“So, you wanted me to translate something?”
Mark grunted and turned to lead the way inside.
Jeremiah followed him, steeling himself for whatever it was he was about to encounter. The detective had said that there was Hebrew writing on the walls. That meant there was a good chance either the victim or the killer or both were Jewish. He reminded himself that he had a role to play inside. He couldn’t be too callous, he had to show some sensitivity to whatever it was he saw. It would be dangerous to do otherwise.
Inside the house they bypassed a dining room on the left and continued heading farther into the house. Inside what was meant to be a living room was where all the activity seemed to be happening.
Jeremiah stepped into the room. It was devoid of furniture. The walls were covered with writing, all of it in Hebrew, and most of the letters only about an inch high.
He whistled softly. “You didn’t say how much translation work you were going to need.”
“Want to re-open that whole consultant discussion?” Mark asked.
“Maybe,” Jeremiah muttered as he moved his eyes around the walls. Almost all of the writing seemed to be done in black marker but as his eyes reached the last wall and moved down it there was a sudden patch of large letters written in what he was pretty sure was blood.
Below it was the body of a man.
“Did he write that?” Jeremiah asked, pointing to the large letters.
“We think so. There’s blood on his hands. The lab guys will check it out but I’m guessing he used his own blood.”
Jeremiah stepped forward, wondering what was so important the man had used his dying moments to write the letters.
“Can you make any of it out?” Mark asked.
“Well, the blood letters translate as ‘restoration’.”
“Restoration? Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think he meant by that?”
Jeremiah was about to tell him that he had no idea when his eyes fell on the body and he froze. For once he didn’t have to feign shock or surprise.
“You okay?” Mark asked.
Jeremiah’s mind raced, wondering exactly what he should tell the detective standing next to him. A dozen scenarios played out in his mind and at last he finally opted for the truth.
He turned to Mark and looked him square in the eyes as he answered his question.
“No, I’m not okay. I know this man.”
2
Cindy Preston pulled her cell out of her purse. Jeremiah had sent her a text saying he’d meet her at the restaurant. She felt a twinge of disappointment. She enjoyed it when they drove together. It gave them a few extra minutes to spend together talking. They talked about all sorts of things like work, religion, music, and her childhood. The one topic they never touched on was his past. She had begun to notice that anytime she asked a question that was even tangentially related to his life before becoming the rabbi at the synagogue next door that he would steer the question away.
One of these days she was going to press him harder. She knew several people who didn’t like talking about themselves but with Jeremiah it was ridiculous. The only thing she knew about his earlier life was that he had been raised in Israel and therefore spent a couple of years in the military as all young Israelis were required to do.
“Is it a text from Jeremiah?” Geanie asked teasingly as she leaned over Cindy’s desk. “What does lover boy have to say?”
“We’re just friends,” Cindy said with a sigh.
“Right,” Geanie said with a roll of her eyes as she walked over to her desk.
Geanie was the church’s resident tech guru and the most outlandish character in a staff full of characters. Today she was wearing black fishnet stockings, four inch fuchsia heels, a black leather miniskirt and a fuchsia satin blouse. It was actually one of her more conservative looks.
Geanie was smiling and humming to herself. She did that a lot ever since she had become engaged to Joseph, one of the church members and a friend of Cindy’s. The engagement and subsequent wedding planning were taking up all of her free time and the house that she and Cindy shared was littered with bridal magazines. Geanie’s preoccupation with the subject and her own state of soon to be wedded bliss had caused her to see romance everywhere, even when it clearly didn’t exist.
Jeremiah and I are just friends, Cindy repeated silently to herself.
Four more months and Geanie would be getting married and moving out and Cindy would once again be living by herself. She had just started getting used to having a roommate, too.
The office door opened and in walked Dave Wyman, the youth pastor who was more commonly referred to as Wildman. His face bore a look of pure frustration that she hadn’t seen since the week before the high school summer camp. In fact for the past month he had walked around looking serene, a rarity for him. Then again, most everyone had. August at the church was usually dead with families taking their last vacations before school got back in.
Now it was September, though. Kids were back in school and the pews would be filling back up. Still, most of the major church activities wouldn’t start back up again for a few weeks.
“What’s wrong?” Cindy asked.
Wildman stopped and stared at her like he didn’t even know where to begin.
“Your big back to school outreach nights aren’t for another two weeks, right?” she asked.
He nodded.
And then she realized why he had that singular look of rage and despair mixed together. He was used to reigning supreme over organized chaos, taking the drama and crisis of teenage life in his stride. There was only one thing she knew of that could push him that far over the edge.
“Royus?” she asked, praying she was wrong.
He nodded and she felt her spirits plummet.
Roy the head pastor and Gus the music director couldn’t stand each other. Most days they tried to stay out of each other’s way, but sometimes that just wasn’t possible. Worse, some days their feud spilled over onto others and the rest of the staff called that kind of problem a Royus.
“What happened?” Geanie asked, voice tense. A Royus was enough to cause even Cindy’s free-spirited, love obsessed roommate more than a little stress.
Wildman slumped down in the chair near Cindy’s desk and buried his head in his hands. “They’re fighting over the Christmas pageant,” he said, voice muffled.
Cindy turned and shared a bewildered look with Geanie. “Why? Normally they don’t even start discussing Christmas until October.”
“I know, but this year Gus wants to shake things up, do something different. He wants all new sets, backdrops, the works.”
Cindy felt like she was going to be sick. “You have to be kidding.”
“No. And he dragged me into the meeting, without warning me, by the way, because he wants the teens to have a bigger part in the whole thing.”
“He didn’t!” Geanie burst out.
“Oh yes he did. Then Roy accused him of trying to destroy our traditions and he told me that I should know better and that there’s no way I could control the kids.”
Cindy put a hand to her mouth. Horror for Dave and for the rest of them was filling her.
“Then I told him this wasn’t my idea and it was the first I heard about it, which just made Gus go off on how I should have more faith in my kids and I should try to make them more a part of the congregation instead of isolating them like a bunch of lepers.”
Cindy got up and gave Dave a hug. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
He shuddered. “It’s hard enough to put up with all the crap that comes with this job without having both of them drag me into the middle of their problems and yell at me for half an hour.”
“What did you do?” she asked as she pulled away.
He looked up at her and then at Geanie and the despair in his eyes broke her heart. “I told them that if they both didn’t knock it off they wouldn’t have to worry about what I would or wouldn’t do, be
cause I would quit.”
In the silence that followed his pronouncement Cindy heard Geanie drop a pen on the floor. She didn’t glance over, she couldn’t take her eyes off the youth pastor’s face.
She licked her lips, feeling that she had to say something to make this better. “Look, I know it’s been a rough year-”
“Rough?” he asked with a harsh laugh. “That doesn’t even begin to describe it. First there was the spring camp debacle with the assassins trying to take out my kids and one of my counselors.”
Cindy’s fists tightened. She remembered the events all too well. Everyone who had been even remotely involved had been scarred by it.
“Then was the whole huge debate over whether to even have summer camps, and then where to have them since the police still had our old campsite locked down and none of the kids or counselors wanted to go back there anyway.”
“I know a lot has happened, but you can’t quit,” Cindy interrupted.
Dave heaved a sigh. “Why do they have to be that way? I mean, we work at a church, shouldn’t we be better than that?”
Geanie was out of her chair now, too, and she came to stand beside Cindy. “Yes, we all work at a church,” she said softly, “but we’re all still human and flawed.”
Cindy couldn’t have said it better herself.
“It’s just hard to deal with them, especially when they’re like this,” Dave said.
“I know, we’ve all been there,” Cindy said, “but you can’t let them drive you away. The kids love you and they need you.”
“I know, it’s just, some days I feel like this job should come with hazard pay.”
“Amen,” Cindy couldn’t help but respond.
He looked up at her and the faintest smile touched his lips. “I guess no one knows that better than you.”
She smiled back.
“Don’t let them get you down,” Geanie said. “It could always be worse. You could be Cindy who’s going to have to go fifteen rounds with them over the scheduling for December.”
Cindy glared at Geanie. “That wasn’t nice.”
“No, but it does make me feel a little better,” Dave said as he stood up.
Cindy raised an eyebrow. “Then maybe this will make you feel a lot better. It could be worse. You could be Geanie and have to try to come up with advertisements that they both sign off on. If there is a new program this year, that will even mean a whole new design aesthetic for them to argue over.”
“I kind of hate you right now,” Geanie said as she hunched her shoulders.
Dave grinned.
“You’re looking better now,” Cindy noted.
“What can I say, ladies? I guess it’s true that misery loves company.” He left the office and Cindy and Geanie both returned to their desks.
“That I didn’t need,” Cindy said with a sigh.
“Who did?” Geanie asked looking glum.
“I’m sorry, that wasn’t nice of me to say. But you shouldn’t worry. Everyone always loves everything you do. You’ve got the magic touch when it comes to your advertising.”
“That’s not what’s worrying me,” Geanie said.
“What is it then?”
The other girl looked up at her with despair filled eyes. “Both Roy and Gus are doing something for my wedding.”
Even though it was wrong, Cindy almost couldn’t control the urge to laugh.
Mark stared at Jeremiah in surprise. “You know him? Who is he?”
Jeremiah looked bewildered and Mark registered it was the first time he’d seen him look that way.
“I honestly can’t tell you. All I know is that he came up to me after services one day in May, said he wanted to come into my office a couple days later to talk to me, and he never showed up. Frankly, I’ve always wondered what happened to him. He never told me his name.”
“Did he tell you what he wanted to talk about?”
“No.”
“How long did you talk with him after services?”
“Literally less than a minute.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “He must have made an impression for you to remember him so clearly.”
Jeremiah kept his eyes fixed intently on the dead man. “He did. He was speaking a mixture of English and German.”
“German?” Mark asked.
The rabbi nodded.
To the best of Mark’s knowledge there wasn’t any real German community nearby. He looked again at the body of the old man then lifted his eyes to take in the Hebrew lettering all over the walls. A terrible thought came over him. He put a pair of gloves on and he bent down slowly. He gingerly pushed up the man’s sleeves on both arms, looking for a mark.
“I’m not convinced he was Jewish and I don’t think he was in a concentration camp during the war,” Jeremiah said quietly.
“There are no numbers tattooed on him so you’re probably right about that,” Mark said. “How did you know that was what I was looking for?”
Jeremiah shrugged. “German language, Hebrew writing, his age, it was a logical conclusion.”
Mark stood up. “Maybe you’re in the wrong line of work. You should have been a detective.”
Jeremiah smiled faintly. “No, that’s definitely not for me. I’ll leave the detective work to the professionals.”
“Because you’ve done such a good job of doing that in the past,” Mark said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice. He took a deep breath. “What makes you think he wasn’t Jewish?”
“I saw him at services and he didn’t wear a kippah, even during prayer.”
“Kippah?” Mark asked. “What’s that?”
“Oh, you would call it... a yarmulke.”
“Oh, the skull cap,” Mark said, making a circle on the top of his head.
“Yes. Of course, not all Jewish men wear them, but it is very unusual to see a man of his age not wearing one, particularly during prayer. Hence my conclusion that he wasn’t actually Jewish.”
“Why do you wear those things?” Mark asked. He’d always wondered, but it wasn’t something that usually came up in conversation.
“It’s out of reverence, an acknowledgement that there is something higher than man, that being G-d, of course.”
“Of course,” Mark said. “So, how long do you think it’s going to take you to translate this?” he asked, changing the topic.
Jeremiah turned and surveyed the rest of the room. “All of this? I really don’t know.”
“Then I guess you’d better get started.”
“You’re serious? You want me to translate all of this?” the rabbi asked.
Mark shrugged. “Hopefully something in it will give us a clue. Until then, we’ve got nothing to go on.”
Jeremiah sighed and pulled out his phone. “Looks like I’ll be missing lunch.”
“I’ll get you lunch. Anything else you need?”
“A ladder and a tape recorder. It will be far easier to just read the translation into that than to have to write it down.”
“Done. First can you tell me what a line or two of this says? I’m curious if he’s just been ranting something repetitive or crazy. You know like ‘All work and no play.’”
The rabbi touched his hand to a section of the wall well above the bloody red letters. He read out loud slowly, making sure to read verbatim and not clean up the grammar or anything. “Twenty years ago since I lost my wife yet I miss her still. G-d has a reason for everything that is done. Why do not ask of me.”
He fell silent for a moment and then turned to the detective. “Maybe it’s his autobiography,” he suggested.
Mark sighed. “And he couldn’t put it on paper like a normal person.”
Jeremiah sighed. “I don’t think there was anything normal about this man.”
“From what I’ve seen so far, I’d have to agree with you. Give me a minute and I’ll get you the things you need.”
“This is going to take a couple of days.”
“Whatever it takes. Hopef
ully it will help us find a killer.”
“I’m glad at least one of us is optimistic,” Jeremiah said, eyeing the walls and sounding dubious. “I’ll have Marie clear my schedule. I have to warn you, though. I’ve only got three days I can spend on this. After that I’m booked solid with the holidays.”
“Which holidays?”
“The High Holy Days is probably how you’ve heard of them. It starts with Rosh Hashanah and ends with Yom Kippur.”
“Isn’t that a day for atonement?”
“Yes,” Jeremiah said, clearly startled.
“Don’t look so surprised. My wife made me watch that Jazz Singer movie.”
Mark headed outside while the rabbi made his calls and found Liam outside. Other officers were starting to arrive and the medical examiner pulled up and got out of the car. All of them were civil with their greetings, but they still avoided making eye contact with him.
He tried not to let it get to him as he brought everyone up to speed. Once the medical examiner had headed inside he turned to Liam.
“I need a ladder and a tape recorder to help with the translation.”
“You’ve got it,” the younger officer said. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”
“Can you pick up some Togo’s sandwiches, too?”
“Not a problem,” Liam said with a smile.
At least there was one guy on the force who wasn’t treating him like a pariah.
Jeremiah felt terrible as he ended his call with Cindy. She’d sounded like she wasn’t having the best of mornings and she’d been clearly disappointed that he wasn’t going to make lunch. He knew how she felt. There were so many things he’d rather be doing than translating the dead man’s writings and spending time with her was at the top of that list.
More police showed up and began to examine the body and take pictures of the room. He tried to stay out of the way while reading snatches of information from the walls. It did indeed seem to be some kind of autobiography and it seemed like everything was in order which was a stroke of luck that he couldn’t quite believe.
He identified the wall with the blood on it as the last wall and found what seemed to be the first wall. The room continued to get more crowded and he finally walked outside where he found Mark sitting on the curb jotting down some notes.
Restoreth My Soul (Psalm 23 Mysteries) Page 2
