Jonathan Kellerman - Evidence

“Makes sense.”

“Then we’re all on the same page.” Jernigan checked her watch. “Needless to say, my initial hypothesis will not appear in the report and I’d appreciate if the same goes for yours.”

“Absolutely, Doctor.”

“Just to reassure you, I took another look at Mr. Backer as well. Examined his anus and his mouth for any sign of assault by firearm or anything else. Pristine on all counts, so whatever additional psychopathology was at play seems to have been reserved for Ms. Fredd with two d’s . Have a nice day, gentlemen.”

“How’s it going on Bobby Escobar?”

“So far, Lieutenant, it’s going nowhere.” Angry smile. “Are you volunteering your services? That deal still stands.”

“I don’t think the Sheriff’s would appreciate my meddling, Doc.”

“No doubt,” said Jernigan. “Then again, things get bad enough, everyone wants a bailout.”

When she was gone, he said, “When she admitted goofing, I was expecting something about the vanished sperm stain.”

I said, “Maybe there’s just so much she can own up to.”

“Gun rape,” he said. “Two offenders or a single dominant blitz artist who managed to cow Backer and Doreen all by himself.”

“Someone with big bucks could afford to hire a team.”

“Teddy and/or the sultan dispatched a hit squad.” He pressed his palms together, looked up at the sky. “What did I do to offend you, Herr Kafka?”

Sean Binchy showed up at Milo’s office brandishing a list of felons culled from Beaudry Construction’s subcontractor list.

Nine names, no Montes or close. Binchy had run down seven of the miscreants, ruled them out, was headed to Lancaster to check out the last two-a pair of cement-worker brothers arrested for stealing tools from a previous job.

Milo said, “How’s Ricki Flatt doing?”

“Got her set up in the Star Inn, paid for full cable, all the movie channels.”

“That should do it, Sean.”

“One question, Loot: My dad used to be a contractor before he got into Amway, I worked summers for him. Nothing fancy, just remodels, room additions. But whenever the residents weren’t living on the premises, Dad fenced the job tight, it was my job to check at the end of each day. But that place? Anyone could walk right in, it was like asking for trouble. Not that there’s anything left to steal, but still.”

“I agree, kid. Any theories about why?”

“It’s almost like whoever owned it had lost interest in the place,” said Binchy. “But then, why not just sell it, make some money? Maybe they’re rich enough not to care about a few million, but I just don’t see the point of letting it sit there. Anyway, I’m sure I’m not telling you anything new, let me go check out those two thieves.”

When he was gone, Milo said, “Like we never thought of it. Still, obvious doesn’t mean irrelevant.”

I said, “Maybe there’s a body buried there and it has something to do with Sranil’s culture.”

“As in?”

“Letting nature take its course, something akin to Zen.”

“They’re Muslims, Alex.”

“There could be something like that in Islam.”

“Letting a body rot to the point where it can’t be I.D.’d? The lot’s worth eight figures. Even for a billionaire, that ain’t Lehman stock.”

“The sultan’s a religious man,” I said. “Articles of faith can go a long way.”

He faced his computer, pounded keys.

Five hits later, we were both reading an essay by a Yale scholar of “emergent and divergent cultural forces” named Keir MacElway, citing the sultanate as an example of a postmodern society where relatively enlightened Islamic mores and laws, including a liberal and flexible interpretation of sharia , have supplanted a centuries-old, nature-based tribal animist religion. However, vestiges of prior beliefs and rituals remain, sometimes melding with the modern Muslim approach. Among these are sun and water rites, the worship of specified trees and shrubs, and fishing calendars based on astrologic configurations preserved as nostalgic folktales but revered, nonetheless. In some cases, such as sutma , contracted from the animist sutta anka enma -literally washing away mortal sin-ancient customs persist in Sranilese society.

The origins of sutma remain unclear. McGuire and Marrow (1964) hypothesize that a passive approach to the treatment of “deserved death” arose as a reaction to cannibalism, specifically as a means of preventing the consumption of enemy flesh following battles, because illness had been observed following cannibalistic victory feasts.

Ribbenthal (1969) attempts to link sutma to Buddhist influence, though evidence of any extensive interface between Sranilese animism and Buddhism remains evasive. Wildebrand (1978) attributes the belief to a generalized idealization of nature and presents as proof the ascendency of Salisthra , the guardian spirit of the forest, to the top of the animist pantheon.

Whatever its roots, sutma has proved resilient, impressively so in an age where other animist elements have ceded dominance to monotheistic religions. In contrast with Western norms advocating quick burial, and the Hindu belief in purification through immolation, sutma insists upon unfettered exposure to the elements of any organic material construed as being linked to maliciousness, insincerity, or sinfulness, in order for the sinner to gain access to the afterlife. Though not practiced as extensively as it was by Sranilese island tribes, when the merest accusation of immorality could lead to prolonged, often demeaning public postmortem displays, sutma occasionally emerges when a violent crime has taken place, most commonly in remote villages, when inhabitants seek out the comfort of maranandi muru , The Old Way.

Milo saved, printed. Sighed. “Teddy kills a girl in that house so the sultan sees that goddamn pile of wood as sinful organic material.”

I said, “He’s making sure his brother reaches the afterlife.”

“Teddy met up with some family justice?”

“Justice in this world, compassion for the next.”

He looked up Professor MacElway’s Yale extension, talked briefly and amicably to a startled scholar of emergent and divergent cultural forces.

MacElway confirmed it: In some animist cultures, murderers’ huts were left “fallow.”

Milo said, “Guess the sultan’s a traditionalist. So where do Backer and Doreen figure in, to the tune of fifty G’s?”

“What if Backer and Doreen were paid by someone to burn the place down in order to jeopardize Teddy’s celestial journey? They couldn’t get to him directly because he’s either dead or under royal protection back home in Sranil. But knowledge of sutma would present a partial alternative.”

“Keep the bastard out of heaven. Someone who believes in the old ways?”

“Or doesn’t, but knows the royal family does. With no ability to exact physical revenge, keeping Teddy in perpetual limbo could be a potent psychological second choice. And it would explain why Doreen hacked into Masterson’s file.”

“Pinpointing Teddy’s real estate so he can dangle over the pits of hell forever. That’s the case, they’d have to know something about Sranilese culture.”

“Didn’t take you long to get the basic facts.”

“The information age… okay, let’s go with this for argument’s sake: Someone pays Backer and Doreen fifty G’s to whip up some vegan Jell-O. Then why didn’t they just do the job? Why keep visiting and using it as a love-nest?”

“That could’ve started as scoping out the job,” I said. “Figuring out where to stick the explosives, time their escape. But once there, they decided to mix business with pleasure. Because that was Backer’s thing: love under the stars in the company of plywood and drywall and rebar. That might go back to his adolescence. If he started early as a teenage firebug, sex and kaboom could’ve formed an interesting mix.”