Shared Disbelief: A Lupa Schwartz Mystery

By J. David Core

Published by J. David Core at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 J. David Core

Cover illustration by the author

Other titles in this series:

Extreme Unction

Common Sense

Fair Play

Download the series NOW!

Info on all of these titles available at my website!

Coming Soon:

Five Secrets

&

Hard Boiled

This novel is dedicated to my wonderful family and friends for all of their patience and help. I particularly want to thank my beautiful girlfriend, Cheryl, and all of the people who read my manuscript and gave input. I especially want to thank my beta reader, Gretchen Kocinsky.

TOC

Title page

Copyright Notice

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

Sample Chapter

Author’s Note

Author’s Bio

Chapter One

I’d always known that this obsession of his was going to get him in trouble one day. After all, how many times can one let the air out of the tires of strangers’ cars before karma or fate or just dumb luck comes back to bite? So it was with absolutely no ironic glee - just normal glee - that I learned of Lupa Schwartz’s comeuppance.

I was in my room in Schwartz’s Queen Ann style residence at the top of Murray Avenue that Thursday in March when the police cruiser dropped Pittsburgh police detective Trevor Johns at the stoop. Seeing the car through my window, I rose from my seat at my writing desk, checked my hair in the mirror, adjusted the lace on my collar, and trotted down the two flights to the great hall that I might outpace Beverly (Schwartz’s house-keeper and cook) to the doorbell. I’ll get it, Beverly, I chirped as she strode from the kitchen wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She waved a damp finger at me and turned sharply, her blonde ponytail bobbing its way back kitchen-ward.

Trevor! I said, trying mightily to look nonchalant. Are you here to see Mia? Mia was Schwartz’s onyx-haired gear-head mechanic. She lived in the Queen Ann along with Schwartz, Beverly and myself. She and Detective Johns had been dating for several months.

No, Trevor said, tossing the lacquered strand of bangs from his eyes. He wasn’t yet used to his new hairstyle, and his self-consciousness over it showed. It was something Mia had talked him into. Personally, I didn‘t like it. Actually, I’m here to see Schwartz. He paused and lowered his tone. Official business.

Oh, I said. About a case?

He paused again, probably considering whether I was official-ears enough to hear the answer. Then either Trevor decided that since as his resident biographer and errand-girl Schwartz was certainly going to include me anyway so he may as well, or he realized that the pause itself was all the verification I’d needed regardless. Yes, he said, it’s about a case.

Well step right on in then, I said as I swung open the door and stepped across the hall to Schwartz’s office door. After a quick knock, I pushed open the door and announced, Hey, mega-mind, the po-po’s here.

***

We each took our normal positions. I sat by the door under the hanging plants. Trevor sat in the seat-of-honor facing the detective’s desk across from Schwartz. This allowed me to witness the proceedings and exchange glances or signals with Schwartz out of view of our visitor. Though if I decided I wanted to be included, I was just a slight head turn away in Trevor’s periphery.

Before you begin, Schwartz said, his feet perched on the crossbar of his computer desk to his left, You should know that I am not really interested in working for the city in any capacity at this time.

That’s fine, Trevor said. You don’t have to be interested, but you’re going to do it anyway.

I beg your pardon, Schwartz said dropping his feet and leaning in to give Trevor his full attention.

Yesterday I was at Pitt University’s library investigating the murder of Bishop Peter Shimmel. Are you familiar with that case?

It was in this morning’s paper, Schwartz said. He was found inside the University library hanging by his ankles from a banister, his hands tied to the rail beneath, outstretched.

That’s the one, Trevor acknowledged.

If that’s the case, then I am absolutely not interested in participating Schwartz said leaning back and folding his fingers together. Frankly, I’m surprised you’d ask after what happened the last time you and I worked a case involving the Catholic clergy.

I know I remembered. Schwartz was talking about the first case he and I had worked together. It was on that case that I met Trevor for the first time. That hadn’t worked out well either; but now Trevor had Mia and I had Ulric, so everything had worked out for the best.

As for Schwartz and Trevor, that had not gone quite as well. Trevor had pressured Schwartz to take the case of a Catholic priest who was accused of euthanasia. It had been the desire of the city to distance itself from an investigation which might result in the arrest of a member of the clergy on murder charges. Suffice to say, it was professionally embarrassing for everybody involved, except for Schwartz. Schwartz had cleaned up, which was even more embarrassing for the city; but it had certainly strained their professional relations.

There’s more, Trevor said. Bishop Shimmel was actually the second Catholic priest murdered in the diocese within a month. Trevor looked over his shoulder to see if I was listening. As if a brick through the window at that moment could have distracted me from the conversation. Not even the uber-abundance of product in Trevor’s mane could accomplish that. About a week ago, a Father Joshua Ameresa was crucified from the life-sized crucifix statue behind his parish altar. The killer took the statue of Christ off from the wooden cross beams and reenacted history.

History, Schwartz huffed indignantly.

Yes, Trevor said. History. Look we all know about your atheism, but the Romans actually did crucify people. I chose my words carefully for you.

Point taken, Schwartz said. Now let me guess, if I can, where this is going. The city suspects that the same killer is behind both events, and they think for some reason I might be able to piece the story together for them.

Trevor leaned back into his seat and crossed his left leg over his right. Something like that, yes.

I’m not a procedural detective, Schwartz announced. I need suspects for what I do. People with a personal connection to the victims.

Our criminal profiler thinks that’s exactly what we’re dealing with. A priest and a bishop in the same diocese certainly could have a similar circle of acquaintances.

Yes, or it could be a random anti-Catholic nut job. Or has the significance of the victims’ names gone completely unnoticed? Schwartz demanded.

Wait, I interjected. What about their names?

Joshua or Jeshua is the Hebrew name for Jesus, Schwartz announced. And the apostle Peter became the first bishop of Rome; the Catholics consider him the first pope. According to Catholic tradition, Peter was martyred by inverted crucifixion - upside-down.

Oh my God, I think I said.

This is not a case of the type for which I am equipped, Schwartz stipulated.

Our profiler begs to differ, Trevor interjected.

Even so, Schwartz said shaking his head with resignation, I’m not interested in the case.

Do you remember, when we began this conversation, how I told you I was at the University library yesterday morning investigating the case?

I do, Schwartz acknowledged, his eyes squinting suspiciously.

When I first arrived at the scene, I was in an unmarked police vehicle, and I parked temporarily in the bus lane. Schwartz’s face turned ashen. I sent an officer out to move my car, but when he got there, he found that somebody had flattened two of my tires and left a can of Fix-a-flat and this note on my windshield. Trevor produced the card, which I recognized instantly. I barely managed to stifle a chortle. I know Trevor heard me as I could see the cheeks on his face push out from his grin. Is this yours? Trevor asked.

Of course he knew that it was. Schwartz was always playing traffic vigilante this way. He’d loosen the valve core of two tires, flattening them whenever he found a car in some kind of arrogant violation of traffic law. Then he’d twist the cores back into place and leave the same condescending note about how arrogant they were being - ironically oblivious to his own arrogance - along with a single canister of canned air and rubber foam so the offender could inflate one tire while waiting for either the tow or the police. This time, however, it seemed he’d picked the wrong traffic offender to suffer his indignation.

Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to park in the bus lane? Schwartz asked.

And it’s safer if you immobilize the car? Trevor asked.

So I suppose you want me to meet with your profiler? Schwartz asked. Trevor nodded. Schwartz sighed. I’ll get my jacket.

Chapter Two

Schwartz and I decided to follow the cruiser downtown in Schwartz’s newest acquisition, a 1971 model Lotus Europa twin-cam. Schwartz loved his cars, and he loved showing them off. However he hated being goaded into anything he didn’t choose to do, so I was hoping that cruising in his new trophy might take the edge off a little.

Mia heard us descend the stairs, and smiled her most restrained but still illuminating smile at Trevor when she saw him. Hi, she said. Is this an official visit?

Business, baby, Trevor said, and the whole conversation began to feel like a contrived scene from a Steve McQueen movie.

Is there gas in the Europa? Schwartz asked.

Yup, Mia said, wiping grease from her fingers onto a rag she wore in her jumper’s belt. About three-quarters of a tank. She turned her attention once again to Trevor. New big case, huh? We still on for the club tomorrow night?

I hope so, Trevor said. That kind of depends on your boss now.

You don’t expect me to solve this thing in one day, do you? Schwartz asked as he took the key from the peg board and pressed the button to open the garage door.

I don’t know what I expect, Trevor said. I never do with you. I’ve seen you solve a case without ever leaving your chair.

Flattery, Schwartz said as he slid into his seat, will get you what it gets you.

Trevor said his goodbyes to Mia and exited the garage for his waiting car which the patrolman motorist had backed into the drive in his absence. A little too late, I began to wonder if we should have asked Beverly to pack us a lunch as we headed out onto the streets of Squirrel Hill.

***

As we followed the cruiser into town, I decided to get some background for the story I’d be writing on this investigation. That’s actually how I make my living. I’m a writer for Gamut Magazine. After the success of the first two collaborations Schwartz and I had worked on - he investigating and solving crimes, and I journaling it and publicizing his successes - we had come to a mutually agreeable accommodation wherein I live in his house and run errands in exchange for exclusive access to publishing the tales.

So why the animosity toward investigating this particular pair of murders? I asked.

I’m a cultural Jew and a religious atheist, he answered. I have certain responsibilities not to make my camps look bad.

How does working this case make either of them look bad? I asked. And since when do you care about how you come off?

Taking the second question first, he said taking a sharp corner, I don’t care how I come off. I care about how the sub-groups I named imagine my playing lap-dog to the Catholics makes them look by association. In this country, when people hear the words Jew and atheist they immediately stop thinking about individuals and their out-group bias kicks in instantly.

Okay, I said, but how does this case affect that differently than any other?

Schwartz sighed and pushed out an answer. If it turns out that the theory Detective Johns advanced is correct, then when I make the accusation it will be as though I’m indicting all of Christianity. Not to everyone, but to a significant segment of the religious right. I’d just as soon avoid that kind of drama right now.

Why? I asked. What’s the significance of right now?

He didn’t answer. The rest of the ride was very tense. Sometimes I think he thinks too highly of himself. Sometimes I wish somebody could bring him down a peg.

***

Lupa Schwartz, Trevor said as we entered the office of the PPD’s newest psychologist and profiler, this is Dr. Vartan Geschenkgeber.

Is that spelled like it sounds? I asked. Trevor made a face.

The man we were introduced to was tall, young, gaunt, and pale. His eyes set deeply in his skull giving him an appearance that was at once ghostly and ephemerally pretty. Geschenkgeber extended one hand to shake and offered a business card with the other. Call me Dr. G.

Schwartz took his hand and his card. I will. Call me Mr. Schwartz.

Geschenkgeber smiled warmly. I will.

Schwartz stepped aside allowing me to approach. This is my associate, Cattleya Hoskin.

Call me Cat, I said, taking the doctor’s hand.

I will, the profiler said again, smiling welcomingly. I assume Detective Johns has briefed you on the case, he added, turning to address Schwartz.

Yes, he has, Schwartz acknowledged, and I explained that this is not a case I am - shall we say - equipped to take. This case ...

The killer lives in the diocese, Geschenkgeber said interrupting as if he’d anticipated Schwartz’s objection.

Schwartz shook his head. We don’t know ...

The killer is probably a male, he’s profoundly spiritual, he was known to both victims, and he’s close-by watching to see our progress in the case.

Schwartz stripped off his jacket and draped it over the chair of Geschenkgeber’s desk as if he was claiming the seat as his own. There’s not nearly enough evidence to suggest ...

The nature of the killings is specific to Catholic dogma and history. Geschenkgeber strode past his desk and insinuated himself between Schwartz and everyone else in the room. It had become a pissing contest of body language and significant gestures.

Agreed, but ...

There’s no sign of a struggle, which is why I believe the killer was known by his victims, Geschenkgeber insisted, not allowing Schwartz to finish his thought. Point Dr. G.

They were Catholic priests. Trusting strangers is not exactly unusual for priests. Schwartz pulled out the desk chair, turned it, and sat straddling which showed indifference and disdain but set Geschenkgeber up for his next gambit.

Geschenkgeber stepped closer forcing Schwartz to arch his