Missing Hearts

by Wright, Kenya

  Intrigued, I wondered about the other things she’d done. Sneaking off to smoke a cigarette during service was bad. And around here, dating Thompson’s son would’ve been highly frowned on.

  What else did you do?

  Haven gestured to a huge painting of Jesus sitting on a throne behind the Pastor’s desk. “That is an amazing piece of art. This is new right?”

  “Yes.” Pastor Miller walked over to the art and beamed. “My grandson did it. He’s a good boy. Very talented. He could be a great painter one day, but I hope he follows me into the pulpit.”

  Haven went to her seat and sat down. “He has a passion for being a pastor?”

  “I think he does.” Pastor Miller lowered into his big leather chair. “Vernon knows every inch of the bible. Sometimes I think he knows the scripture better than me.”

  I sat down in the seat next to Haven.

  “And how are your daughters Barbara, Eartha, and Julia?” she asked.

  She’s good at buttering up the witness—gaining trust through interests.

  Pastor Miller beamed even more. “Barbara is doing good. She was just made principal of Fullbrooke elementary. And Eartha is pregnant and having twins.”

  “Oh my. Is she still a doctor at Serenity Hospital?”

  “She is, and just as big as ever with those babies. I keep telling her to take a break, but she’s stubborn.”

  “Stubborn?” Haven grinned. “I wonder who she got that from.”

  Pastor Miller shook his head.

  I waited for Pastor to bring up his third daughter, but no update came.

  Haven crossed her legs. “Thanks for meeting with us, Pastor.”

  He placed his hands on the desk. “No problem. I want these families to find peace, and I don’t want any other girls taken.”

  I nodded. “I agree.”

  “But, before we talk. Let’s pray.” Pastor Miller spread his arms out and then showed his palms.

  I stared in shock.

  Haven lowered her head and closed her eyes.

  Pastor Miller closed his too. “Lord and Heavenly Father we come to you today for answers to hard questions. Those six little girls are now with you in heaven, but we are on Earth battling an evil that we do not understand. And we ask for your mercy in discovering the enemy. We ask for your guidance and help to end these atrocities. Lord Jesus, we love you and we know that with you all is possible and all will be revealed. . .”

  I hurried to bow my head and close my own eyes.

  “You are our strength,” Pastor Miller prayed. “Guide us, Lord. Show us. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Haven whispered.

  I nodded and opened my eyes. “Amen.”

  Pastor Miller leaned back in his chair. “How can I help you?”

  Haven turned to me.

  I took the lead. “You said that months ago you figured the killer may have taken the basement to kidnap Ariana?”

  “Thank you for not calling him the Angel Maker.” Pastor Miller frowned. “Because he is no Angel Maker. There is only one Angel Maker and He is not bound to Earth, and He does not have to slither through shadows to take the light out of our babies’ eyes.”

  “You’re correct,” I agreed. “He is no Angel Maker to me either.”

  “Now about your questions, I thought the only way someone could have slipped in here to get Ariana would have been that basement. There were adults all over those hallways that day.”

  “What about the basement door?” I asked. “Was it unlocked?”

  “It was. Usually, it’s locked. That day it wasn’t.”

  “Who do you think could’ve gotten inside the basement?”

  “Anybody.”

  “How many people know about that passageway to the bathroom?”

  Pastor Miller sighed. “Those little doors in the bathroom have always been that way. It was like that when I was a boy and my father preached here. The church has melded and nailed the doorways, but that never stopped anything. As a boy, I undid the nails myself with the help of friends to sneak down there during service. And my father found us and fixed our behinds. Still, somehow another generation gets through them and they go down into the basement and do wicked things.”

  Haven stirred on my right.

  I folded my hands over my lap. “Your father preached here?”

  “He did. I was born and raised in Colesville. My father had a church there, but it was destroyed by the KKK. When I was ten, we moved to the Northside of Fullbrooke and he started his church there. Then, that was burned down by Reverend Thompson’s ilk. We moved further south in Fullbrooke. This ended up being his third church.”

  Haven smiled. “Your father was determined to bring God to the people.”

  “He sure was. Plus, we both know that the devil will never win. Don’t matter how many fires are set or wood is cut down; nobody has the power to erase the Lord.”

  I cleared my throat. “So, you went down that passageway during your youth?”

  “I did, along with a couple of friends. We never smoked down there like Haven’s generation.”

  “What did you all do?”

  “We looked at inappropriate magazines.” He shook his head. “Boys being boys. We weren’t smart enough to get the girls to come down too. Thank God or more inappropriate things may have occurred.”

  I smiled. “So, then a good portion of this church knows about the passageways?”

  “They do.” Pastor Miller gave me an odd look. “Do you think this monster is a part of my congregation?”

  “I think that we should look at everyone that knew about the basement.”

  “Then, consider the plumber Sam Goodman and our regular maintenance man Sean Thompson.”

  Haven stirred again.

  That last name was too much of a coincidence.

  “Is Sean Thompson related to Reverend Thompson?” I asked.

  “He is. Sean is the Reverend’s son.”

  Haven spoke up, “So, Sean does maintenance here?”

  “Yes. He started five years ago.” Pastor Miller looked at me. “Mrs. Mabel can give you the contact information for both men. I gave it to the police and like everything else, they ignored it.”

  I calmed my anger with the local authorities. “That won’t happen with me.”

  “How much does Sean come here?” Haven asked.

  “He’s here about twice a month. It’s a congregation of over five hundred people and an old building. Something is always breaking. Air conditioner. Heater. Toilet overflows and if the plumber is too busy, Sean will come and handle it.”

  Haven frowned. “Sean was in the basement a lot?”

  “Yes. He put those covers on the passageway too. He clearly didn’t do a good enough job. . .or maybe that was intentional.”

  Haven tapped her foot on the rug.

  “Do you have the dates, when the plumber and Sean would have come to this church?” I asked. “I would need the dates for the last six months.”

  “I can have Mrs. Mabel give it to you.”

  “Thank you.” I rubbed my hands together. “Is there anything else you would like to add, Pastor?”

  “People have mentioned that they’ve seen a short, old white man around here. Another said they have seen him by the ballet school. Another said the elementary too. They say he wears jean overalls and a white baseball hat.”

  “Who can I talk to about him?”

  “Felicia Drake’s older sister remembers him.”

  Felicia was the first victim. If the sister saw this man, she could give us a description. I didn’t know if he was our Unsub or not, but I was willing to chase after somebody. If I didn’t have any real suspects in the next week, then I would go crazy. This had to end before he started with a new set of girls.

  I made a note to have Stein and Richards check it out. “Agent Barron, do you have any questions?”

  Shocked, she nodded. “We think that this guy is giving communion to the girls before he kills
them.”

  Annoyance hit me. I didn’t want her to give details of the case. The less the public knew, the more we could fish out the killer. But I remained quiet to see where this was going.

  Pastor Miller closed his eyes. “He’s giving them communion?”

  “Yes. Wine and bread. Why do you think he’s doing it? Could he be trying to save them before they go to God?”

  I studied the Pastor.

  He opened his eyes and sadness filled them. “The practice comes from the Last Supper. At the meal, unleavened bread and the wine were served. The bread symbolized the purity of Christ and the wine represented the blood of Christ that was shed for us.”

  Haven nodded.

  “Do you know what type of wine?” Pastor Miller wore a disturbed expression. “The churches in this area—white or black—use the same type of wine. It’s from a Christian store. We get our bread from their too. The place is called Harmony Soul.”

  Haven pulled out a notebook and wrote that down. “Thank you.”

  That disturbed expression remained on the Pastor’s face. “The Lord’s Supper is meant as a remembrance of Christ’s sacrifice on the cross. It matters on what religion this killer is practicing. This is how communion is for the Baptist. We’re unlike other denominations of Christianity, such as the Catholic church, where the Lord’s Supper is the blood and body of Christ.”

  “Hmmm,” I murmured.

  They both turned to me.

  I asked, “Is there a particular moment where it would be significant to give the girls communion?”

  “For Baptist churches, there is no set calendar for partaking in the Lord’s Supper, but each time it’s meant to be a time of devotion and prayer.” Pastor Miller grimaced. “This is evil mimicking the holy.”

  “Please keep these details to yourself,” I added.

  “I will, Agent King. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Thank you, Pastor Miller.” I rose, pulled out my card, and handed it to him. “You’ve been helpful. If you think of anything, please feel free to call me.”

  Haven stood too. “I will see you this Sunday, Pastor.”

  “Good. I know your mother will be happy to have you sitting next to her.” Pastor Miller turned to me. “And I hope to see you with them, Agent King.”

  “I. . .will do my best.”

  “Good. We all need to come together in the house of the lord.”

  I got out of there and considered the things that we learned. Many people knew about that basement passageway to the bathroom. Therefore, our suspects would include the congregation as well as the plumber and maintenance man.

  Once we left the church and headed to the car, I looked at Haven. “Pastor Miller seemed ready to point all of this at Sean Thompson.”

  “This is a divided town. Most don’t like anybody with that last name. The Thompson family has done a lot and got away with even more.”

  “Yet, you dated Sean?”

  “I did.” She subtly increased her pace to the car as if she didn’t want to talk about it. Unfortunately, our conversation was only beginning.

  “Why would the church let Sean Thompson do maintenance if they didn’t trust the family?”

  “Because he’s one of the good Thompsons. He’s never bothered anybody.”

  “And because he dated you?”

  “Maybe.” She waited by her door.

  I got on the other side and stared at her. Thank god the car remained between us. She was so gorgeous; I may have closed the space just to inhale that lovely scent, just to be closer to her beauty.

  Control yourself. She’s an agent, and you’re on a case.

  I caught the way a loose strand brushed against her cheek. “How long did you date Sean?”

  She tucked the strand behind her ear. “We’ve been off and on. For a long time.”

  “What’s long?”

  “Several years.”

  “I got the impression that it was only during high school.”

  She didn’t appear happy to be under my scrutiny. “We ended it, when I left town but stayed in touch. Sometimes Sean would sneak off and come and visit me in college. We would begin and then end.”

  “And then graduate school?”

  “Yes. There were a few times then too.”

  “And during your time with the FBI?”

  She sighed. “Yes. Like I said, we were off and on a lot.”

  “It sounds like it was more on than off.”

  “It was a very complicated relationship.”

  “Why?”

  “I loved him. And in some way he loved me. He just didn’t. . .”

  “What?”

  “He was just ashamed of loving me. He always tried to keep me a secret. Us a secret. He never wanted more than sex. Even when he would come to DC, he would feel uncomfortable with being outside with me.”

  That detail annoyed me. It was clear Haven was a stunning woman. Any man should’ve been proud to have her on his arm. Sean sounded like an idiot.

  Hopefully, her being in town doesn’t incite another phase of ‘on’ between them.

  I tapped the top of the car. “When did you finally end it with Sean?”

  “Five years ago. I turned thirty and realized that I’d allowed myself to go in this stupid circle with him for too long. Granted, I dated other men between Sean. I had other loving relationships too. But for some reason, I kept letting Sean back in.”

  I held my keys but didn’t open the door. “Why?”

  “Blame it on the psychology degree maybe. Some psych majors like a little crazy with their love. They make a hobby out of evaluating their lover.”

  “Or maybe. . .you truly loved Sean and hoped that one day he would get over the racist ideals that had been spoon-fed to him as a kid, and finally begin a real life with you?”

  She looked away. “Maybe.”

  I opened the door, climbed in the car, and unlocked her side.

  She got in. “Where’s Brett and Tina?”

  I rolled my eyes at her use of their first names. “Well, Haven, I guess the gang is at the diner getting a milk shake and playing rock and roll until we get there.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Grumbling, I started the car. “Fullbrooke police ruined the case. I have Stein and Richards back in the office. They’ll be walking all the agents over the details. They’re going to decide who we should interview again and what steps we should retrace.”

  “I can help with that too.”

  “You will.” I backed the car out of the parking spot. “But for now, let’s go talk to your ex-boyfriend.”

  She let out a long breath.

  My phone rang.

  I dug into my pocket, pulled it out, and answered, “Hello?”

  “Agent King, this is Dr. Ross. I’ve just finished examining the sixth victim. We have some new developments.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “See you then,” Dr. Ross said.

  I put the phone back in my pocket and made a U-Turn. “Looks like we’ll have to save your ex for later. The medical examiner found something new.”

  “Let’s hope it helps us get to the Unsub faster.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  Chapter 6

  The Lord’s Prayer

  Haven

  Like a gentleman, Alexander held the County Morgue’s door open for me.

  “Have you ever seen a dead body?” he asked.

  Embarrassed, I muttered, “No.”

  “Then, Dr. Ross will pop your cherry.”

  “I’m glad I still have cherries to pop.”

  He gave me an odd look. “Hmmm.”

  “Sorry. Probably not the most appropriate thing to say.”

  “Yet this now ranks as my top conversation when walking into a morgue.”

  “Glad I can help.”

  “You definitely did.” Alexander smiled. “And don’t worry. You just can’t think of the victim as a person. When the body hits the table,
it’s a corpse.”

  That would be hard. On the plane, I’d been imagining Melody Luther playing with the stuffed animal that had been left behind in the restaurant. I’d wondered about her smile and the way she giggled when she saw something funny on TV.

  Alexander’s words took me away from those thoughts. “Dead victims hold clues. Visiting and analyzing one is a necessary evil. It gets us to the monster faster. A corpse can hold a vast conversation.”

  Some of my nervousness calmed. “They talk?”

  “Oh yes. You just have to use your eyes to hear them.”

  Since it was my first time in the morgue, I was glad it had been several hours since I’d ate. As soon as I stepped inside, the odor of death and chemical preserves hit my nostrils. Bile rose in my throat. My stomach twisted, threatening to release all the airplane food from this morning’s flight.

  I knew this case would bring me to a morgue, but I was hoping much later.

  At least we’re not at Sean’s house. I would rather stand over a dead body, then see him again.

  I wished we didn’t have to talk to him at all. But if he was doing maintenance for the Fullbrooke Baptist and knew about the secret passageways, then he could end up being a suspect. He just needed alibis for the nights the girls were gone.

  God, this is going to get messy.

  I pushed those worries away and followed Alexander inside.

  Fullbrooke’s morgue was small. For a place that held corpses, it was sparkling clean. Shiny steel stood out among the gray walls. The dead were everywhere—stacked in drawers and propped on top of tables while other medical examiners poked and prodded.

  Jesus.

  I swallowed down the bile, forcing myself to get over it. The last thing I wanted to do was vomit in front of Alexander. I liked to think that I’d earned his respect at the church. We’d gotten a lead in the case when his unit had been chasing their tails for weeks. We might be able to catch this guy before he takes more girls.

  Alexander gestured to the woman ahead of us. “That’s Dr. Ross.”

  Continuing forward, I looked in that direction.

  Dr. Ross was a short woman. Biracial, but I couldn’t say what ethnic groups she represented. She was small at the top, but heavy at the bottom. Lots of hips. She had curly brown hair, brown eyes, and pink glasses. Sipping some sort of chocolate milkshake, Dr. Ross stood next to a table where Melody Luther’s body lay on top.