Shadows of the Night: A Collection Of Dark Crime Fiction

SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT

A COLLECTION OF DARK CRIME FICTION

BRIAN L. PORTER

CONTENTS

Avenue of the Dead

Acknowledgments

Introduction to the Omnibus

The Devil You Know

Avenue of the Dead

Prologue

1. Mexico City, Present Day

2. Teotihuacán

3. Sacrifice?

4. Reflection

5. A New Day Dawns

6. A Mother's Grief

7. Cuahátal

8. Escalation

9. Sophia Kanakarides

10. A Time of Rituals

11. A Meeting of Minds

12. No Witnesses?

13. Awakening to Terror

14. Missing Pieces

15. First Break

16. Another Sacrifice?

17. Donkey Business

18. The Revelation

19. A Changing Mind

Epilogue

An extract from 'Under Mexican Skies'

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Kiss of Life

Prequel: Dracula Doesn't Live Here Anymore

Kiss of Life

Acknowledgments

Introduction

1. Dexter's Dream

2. Recollections of the Past

3. To Bucharest

4. Alex

5. The Inn at Auschstadt

6. Christina's Tale

7. Escape to Reality

8. The Lovers

9. In the Dead of Night

10. Carriage Ride to Civića

11. Welcome to Civića

12. The Kiss

Epilogue

Pestilence

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Epilogue

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2023 Brian L. Porter

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2023 by Next Chapter

Published 2023 by Next Chapter

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

AVENUE OF THE DEAD

This omnibus edition is dedicated to the memory of Enid Ann Porter (1914 – 2004). Her love and support never failed me. And to Leslie, my late Father, and to my wife Juliet, who supplies those commodities in our everyday lives together.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It's never easy finding the right words to say thank you to those who have helped to inspire a story, or to turn the story into a book. Sometimes the help given is the intangible kind of aid that is almost impossible to quantify. That particular idiom applies in the case of both The Devil You Know and Avenue of the Dead, though I will do my best to give due gratitude where it is appropriate.

My initial thanks must go to a wonderful man I met during a visit to the west coast of Mexico some years ago. His name was Jésus, though his surname was at that time almost unpronounceable to me, and I never had the opportunity to write it down. He was already an old man when I met him in the town of Puerto Vallarta, in the state of Jalisco, and he was instrumental in kindling my interest in the history of Mexico, and its people. He became a veritable fountain of knowledge, who seemed to know the history of all the ancient civilisations that had at one time or another lived and flourished, and finally died, within the boundaries of his country. He was proud of his native land, and his family, and loved nothing more than sitting and talking to me of his life, his children, grandchildren, and the history of his nation. I learned more from him in a short time than I could have done from a library full of books, or from a college course on the history of Mexico.

I must also thank Graeme S Houston of the now defunct Mythica Publishing. Graeme was the first to see the merit of the character of Juan Morales, and he was instrumental in publishing The Devil You Know in which Morales made his first appearance, first in Capture Weekly Magazine, and secondly as an eBook in its own right. 'Devil' has since appeared in my Eternal Press Collection, Murder, Mayhem and Mexico, sadly no longer available and more recently in my short story collection, After Armageddon. Graeme was the driving force behind my decision to bring Morales back in Avenue of the Dead. My thanks to Graeme must also extend to his critique and proofreading skills.

The final inspiration to begin the actual writing of Avenue of the Dead came from a wonderful series of photographs taken by a lady named Sue Jones, whom I have never met, taken on a recent visit to Mexico, which included a visit to the ruined city of Teotihuacán. It was one of those photographs in particular that suggested the title of this story, which until then had been nameless. Thanks go to my late friend Malcolm Davies for sending them to me, with Sue's permission.

Finally, to Juliet, who encourages me in all I do. Thank you.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Though Hidalgo del Parral, the ruined city of Teotihuacán, and the majority of locations used in the writing of both The Devil You know and Avenue of the Dead are real, the characters portrayed in the books, and the incidents depicted, are wholly the creations of the author's imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events, is therefore purely coincidental.

INTRODUCTION TO THE OMNIBUS

Welcome to the world of Police Captain Juan Morales

Both The Devil You Know and Avenue of the Dead (Revised editions) feature the author's fictional creation, Mexican detective, Juan Morales. Morales made his debut in the short story The Devil You Know in 2006, in a small, now defunct Malaysian publication, Capture Weekly Literary Magazine. The story later underwent a significant re-write and was published as part of a trilogy of the author's works, all set in Mexico, Murder, Mayhem and Mexico, published by Eternal Press. That work is now no longer available.

Now, following another substantial updating and in a longer version, The Devil You Know is included in this omnibus in order to give readers the opportunity to read not just the new full-length novel, Avenue of the Dead, but to read Morales' story from the very beginning.

The Devil You Know begins with a funeral, that of the celebrated priest, Father Rodrigo. Morales is approached by a mysterious woman as he leaves the cemetery after the funeral, and is drawn by Maria Tevez into an exposé of a past he would have preferred to forget. Six choir boys had disappeared over a period of time, from Father Rodrigo's church, no trace of them having been discovered, despite extensive police investigations. Soon afterwards, the priest himself was found lying, seriously injured, on the ground at the base of the church's bell tower. What happened to the boys, and how Father Rodrigo received his terrible injuries are slowly revealed as a terrible secret, kept for so long, by so many, is finally revealed.

Set soon after the events in the Devil You Know, Avenue of the Dead sees Morales faced with his strangest case yet, as a vacation with his best friend in Mexico City, fellow police officer Francisco Tamayo, leads him into a world of human sacrifice, ancient Gods, and a relationship with the beautiful archaeologist Sophia Kanakarides. Terribly mutilated bodies are being deposited on the Avenue of the Dead in the ancient ruined city of Teotihuacán. Called in to give her expert opinion on the so-called ritual aspects of the murders, Sophia begins to piece together a potential profile of the ancient ceremony the killer appears to be recreating. When Sophia goes missing however, Morales and his friend Francisco Tamayo face a race against time to save her from the knife of the High Priest of the Old Religion.

Finally, the omnibus ends with an excerpt from the forthcoming Juan Morales novel, Under Mexican Skies. We hope you enjoy this small taster of the next exciting Morales adventure.

PREVIOUS PUBLICATION:

The Devil You Know, published in e-book and print by Eternal Press.

Avenue of the Dead was originally digitally published as a multi-format e-book by Stonehedge Publishing, now no longer available.

THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

Hidalgo del Parral, Mexico, March 2005

So Juan, it's finally over, the bishop said as we left the graveside.

Yes, bishop, it is. I hope he can find the peace in death that so eluded him in these last years, I replied. The funeral had been small; just the bishop, who had conducted the service himself, two sisters of mercy from the seminary and myself. No great ceremony to mark the passing of Father Rodrigo, he whose name had once been spoken with such reverence by the people of Parral, those he had served so well, for so long. Now, as the afternoon stretched before me, with little to occupy me for the rest of the day, my thoughts turned again to remembrance of the man who had helped so many. Rodrigo, the priest with a big heart, had never turned away a needy case, be it a homeless person in need of a bed or a meal, or an orphan child needing care and a home, in fact, it is probable the whole town at one time knew of Rodrigo and his charitable works, all of which had ended so suddenly a few short years previously.

Do you think everyone has forgotten him now? I asked.

We are fickle creatures, we humans, Juan, the bishop replied. Once, everyone in town knew of the works and the good deeds of Rodrigo, but time erases even the fondest memories sometimes. Better that he be remembered by those who knew him best, and cherished forever by God in Heaven.

I suppose you're right, your grace, I replied.

The bishop looked at me, and then, as if remembering a forgotten thought from all those years ago he spoke again, a serious look upon his face.

You know of course that now he's gone, I release you from your promise Juan. You may speak of this with whom you like.

I know, but I really don't feel like talking to anyone about Rodrigo now, your grace.

Not now maybe, but perhaps one day.

He touched my arm, and we stood looking at each other for a moment, as if in shared reminiscence. He reached out his palm as did I, we shook hands, and I felt that this would be the last time I would meet bishop Armando Entierro.

Go in peace, my son. May God be with you, the bishop said as we parted.

I merely nodded in reply, I could find no words. The secret we had shared for so long lay buried along with Rodrigo in that small graveyard in Hidalgo del Parral. I wanted it to stay there.

Hidalgo del Parral, known simply as Parral, is a small mining town south of Chihuahua in Mexico, famous both for its mining heritage and as the place where the great revolutionary Pancho Villa was assassinated. It has been my home since birth, and I have served its police force for all of my adult life, my ascent up the promotion ladder seeming to have stalled at the rank of captain which I have held now for fifteen years. I am, I think, good at my job and my superiors seem to respect me and value my contribution to the maintenance of law and order in our town. Perhaps my current station in life will prove to be the pinnacle of my achievements on this earth. If so, I am happy to accept my lot, and I am grateful for having had the opportunity to serve the public good in some capacity for so long. Some are born for higher things, but anyway, but not me, it would seem, and anyway, who wants to be Police Commissioner?

Five minutes after leaving the cemetery, I returned to my car which I had left parked on the Plaza del Niño. As I fumbled with the keys, about to open the door, a voice hailed me from a few metres away.

Captain Morales, I must speak to you.

I looked around to see her advancing towards me, a dark-haired woman, quite beautiful, I had to admit, in her thirties, dressed somewhat business-like, in a red skirt suit, matching red shoes with two inch heels, and with the unmistakeable smell of 'Press' emanating from every pore in her body.

I'm sorry, Señora; I have just attended a funeral, and have no wish to speak to you or anyone else at the moment.

"It's Señorita actually, Señorita Maria López, I work for Hoy (Today) and it is precisely the funeral you have just attended of which I wish to speak."

I had no idea what she wanted with me, and was in no mood to find out. Standing at the open door of my car, I tried to dismiss her as politely as I could.

Not now, please, Señorita, I have no time to indulge in idle gossip or chitchat about the dead.

But, Captain, she replied. You were there all those years ago, you were part of the original investigation, and there are things I need to know, things the people need to know.

Señorita, it all happened a long time ago, and now, Father Rodrigo is dead. There is no point in further discussion of the matter. I have no scandal for you to communicate to your readers. I'm sorry.

She fastened a look on me that pierced me like an arrow, and her next words took me by surprise.

"Captain Morales, I'm not here for the newspaper, I'm here for myself. Fifteen years ago, six young boys died and Father Rodrigo was found close to death in the grounds of his church. No arrests or charges were ever made in respect of the boys' deaths or the attack on the Father. You were close to everything that took place. I was in the USA when it happened, studying at UCLA. I came home when they found the bodies. Captain, Pablo López was my brother!"

That was it, she had me. It wasn't going to be easy to just walk away from this determined young woman in her smart business suit, but with the undeniable heritage of her Aztec ancestors blazing defiantly from her eyes. I knew she wasn't about to let me walk away.

You like coffee? I asked. She nodded.

Get in. She climbed into the car beside me, her skirt riding up as she lowered herself into the seat. I couldn't help but admire the shapely pair of legs she presented as she self-consciously re-arranged the hem to preserve her modesty.

A ten minute drive took us across the bridge spanning the Rio Parral and into the North of the city. I parked the car close to the cathedral and escorted my passenger on foot the few yards to the bar of the Hotel Moreira, where Pepé Fonséca served the best coffee in town. I found us a table in the darkest corner of the bar, gestured to her to sit down, and tough she tried to engage in conversation immediately, I held up a hand, and she understood my meaning, and waited until the coffee arrived.

Okay, señorita, what now? I'm not at all sure I can help you much, or give you whatever you're seeking, but tell me anyway.

Maria López looked at me again with those dark, Aztec eyes, her look pleading with the strength of ancestry.

"My brother died, Captain Morales, and I don't know why, or who was responsible. Also, one of the finest priests the city has ever known was almost killed, and then simply disappeared, and no one would say where he was or what had happened to him after the attack on him.

The next time I hear of him is when my paper gets a press release from the seminary to say he's died and giving the time of his funeral, but that it will be private, no public presence allowed. Why, Captain? What happened to him? Where has Father Rodrigo been all these years? Was he badly disfigured, or mentally scarred by what happened to him? Who killed my brother and those other poor boys? The police, and I concluded you were one of those responsible, closed the case without anyone being charged, but your presence at the funeral tells me that you just may know more than a little about what might have happened. Don't you see, Captain? I have to know!"

I sighed heavily, with more than a little sympathy for the young woman sitting opposite me, with that doe-eyed, pleading look on her face. My own thought reverted back in time, and though I'd tried to forget most of what had taken place in and around the church so long ago, I knew deep down that the events of the past never really leave us, and I knew I had to try, at least, to give her something to help ease her pain. I made a decision and spoke quietly in response to her pleading.

Yes, señorita, I see very well. I will try to tell you what I can, though it was a long time ago.

Fifteen years, Captain. I was nineteen; I never had a chance to see my brother grow into the fine young man he should have become. Just tell me, please.

Okay, listen carefully. It's not easy, but I'll do my best.

I allowed my mind to drift slowly back in time to that night all those years ago when I received a telephone call from my chief telling me to get to the hospital as fast as I could. The much celebrated Father Rodrigo had been found almost dead at the foot of the bell tower of his church, the church from where six choir and altar boys had disappeared in the previous six months. The chief wanted answers, and he wanted them fast.

Hidalgo del Parral, Mexico, July 1990

Police, I'm here to see the priest. I arrived breathless, having driven at breakneck speed across the city, and parking the car in the hospital grounds, before having to climb four flights of stairs to the critical care ward, because the elevator was out of order. I flashed my identity card at the nurse sitting behind the desk at the nurses' station.

Father Rodrigo is just out of surgery, the sister on duty replied. "Doctor Guerrero is in the office at the end of the corridor, perhaps you should speak with

him. Right, yes, thank you, sister, I'll do that," I gasped, wishing my lung functions would return to normal. Walking along the corridor to the doctor's office, I couldn't help but notice how quiet my footfalls were on the corridor floor. I'd never noticed before, but realised they must build the floors in such places to ensure as much quiet as possible for the patients. No way would a woman's high heels click-clack on these floors, I thought as I knocked on the door the sister had indicated. A voice from within bade me enter.

Doctor Guerrero sat behind a desk, looking as tired as I felt breathless. His light brown hair appeared dishevelled, in need of a good combing, and his eyes held a weary, troubled look, as though the man carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Perhaps his day to day involvement in life and death decisions, the highs and lows of his profession, living so close to death at all times, made him like that. Or, maybe he'd simply worked a long shift and was tired and in need of a good night's sleep.

How may I help you? he asked.

I identified myself as a police officer and asked him to give me as much detail as he could about Father Rodrigo's injuries.

Please tell me as much as you can, Doctor. The chief of police has sent me to ensure we leave no stone unturned. We must find out what happened tonight. Father Rodrigo, as I'm sure you know, is well known in the town, and if he has been brutally attacked we must do all we can to apprehend his assailant.

Doctor Guerrero nodded, and looked down at the chart lying on his desk, quite obviously that of Rodrigo.

Father Rodrigo apparently fell approximately fifty feet from the bell tower of his church, El Templo de la Virgen del Rayo. In addition to severe head injuries, he has suffered two broken legs, five broken ribs, a broken arm and wrist and a punctured lung. There may be brain damage; at this time it's too early to say, but you can not speak to him until he regains consciousness, maybe tomorrow

You say he fell, Doctor? Could he have been pushed?

That is also a possibility Captain, but one more in your line of expertise than mine, I think. My job is to help my patient in his recovery from his injuries. The intricacies of how he came by those injuries I leave to you and your colleagues.

Quite correct, of course, Doctor. Then, with your permission, I shall return in the morning and speak to Father Rodrigo at that time.

You may speak with him only if he has sufficiently recovered and is able and willing to speak with you, Captain. My patient comes first, before your investigation, is that clear?

Perfectly, I replied, knowing that Father Rodrigo would be in good hands under the care of this young doctor who so obviously put the welfare of his patients at the top of his list of medical priorities.

Thanking him again, I wished the doctor goodnight, promising to return in the morning, but asking him to telephone me if the Father awoke before I returned to the hospital. He agreed to do so, again, under the conditions he had already stipulated.

Back in the car, I radioed in to headquarters, and waited no more than a minute before the chief himself came on the radio at the other end.

Well, Juan, he asked. Did you discover anything about what happened to the good Father?

I could do no more than repeat what Doctor Guerrero had told me, and though the chief was as frustrated as I at the lack of any concrete evidence to be going on with, he accepted that we must wait until Rodrigo had recovered sufficiently to be able to tell us how he'd been injured.

I slept badly that night. Even with the air conditioning working flat out, the heat in my bedroom seemed oppressive. I tossed and turned, and the face of Father Rodrigo disturbed the dreams that visited themselves upon me in the few brief snatches of sleep I managed to achieve. I kept wondering if he had fallen, or could he have been pushed? There had been too many strange things happening at the Church of the Virgin of Light in recent months. Four members of the choir, all young boys under seventeen, had simply disappeared, in addition to two other boys who assisted the Father at the altar. It had not been my case. Santiago Merced had been in charge of the investigation, but obviously the chief now wanted a fresh face on the job.

First thing in the morning, feeling weary and bleary-eyed, I visited Santiago in his office at headquarters. My fellow detective expressed himself more than happy to pass everything over to me. He had experienced no luck, no breakthrough, and with nothing to go on, and no apparent hope of a resolution, he had become totally disillusioned with the whole case. Reading through his notes, I could see why he'd fallen into such lethargy where the disappearances were concerned. He'd followed all the correct procedures, spoken to the families, friends and acquaintances of the boys, only to hit a brick wall with every single inquiry. Father Rodrigo had been more than helpful, but even the celebrated priest had been unable to throw any light on the disappearances. To all intents and purposes, it appeared that the boys had simply vanished from the face of the earth. Surely, I thought, if they'd been murdered, at least one body would have been discovered by now? If, on the other hand, they'd been abducted, the question became, who by, and for what purpose? Again, all of Merced's lines of inquiry led to the same result. Nothing, not a clue, nor a hint of anything useful that could lead him to finding out what had happened to the boys. The time to revisit the Father was fast approaching by the time I replaced Merced's notes in the file and placed them in one of my own desk drawers. Though they told me little, they would form points of reference during any future inquiries I may have to make in connection with this latest twist in the happenings at the church.

I arrived back at the hospital at eleven thirty. On my arrival at the ward, the sister in charge of the day shift informed me that Father Rodrigo had just woken, and that the doctor would like to speak to me in his office. Rodrigo's physician looked as though he'd not been to bed at all. If anything, his dishevelled state and heavy lidded eyes made me feel grateful for the few short periods of sleep I'd managed. He didn't bother to rise as I entered his office.

He's awake, Doctor Guerrero said, but he doesn't seem to be making much sense. As I said last night, there may be some damage to his brain. He can speak with difficulty, but when he does he seems to be capable of nothing but quoting biblical passages, and, oh yes, he says he's seen the Devil!

And is this condition likely to be permanent, Doctor I asked.

At this stage, it's too early to say, Captain. He may remain like this indefinitely, or he may regain the faculty of normal speech in time. We'll conduct a brain scan and further tests as he gains strength, but, for now, we just don't know.

Standing up at last, Guerrero walked out from behind his desk, and he led me the short distance from his office to Father Rodrigo's room.

I looked down at the priest lying in the bed before me. He looked deathly pale, and extremely vulnerable. His eyes seemed to be staring at a fixed point somewhere in the middle of the ceiling, and as I watched him, I saw something else, a look of terror on his face, terror such as I had never seen before, and would certainly never want to see again.

Rodrigo, Father Rodrigo? I spoke gently, quietly, not wanting to terrorise him any more than he already appeared to be. Can you tell me who did this to you? Was it an accident? Did someone push you from the tower?

Father Rodrigo's eyes never moved. He continued staring at that point somewhere on or beyond the ceiling, but in a cracked voice he replied,

"El Diablo, The Devil, The Devil is in my church, I have seen him, El Diablo is here. I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou Lord, only makest me dwell in safety."

Psalm 4, verse 8, came a voice from behind me. I turned to see the face of Bishop Armando Entierro smiling at me from the doorway. The bishop and I had met a few times in the past.

How are you, Juan? he asked. More importantly at this moment, how is poor Rodrigo?

I'm well thank you, your grace. As for Rodrigo, only time will tell. You can see for yourself what a pitiable state he's in at present.

The bishop looked at Rodrigo, his face a mask of benevolence and compassion for the wounded priest.

This is a bad business, Juan. First the disappearances, now this assault on Rodrigo within the sanctuary of the house of God.

"You heard what he said, your grace? The Devil was in his church. He said he saw him!"

And do you believe him, Captain Morales?

The bishop used my official title, indicating the seriousness of the question.

I believe he saw something that instilled sheer terror into him. Look at his face. Have you ever seen such fear, such abject horror reflected in a man's eyes?

May I? asked the bishop, indicating his wish to speak to the unfortunate priest lying in the bed. I nodded my assent.

Rodrigo, my son, intoned the bishop quietly and reassuringly, It is I, Armando Entierro. In the name of God, Rodrigo, tell me what happened.

Rodrigo's eyes never faltered from their focus on that point above him, but then his mouth trembled as he replied,

"And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels and prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven. And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him."

He's quoting from the Book of Revelation! the bishop told me. He speaks of Satan's expulsion from heaven.

He thinks Satan is here right now, I replied.

He is, Juan, he is all around us. Satan and his legions are always ready to tempt us, to seduce us, to lure unsuspecting souls into their infernal clutches. Believe me, Satan's here alright!

I looked at Rodrigo again, and my heart cried inwardly for the man in the bed, the priest, the soul, the goodness cowering behind some inexplicable terror. The bishop spoke again.

You two were very close once, Juan, weren't you? Rodrigo spoke of you often. What happened between you?

A stupid argument, your grace, about six years ago. You know I was divorced from Elena? Well, Rodrigo was unbending on the subject. I know it's against the Church's teaching but life sometimes throws us a curve ball, and well, despite everything we tried to do to hold the marriage together it happened. Anyway, Rodrigo and I had one of those once in a lifetime arguments when neither one will bend or compromise and we fell out in a big way. We haven't seen or spoken to each other from then until today,

How sad, Juan, how very sad, and now, you must try to solve this mystery, eh, amigo?

Nodding to the bishop, I turned to face Father Rodrigo once again, and spoke with a softness that surprised even myself.

Rodrigo, please tell me, if you can, who did this to you. Does it have anything to do with the missing boys? Did you find out something about what happened to them? Did someone do this to you to try to stop you from talking to the police, or to the bishop perhaps?

Again, the priest trembled bodily, his lips quivering as he spoke, "And the burnt offering that the prince shall offer unto the Lord in the sabbath day shall be six lambs without blemish, and a ram without blemish".

Old Testament, Bishop was thinking. Yes, that's it! Ezekiel, chapter 46, I'm not sure of the verse.

I smiled a little.

Shame on you, Bishop Entierro, I thought you knew the good book inside out.

Must be my age, he smiled back at me. But what does he mean, Juan? Why all these references to the Bible. Why can't he communicate with us properly?

I don't know, your grace. Something in his brain has shut down, and the only thing that seems to be functioning is his knowledge of the book by which he has always tried to live his life.

At that moment, my brain seemed to click into a new gear, as though someone had flicked a switch on in the deepest recesses of my though processes. I suddenly became aware of something, previously hidden behind the mask of Biblical quotes, but now very evident to me. Yes, I was certain of it! Rodrigo was attempting to tell us something. Seeing my sudden agitate state, Bishop Entierro looked at me, and cocked his head to one side, quizzically, as though waiting for me to enlighten him on my personal revelation. I spoke excitedly.

"Your grace, listen, six lambs without blemish, six missing boys, all presumably virgins, a ram without blemish, a catholic priest, PURE AND CELIBATE! He's trying to tell us it's all connected. I'm sure of it. But, how? Why would someone want to kill or abduct six choirboys or altar boys or whatever, and kill, or at least attempt to kill a priest? If they have been killed, where are the bodies? Lieutenant Merced and his team never found any evidence of foul play when they investigated the missing boys, and if someone wanted to kill Rodrigo, why didn't they make sure they'd succeeded when he fell from the tower? There were no witnesses so I assume they would have had the time to make sure they'd finished the job."

And if it was Satan himself, I can assure you he would not have failed if that was his intent, the bishop added.

Doctor Guerrero chose that moment to enter the room, sternly informing us that his patient had been bothered enough for the morning and that we must let him rest and return later. The bishop and I said our farewells on the steps of the hospital and I returned to headquarters to further study the notes on the missing boys. They had all gone missing shortly after choir practices or after mass, each boy having completed his duties at the church, but never arriving home. Father Rodrigo had been interviewed by Merced on each occasion and had confirmed that all the boys had been in church, had left and he had never seen them again. They were all clean living, drug free, fine upstanding catholic boys and, strangely perhaps, they all shared one common ambition. All six boys wanted to become priests! Merced and his team had undertaken a painstaking search of the town and its environs, without success. The investigation, sadly, like many in small-town Mexico, had lead to a dead end. As a police force we had dedicated personnel, fairly modern firearms and vehicles, but we lacked the major logistical resources of the big city forces in Mexico City or Guadalajara. We did our best, always, and we usually succeeded, but this case seemed to be going nowhere.

At five o'clock that afternoon, I returned to the hospital, having first telephoned ahead to make sure that I could speak with Father Rodrigo. Doctor Guerrero was off duty but a Doctor Juărez assured me it would be fine for me to visit with him.

Father Rodrigo lay immobile, still staring at the ceiling as he'd been during my previous visit. He seemed almost to be in a trance, though he was, I felt sure, aware of my presence.

Rodrigo, it's me, Juan, do you know me? Can you hear me? No answer. Father Rodrigo, what happened to the boys? What happened to you? Tell me, please, I'm trying to help you. If you know anything at all it may help me find the boys, and whoever did this to you. Tell me about the Devil, tell me about Satan.

Father Rodrigo shook, and spoke,

"Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you:"

Being a good catholic boy (!), even without the bishop's presence, I knew he was quoting Mark's gospel, but what did it mean? I felt certain that, despite his mental state, Rodrigo was trying to answer me, to tell me the truth. As a priest after all, it would not be in his nature to lie. Somehow, these biblical references were pointing somewhere. I just had to attempt to follow his directions in order to discover just where that somewhere might be.

I'm asking, Rodrigo, I'm asking, please tell me. I'm seeking, seeking the missing boys from your church. Where are they, Rodrigo? What happened to them? Tell me where I should be knocking to find the answers.

I thought that by following his quotations at least semi-literally, I could maybe enter into a kind of logical dialect with him. Rodrigo twitched, trembled, then spoke again, his voice suddenly stronger.

"And when Joseph had taken the body, he wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn out in the rock: and he rolled a great stone to the door of the sepulchre, and departed."

Suddenly, horribly, I thought I was beginning to make some sense of Father Rodrigo's biblical ramblings.

Father Rodrigo, in the name of God, tell me who placed the stone over the tomb.

El Diablo, The Devil.

Where is the tomb, Father?

The garden of Christ.

"Where is the Devil, Father?

Here.

Where was he when the boys died, Father?

In my church, he was in my church. El Diablo, The Devil, he is here now.

Father Rodrigo suddenly collapsed, his head falling to one side on the pillow. I pressed the emergency button beside his bed, and Doctor Juárez and two nurses were in attendance in less than a minute. I found myself being suitably impressed! No mañana culture in this facility! Unsurprisingly, the doctor requested that I leave, as I had intended on doing anyway. I needed to speak to Merced. Outside the hospital I quickly dialled his home number using my cell phone. I felt thankful he'd given me his number, in case I ever needed him urgently, when I'd taken over the investigation from him. He answered on the third ring.

Santiago, I spoke in a hurry. It's Juan Morales. Tell me quickly, no recriminations, did you at any time search Father Rodrigo's for any traces or signs of the missing boys?

Of course, replied Merced. We found nothing. It was just a routine search. We had no reason to suspect…. He stopped in mid sentence. You don't mean there's some connection to Father Rodrigo, do you?

My mind raced. I didn't like to think as I was doing at that moment, but I had to follow it through.

Maybe, Santiago, just maybe. Did you search the crypt?

Of course, he replied, We found nothing. Captain, what are you thinking?

What about the graveyard? Did you search the graveyard?

We looked there, sure, but we found zilch, nada, nothing.

Lieutenant Merced, I want you to meet me at the graveyard in half an hour. Bring a team with you. Make sure they have picks and shovels, and I don't care what you have to do or where you have to go to get them. Just get them and be here in thirty minutes. I hope I'm wrong, but I have a horrible feeling you missed something. Don't worry; it's not your fault. You just didn't know what to look for, or where to look for it.

I hung up without waiting for Merced to answer. I knew he'd be there. My heart was racing on the way to the graveyard . I didn't want to be right, but somehow I knew that the answer would be waiting for me in the grounds of El Templo de la Virgen del Rayo.

Much to his credit, Merced and his team were waiting for me when I arrived. He'd brought the tools I'd requested.

What are we looking for, Captain? he asked, as I exited my car.

An entrance. I replied. A large, heavy stone perhaps, something that could be used as a door, or a wedge.

Get those flashlights working, Merced called to the men. In seconds the graveyard turned into a hive of activity as the officers began their search, the beams of their torches performing a grotesque dance as they bounced off headstones and funerary statues in the dark. After ten minutes of searching Merced himself called to me.

Sir, I think there's something here.

Below a statue of the virgin, raised as a monument to the departed wife of one of the town's founders, Merced had discovered a large spherical stone, that looked decidedly out of place, being neither a headstone, a statue or any form of useful adornment to anyone's last resting place. It took ten men fifteen minutes to move the stone, which eventually gave way to their combined strength, rolling to one side and revealing an entrance to an underground passageway. Maybe there was a private crypt below the statue? We were about to find out!

Two hours later, I emerged from that dark terrible place, visibly shaking. We had at last found the six missing boys. They were all there, in that cold, dank underground depository, wrapped in linen shrouds, each one with a dagger protruding grotesquely from his chest. They had been laid out in reverent fashion, almost lovingly. Each boy had a rosary in his hand and a crucifix placed on the chest adjacent to the knife that had brought about his deaths. Six boys, six knives.

The sickness I experienced that night was nothing compared to the trauma that awaited me on completion of the forensic examination of the scene, painstakingly carried out over the following three days. Apart from confirming the identity of each dead boy, fingerprint evidence soon led us to our chief suspect and two days later I found myself sitting in the chief's office at headquarters in the company of the chief of police himself, Bishop Entierro, and Cardinal Salvador Negrette, head of the Catholic Church in this region of the country. The meeting was short, much shorter than I expected.

It's agreed then, the Cardinal said. "As soon as he is fit to be moved, Father Rodrigo will enter the sanatorium in the grounds of the seminary at San Vicente. He will be well cared for. It is doubtful he will ever recover fully, if at all. He will be remembered by the people of Parral as a man who cared for the poor, the weak, and the oppressed, and who loved children.

The next day, the local newspaper carried the headline 'FATHER RODRIGO TO ENTER SANITORIUM AFTER VICIOUS ASSAULT. The storyline that followed stated quite briefly that Rodrigo would be unable, due to his injuries to ever return to his ministry and so, the story of Father Rodrigo and The Devil was quietly allowed to fade into the background with the tacit assistance of the Church and the Hidalgo del Parral Police Department. Merced, myself and all involved with the case were sworn to secrecy about our findings and though rumours, as always in these cases, abounded about Satan appearing in Parral, eventually the case was pretty much forgotten. Of course, the families of the boys mourned and returned as best they could to their everyday lives, but never forgot their loved ones, and Rodrigo lived for fifteen years in a world of his own, still haunted daily by the terror which had taken away his life, his work, and, perhaps most sadly of all, his faith. I remained a captain from then to this day and perhaps will soon retire, or maybe not. Maybe I'll grow oranges in a small pueblo on the coast.

Hotel Moreira, Hidalgo del Parral, March 2005

"So, tell me, Captain, did Father Rodrigo really see El Diablo? Did The Devil really stalk the streets of Parral? You were there, no-one knows better than you. Tell me, please"

"Señorita, have you not realised yet what I have been telling you? Father Rodrigo may not have seen The Devil, but he certainly came into contact with A devil. When he said that The Devil was in his church, he was telling the truth, but in his ramblings and delusions, what no-one realised to begin with was that Rodrigo was himself that devil. He was the killer! When he looked in the mirror that day he jumped from the bell tower, he found himself so disgusted by what he had become that he tried to end it all, to put an end to his and everyone else's suffering. Father Rodrigo was suffering from a deep psychotic illness. The boys were, so he thought, the purest in his flock. He thought he was sending them to God, to a better life. He was saving them! He tried to stop himself, he jumped!

But, why was there no trial?

Señorita, Maria, here was a man who had spent the greater part of his life caring for the poor, the children, he had ministered to the people of this town for so many years, would justice have been served by publicly condemning him? The cardinal and the bishop arranged for Father Rodrigo to be confined within the seminary, with the best possible psychiatric and medical care the church could provide for the rest of his natural life. He never saw the outside world again. Was that not in itself the equivalent of a life sentence?

And you colluded with all this, knowing that your job would be at stake if anyone had found out you had been part of a cover-up?

I sighed. The time had come for me to tell her the last part of my story, to explain to her just why I had done all I could to preserve intact the public perception of Father Rodrigo.

Ah, Señorita, it is a little more complicated than that. You see, I had known Rodrigo for many years, from the time when as children, we would play together around the old mine workings, Even as a boy he was always the pious one. I think it was never in doubt that he would grow up to become a priest. I grew up to be the wild one, always in trouble, ready to pick a fight with anyone, though I was physically quite small. Believe it or not he was the one with the muscles and despite his love of Christ and all things holy he would stand up for me, and would fight off those who were bigger and stronger than I. Of course, by the time we had grown up things had changed. I had become physically stronger and a little more law abiding. He had left home to enter the priesthood when he was just twenty and I became a policeman two years later, on reaching the same age. We were always close.

But that still doesn't explain…

Wait, please, it will all become clear. When I received the call from the chief to go to the hospital in the beginning it was evident that Rodrigo no longer recognised me. That told me that something serious had befallen him. As my investigations continued they led more and more towards the conclusion that Rodrigo had to be the perpetrator of the crimes, though he had no knowledge directly of what he had done. His mind had effectively split into two halves. Throwing himself from the bell tower was probably the last act of his real self, desperately trying to find salvation in the arms of his beloved God.

Captain, she interjected, This is all very interesting, and I really do feel immense sorrow and sympathy for Father Rodrigo, you obviously knew him for a long time, but I don't see why he couldn't have been tried and perhaps sent to a mental institution where he would still have been looked after and the case could have been properly closed.

I knew him more than a long time, Señorita. I knew him all my life. He was always known simply as Father Rodrigo, which he preferred. Even you have never asked his full name. It was Rodrigo Morales! He was my brother!

Now it had become her turn to sigh. She looked into my eyes for what seemed an eternity. I saw so much in that look, pity, understanding, sorrow, and perhaps most of all, a sense of closure in her heart. Maria López slowly reached her hand across the table until it rested gently on mine, looked down at the floor for a moment, then back at me, and, just before rising to leave, she leaned across, lowered her eyes, and whispered softly to me,

God bless you, Captain Juan Morales, may your brother rest in peace.

Yours too, Señorita, I said, very quietly as she turned away, walked slowly towards the door, and disappeared from my life forever.

"The Lord is my shepherd………

AVENUE OF THE DEAD

PROLOGUE

Date Unknown

Shafts of golden sunlight swept down upon the gilded and flamboyantly decorated buildings of the great city of The People, their brilliance reflecting from the solid gold inlay adorning the massive temples that lined the sweeping avenues of the city. Those magnificent avenues thronged with a multitude of those eager to witness the coming great event. Soon, the heat of the day would rise to a point where a shimmering haze would rise from the floor of the city, the well swept streets taking on the appearance of a vaporous ocean as the haze appeared to float in an ethereal cloud just above the ground, as far as the eye could see. For now, though, it was comfortable warm, and the people gathered in expectation, dressed in their finery, ready for the great event.

Shi-Rea looked out across the great throng of people who were gathered in the central square of the city. Resplendent in her ceremonial dress, she stood beside the other handmaidens in the second tier of spectators, behind the High Priest and his chief assistants. From the great height of her vantage point it seemed to her that she could see the entire world from atop the pyramid. Those gathered below were as ants, milling around in expectation of the great ceremony to come.

Now in her twenty-third year, Shi-Rea had spent the previous six years as handmaiden to the priests of the great temple. She'd been selected, like those with whom she now stood, to spend those years as one of the concubines to the priests who governed the religious and spiritual welfare of The People. Though afraid at first, she soon learned to accept the caresses and attentions of the priests, and learned to accept the great honour that had been bestowed upon her and her fellow concubines. She received the finest food, the most beautiful clothes with which to adorn her slim, shapely frame and she lived within the grandeur of the Great Temple itself, with rooms near the top, close to the Gods themselves. Specially selected slaves attended to her long, black hair, ensuring it was always washed and beautifully arranged, and to her make up and her bathing, and so, she would always present a pleasing and sensual appearance to the priests with whom she was expected to sleep and provide the use of her body.

Soon, after the closure of the great ceremony, she would be released from her role and would become a teacher, as did all former priestly concubines. For now, though, she was a part of this great ritual, and though she had witnessed it on so many previous occasions, it still instilled a sense of awe and at times, fear within her heart, as she realised how fortunate she had been to be selected for her role within the temple. It could have been so very different, as she knew only too well.

Though future generations would record them under a variety of names, the inhabitants of the gilded city and the lands that stretched out for interminable miles around it knew themselves simply as The People. Educated and cultured, they lived in a city of splendour, the buildings decorated in brilliant colours, gleaming under a perpetual sun. Each family lived in their own accommodation, on streets paved and smooth, with public facilities and amenities afforded to all. The city boasted parks, planted with a variety of trees, plants and flowers of every hue known to man, public conveniences for both sexes, and a variety of markets selling every commodity available to enhance the everyday lives of the industrious and well ordered society.

Central to this great civilisation were the towering temples, stepped pyramids that rose from the valley floor, dedicated to the gods whom The People worshipped. Unlike the dwellings of the city's inhabitants and those buildings given over to municipal use, these great temples were decorated not in the usual array of brilliant colours, but instead, were covered from floor to summit in gold leaf, a commodity common to The People, and used more for its aesthetic beauty than for its intrinsic value. Teams of goldsmiths worked from dawn to dusk all through the year to keep the artisans who maintained the outer skin of the pyramids in pristine condition at all times, in reverence and respect to the Gods to whom they were dedicated.

Shi-Rea now watched spellbound, as the drummers took their places atop the great pyramid. Resplendent in their headdresses of purple feathers, the drummers lined up, all seven of them, and awaited the signal from Moc-Karai, the high priest. Only that morning, Shi-Rea had awoken in the bed of Moc-Karai, having served him as she had so often over the years throughout the night. As was usual on the eve of the Great Ceremony, the high priest of the people had appeared insatiable, and Shi-Rea had breathed a silent sigh of relief when he had eventually fallen into a deep slumber a little before dawn, only to rise once more a short time later, eager and ready to begin preparations for the ceremony. Now, as the sun approached its zenith, Moc-Karai, dressed in the traditional purple robe and wearing