Ten Plagues

“How many times do I have to tell you, no. I don’t remember the words.” Paul struggled to control himself. His temper had always been his Achilles’ heel. “I think it was Spanish, but I’m not sure. I told you the phone rang before I got a good look at it and, after the call came, all I could think about was getting to that building.”

Something nudged his memory. He hated to admit her badgering had actually shaken loose an answer. “Natio… I remember that word because I thought it meant ‘nation.’ I speak some Spanish, but I don’t read or write it well.”

O’Shea made a movement so sudden it jarred Paul. O’Shea thumbed through his notebook. “It didn’t say, “Pestis ex Sanguis,” did it?”

“Plague of blood?” Paul asked. “Where did you get that?”

O’Shea yanked his head out of his notebook. “Plague of blood? That’s what pestis ex sanguis means?”

“Yeah, it’s Latin.”

“And how would you know that?” Collins demanded. “Have you heard the words ‘plague of blood’? They mean something to you?”

“Well, yeah, sure.” Paul shrugged, which also hurt like crazy. Maybe when Detective Collins had shoved at his sprained wrist, she hadn’t been all that rough.

“We thought it might be some kind of rap group. We didn’t pay much attention to it,” O’Shea said. “We’ve just started investigating Juanita Lopez’s disappearance. She’s been missing almost a week, but she wasn’t reported right away, then we had a forty-eight-hour waiting period. What does it mean?”

“The plague of blood, “Paul said, slightly more alert. “The first plague God sent to Pharaoh when Moses asked him to ‘let my people go’ … that’s it!” Paul sat up straight and his ribs punished him for it. He groaned and sank back onto his bed. “ ‘Eamus Meus Natio Meare.’ It’s not Spanish, it’s Latin. I was so panicked when I got the phone call from Pravus, I didn’t understand what it meant. I learned it in seminary. It means ‘Let my people go.’“

“The message Pravus told you to give to the gang?” O’Shea asked.

Paul nodded.

“You said ‘first plague,’ “ O’Shea mentioned warily. “Weren’t there …?”

Paul spoke into the silence as he saw O’Shea and Collins remembering the Bible story. “Ten.”

“The ten plagues of Egypt.” Detective Collins’s knuckles turned white on her notebook.

Paul arched his eyebrows. “You know the Bible, Detective Collins?”

“I know the Bible.” Her jaw tightened until Paul thought it might crack. “I know it very well.”

Paul tried to control the pounding of his heart as he thought, one by one, of the plagues. “Then you know we need to brace ourselves for a plague of blood.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Blood. Everywhere. Blood and the smell of death.

“I s’pose he used the blood to get our attention.” O’Shea crouched down and reached his pen out to lift the hand that lay on the edge of the fountain.

“It worked.” Keren watched the victim bob faceup in a small cemented pond within walking distance of the Lighthouse Mission.

It was the kind of park where you stepped around the discarded condoms and kept a wary eye out for used needles. One of its efforts toward beauty was in this modest fountain, twenty feet around and sunk into the ground like a little pond with its simple joyous spray of water.

The fountain was obviously circulating the same water over and over, because blood spurted into the air in a hundred fiery arcs. The bright crimson rainbows bled down on Juanita Lopez, who lay in some kind of white dress floating on the water. From here they could see the dress was marked with drawings.

“The ME concurred with Morris on the Latin,” Keren said. “She knew from med school that sanguis is “blood” and pestis, “plague.” That covers the carving we found hung over Lopez’s door. The new words”—Keren pointed at the victim—”if Morris is right, mean ‘Let my people go.’“

O’Shea stared at the paintings on the woman’s dress. “Still no sign of that wood carving Morris got?”

“Nope, and we’ve questioned everyone.” Keren had been frantic to track down any clue, hoping there was still time to save Juanita. “We’ve had city crews on that bomb site ever since it happened.”

“That mess is the only reason we aren’t swarmed with press out here. They’d have a field day with this, regardless of its connection to the explosion. But when they connect the two, we won’t be able to take a step without reporters dogging us.”

“Let’s try to keep them away from it if we can.”

“I’ll talk to the ME’s office and the CS unit. They’ll work with us, but headquarters is another story. They can’t keep a secret, and the mayor’s office leaks like a sieve.”

“We can’t keep this under wraps anyway.” Keren looked at the body, the young Hispanic woman, her dress, long sleeves floating out like the wings of an angel, long skirt with no waist, just loose all the way to the gathered neck. “No way this is a onetime deal.”

O’Shea pulled his notebook out of his breast pocket. “Did you interview the gang members who were in that house with Morris?”