Page 6

The musical tones of carillon bells flooded the air as Jenna pushed the car door open and stepped out in front of St. Michael’s Catholic Church. The Angelus melody, familiar and usually comforting, now struck an eerie chord against the backdrop of a potential crime scene.

“Father,” she called out, making her way towards the priest who was waiting with hands clasped, his expression taut with worry. Under the midday sun, Father Walsh’s thinning hair took on a halo-like glow. His face was etched with worry lines, and he wore scholarly round spectacles. His vestments draped over his lean frame, a modest reflection of the resplendent stained-glass saints behind him.

His anxious gaze revealed an unspoken concern, adding another layer to his normally composed demeanor. She noted the tense lines of his face, the way his eyes flicked towards the interior of the church, then back to her with urgency.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Sheriff Graves,” Father Walsh said, the formality of his words undercut by a tremor that betrayed his inner turmoil. “It’s... it’s quite unsettling.”

“Understood, Father.” Jenna nodded as Jake joined her side, his expression grim. “We’ll take care of this.”

As the ringing of the Angelus came to her end, Jenna found herself staring up at the ringing bell tower, a question forming on her lips. Anticipating her query, Father Walsh explained, “It’s automated, Sheriff. Has been for decades. Plays three times a day without fail.”

He paused, considering. “Perhaps I should have it silenced until... well, until this is resolved.”

Jenna regarded him for a moment, appreciating the priest’s foresight amid the chaos. “That might be best,” she agreed, thinking how the sound that once called the faithful to prayer now heralded an investigation into death in this house of worship. She took a breath, preparing herself for what lay ahead, and nodded to Jake, signaling it was time to proceed.

“Father,” Jenna said. “We’re here. Just show us the way.”

With a silent gesture, Father Walsh turned on his heel, leading them into the heart of St. Michael’s. As they followed Father Walsh into the sanctuary, the hush was a startling change from the chaos that was unfolding outside, where crime scene tape and flashing lights were already staking their claim on holy ground.

They made their way toward the Sunday School room, where officers who had arrived before them were already busy cordoning off areas and speaking in hushed urgent tones. Seated outside the room was an elderly woman who Jenna recognized as Betty Serbin, a fixture in the church community. She looked shell-shocked, her normally rosy cheeks pale with fear.

Officer Maria Delgado, one of Jenna’s most empathetic officers, sat beside her, offering quiet words of comfort.

“Betty was here when it was found,” Father Walsh whispered to Jenna, his voice heavy with concern for his parishioner. “Poor woman has barely said a word since then.”

Jenna and her companions continued on into the room. As Jenna scanned the scene—that place of innocence now marred by unknown horrors—her gaze fell upon the familiar face of Pete Martinez. The handyman stood immobilized, his usual warmth extinguished by the grim discovery. His voice, when he acknowledged Jenna’s presence, was hollow.

“Sheriff,” Pete managed, his eyes pleading for a reality different from the one unfolding. “I wish I was seeing you under better circumstances.”

“Understood, Pete.” Jenna responded. “Show me.”

Pete led Jenna and Jake into the Sunday School room, where the bright artwork and cheerful new paint now looked sadly out of place. He indicated the closet door that stood open, with a shelf propped against the wall outside near a clutter of supplies on the floor. His hand trembled as it hovered over the damaged drywall. “I was just trying to fix the brackets to hold up a shelf,” he murmured, his words barely carrying over the short distance between them. “There was more space behind the wall than I’d expect. Then I saw …”

Jenna nodded, her expression unreadable as she took in the cavity he indicated—a space that held more than just empty air. Even from several feet away, she could see that something was there, inside the torn back wall of that closet. She felt a presence that spoke of secrets long buried.

“Never imagined I’d ever find... anything like this,” Pete finished, his voice trailing into the stillness of the room.

Jenna’s hand moved to rest briefly on his shoulder—a silent thanks for his resilience. She then turned her attention back to the closet. Stepping closer, she could see exactly what someone had hidden within that wall cavity. The body, curled fetal-like amidst the yellowed plastic and decaying linen, seemed to be clutching at some last vestige of comfort. As if even in death, the victim sought peace in the dark, narrow confines of the unplanned sepulcher.

“That’s … unusual,” Jake muttered grimly.

The room felt colder to Jenna, the air thicker; it was as if time itself had slowed down around her. Who was this person? How did they come to rest here, unseen for who knew how many years? She wondered if screams had echoed off these walls, now absorbed into the faded wallpaper and dusty floorboards. She could see that it was most likely a woman, judging from the body’s shape and outline. More than that, she couldn’t tell.

Jenna felt a familiar tug at the edge of her consciousness, her psychic intuition brushing against the veil between life and the afterlife. Yet, she knew that no spirit would reach out to her while she was awake; there were no answers to be found that way, not yet. This crime scene was a puzzle for her analytical mind, for her training, and her experience as Sheriff.

A murmur of voices and shuffle of footsteps announced the arrival of Dr. Melissa Stark and her forensic team. Clad head-to-toe in white hazmat suits, as usual, they resembled spectral figures from another world.

“Melissa,” Jenna acknowledged, stepping aside to allow the coroner access. She briefed her quickly on the discovery, keeping her tone professional. “It looks like it’s been here a while.”

“Let’s get her out,” Melissa replied, already assessing the situation with a practiced eye. “We need to move her carefully.” The body, once a person someone must have known, someone might have loved.”

“Stand back,” she told Jenna and Jake. “You’re not dressed for this.”

The coroner’s team went work with a meticulous calmness that Jenna always found reassuring. Soon the body, still shrouded in its grim cocoon of plastic and aged fabric, was gently extracted from the wall and laid onto the metallic surface of their gurney. The room around them had taken on the clinical sterility of an operating theatre rather than the vibrancy of a place of learning and faith.

Dr. Melissa Stark leaned over the form, her gloved hands probing deftly at the edges of the wrappings. Her expression was one of focused curiosity, a professional mask that did not betray the macabre nature of her work.

“Interesting,” Melissa muttered, drawing Jenna’s attention. She peered closer, following the coroner’s line of vision to the discoloration staining the tattered linen. “Based on the condition and the residue I’m seeing, I’d say the body was treated with quicklime.”

Jenna’s heart sank at the implication. “So, we’re looking at a body that’s been dissolved beyond recognition?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

The coroner straightened up, a small smile playing on her lips. Jenna recognized that expression as Melissa’s way of acknowledging a challenge. “Actually, Sheriff, that’s a common misconception,” Melissa said, shaking her head slightly. “Quicklime doesn’t dissolve bodies the way most people think it does.”

She paused for a moment, reaching out to lightly tap the stained linen with a gloved finger. The material crumbled slightly under her touch, revealing more of the unsettling residue beneath.

“In reality,” she continued, “quicklime—calcium oxide—is more often used to suppress odors and slow down the rate of decomposition. It can have a corrosive effect on organic matter, yes, but it’s not as efficient at breaking down tissue as one might think.”

Jenna nodded slowly, absorbing this new information. She watched as Melissa resumed her examination of the body with renewed focus.

“In this case,” the coroner added after a moment, “the quicklime likely served to mask any smell of decay from becoming noticeable—which would explain how this poor soul remained hidden here for so long without detection.”

Jenna processed their implications—a body hidden away within these hallowed walls—and felt a chill run through her despite the warmth of the room.

“How long?” Jake asked.

“I won’t know more until we get back to my lab,” Melissa concluded. “We’ll need to remove these wrappings carefully in a controlled environment.” Her voice was steady and professional as she delivered this news—an unflinching bearer of harsh facts in a scene that seemed surreal.

“But identification may still prove challenging,” Melissa warned without looking up from her work. “The lime has compromised some aspects of physical identification, and DNA extraction may be difficult due to potential degradation over time. Let’s see what else we can uncover back at the lab,” she added, gesturing to her team to prepare for transport.

The gurney rolled away, each squeak from its wheels a reminder of the morbid reality it conveyed from the building. Jenna lingered a moment longer, studying the closet that had become a crypt. The jagged opening in the drywall looked like a large wound, exposing a secret held far too long.

“Quicklime...” Jenna muttered under her breath, considering the implications. It was a substance often misunderstood, but it was clear that its use here was deliberate—the act of someone who wanted to hide a body. That meant it was most likely a murder.

She glanced once more at the empty cavity before turning to oversee the rest of the scene, her resolve hardening. Whoever had done this had not counted on a sheriff’s tenacity—or her uncanny ability to commune with the dead. Jenna would pursue justice with every resource at her disposal.

With Dr. Stark’s initial examination complete, Jenna knew the next phase awaited—an autopsy that would hopefully yield answers. There were so many more questions: How long had the victim been there? And were there others?

She turned to the others in the room: Jake, Pete Martinez, and Father Walsh, and two of Jenna’s officers. She escorted them past the distraught Sunday School teacher, still seated with Officer Delgado. She gathered them into a tight circle in a quiet spot in the hallway and looked over their worried faces.

“Alright,” she began, her tone leaving no room for debate. “Our biggest concern right now is that this might not be an isolated incident. Until we know for certain, we have to treat the entire church as a potential crime scene. I’m sorry, Father, but we’ll need to close the church to the public until further notice.”

Father Walsh’s face grew ashen, his lips parting as if to protest, but he swallowed his words, nodding reluctantly. “I understand, Sheriff. Do what you must,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know this will be difficult for your congregation,” Jenna added, “but it’s necessary to preserve any potential evidence.”

Father Walsh nodded in understanding. “Whatever you need to do. I’ll make the necessary arrangements and inform the bishop.”

“And Father,” Jenna added, matching his grave tone, “we need to secure the area. No one goes in or out without our say-so. By that, I mean my deputy and myself.”

“Of course, Sheriff Graves, Deputy Hawkins. Whatever you think is best,” Father Walsh replied, his voice betraying a hint of trepidation. Jenna saw his disquiet, the way his eyes lingered on the entrance to the sanctuary. There was an understanding between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the sanctity this place held for many. But she also knew that her duty—to seek the truth, to protect the living—must prevail over all else.

She motioned to her two officers, instructing them to cordon off the perimeter with tape and to keep the curious townsfolk at bay. As they set to work, Jenna turned back to the task at hand, her mind already forming plans, compartmentalizing emotions, readying herself for whatever lay ahead. She knew the ramifications of those decisions would soon spread like ripples through a community that called this place of worship home. She felt a pang of sympathy for the priest, for the parishioners, for the town of Trentville itself, but pushed it aside.

Jake stood there looking perplexed, and Jenna waited for him to voice the question on his mind. “How do we even begin to search … ?” he began before his voice faded.

When everyone looked at him, he added, “Well, what if there are more bodies? And if there are, how are we going to find them?”