Inch by agonizing inch, his eyes trailed up the wall.
The beautiful porcelain face of Jesus Christ, forever frozen in his sacrifice upon the crucifix, had been replaced. Lifeless eyes stared down at him. Grotesquely twisted in death, a man's head dangled at an odd slant, contorted by a gaping wound across the throat. The body reflected the pale light of the church in its thin furrows of blood.
A muffled scream gained momentum, reverberating through the chapel. For a long while, Father Antonio hadn't realized the cry was his own.
Detective Raven Mackenzie spotted her partner, Tony Rodriguez, on the sidewalk outside St. Sebastian's on Erie Street. His silhouette was backlit by rotating beacons of red and blue from the police cars parked behind him. Captured by the streetlamps overhead, plumes of exhaust fumes drifted in vaporous clouds.
The flashing color should have been a deterrent to spectators, warning of police activity in the area. But every nutcase in the vicinity came to watch the show despite the weather, like there wasn't enough murder and mayhem conveniently available by clicking the TV remote at home. And the purveyors of bad news gathered like vultures. Huddled en masse, the media stood along the street, voices raised with questions, vying for attention. She studied the rank and file of expectant faces, well aware how cynical she'd become in the last two years since her assignment to Homicide as a new detective.
"Hell, you live closest. What took you so long, Mackenzie?" Rodriguez grinned, his words fogging the air.
Being on call, she had her evening interrupted by the chirp of her cell phone, the jaded voice of her partner on the other end of the line. She'd just popped in her latest DVD acquisition and was chowing down on a mega bowl of cereal. Nothing that couldn't be interrupted.
"Quit your whining, Rodriguez. Your wife would probably love to get a whole five minutes out of you."
Irregular gusts whipped between the buildings, gaining momentum. She walked beside him down the sidewalk next to the main cathedral, heading for the smaller church. The darkened stained glass encased in stone brought back memories of an untainted childhood. But she hadn't seen the inside of a church in a very long while. Somewhere along the way, real life had severed the link.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I don't get any complaints in that department, thank you very much." Raising an eyebrow, he badgered her. "At least I got a life, such as it is."
"What are you talkin' about? I've got a life. I was spending some quality time with Walt. Just started the Platinum Edition of The Lion King before I was so rudely interrupted."
Normally her penchant for classic animated Disney had been a secret she kept all to herself. A ritual lovingly instigated between a father and daughter. But Tony had found her Cinderella DVD on her coffee table once, before she'd tidied up and shelved it in her small media room, another eccentricity. Without the excuse of having kids, or even a husband for that matter, she'd been busted and had to fess up. So she'd been forced to contend with his incessant ribbing ever since.
"Sorry. What can I say? It's all about the circle of life, Raven." He shook his head and shrugged, gently bringing her back to the reality of their situation in Disney lingo.
"Hakuna matata, my friend." She grimaced against the chill. "No worries."
The idle chitchat allowed her to prolong her sense of normality—in denial that she'd soon look into the glazed eyes of another victim, sharing the intimacy of death. But casual conversation at the scene hadn't always been a part of her demeanor. In her first few investigations, she had remained stone quiet when she crossed the yellow tape, the pit of her stomach wrenching with anxiety. Now, she and Tony talked about nothing, their humor masking something neither of them wanted to discuss. But she'd never learned how to rid herself of the twist in her gut. It came with the territory.
Out of habit, she felt for the CPD badge clipped to her jeans belt loop under her sweatshirt. She moved it to an outside pocket of her leather jacket. It would give her clearance through the yellow tape and beyond the line of uniformed police officers protecting the integrity of the crime scene.
"What do we have, Tony?" She pulled a small notepad and pen from her jacket, making a note of the date and time. Tugging at the bill of her ball cap, she continued toward the front steps of the chapel. "DB in a church? What a world, huh?"
"I don't know. Maybe dying in a church is like getting sick in a hospital. Could be worse, I guess."
A young officer held his hand up, but let them pass when she tapped her detective's badge and muttered in reflex, "Homicide." Then she indulged in the twisted banter only another cop would appreciate.
"Dead is dead, Tony. No matter how you slice it."
"Don't say slice, Mac. Trust me on that one."
Donning her game face, she walked through the main door, snapping on her latex gloves. Down the main aisle and to the left of the altar, lights were ablaze. Crime-scene investigators were already hard at work taking photos, dusting for prints, and bagging and tagging evidence. Staring at the wall to her left, she caught the macabre sight, barely aware she held her breath.
Flash. The split-second flare of a camera cast a sickly pallor onto the face of the dead man. Flash . . . Flash.
A man in a rumpled suit hung from a crucifix. His body covered the porcelain likeness of Jesus Christ, strapped in front of it with rope. As she looked at his suit, an odd thought found fertile ground in her mind. Dressing for work this morning, did the man deliberate on his choice of suit or contemplate his shirt color? All of it . . . so pointless. Raven's world had grown colorless, accented by varying shades of mortuary black. This same theme had infringed on her peace of mind more than once lately.
"You all right?" Tony reached for her elbow. His dark eyes centered on her, blocking out everyone else in the room.
"Yeah." She waved him off. "Just thinking about something else. It doesn't matter."
"There is nothing else, Mackenzie. For people in our line of work, it all begins when we cross the line. Remember that." He smiled faintly, falling into the role of her training officer once again. After she nodded, he turned and blended in with the others.
"It all begins when we cross the line," she repeated one of Tony's favorite sayings to reinforce the thought— getting her head back in the game.
But crossing the line for Tony meant the crime-scene barrier set in yellow tape. For Raven, it took on a more symbolic meaning. Crossing a line meant risk. And in taking that risk, change would be inevitable. Was she prepared for a change in her life? When she gazed around the room, a familiar thought gripped her.
"There's gotta be something else, Tony. At least, I hope so," she whispered as if in prayer. And St. Sebastian's was a good place for that.
Raven drew closer to her partner. She heard him give a directive to one of the beat cops. "Canvass the neighborhood. See if we can catch a break, find someone who caught some suspicious activity outside the chapel. You know this neighborhood best. Grab yourself a team."
The senior CSI, Scott Farrell, jutted his chin in greeting. "Hey, Raven."
"Hey, Scott. You just about ready to bring him down?" she asked as Tony joined them. Her gaze traveled up the wall following the rope that suspended the cross and the body. "Looks like a job for more than one person. What do you think, Tony?"
"Yeah, looks that way. Our priest over there says they haul the cross down for cleaning. That's the only reason it's not permanently attached to the wall. Without the DB, one person can break a sweat just with the crucifix. But with the added weight? Yeah, it's at least a two-person job," Tony replied, watching as two CSI techs strained to lower the body. "So we're looking for more than one suspect with no respect for the church. Two to hoist, but only one to do the carving."