Injecting Faith

by Patrick Logan

  She wasn't as smart as Grant—nobody was—but she was a seriously skilled medical student. She was destined for great things if being associated with Beckett didn’t drag her down, that is.

  Beckett stopped smiling the moment he saw the bags draped over her shoulders.

  “This is a surprise,” he said cautiously.

  “Our flight leaves in an hour—let's get a move on.”

  He gulped.

  “Uh, Suzan, I can't leave right now. I have to—”

  Suzan threw a bag at him, which he barely managed to catch by sandwiching it against his chest. Then she tugged on his arm.

  “I heard you in there… you can leave. Besides, this is non-negotiable, Beckett. You’ve been promising to take me on this vacation for months now, and this is the only way I can get you to go, I know it. The tickets have been bought—with your credit card, by the way—accommodations have been booked. We are going to South Carolina, baby.”

  Beckett chewed the inside of his lip.

  How can I go? I've got a goddamn corpse in my basement.

  “But I can't—”

  Suzan suddenly stopped smiling.

  “What's wrong? I packed your very best rock T-shirts. Even bought some of that hair gel you like to use. Come on, Beckett, don't be a buzzkill. Let's go on this vacation. You owe me. We have to go.”

  She batted her eyelashes at him dramatically, and he knew that there was no getting out of this.

  Wayne Cravat would have to wait. After all, it wasn’t like he was going anywhere.

  PART II – The Lord Healeth…

  Chapter 17

  “You want a coffee or something?” Yasiv asked as he stepped into the interrogation room. The man with bushy eyebrows and shaggy hair didn't even look up.

  “No.”

  “A Coke? Anything?”

  The man finally raised his eyes.

  “What I want, is to go home,” he whined.

  Yasiv nodded and slid into the seat across from him. He cast a quick glance at the two-way mirror and nodded.

  “Well, you can go home, Brent; you can go home in an hour or you can go home in two days. It's really up to you. You can also have a lawyer any time you want, as per your rights that my partner read you earlier. All you have to do is ask.”

  Brent’s thin lips curled into a sneer.

  “And let me guess, if I ask for a lawyer, I’ll be here for two days. And if I'm here for two days, I'll lose my job. If I lose my job, I'll be thrown back in prison for violating my parole. What’s that called again? Catch something?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “What?”

  Yasiv shook his head.

  “Never mind. Look, I just want to know what you were doing at Wayne's place.”

  “I told you already, you and that guy who twisted my knee. Wayne’s a friend of mine, and I was just checkin’ to see how he was.”

  “A friend of yours… are you from the meat factory?”

  Brent shook his head.

  “No.”

  The abrupt reply gave Yasiv pause, but he decided to address it later.

  “Okay, okay, so how long have you known Wayne Cravat for?”

  Brent shrugged.

  “About a year.”

  “And where did you guys meet?”

  “We were introduced by a mutual friend at a fourth of July party.”

  Brent shifted in his metal chair as he answered this last question. The chairs in the interrogation room were designed to be uncomfortable, but it was clear that Yasiv’s question had put him on edge. Another tell was the way he continued to ramble even after answering.

  “Me ‘n Wayne, we hit it off right away. Had a lot of things in common, I guess.”

  Yasiv could almost feel Dunbar’s anger emanating through the glass. He decided to pick up the pace before the man came barging in and changed the entire tone of the interview.

  “You know anyone else at that trailer park?”

  Something dark passed over Brent’s face.

  “No. Nobody.”

  He was lying, Yasiv knew, but he let this slide.

  “Okay, sure. Speaking of Wayne, when’s the last time you saw him?”

  “Three days ago. Wayne usually goes to the meetings at the church on Mondays, but he wa’nt there. I work nights but get Sunday and Monday off, so that’s when I see him most weeks. When he didn’t show up, I went by his place. That’s when you and the other cop came. I wa’nt breakin’ in or nothin’, I was just visitin’.”

  “But then why when I showed up at the door, you ran out the back way?”

  “Like I said, I’m on parole. I don’t need to be gettin’ involved with no cops.”

  Brent crossed his arms over his chest.

  This guy thinks he’s one slick bastard, Yasiv thought. He debated trying to trip him up, put him in his place, but decided against it. He would probe, poke tiny holes in the man’s stories, but it was in Yasiv’s favor for Brent to think that he had the upper hand.

  That he was the smart one in the room.

  “How did you know that it wasn’t Wayne coming home?”

  The man shifted.

  “Cuz. I seen you through the blinds, that’s why.”

  Yasiv nodded and bit his tongue. He wanted to point out that Brent was also alone in Wayne’s trailer with the lights off when he and Dunbar showed up, but that would only tip his hand.

  “All right, all right. Why don’t you tell me about these meetings, then. What are they about?”

  Brent suddenly clammed up, pressing his lips defiantly and shaking his head.

  Too easy to read, my friend. Way too easy.

  “Brent, look, I know you don't want to be here—trust me, I don’t want to be here either. But I also know that you want to keep your job, and I know that you want to help your friend. But if you don't—”

  The man's eyes suddenly narrowed, and he glared at Yasiv.

  “We don’t talk about the meetings. They’re private. I told you already, I don’t know where Wayne is. I don’t know what else I gotta say.”

  Yasiv leaned back in his chair and spun his pen across the webbing of his thumb.

  “I know, I know. But I just want to help, too. I just need—”

  Brent suddenly slumped back in his chair.

  “I think—I think I want a lawyer.”

  Yasiv immediately rose to his feet and started toward the door.

  “All right, Brent. I’ll be right back; this interview’s over.”

  ***

  “He's lying,” Dunbar seethed, his eyes locked on Brent on the other side of the glass.

  Yasiv nodded.

  “Of course, he is; he thinks he’s slick. See how he stopped talking the minute I asked about the meetings? What do you think they’re about? AA? NA?”

  Dunbar's eyes never left Brent, who was now shifting near constantly in his chair.

  “More like child abusers anonymous,” he hissed.

  “Maybe. But Brent’s only record is for shoplifting. Still, I think we should check out one of these meetings ourselves.”

  Dunbar made a face but remained silent.

  “All right, I’m going to cut him loose,” Yasiv said.

  Dunbar finally tore his eyes away from Brent.

  “You're what? You’re going to let him go?”

  Yasiv weighed his options.

  “He’s not going to tell us anything more. He—”

  “But he was breaking into Wayne’s trailer! Surely, we can keep him on that. Sweat him a little.”

  Now it was Yasiv’s turn to observe the man in the interrogation room.

  “We could, but that’s not going to hold up. If we can’t find Wayne, there’s no way to confirm or deny that he wasn’t just checking up on the man. He didn’t steal anything, so at best the DA will probably just tack on a few months to his probation and leave it at that. And if the man is guilty of something more substantial, the minute he leaves the courthouse he’s gone; we’ll never see hi
m again. If we cut him loose now, he’ll think that he got the leg up on us. Maybe start running his mouth, get himself into trouble again.”

  Dunbar pointed aggressively at the glass.

  “Yeah, or maybe he just leaves here tonight, breaks into someone’s house and kidnaps a child.”

  Yasiv looked at Brent. He wasn’t a clairvoyant; there was only so much information he could get from the short interview, and only marginally more during a long one. But Brent didn’t strike Yasiv as somebody who was reckless. A reckless man would have more than one prior conviction for shoplifting. Dunbar might have fabricated this narrative in his head, but that’s all it was: a fabrication.

  “I’m going to cut him loose,” Yasiv reiterated. It was clear that Dunbar wasn’t happy about this, but the big man remained silent. “How about you gather all the stuff you can on the Will Kingston case in the meantime.”

  Dunbar’s eyes widened.

  “We’re going to take the case?”

  Yasiv shook his head.

  “No, it’s not our case to take. Our job is to find Wayne Cravat. But maybe there’s something in there that can help us.”

  A small smile appeared on Dunbar’s lips, and Yasiv shook his head.

  This is not the way I want to spend my evenings, he thought glumly, as he opened the door and made his way over to Brent Hopper. This is not the way I wanted to spend any of my time.

  Chapter 18

  “Seriously? We’ve only been here for an hour and already you want to go to this church thing.”

  Beckett pressed his hands together in prayer and lowered his chin to his chest.

  “When the Lord calleth, his minions musteth go visiteth,” Beckett replied.

  Suzan, who had been in good spirits up until this point despite the fact that their flight was delayed, and their rental car wasn’t ready, wasn’t having any of it.

  “Beckett, come on, please. Let's go have a drink first, walk around, see the sights, shop, anything but go to the church.”

  Beckett’s phone buzzed; it was a notification that Rev. Alister Cameron was due on stage in less than fifteen minutes.

  “Suzan, we’re gonna have plenty of fun on this vacation, promise. But this guy claims to have cured death… gimme a break! Let's go check it out, see what he has to say, then we’ll go for drinks.”

  Suzan glared at him.

  When she didn't say anything for several seconds, Beckett leaned in close with pursed lips. She predictably recoiled.

  “You're not getting anything until we have that first drink.”

  Beckett grinned.

  “Are you sure you can resist me for that long?”

  Suzan turned and stormed out of the room, giving him the finger over her shoulder as she went.

  Beckett chuckled, but the moment she was gone, he grew serious.

  What the fuck are you doing here, Beckett? You’ve got a dead body at home more than seven hundred miles away. A dead body that is going to start to smell.

  Thankfully, however, it was a cool fall in New York, and they were only scheduled to be in South Carolina for a week. A week was plenty to check out this nutjob Reverend, then head back home. They might even have time to make good on his promise to Suzan and have a little fun along the way.

  Beckett threw on a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt and then messed up his hair. He was about to follow after Suzan when he spotted two items buried at the bottom of his bag: a silver flask and a black leather case. He took the latter out and opened it.

  Did Suzan…

  Beckett shook his head.

  No, it was in there from my last trip, I just forgot to take it out.

  I think.

  Beckett grabbed the flask next and opened it. It was empty, but his roaming eyes spotted a minibar in the corner of the room. He hurried over and cracked open three Crown Royal bottles and dumped them inside. He sloshed the liquid around a little then took a sip, just to make sure that nobody had tried to poison the queen.

  After smacking his lips, he shoved the flask in his pocket and then started out of the room.

  “Suzan, wait up! We must face our Savior together!”

  ***

  Beckett nudged Suzan's leg, but she shooed him away with her hand without even looking at him. He nudged again, and this time she turned toward him.

  “What? What do you want?”

  Beckett didn't say anything. Instead, he just shook the flask down between his knees so that only she could see. As soon as Suzan's eyes fell on the silver exterior, they widened.

  “Remember what you said about that first drink?”

  Suzan reached out and forced his hand down under the pew.

  “Not here, you idiot. We’re in church. This is—”

  “Shh!” a woman with a bouffant hairdo hissed at them, pressing a manicured finger to wrinkled lips.

  Beckett made an ‘o’ face and then mock prayed two or three times before she looked away, shaking her head.

  When he glanced back at Suzan, she was still glaring at him.

  “Fine then,” he whispered. “More for me.”

  Beckett somehow managed to unscrew the cap with one hand and then bent down low to take a sip. When he raised his head, he was surprised to see that Rev. Alister Cameron was now on stage, both hands held out to the heavens.

  Oh God, look at this ass clown.

  And look he did. So did everyone else; the place was packed, and Beckett and Suzan were lucky just to get a seat. There were at least a hundred people in the small church that had a capacity of maybe a third that many, most of whom were standing near the back wall. Beckett debated calling the cops or the fire department and reporting them, but a representative of both in full uniform was among the crowd.

  Figures.

  “My people, the Lord thanks you for coming here today. For those who are new, my name is Rev. Alister Cameron, and the Lord has bestowed me with a unique gift.”

  The crowd erupted into cheers, which caught Beckett by surprise. The man had literally just introduced himself and already people were slapping their palms together as if the man had just won the Super Bowl.

  It’s going to be like that, is it?

  Beckett was likely one of the least experienced people at the service—both his parents had been agnostic—but this seemed, well, unique.

  “Amen, amen,” Rev. Cameron said, lowering his hands. The parishioners eventually followed his lead and fell silent.

  Beckett glanced over at Suzan and was equally surprised that she seemed rapt by the man’s words.

  This is also… unique.

  Although he couldn’t recall ever specifically discussing religion with Suzan, he knew that she’d also been brought up in an agnostic household. There were rumors that her late father, Clay Cuthbert, had been involved with the Church of Liberation, but that was about as far from a religious organization as one could get.

  Beckett shook his head and debated taking another drink, but quickly decided against it; this was too good to miss.

  Rev. Cameron was smiling broadly, but the expression never quite reached his eyes… his cold, hard eyes.

  Eyes like Ron Stransky’s or Flo-Ann McEwing’s.

  “The gift that our Lord has blessed me with is an incredible one, as is what he told me: Death is but a disease, and I have the cure.”

  Chapter 19

  “Detective Crumley? My name is Sgt. Henry Yasiv from 62nd division, and this is Detective Steve Dunbar. You got a moment? I have a few questions I was hoping you might be able to clear up for me.”

  Yasiv hadn't been surprised to find Detective Bob Crumley still at work despite the late hour; he'd heard stories about the boys in SVU. They worked late, they partied hard, and they always got the job done.

  The man spun around in his chair and simply observed Yasiv for a moment. He was eating a donut with one hand and had a coffee in the other. Yet, despite this cliché, he was rail thin, with thinning hair, a bushy mustache, and dark eyes set into pale flesh.
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  It looked like he hadn't slept in days, which was another thing that Yasiv had heard about the SVU boys.

  “Yeah, sure thing. I’d shake your hand, but…”

  Yasiv nodded.

  “No problem. This is just a courtesy call, we’re not here to take over your case, or anything like that.”

  Yasiv had learned early on that professional courtesy went a long way in the police force. He looked over at Dunbar, but the man kept mum; he was still pissed that they’d let Brent Hopper go.

  Detective Crumley took a sip of his coffee.

  “Sgt…”

  “Yasiv.”

  “Sgt. Yasiv, we’re dramatically understaffed here. And the first rule of SVU is that you gotta leave your fucking ego at the door. If you want to help with one of our cases, by all means. We could use it.”

  Yasiv was surprised. Usually, people got their back up when other departments started nosing around in their business. It looked like the SVU, or in the very least Detective Bob Crumley was a different breed entirely.

  “Great… well, the DA has been putting pressure on us to find a man who skipped out on his parole officer. I’m thinking that you guys might know him? His name is Wayne Cravat.” Something flashed over the detective’s eyes, confirming that he was familiar with the man. “We just want to find him, put him back behind bars. I was hoping that you guys might have some more details about the places he likes to hang out, that sort of thing.”

  Another sip of coffee.

  “Wayne Cravat… yeah, that was a clusterfuck of a case. The DA is on our ass now, trying to find a new suspect for Will Kingston’s murder.”

  Yasiv made a face.

  “Yeah, I don’t suspect things will get any easier, either, until a new mayor is elected. But about Wayne, we went to his place of employment, Lucius Meats, and they say he hasn’t been there for three days. We went to his house, still nothing.”

  “You went to Happy Valley? What a joke of a name, huh? Should be called Child Molester Paradise.”

  Yasiv raised an eyebrow.