Do Not Go Gentle (7 page)

After a few moments, Eileen raised her hands up and broke the stare-down. “Fine. You'll do what you wish no matter what I say.” She stalked into the kitchen.

Jamie got up shakily from the couch. The fact that he hadn't showered or shaved showed how ill he was. Jamie was very attentive to his personal hygiene, but it took too much energy lately. “I'm gonna grab a quick shower before Cal shows up,” he called to Eileen.

“Of course you are. If I hear any loud thuds, I'll come pick you up.” she called from the kitchen.

Jamie did not reply. Instead, he just shook his head and navigated his way upstairs. Normally, getting a shower would revive him. Today, however, he felt drained after showering and throwing on a clean T-shirt and jogging pants. He was dragging himself back into the living room when the doorbell rang. “I've got it,” he called to Eileen.”

“Fine.” she called back. “I'm making coffee and sandwiches. Ask Cal what he'd like. He's eaten here enough to know our usual fare.”

Jamie shook his head.
What is it about Irish women that requires them to feed everyone?
Jamie opened the door to see Cal standing on the porch. “Well, look who's out on bail. Come in, Cal.”

Cushing shook Jamie's proffered hand as he came in. “Don't take this the wrong way, Griffin, but you look like something the cat dragged in.”

“Keep it down,” Jamie said. “I'm getting enough grief from everyone as it is.”

“You must think I'm deaf as well as stupid, Séamus Edward Griffin.” Jamie grimaced as Eileen's voice rang out from the kitchen. “Have the dear man sit and find out what he'd like on his sandwich.”

“Ham and Swiss will be fine, Eileen.”

“Coming right up. Cream and sugar in your coffee?”

“The way God intended it, yes ma'am.”

A few minutes later, Eileen came into the living room with a tray containing two large sandwiches and two mugs of steaming coffee. “Cal, maybe you can knock some sense into this hard-headed husband of mine.”

After taking his sandwich and coffee from her, Cal replied, “I don't know, Eileen. In the ten years we've been partners, I haven't had much luck on that count.”

“Well, I've been nagging him, his daughters have been nagging him, even his mother stopped by this morning to nag him, but we don't seem to be getting through.”

Jamie groaned. “Leave it be, woman. All that nagging has made my headache even worse.” He was smiling as he said it, and he grabbed her hand. “Thanks for taking care of me, my love.”

Eileen sniffed. “Well, it hasn't been easy, but I guess it'll have to do. Cal, I'm heading to the store for the afternoon. Can you keep him in line for me?”

“I doubt it, but I'll give it my best effort. Thanks for the food and coffee, Eileen. You're a gem.”

“Don't I know it.” added Jamie.

“Flattery will get you two everywhere.” She leaned down and gave Jamie a kiss. “Cal, it was good to see you, but if I find you here when I get home from work tonight, we'll be having some words.”

Cal sat up straight and saluted smartly. “Yes, ma'am. No, ma'am. Right away, ma'am.”

“The two of you, I swear,” Eileen said, walking out of the room shaking her head.

Cal and Jamie ate their sandwiches in silence, waiting for Eileen to leave. It wasn't that they had a problem discussing work in front of her—they just preferred to keep a clear line between police work and their personal lives. Jamie always struggled to leave his work at the office, but sometimes he couldn't help having it intrude on his personal life.
Occupational hazard, I guess.

They were finishing their sandwiches when they heard the garage door close. “So, where do we start?” Cal asked.

Jamie wolfed down the last bite of his sandwich and took a big gulp of the coffee. “Well, I actually found out some interesting stuff doing online research.”

“Told you, Griffin. The Internet is going to be one of our most valuable tools before long.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, here's what I've got. Remember the burn mark we found on the body?” Cal nodded, finishing his sandwich. “Hanover was able to restore it despite the condition of the body. She scanned it and emailed it me.” Jamie handed Cal a piece of paper. “After doing some online research, I found out that this symbol is called a ‘
skandola
'.”

“Okay. I see a lion, bee, and scorpion.”

“Yeah, and the circle around them is actually a snake.”

Cal peered closer at the picture. “So it is, but what the hell is it supposed to be?”

“I'm not completely sure, but from what I've found out so far, it's part of a Middle Eastern religion that dates back to around the time of Christ. The ring is a symbol of power of some type among the priests of the religion. They believe ancient man brought the ring back from the underworld. Some sources cited a belief that a
skandola
can be seen on images of the Shroud of Turin.”

“Wow. That's cool.”

“Ah, here we go.”

Cal bristled. “What do you mean ‘here we go'?”

Jamie sighed and grinned. “Nothing, oh spook-master. I
knew
you'd go crazy with this crap.”

“Hey, just because you don't believe in the supernatural doesn't mean it's just a load of crap.”

“True, but it's a load of crap all the same.” Jamie held up his hands. “Anyway, I told Hanover what I'd found out and asked her if she knew anything about it or how we could find out more about it.”

“Yeah, Marie has an open mind unlike some people sitting in this room,” replied Cal.

“Again, I say anyway, she didn't know anything about it, but said she might have a source who would be willing to talk to us about it.”

“Not if you go in with that attitude.”

“Just what she said. Now, back in the real world, yesterday I was able to do some research through the online case database and found more than a dozen cases scattered throughout the metro area where the corpse had what was called a ‘distinctive burn mark.'”

“The same mark?”

“I didn't get that far. I ran out of gas—thanks to this damned flu or whatever it is. I wrote down the case numbers. Plus, I found another half dozen or so where the body was in too bad of shape to find anything, but had the same type of shriveling as we found on our girl.”

“So we may have a pattern.”

“Yeah. So here's what I propose. You can get on Eileen's laptop and between us, we can pull up the detailed files and attachments for each case to see if we can spot any connections.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The two men worked in silence, each making notes. Jamie used paper, while Cal typed his notes into a document. After two hours with nothing but bio breaks and coffee refills, they decided they had found all they were going to find in the online files. “So whaddya think?”

Cal rolled his neck to stretch out his muscles. “I think you're right, partner. All of these cases are connected. The M.O. is too similar, not only the bodies, but the way in which they were disposed.”

“Agreed, and I've found a connection between at least some of the victims.”

“Really? Mine all seem to be random.”

“I don't think so. Do your victims have anything in their files about a religious cult called ‘the Disciples of Endor'?”

Cal looked through his notes, and then did searches within each online file. After a few seconds, he sat up straight and swore. “Hell's bells, yes. Not all of them, but in about half my cases, the investigating detectives mention of the group.”

“The others could either be truly random victims or their connection to the cult may not have been obvious to the investigators.”

“Right, so we need to do a little digging into the cult and see if we can find more concrete evidence of a connection.”
“Bingo. Not only should we ask around about these guys, I think we should pay them at visit at their offices.”

Cal shook his head. “You're not cleared for field work, Jamie.”

Jamie made a face. “I know, I know, but I'm seeing the doc tomorrow, and I should be ready to get back into action by Monday.”

Cal nodded. “Okay, that works for me, except you mean Tuesday—Labor Day weekend, remember? I've got enough other crap to keep me busy until then.”

“Anything I can do to help?” asked Jamie.

“Yeah, you can get up off your dead ass and get back to work.”

“Ah, Christ on a crippled crutch. I'll either get better soon or I'll kill something.”

Cal gave his partner a serious look. “You still having headaches and fainting spells?”

“Yeah, some. I think I'll be better soon. I'm only going to the doctor to keep Eileen happy.”

“Well, that's a good enough reason for me. Just get better. I don't need to be left hanging.”

Jamie started and gave Cal a puzzled look. “What do you mean ‘left hanging'? You don't think I
want
to be sick do you?” he asked vehemently.

“No, no,” Cal protested. “I'm just bitching. Take it easy, Griffin.”

“Okay. I'm just tired of this crap.”

Cal stood and watched as Jamie struggled to his feet. “Well, from what I can see, you may actually need to visit the doctor. It's been four days and you don't look a helluva lot better, my friend.”

“Take a number, Cushing. I'm getting nagged by professionals—you're just a rank amateur.”

Cushing laughed and walked to the door. “Got it. You need anything else before I head out? Maybe I could drop off one of my Stephen King novels?”

“I'd have to be dead before I'd read any of your supernatural claptrap. You're not my nanny. I'm just glad I could help make some headway on this case.”

“Me too. Get better, pal.”

“That's my plan.”

After Cal left, Jamie lay back down onto the sectional.
I'm just going to rest here for a while, so I can honestly tell Eileen that I took it easy after Cal left.

It wasn't long before Jamie fell into a deep, but troubled sleep.
He plunged once again into the darkness from his previous nightmare. He looked around at the rifle shot sounds of the bridge disintegrating behind him. As before, Jamie turned and ran to the far side of the bridge, where everything seemed colorless and devoid of life. He barely reached the other side again, but this time, as he struggled to pull himself onto solid ground, he looked down at his legs. To his horror, he saw that an enormous snake, which was trying to pull him down into the abyss, ensnared his legs. Jamie screamed in rage and kicked his legs furiously, trying to dislodge the serpent. Jamie clung to one of the bridge supports with his right arm, and reached down with his left. A knife appeared from nowhere and Jamie swung it at the snake. The beast hissed and darted its head forward in an attempt to sink its fangs into Jamie's arm. Jamie felt his grip failing, and he roared in his rage as….

Jamie awoke with a start, his body covered in a sheen of sweat and his headache now pounding an anvil chorus in his head. He sank back down to the sectional.
Ah, Mother of God, enough. Enough already.
He hadn't told Eileen about his nightmares, but they were getting steadily worse. Jamie sat up, calming his racing heart and wiping the sweat from his forehead. Jamie was not a believer in the significance of dreams, but the nightmares were starting to make him wonder.
Is there something more going on here than meets the eye?
I really don't need this shit.

As he rose on unsteady feet to get something for his headache, he wondered yet again whether this was just a case of the flu or if there might be something more serious, something more permanently wrong—something that might mean the end of his career as a police detective.

“You know you didn't need to stay home to take me to the doctor, don't you?” Jamie asked.

“For the four hundred and ninety second time, give that song a rest,” Eileen replied, exasperated. “Why is it so difficult for you to just accept help from those who love and care for you? I swear, you've got to be the most vexing man on the planet.”

Jamie chuckled. “I doubt I'm even in the top ten and you know it.” He shook his head and looked out the window of their Honda Pilot at the passing streets. “It's just hard for me, Eileen.” All humor dissipated from Jamie's voice. “I've never really
been
ill before. Sure, the occasional cold or flu, but nothing that didn't pass quickly. No broken bones—”

“Though not for want of trying, according to your mother,” Eileen interjected.

“Yeah, yeah, but you get my point. No major surgeries—just a tonsillectomy when I was five and the vasectomy when Riona was five. I just
don't get sick
.”

Eileen didn't say anything for several moments. “True, but maybe Jerry will find something and fix you up right away.”

Jamie sighed. “I know. I just don't like being sick.”

“No one does, you daft man.”

“It's more than that. It's—” Jamie groped for words. “It's like a sign that I've done something wrong. I also don't like having everyone fuss over me because I'm sick.”

“It's not fussing—it's taking care of you when you need it. Despite your belief, Jamie, everyone needs help now and again.”

“I never said I didn't. Ah, I'm bollixing this all up. Sure, part of what I feel is that being ill is a sign of weakness, but I also just don't like being the center of attention.”

Eileen laughed. “Since when?”

“You know what I mean. My whole life, I've been held up as an example to my siblings and my cousins. ‘Jamie gets excellent grades. Jamie works a job
and
goes to school. Jamie got into Notre Dame.' If I'm to be held up as a standard, then I can't afford to be ill now, can I?”

“Tis not like that, and you know it. No one used you to browbeat anyone.”

“Maybe not intentionally, but the repetition always caused friction between us kids. No one likes to be told, ‘You need to be more like' someone else.”

“True, but there's nothing wrong with praising someone's success,” Eileen insisted.

“I know. Like I said, I'm not saying what I mean, at least, not very well.”

“Because you rarely tell anyone how you feel. Not even me.”

Jamie looked back at his wife. “It's not because I don't want to, my love. It's just the way I am.”

“Well, as I've said before, you need to try.”

Jamie reached across the seat and held out his hand. Without looking, Eileen grasped it and squeezed. After a moment, Jamie said, “Okay then. I've been having nightmares.”

“Like the one that woke me the other morning? You've been having more?”

Jamie nodded. “Aye. It seems like every time I've been sleeping since this started, I wake up fearful, angry, and sad—like something terrible happened or is going to happen.”

“Do you want to tell me about them?” Eileen asked softly.

Jamie looked out at the Dorchester streets. Dorchester was one of Boston's largest and most populous neighborhoods. They were driving up Dorchester Avenue, the main north-south thoroughfare that ran the entire length of the district, from Uphams Corner in the north to Lower Mills in the south. It was a diverse neighborhood—thriving business districts in Uphams Corner and Fields Corner, a Boston U campus and the JFK Library in Harbor Point, industrial sections in the north, and a variety of residential neighborhoods throughout.

The demographics of the neighborhood varied as well: a large Caribbean population in western and central Dorchester, Vietnamese in the eastern sections, the “Polish Triangle” in the north, and the Irish enclaves to the south. A large Cape Verdean community even resided in Uphams Corner. Jamie had lived his whole life here, other than his years at Notre Dame. His family roots went back generations in the Cedar Grove section. Jamie never ceased to marvel at Dorchester's diversity and the juxtaposition of stability and change. It suffered from a high crime rate, especially murders, which were a primary force in Jamie's love of his career—defending this neighborhood from those who would destroy it.

“Is it that hard to share?” asked Eileen.

“No, just wool-gathering.” Jamie recounted his nightmares, and then snorted softly. “Silly, huh?”

“No, not at all. Nightmares may seem silly when you talk about them in the light of day, but they can be overpoweringly real when you're having one. If you ask me, your nightmares come from your fear of being sick, of not being ‘superman' and able to run on full power for sixteen hours a day.”

“I thought about that,” admitted Jamie, “but the first nightmare was the morning I first woke up feeling bad, not after it lingered.”

“Maybe your body was telling your subconscious that something was wrong.”

“Maybe.”

As they parked in the clinic's lot, Eileen turned to her husband and smiled. “I know, my hard-headed Irish love, you don't buy into anything you can't see or feel.”

Jamie just shook his head in response, and then staggered as he got out of the car, much to Eileen's concern. She marched over, grabbed Jamie's arm and held tight, despite his glare.

They walked into the clinic offices and exchanged small talk with the front staff. They had been coming to this clinic for years and knew everyone well. As they walked to the seating area, a male voice cried out. “Jamie Griffin. You really
must
be sick to visit the doc.”

“Ah, sweet Jaysus.” muttered Jamie softly to Eileen. Then he turned toward the speaker with a smile pasted to his face. “Well, Max, that explains why
I'm
here—what's
your
excuse?” Jamie stepped to a large, beefy man stood, shaking his head.

“I'm here for my damned blood pressure.” said Max, his florid face underscoring his statement. “If I don't get checked out at least twice a year, the force won't certify me. So here I am.” Max Caldwell was also a cop at Dorchester District C-11, where Jamie and Cal worked. “When Sully told me you were still ill, I had to wonder what could knock one of the toughest cops I've ever worked with off his feet.”

“That's what I'm here to find out, Max. I think it's just the flu, but damned if I can shake it. Maybe Jerry can give me something.”

Max laughed. “Well, good luck with that. Personally, I don't think much of quacks.” Caldwell looked Jamie up and down. “Of course, you don't really look sick to me. Maybe you're just getting old.”

Jamie faked a punch, which Max blocked reflexively, laughing. “Listen, old man, you're a helluva lot closer to retirement than I am.”

“Ouch.” said Max, feigning a wound to the heart. “Eileen, how do you put up with this man?”

“I tend to use a cattle prod, Max. Nothing else gets his attention.”

Caldwell roared with laughter. “Good girl. Good girl.” Before he could say anything more, one of the nurses opened the door and called his name. “Ah, well, I can't stay and chat. Some of us have to get back to work. Get better soon, Jamie.”

When the door had closed on Caldwell, Jamie whispered to Eileen. “Noxious old gasbag.”

“Jamie.” Eileen punched her husband's shoulder. “He's not that bad. He's concerned about you.”

“In a pig's eye. Caldwell won't waste any time rushing back to the station and letting everyone know he saw me here.”

“So? What's wrong with that? Afraid it will tarnish your ‘tough guy' image?”

Jamie shook his head. “Laugh about it, lass, but it happens. The last thing I need is for guys to start talking about me losing a step, or not being as tough as everyone thinks. You may not think it's important, but trust me, it is.”

“Ah, poor man. I won't make light of your machismo anymore.”

They waited in silence for another ten minutes before hearing Jamie's name called. After going through the usual gamut of temperature, weight, blood pressure, and pulse, the nurse, reviewed his symptoms and told him that Doctor Jasinski would be in shortly.

Once she was out of the room, Jamie laughed softly. “Define ‘shortly.' I don't think Jerry's ever been on time for an appointment.”

“Stop it,” chided Eileen. “He is, once in a great while, through sheer luck, on time. Jerry's probably telling the latest of his awful jokes to the previous patient. You just need to learn patience.”

“Woman, I am nothing if not patient.”

“My point exactly.”

They only waited about five minutes before the door opened. Jerry Jasinski was a tall man with a crew cut, in his mid-fifties. Laugh lines wrinkled his broad, open face, with eyes framed by steel-rimmed glasses. “Jamie. Eileen. Good to see you—just wish it wasn't always when someone is sick.” Jasinski shook their hands and sat. “So young man,” he said, looking keenly at Jamie. “I understand you're a little under the weather.”

Jamie shrugged. “I've been better, Jerry.”

Jasinski laughed. “You must be really sick to admit that.”

“Well, I'm not as ill as herself would have you believe,” Jamie began.

“But he's stayed home from work all week,” interrupted Eileen.

Jasinski narrowed his eyes. “Really? That sounds a bit serious. Tell me what's going on, Jamie.”

After hearing Jamie's list of symptoms, Jasinski said, “Hmmm. Well, hop up here on the table, my friend. Let's check you out.”

Jamie waited in silence while Jerry checked his eyes, ears, and throat. He listened to his heart and his chest. He palpated his abdomen and glands, and he checked his joints. “Everything still in the right place?”

“For the most part. So tell me about your headaches. How severe, on a scale of 1-10?”

“Middling. Maybe a four or five.”

“Any headache at all is unusual for him,” added Eileen.

“Mmhmmh, mmhmh,” mused Jasinski. “Are they localized or across your whole head? Constant or intermittent?”

Jamie pointed to the bridge between his eyes. “Mostly centered right here, although sometimes it feels like something's poking into my left eye. Other times, it seems to be like a vise, pressing from the front over my whole head, down to the base of my neck. It's been pretty much a constant headache since I got sick—only the intensity varies.”

“Still getting sick?”

“Not so much now. That part, at least, seems to have gone away on its own.”

The doctor nodded again. “Okay, stand up and let me check your balance.” As Jamie stood, Jasinski continued, “Now stand with your feet together, arms at your sides and close your eyes.”

“Ah, now, a field sobriety test?”

“Cops. They always know my best tricks.” As Jamie complied, however, both Jasinski and Eileen grew concerned as the normally rock-steady Jamie began to sway, like a sapling in a strong breeze. “Mmmhmmm. Okay now, hold your arms to your sides, chest high.” After complying, the swaying became worse. “Interesting,” Jasinski said, placing a hand on Jamie's hip to steady him. “Now try to touch your nose with your left hand.” Jamie did so, though not quite as fast as he usually would. “Now your right hand.” Jamie pulled his right hand in toward his face, but he had to pause, and his finger waved about a bit before finding his nose. “I see.”

Jamie opened his eyes. “Okay, so I'm a bit off. It's just part of the flu, right?”

Jasinski bobbed his head. “Well, sometimes, that can be the case. Close your eyes again and let me see you walk a straight line, heel to toe.” Jamie complied, but after taking two steps, he staggered enough to cause Jasinski to reach out and steady him. Jamie tried a few more steps, but with no better results. “Okay, my friend, have a seat back on the table.”

Jasinski knelt and placed his hands on Jamie's ankles. “Try to push my arms out. Good,” he said as Jamie complied. “Now the left one—now the right.” Jasinski repeated this process with Jamie's knees and arms. “Now raise your arms, elbows out, fists touching in front of your chest. Don't let me push them down.” After these tests, Jasinski sat back down and made a few notes. “I don't like the slight weakness on your right side.”

“I thought maybe I was just imagining that,” said Eileen.

“No, it's slight, but it's there.” He looked at Jamie. “I'm going to order some tests, my friend.”

“Tests? What kind of tests?”

“Many and painful—now listen up.” Jasinski smiled as he spoke, but Jamie could tell he was concerned. “Your symptoms aren't unusual, but the fact that they won't go away are troubling. You've never had this happen before and you're not one of my patients who are always coming in with some ‘mysterious illnesses.' I'm going to start by sending you to an infectious disease specialist. I'm also going to schedule you for an MRI.”