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“Yeah, well, the Knights under the leadership of Nathan Denisoff had other ideas. They decided that after the sacrifice was successfully prepared they would let his blood and offer the chalice up for the acolytes to drink from.”
“So true blood sacrifice then? And the branding?”
“I haven’t seen the photos; but if it is the same coven, or a copy of the same coven, then it will be a rather crude all seeing eye.”
“Yes, it is.” Connor looked up.
“The FBI agent assigned to the case went undercover. Like you, he bore a resemblance to the men murdered. They found his body nearly a week later.”
“So why pick the same profile and personality types?”
“Because they believe that they are taking men who, in their eyes, are perfect and pure. Breaking and destroying the victims puts them in a better position with their God.”
“Ahuh. Okay, well, then I’ll call Quantico and see if I can get a copy of the files. Maybe we can find something out. But if they knew the name of the cult and the leader, why didn’t they arrest the lot of them?”
“Not enough evidence. Even back then there was no law against cults or groups of like-minded individuals coming together. They could be killing chickens for all the FBI cared. It wasn’t until they lost one of their own that they sat up and took notice. Homophobia was still rife and because of that there was no media coverage. It wasn’t exactly a vote winner.”
“Point taken. I’ll get what files I can. Just tell me – am I likely to be reading your name in them anywhere?”
“I doubt it, other than CDC liaison.”
“You think this biker group is back in town?”
“Yes. And I think they are currently looking for another victim. They will kill weekly till the solstice and then they’ll go on the road again. They pick a different city each year but seem to have a pattern.”
“Because they’ve come back to Boston?”
“Yeah, it’s been nine years; their movements would have been in the files. Maybe check them out with homicide in each area around the same time of the year. I’m sure Lindsay can find a pattern.”
“Good plan. Does the bar have a name?”
“Leather’s.”
“That’s not a gay bar.”
“No, it’s not; I told you it’s a biker bar. A lot of the bikers are in same sex relationships. Leather’s caters for the middle ground, lot of regular guys go in just to play pool.”
“You’ve been there then?”
“Couple of times.”
“So, I’m asking as a friend why you were so concerned about telling me this.”
“Just makes me nervous.”
“What?”
“Lots of things.” Peter shrugged. “Besides, you said you wouldn’t ask. Let’s just leave it at I want them to go down.”
“Good enough for me.”
“I’m expecting lab results to be in. I’d like to take a look at them before I go home.” Peter stood and left. Connor ordered another coffee and frowned.
He’d known Axon for nearly eight years, depended on his expertise in the field, on his quick wit and unswerving loyalty, if not to the OSIR then to him. For his friend to be so closed to him was unnerving. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and his teeth, as Ray would say, itched. There was something horribly wrong with all of this; gruesome murders aside. He just wondered if Peter would eventually tell him before it was too late.
***
Head down, fists dug deep into pockets and, despite the warm air, he shivered. He found himself in a small park, not far from the cemetery. It had been years since he’d stopped visiting the grave. Years before he felt he could move on, move beyond the pain of betrayal and guilt. Walking on into the cemetery, he stopped a few inches short of the headstone.
Simple, elegant, and a lonely testament to the life of a man who did not deserve to die. Tears welled in Peter’s eyes as he sat down on the grass and dug one hand into the thick turf. Long minutes passed as he let his grief take him before he looked up at the headstone and read the inscription.
Nicholas James Carter
Beloved son and friend.
Died in the line of duty.
December 8, 1982
His fingers slowly traced the black script and he stood, brushing grass from his jeans, and wandered back to the lab.
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