The Last Noel

 

“The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there. Out from the night there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. 

 

-‘Twas the Night Before Christmas”

 

A blood curdling scream rang through the night, heard by no one.  A siren, cutting across the remote property like a hot knife through butter.  The  unsettling silence that followed was deafening.

 

I had encountered my fair share of murder scenes in my role as a homicide detective for the Bethlehem P.D.  This one hit a little harder. It was Christmas, and I had planned to spend my evening watching “Die Hard” with my daughter. Unfortunately, duty calls, and murderers are not particularly reverent of holy nights. 

 

It was a cold, clear night.  As I approached the crime scene, I couldn’t help but notice the light that the moon and stars lent. I was keenly aware of the fact that these same stars had graced the night sky some 2000 years ago, leading 3 wise men to a manger on the outskirts of another Bethlehem.   Now as I approached the old barn that brought me out this way, I said a silent prayer that the man who lay before me had been guided home by an angel, since there were certainly none remaining on scene.

 

The victim had been left leaning up against the aluminum trough in side the rough shelter. It could not be inconsequential that he had died on Christmas night next to a modern day “manger”.  He was dressed in all white, although his clothing was soaked with crimson blood, making him look like Santa at first glance.  A fatal cut across his throat, the apparent source of the staining. He wore several pieces of jewelry.  I snapped photos with my digital camera, documenting my initial thought that robbery was not the motive.  The heavy gauge gold necklace alone must have been worth thousands, and it had been left behind, along with the intricate chain bracelet, monogrammed “P.A.X.” on his left wrist, which matched the necklace in style and statement.  His right hand was adorned with a trio of jewel encrusted gold rings, leaving only his pinky and thumb bare.  A would be thief, would have earned a pretty penny if he had fenced even some of the bling this guy wore.  

 

“Who are you, P.A.X?” I asked the lifeless man as I put on my gloves, and reached down into the depths of his pocket in search of some ID.  The worst part of this job was often connecting the body to the soul.  It began with identification, and became more challenging for a softie like me after that.  Once I knew the name of a “vic”, my job was to get to know who they were, and what they had been up to in life, which led them to where they had been found.  If I did my job well, all the pieces would come together to give us a suspect and a motive.  But getting to know who they were before their spirit was separated from their flesh, was emotionally taxing. I took my responsibility seriously.  I became almost obsessive about finding the answers, because I knew I had to answer to the grieving family of the human being who had lost their life in this horrifying turn of events.

 

These were the thoughts running through my head as I retrieved a leather bi-fold from P.A.X’s pocket.  I flipped it open and pulled his driver license out of its protective sheath.   Shining my pen light on the photo, I expected to see Peter, or Phillip, but instead found my victim to be Christian Gabriel Casper.  1472 Douglas St, Bethlehem, PA.  I found myself intrigued that C.G.C. was wearing a bracelet monogrammed with a P.A.X.  “Christian huh?  Well who the hell is P.A.X? I mumbled to no one in particular.   I turned to the evidence tech and said, “Hey Joe, lets bag this bracelet.  In fact bag it all and get it to the lab to dust for prints, right away.”   

 

As I walked toward my squad car, I thought to myself that his name might be Christian but for the purposes of my investigation, he would remain PAX.  It just felt right.

Also, I had the strangest feeling that I was being watched.

 

The radio was tuned to KAVE and had been broadcasting nothing but holiday tunes since last week, they called it the “Twelve Days of Christmas Carols”.  It was apparent that I had been taken by the Christmas spirit, when I started my car and realized I had left the volume up just a little too loud for the occasion. “Five Golden riiiiiinngs” filled my ears.    I turned the knob to a more respectable level to maintain some dignity for the deceased.

 

 I decided to check in at the precinct, before I headed over to Douglas Street to notify the next of kin.  The truth was, that I was looking for any reason to delay this particular task.  Letting a family know that their loved one was gone, was hard enough, but adding in the fact that it is Christmas, and he was the victim of foul play, made it unbearable. I pulled into the Station parking lot, as just across the street, midnight Mass ended at St Mark’s.  People poured out from the doors of the Cathedral, singing “O Holy Night”, with excitement and joy as they headed to their cars. I knew that I didn’t have much time, as PAX’s family was undoubtedly expecting him for a happy celebration in a few hours.  Perhaps his family was even in this crowd, on their way home to fill stockings, and get a little sleep before the festivities began.  I felt like the Grinch Who Stole Christmas, knowing that I would be the person delivering the devastating change of plans for an unsuspecting family.  

 

As the singing continued, I was keenly aware of the irony,  “Long Lay the World in sin and error pining”.   I suddenly fought the urge to drop down to my knees in prayer, seeking answers, seeking justice, but most of all seeking a miracle which would roll back time, and have PAX sleeping peacefully in his bed, and me, watching Die Hard with my daughter.  Instead I walked into the precinct wondering, “What would John McClane do.”