded stairs all the way to the fourth floor. When he’d reached the top of the stairs, it was an easy ten strides to his desk. He sat down immediately. His heart rate, blood pressure, and breathing were that of a man in his early to mid-twenties.

Perfect health. Prime of his life. Patrick Philip Julian was fifty-seven years of age, and at six feet seven inches tall, he was one of the biggest human beings on the planet. His collegiate days were spent at the University of Arkansas, where he played tight end. He could run the 40-yard dash in 4.62 seconds then when he weighed 315 pounds. At fifty-seven, he tipped the scale at 279 pounds and could break 5 seconds when asked. His professional career ended when he blew out his knee. A cheap shot, yet a damaging one. The damage being too great, a new career path was in order. Police work suited Julian.

The chair creaked and screamed uncle as Julian sat down and pulled himself up to his desk. One that appeared two sizes too small when he occupied it. The watch commander, Captain Jonathan Gray, walked over when he saw Julian arrive.

I just got off the phone with Michael’s office. Commissioner Anderson is threatening suspension and establishing a special task force. These abductions and killings must be stopped. He is adamant that if you are not the man for the job, he will find someone else who is, Jonathan warned. Your actions of today did little to instill confidence in the commissioner that you’re the best man for the job.

In my defense, the commissioner deserved what I said, and if a suspension is in the works, then so be it, Julian countered as he slammed his fist down on the desk with such force that the desk seemed to jump back in response.

Dammit, Patrick, Jonathan shouted as he stormed toward Julian’s desk. This issue is big! Bigger than you.

Jonathan had both of his hands on Julian’s desk. Knuckles down…white with rage. Spit flying forth like poisonous venom. For those watching, it was a comical sight as Jonathan Gray stood five feet two inches tall, but it was said that his shadow was cast much farther.

In a street fight, Julian would club Gray like a baby harp seal. However, in a shouting match such as this, where mutual respect and fear of letting the other man down ran deep, it was anyone’s bet.

When the shouting match was over, Gray calmly uttered the final word. Julian, I’ve been instructed to ride you like a dime-store pony every step of the way from here on out. You and Skully better not fuck this up, because if you do, neither one of you will be able to sidestep this fast enough. This administration will go so far up your ass that I have been promised neither one of you will ever shit again. Jonathan stood up, turned, and calmly walked back to his office, where he silently shut his door and returned to work. Julian reached for the old desk phone and dialed the morgue. Unless one was paying close attention or listening attentively, they would have missed Julian get the last word in…We’ll see who shits and who doesn’t.

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Yeah, this is Julian in Homicide. I need to speak with Skully, Julian said when the attendant answered the phone.

Skully, the attendant yelled out, it’s Julian. Ten minutes later, Daniel Skully answered the phone.

What’s up? Skully asked. He could feel Julian seething on the other end of the phone, his gravitational field was that large.

Did I interrupt you? Julian very calmly asked after counting to 100. We are under the gun here. The commissioner’s raining down fire from the heavens upon us and we got nothing…nothing.

That’s not true, Skully said. The last body gave us a clue. Come on down and Geraldine will discuss everything with both of us.

Give me five minutes, Julian said as he hung up the phone and headed for the stairs.

Seven minutes twenty-seven seconds later, Julian was walking into the county morgue. Skully was sitting in the waiting room reading the current issue of Glamour. Julian would’ve been concerned were it not for Skully’s relationship with Geraldine. Smoking hot could not even be used to describe her. She was just…

Have a seat…grab a magazine…no, wait, Skully said as he tossed Julian the Glamour. He caught it as he sat down. Skully was looking to pick up another magazine, Sports Illustrated or Redbook…too close to call. Julian was thankful that Geraldine selected that exact moment to enter and save Julian from a definite homicide-suicide act.

Patrick, Geraldine said with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. I was just about to discuss this most recent body with Daniel when you called. He felt it best if we included you in the conversation.

That’s why he’s my partner, Julian said, sarcasm being readily apparent as Geraldine led them both into the examination room.

Okay, Geraldine began. You have found four bodies by Brighton Beach Boardwalk. Three women and one male. You have two additional bodies by Coney Island Beach. One female and one male. All the bodies have been found in the sawgrass that is typical of the waterways of Eastern North America. The women were all sexually assaulted. Semen found. All by the same individual biologically but the bodies themselves appear to have been sexually assaulted by different individuals. This conclusion is based upon the postmortem bruising and settling of the decedent’s body, Geraldine said as she took a sip of water from her water bottle. She set it down before continuing. She momentarily checked to ensure that the tape recorder was operating.

No two women are alike as far as postmortem bruising. Yet the four women are of the same relative size vaginally. If it were not for the same semen found, I would be hard-pressed as a medical examiner to unequivocally state that we have only one killer, Geraldine said.

Are you suggesting that the assailant is committing forcible sexual acts and then depositing someone else’s semen? Julian asked, knowing that the answer would be in the negative. It was his Socratic method of question-and-answer foreplay before he asked the truly meaningful ones. Better the holes in the case are found before trial rather than during cross-examination.

No, I’m not saying or suggesting that.

So you’re saying four different individuals based on the man’s size…girth?

Yes…exactly. Each of the men was of a different size than the others yet all of the women were of the same relative size.

So you measured the women vaginally. You found them all of the same relative size yet due to…bruising and…possible damage, you conclude that it is due to there being different assailants? Julian asked.

Yes… Geraldine hesitantly responded. Although she at times felt uncomfortable, she understood that everyone had a job to do and she as well would rather see the potential holes in the case now rather than when she was being cross-examined.

But as I said earlier, the semen found in each of the victims was identical.

Medicine for penis enlargement? Could that be the answer? Ancient Chinese secret finally makes good? Julian asked, to both Geraldine and Daniel’s laughter. Jocularity never hurt and often helped to relieve the stress.

Sorry, Patrick…you are what you are. The lotions, exercises, appointments, herbs, medicine, etc., are only guaranteed to take and waste your money. They are of no help otherwise.

That being said, it appears that we have a sexual rapist/murderer, Julian said.

Yes, Geraldine answered. Unequivocally!

Gerry, you mentioned bruising, which has been explained for now, but what about blood settling? Daniel asked.

No two women were assaulted in the same position.

Could that mean it might’ve been consensual? Skully asked as a follow-up question.

And then have them be found dead? Geraldine raised an eyebrow at Daniel’s line of questioning. Maybe she was shallow after all.

How about the male bodies and the tattoos, Julian asked. What can you tell us?

Geraldine walked to the back of the room and opened one of the drawers. She pulled out the body that was resting on the slab. There was another male body lying on an examination table. She took a deep breath before beginning.

It is my opinion that both of these bodies were examined postmortem before being moved to the locations where the women were found, Geraldine said.

So then they are not involved in this case and are separate murders? Julian asked.

I am only saying what I said. However, I believe someone may think that these two males have had some involvement in the women that were raped and killed, Geraldine said.

There was silence before Skully looked at Geraldine and smiled. Gerry, is it possible that either of these two individuals was involved in the rape of any of the women? Geraldine laughed, thus allowing Julian the freedom to do so as well. She looked at Daniel, who began to blush. Pulling the sheet back, she uncovered the body.

Even postmortem there is very little shrinkage. However, if we assume the normal male enlargement ratio of 4 to 1, then yes, it is entirely possible that both of these individuals were involved in the sexual assault of one of the women found.

Is there any physical evidence that might link one of the males to one of the females? Julian asked Geraldine.

No. As I said, these bodies both appear to have been examined prior to their being moved to where they were later found.

DNA? Julian asked.

Nothing on this John Doe or any of the other female Jane Does. No priors on these five and the lab hasn’t responded yet to our sixth victim.

Gerry, what makes you think that they were previously examined? Skully asked.

There is no residue found under either of the male victims’ fingernails. One would have at least expected to find sand, given where they were found. There is also no sand found in the individual’s hair. There are slight depression marks on the backs of both bodies, depression marks left by someone performing an exterior examination, Geraldine said as she moved to the head of one of the bodies. Help me turn them both on to their stomachs. Having accomplished that, she showed them the depression mark.

Huh? Julian commented.

Did we ever find out anything on the tattoos? Julian asked, looking at both Geraldine and Skully.

No. Nothing, Skully responded. No one knew what the artwork was and every one of the tattoo artists wanted to hire whoever did the ink work, should we find anything out.

Geraldine, you’re educated and worldly.

Thank you.

You’re welcome, Julian said before continuing. Any idea how we can find out about these tattoos?

The library would be my guess. Both males have this amazing artwork and the women do not, so it must be significant as far as they are concerned. Just take some pictures and go look through books…otherwise an art gallery.

How about these areas here? Skully said as he circled with his index finger two rectangular patches on the backs of both of the bodies.

Yeah…I haven’t really looked closely at our new guest but the first one appears to have had his skin scraped away along with some of the ink from the tattoo.

Any idea why? Julian asked.

Again, it appears to have been done postmortem. As to why, I could only hazard a guess, Geraldine said.

Gerry, what would I find if I were to perform the same procedure? To remove the surface layer of skin? Skully asked.

Ink residue, Geraldine answered.

A formula, Julian said out loud as they all thought for a moment before both Julian and Skully looked at Geraldine, who nodded.

Call me tomorrow on this. Meanwhile, you two visit either the library or an art gallery, she said as they both left the morgue for their cars.

I’ll drive, Julian said.

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They walked over to Julian’s pickup truck, which was complete with the Confederate flag on the back window and the bug catcher on the front hood. Skully had threatened to get Julian a set of balls to hang on the trailer hitch but thought better of it after Julian’s response. You’ll need ’em ’cause my truck will be sport’n your’s.

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Geraldine returned to the two bodies after seeing both Julian and Skully to the door. She brought over a tray complete with sample bottles and medical instruments. She looked at the tattoos on both of the bodies and felt ashamed at ruining the exquisite artwork. As there was no other choice, Geraldine began by removing the epidermis and additional layers of the dermis.

The human body has seven layers of skin. The three primary layers are the epidermis, dermis, and subcutaneous tissue. The epidermis is about as thick as a sheet of paper. It is the outermost layer and is comprised of four layers of cells. The first layer of cells is the horny layer, which consists of fifteen to forty rows of dying cells. The granular is comprised of one to two rows of dying cells. The spinous layer has four to ten rows of living cells, and the basal is the fourth and final layer comprised of one row of living cells. Four layers, sixteen to forty-two rows of dead cells, five to eleven rows of living cells, combined no thicker than a sheet of paper.

The dermis is the sensitive connective tissue layer of the skin located directly underneath the epidermis. The dermis is fifteen to forty times as thick as the epidermis. It is composed of blood vessels, nerve endings, and connective tissue. The subcutaneous tissue is the third layer below the epidermis and the dermis. The thickness varies, depending on the person. The layer is made up of connective tissue, blood vessels, and fat-storing cells. It is the fat-storing cells that vary the thickness.

Tattoo artists seek to penetrate the epidermis at least to