A killer you can't catch

Standing over a dead body was nothing new to Kyle. The blood, the odor, the pair of eyes devoid of life looking back at him, none of it fazed him. Usually. But something about this body, this scene, even the night air hit him differently. Kyle’s eyes focused under the bright lights that shined through the midnight sky. His feet crushed the blades of cold grass in the open field as he positioned himself to get a better look. A brown-skinned man lay naked on the ground, like he fell asleep there. His arms by his side, but the hands were chopped off. There was a strange mark on his chest. And he was bleeding from the mouth. Kyle stood up as his eyes scanned the area. He pulled out a flashlight and shined it in every direction looking for his clothes. Only thing he saw was a tomcat hiding in the weeds that ran off when he shined the light in its face.

           “I can’t stand those bastards!” Miranda snapped as she dropped to one knee while setting her bag down. She pulled out a pair of latex gloves and went to work bagging and tagging the evidence. “Only thing they’re good for is keeping mice away. Ain’t that right detective?”

           “I love cats. Especially cougars that walk on two legs,” Kyle joked as he shifted threw the brush looking on the ground for footprints.

           Miranda’s weather beaten face cracked a rare smile as she opened the dead man’s mouth and said, “Check this out.”

           Kyle squatted his tall lanky frame down with eager eyes, “What you got for me?”

           “Somebody removed this man’s teeth,” Miranda explained running her index finger along the man’s gum line.  

           “Whoever killed him took them out to keep us from identifying him. Probably why they cut the hands off too,” Kyle responded checking out the rest of the body, “What is this mark on his chest? You ever seen anything like this before?”

           Miranda’s dark blue eyes moved from the dead man’s mouth and down to his chest. “Never seen anything like this. Looks kind of like a seven with two dots in the middle.”

           Kyle stroked the stubbles on his chin while asking, “Is it blood?”

           Miranda took a Q-tip and ran it across the mark, “I don’t know what this is. Tattoo maybe?”

           Kyle took a deep breath while rising to his feet. He motioned for the crime scene photographer and ordered, “Get pictures of all of this. I want them on my desk in the morning,” he commanded as he turned to the beat cops that were huddled up sipping coffee, “You guys do a canvas of the area. A one-mile radius. Find me this man’s clothes. I need an ID. And Miranda, my stuff goes to the front of the line. I want a cause of death by morning.”

           After a night without sleep, Kyle made his way into the morgue while Miranda was examining the body. Even with his suit jacket on, the room still felt ice cold to him. His bloodshot eyes found Miranda in scrubs with a report in one hand and a sandwich in the other.

           “Just the man I want to see,” Miranda said taking a bite of the sandwich and chasing it down with a swig of soda.

           “What you got for me?” Kyle asked walking over to the table where his victim laid.

           Miranda wiped off her hands and pulled back the sheet that covered the man’s naked body, “This man died of a heart attack.”

           Kyle had a perplexed look on his face as he asked, “What about the hands being cut off? You cut my hands off, I guarantee you I’d have a heart attack too.”

           Miranda pointed to his skin and explained, “No bruising. No hemorrhaging. No signs of a struggle. The hands were cutoff postmortem. Teeth were taken out postmortem too.” She handed him her report.

           Kyle glanced over the report while scratching the back of his head and replied, “People don’t cut off hands for no reason.”

           Miranda shrugged her shoulders, “I can’t tell you what caused the heart attack, but he definitely died of one. The markings on the chest, maybe it’s some kind of ritual. That’s why you get paid the big bucks to figure it out.”

           Kyle let out a sarcastic snicker, “My ex-wife sees more of those big bucks than I do. So, is there anyway of getting an ID?”

           “We’re running his DNA through the system, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. In the meantime, bring me a DNA profile and I’ll match his against it. Other than that, you shit out of luck,” Miranda said pulling the sheet back over the body and taking another bite of her sandwich.

           Kyle stood there with a blank expression, staring into space, trying to figure out how this puzzle fights together. Just then, Kyle’s phone began to ring. He saw it was his mother, so he stepped into the hallway to answer it, “Hi ma.”

           “Are you working on a Saturday again?”

           “Yes ma.”

           “You still taking me to church tomorrow?”

           Kyle rolled his eyes threw the phone, “We talked about this before. I’m not going to church anymore. I don’t believe any of it.”

           “How can you say that! I didn’t raise you like that.”

           Kyle exhaled, “Ma, my last case was a father who tied up his kids, poured gasoline on them, and set them on fire. That’s just one out of hundreds of cases I worked as a detective for the last ten years. I don’t believe there’s a God out there allowing this to happen.”

           “I’m a pray for you, boy.”

           “I know, I know. I’ll talk to you later,” Kyle said hanging up the phone and breathing a sigh of relief.

           Over the next week Kyle spent every waking hour pouring over the case file. Staring at the crime scene photos. Hoping to see something he missed. But there was nothing. No fingerprints. No eye witnesses. No forensics of any kind. He went to every tattoo parlor in town to see if anyone ever did a tattoo like the one on his victim’s chest. Nothing. He showed his picture to the people in the neighborhood, nobody recognized him. The case went cold.

           Then one evening, after another long night of work, Kyle fell asleep on the couch. He woke up to find that the TV was still on. He reached for the remote to cut it off and go to bed when he saw a familiar image. It looked just like the strange marking on his victim’s chest. He wiped the matter out his eyes and took a second look. Kyle wasn’t dreaming, it was the marking. He hit the guide to find that it was an old episode of the British version of Unsolved Mysteries. He turned up the sound to hear the narrator talk about this unsolved murder of a naked man in the park with his hands cut off, teeth pulled out, and that strange marking on his chest. A crime scene identical to his.

           Kyle called the authorities in Scotland Yard and spoke to the detective over the case. Apparently that episode was older than he realized. Thirty years old to be exact. The case was never solved. But, they did have two pieces of information. A name of the victim, Henry Grant. And fingerprints left on the body by the perpetrator. Scotland Yard cooperated and sent over copies all their files the next day.

           After going over those files, Kyle decided to run the fingerprints through the system. While he waited for a hit, he took the file to Miranda to she if she could make something of the crime scene photos and autopsy report.

           Miranda studied the documents closely. Shaking her head, she said, “Same cause of death.”   

           “Same everything,” Kyle added pacing back and forth, “Weird. But what does it mean?”

           Miranda walked over toward her desk. She pulled out a file of her own and handed it to Kyle and said, “The last time you were here, I got to thinking. I saw that marking on his chest somewhere before. Then I remembered for our midterms in medical school, we were required to pull an old case and breakdown the autopsy. See how modern medicine would’ve improve the accuracy of the conclusions. Somebody in my class did a report that featured that marking. Anyway, I searched the archives for autopsy reports on open cases. You can see how I like to have fun on the weekends,” she joked.

“Welcome to my world,” Kyle added with a chuckle.

“Do you realize those cases go back to 1900s?”

           “Really,” Kyle responded with a raised eyebrow as he cracked open the folder to look over what she had. And his jaw hit the floor.

           Miranda nodded her head. “That’s right. A case from 1935. A man was found naked in Laredo by the border between Texas and Mexico. Hands cut off, teeth pulled out, and that strange marking on his chest. Case was never closed. But, they got one thing your other two case don’t.”

           “What?” Kyle said reading over the ancient notes in the case file.

           “A drawing of the potential perp.”

           Kyle quickly thumbed through the file to the back page. There was a wanted poster with a drawing of the suspect. “You might be right. This could be some kind of ritual.”

           “I think I know who could help,” Miranda said taking a deep breath. My ex-husband.”

           “Greg. I thought he was a teacher.”

           “He is. But before he started teaching archeology, he focused on religious relics and traditions. He was part of excavations all over the middle east,” Miranda said writing his name and number on a piece of paper and handing it to Kyle. “Trust me. If this is a religious ritual of any kind, Greg will know about it.”  

            Kyle strolled into Greg’s office at the university that afternoon. He gave him a strong handshake and said, “Greg, long time no see.”

           “Kyle Hathaway. If you’re here to see me, you must desperate,” Greg joked as the burly man with wild grey hair pulled Kyle into a bro hug. “How’s Trudy?”

           Kyle lowered his head and replied, “We got divorce a year ago.”

           “Let me guess. She got tired of your ass working all the time. Like Miranda did with me.”

           Kyle smiled while nodding his head.

           “I knew it. So, what can I do for you my friend?”

           Kyle handed Greg a folder of the crime scene photos and said, “Miranda and me thought these were some kind of rituals. She thought you might be able to shed some light on this.”

           Greg looked at each photo. Then he motioned for Kyle to follow him. Greg led him into the school library. They walked pass row after row of the massive library until they got to the last stack. Greg climbed a ladder, his index finger hovered the rows of books until he found the one he was looking for. He stepped off the ladder and thumbed through the pages. “Just as I thought,” he said as he handed the book to Kyle.                

           Kyle’s eyes were wide as silver dollars. “It’s the same marking,” Kyle said as he locked eyes with Greg, “What the hell is this?”

           “You ever read the bible. Went to Sunday school?”

           “I try not to,” Kyle responded with a frown.

           “That comes as a surprise. I figured you were a Christian.”

           Kyle shook his head and replied, “I believed in those fairytales as a kid. I also believed in Santa Claus and the Easter bunny. But then I grew up.”   

           Greg chuckle. “Well, if you were a Christian, you would know the story of Cain and Abel. Long story short, Cain killed his brother Abel out of jealousy. God marked him with a sign as part of his punishment. Nobody was to harm him as he roamed the earth forever. People believe that the sign on your victim’s chest is that sign. The sign of the House of Cain.”

           “Interesting. So this House of Cain is like a secret society?”

           Greg shrugged, “Who knows. Rumors about them have been floating around for centuries. But the symbols on these men’s chest is no coincidence. If you want my opinion, It’s definitely some kind of religious ritual.”

           Kyle had a lot to think about on his way back to the office. Then his rang phone. It was one of the techs calling to inform him they found a match on the fingerprints he got from Scotland Yard. The prints belonged to Henry Grant. The dead man from Britain. The perpetrator assumed the dead man’s identity and moved to America. So Kyle pulled every record associated with Henry Grant, social security card, driver’s license, etc. And when Kyle saw the driver’s license photo, he was astonished. The drawing of the man in the photo kind of resembled the man in the wanted poster from 1935, like he was a descendant. Kyle shrugged at the likeness and looked up the address on the driver’s license. It was an apartment a few miles away from the crime scene of the last victim. He gathered his files and took off toward the location.

           Kyle stepped in the rent office and flashed his badge, “Hello ma’am. I’m Detective Kyle Hathaway.”

           “Oh, you must be here about James,” the property manager said with a stoic face.

           “I’m sorry, James who?” Kyle responded with a confused look.

           “James Nelson. We called the police last Friday. They said not enough time passed before they could declare him missing.”

           The light bulb went on in Kyle’s head. He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out the picture of the last victim, “Is this James?”

           “Yes sir,” she responded as all the color drained from her face, “What happened?”

           “He was found dead in a field a few miles from here.”

           “Oh my god.”

           Kyle opened a file folder and pulled out the driver’s license photo of Henry Grant and asked, “Have you ever seen this man.”

           The lady took the photo and smiled, “Yes, this is Mr. Grant. He’s one of our best tenants.”

           “He lives here?” Kyle asked stepping forward, eagerly anticipating her answer.

           “Yeah, he just picked up his mail a few minute ago,” she replied pointing to the mailbox out front.

           “I need to speak to him. What’s his apartment number?”

           “210.”

           Kyle stepped outside and walked across the parking lot where the apartment is located. He found the door and a man just stepped outside with a trash bag headed for the dumpster. Kyle quickly walked over while pulling his gun out the holster and creeping up behind him.

           “Henry Grant!” Kyle shouted with his nine-millimeter aimed at the center of his back.

           The man froze and dropped the trash bag.

           “Police! Put your hands in the air and turn around slowly,” Kyle commanded. He inched closer as the man carefully turned around. When Kyle saw the man’s face, he was stunned. Thirty years had passed since the incident in Britain, and he still looked exactly the same. His light brown skin, dark curly hair, and caramel eyes don’t look like they aged one day. Kyle’s arms fell to his side as he searched for the words and finally found them, “Henry Grant, or whatever your name is, you’re under arrest for the murder of James Nelson. And you’re wanted in Britain for murder and identity theft.”

           The man locked eyes with Kyle and exhaled loudly, “You should walk away while you still can.”

           “So you did kill them?”

           “No. Only thing I’m guilty of is assuming their identity. Call it self-preservation. Those men suffered God’s wrath.”   

           Kyle laughed and said, “You blaming a fictitious God for this. You’re crazier than I thought.”

           “Listen to me closely, God is very real. I should know. He did it because of me,” he said clearing his throat and slowly lowering his hands before finally revealing, “I’m Cain. The son of Adam and Eve.”

           “Cain,” Kyle said sarcastically, “The one who killed Abel in Genesis. That would make you about four thousand years old, right?”

           “Actually six thousand, two-hundred fifty-four years, seven months, and eight days old. But who’s counting,” the man replied with a shrug.

           “There’s a padded room and straight jacket waiting for you at Bellevue Hospital,” Kyle said with a smile.  

           Cain carefully started to unbutton his shirt as he explained, “I’m not crazy. I just made one damn mistake a long time ago. I killed the teacher’s pet. Now I’m being punished forever! People think long life is a blessing. It’s a curse. I wish I could die. I’m tired of living. But God won’t let me. Instead he marked me for all time,” Cain said opening his shirt to reveal the same marking on his chest like the other men.

           “Enough of this fairytale!” Kyle snapped unconvinced. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs and attempted to arrest the man.  

“God won’t allow it. If you try to arrest me, you’ll die like the others,” Cain warned again.

“I’ll take my chances,” Kyle replied as he grabbed Cain’s wrist, then all of sudden, he felt a paralyzing pain in his chest. Dropping his gun, he clutched his chest in agony. Kyle’s knees buckled as he fell to the ground. Lying on his back, gasping for air, he looked up and saw a bright, beautiful, majestic light engulfing him. He could feel his spirit leaving his body. His last thought was, there really is a God.     

           “I tried to warn you,” Cain said standing over him. He reached into Kyle’s pocket and took his wallet. He pulled out his ID before saying, “I guess I’m about to become Kyle Hathaway.”

                                                           THE END