by CJ Lyons
Luka eyed her appraisingly. “So I learned. I brought him here for a formal interview. Beth didn’t appear to be coerced when she left the hospital. But clearly they know each other, which means your father knows more than he’s saying. We have no evidence of an actual crime—and he knows it. Legally, he could walk at any time. Which is why I need you—”
“To interrogate him? But if he tells me anything that points to a crime, it will never hold up in court.”
“Right now I don’t care about court, I care about saving a child’s life.” He paused, obviously waiting for her to defend her father. Harper was torn, feeling pulled in impossible directions. But Luka was right, a life was at stake. “I need you to get him talking, learn anything you can about who Beth is, where she might be going. You up for it?”
“Yes, sir.” She swallowed and nodded, then scraped back her chair to return to the interview room. How to talk to a man she’d never been able to talk with? Would confronting him with the evidence loosen his tongue? Or reinforce his silence?
When she entered the interview room, she found the Reverend sitting at the scarred wooden table. His posture was rigid, and Harper could tell he’d lost his patience.
“So.” He acknowledged her entrance with a scowl, as if disappointed that the police couldn’t find someone better suited to the job. He’d arranged his body to sit on the very edge of the lightweight vinyl chair, to have contact with the least amount of contaminated atoms as possible. “They sent you—am I meant to crumble with sentimentality?”
He would be expecting her to hammer him about Beth and her baby, but Luka had already tried that so she chose a different tack. “Tell me the truth about Spencer. I know you’re hiding something. Something that might help me stop a killer.”
His lips tightened and once again his hands relaxed into his favorite position: clasped together as if in prayer. “It’s privileged.”
“Not everything you and Spencer spoke about falls under attorney-client privilege,” she challenged him. The very fact that he didn’t question her about her use of the word “killer” or Spencer’s supposed suicide told her that he knew much more than he let on. He’d been on the phone with Spencer during the time frame of his death—had he heard the killer? Did he know who it was? If so, why was he protecting them?
“I can’t tell you anything because it’s privileged under the seal of confession. I won’t betray that. I can’t betray it. Not for you, not for anyone.” He didn’t seem apologetic—he appeared defiant. “Instead of trying to force me to betray my vows, you need to decide whose laws you’re beholden to: man’s or God’s.”
“This isn’t about the law. There are lives at stake.”
He shook his head, his expression blanking. “Did it ever occur to you, Naomi, to trust me? I know what the right thing to do is, even if you don’t. By keeping my silence, following God’s law, I’m saving lives. And that’s more important than any of your laws.”
“And what about Beth’s baby’s life? He could die—you know that, right?”
“Your sergeant said something. I’m not at all certain I believe him. You say that being a police officer is about finding the truth, yet you use deception and coercion to create your own truth. So how can I believe anything any of you say?”
They sat in silence as she considered her options. He shifted in his seat, frowning at the obscene graffiti carved into the table between them, covering it with his pristine handkerchief so that he would be spared the sight. Finally, he shook his head and scoffed, “This, this den of inequity, this is why you turned your back on your Church, your God, your family?”
The Reverend’s trump card. She was surprised he had played it so soon. The leader of Holy Redeemer considered no sinner unworthy of redemption. No sinner except his own daughter.
That was what had kept her away for years. It was only recently that she’d started seeing her family again. Jonah had shepherded her way back to the family dinner table, but she still hadn’t found her way back into her father’s good graces. After yesterday, when the Reverend had appeared to show some interest in her job, she’d actually hoped that the wound was beginning to heal.
He pursed his lips—as close to a disdainful eye-roll as the Reverend ever got. “I’m sure you appreciate this irony.”
“What? That a man of God is sitting in jail?” Harper asked.
“No. Of course not. I have many sins, but hubris isn’t one of them.” He folded his hands together on the table. “No. The irony that they sent you.” He nodded to the door. “As if the agent of my redemption would be the child who was so willful and—”
“And unredeemable.” Now it was her turn to shake her head, but in frustration, not disdain. “You never will forgive me for letting you down, tarnishing your image.”
“My image?” His voice rose. “You think I was worried about myself? Did you even think about your mother? What your little drunken, lustful escapade cost her? How humiliated she was?”
His words were more forceful than a slap. She leaned back, putting space between them, space to think. Eleven years and this was the first time they’d spoken about what happened when she went away to college. Eleven years she’d waited to tell her side of the story, to face the pain, to be forgiven. Forgiven for a seventeen-year-old’s naivety, for being stupid, careless, but not… “Drunken? Lustful? You have no idea what really happened, do you?”
“Of course I do. I spoke with the head of the college myself. And John, of course.”
“You know those boys were John’s friends.”
“Yes, and he told them to look after you. A freshman at your first college party. You were lucky they were there to protect you before things went further—”
Further? She recoiled, ice filling her gut as she relived how far things had gone that night that had changed her life forever.
“That a daughter of mine would act so shamelessly—” Another shake of his head. “Your mother was inconsolable for months. And the fact that you refused to come home, that you left school and chose a whole other life, after we had such plans, such dreams… It broke her. You broke her.”
“What exactly did John tell you I did?” she asked, every word a shard of glass to be swallowed. She knew what the boys had said, knew how the campus police had taken their word and written their report accordingly, even knew what the school officials accused her of when they suspended her: “crass and willful violations” of the Christian principles that the college had been founded on and engaging in acts that were “immoral, improper, and indecent.” But what had her brother actually told their father?
He frowned. “We don’t need to get into that here.”
She glanced around the barren room. Where better? When better? Because in here, right now, she was the one with the power—unlike that night eleven years ago when she’d been the one trapped in another small room with no power and no means of escape. “Yes, Father. We do. What did they tell you?”
“They said you were drunk. They said you were acting like a wanton hussy, taking off your clothes and dancing, trying to seduce the boys—”
“Men, Father. They were twenty and twenty-one. I was the child, I was seventeen.”
“Still old enough to know better. You should have never allowed yourself to get drunk—”
“I didn’t.” She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back and waited.
“Of course you were drunk. The boys said—the campus police report said—”
“The report said whatever those three legacy students—all rich, white men with pulpits waiting for them to inherit—told the campus cop to write. I never took a drink of alcohol. To this day I still don’t drink. You know that—I don’t even drink wine at family dinner.”
“I always thought that was because of your job. Or…” He hesitated, his gaze fixed on his folded hands. “Or that you refused to drink with us.”
“Why the hell—”
“Language,” he snapped. As if two adults couldn
’t handle a small, almost benign cuss word—or worse, that his almighty God wasn’t strong enough to handle it. She’d never understood how a God prone to smiting and cursing entire populations, to the point of genocide even, could flinch at mere words.
Silence fell between them as Harper fought down the memories of that night so long ago, trying to sterilize them into something she could share with her father, something he might actually believe. Something that would heal this gaping abyss that had grown between them.
She had to get him to open up about the present. If revisiting the most painful night of her life helped, then it was worth it. “I was there, I know what happened. You need to accept my truth—or at least acknowledge that you might not know the entire truth.”
The Reverend removed his glasses, rubbing them clean with his handkerchief, peering into her eyes, judging her worth. He replaced his glasses, carefully adjusting them, in no rush.
“The hospital really did call,” she persisted, hoping to drive a wedge in the tiny crevice in his facade that she had created. “Beth’s baby really does have an infection. He might die if he doesn’t get medical help. Soon.”
“You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? Your Sergeant Jericho would say anything to force me to break my silence. Even use you as Satan’s tool.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “I thought I raised you better than that. Despite your sinful past, I had hoped—”
“All I care about,” she interrupted him. “All I’m praying for is finding that baby before it’s too late. Surely God would forgive you for breaking confession if it meant—”
“Stop it, Naomi. Give it up. If that’s all you have to say for yourself, send your sergeant back in. At least he could mount a somewhat entertaining, if misguided, debate of the issues.” He leaned back, closing his eyes, denying her presence as much as he’d denied the fact that Beth’s baby was in danger.
Anger flashed over her, but she gritted her teeth and swallowed it raw. Outbursts of emotion never worked with the Reverend, would only serve to harden his resolve. After all, God had chosen him, spoke through him; who was she to challenge His authority?
She thought she’d broken through for a moment, but this was the same battle she’d fought and lost her entire life. Only now a child might pay the ultimate price for her failure.
Thirty-Six
Luka was watching and listening to Harper’s interview with her father via the video feed on his computer while also fielding calls about Beth and her baby. His team was no longer lead on the search, but he still needed to coordinate with the other agencies involved. He had sent Ray and Krichek back to relieve the uniformed officers surveilling Tassi and Hansen. Right now, patrol officers were more valuable out on the street searching for Beth than pulling overtime on a stakeout.
He was disappointed that Harper couldn’t get her father talking—he’d really thought she had a chance when she challenged Matthew with the facts behind her assault when she was in college. Luka and her other supervisors on the force knew about the incident—she’d been required to report that she had been a victim of a crime when applying to the academy and it had come up during the psychological assessment, so it was well documented in her personnel record. He could see her pain as she related her side of the story. What he couldn’t understand was Matthew’s reaction. How could a man of God—how could any father—be so heartless in the face of his daughter’s suffering?
His phone rang—the evidence garage.
“Look, it’s not our fault, okay?” the impound officer started. “We just got the vehicle.”
“What are you talking about?” Luka lowered the sound on the video.
“This Standish SUV. First, the CSU guys kept it for DNA processing and then they fumed it overnight for fingerprints. Then the cyber guys wanted to access its onboard computer, so it’s only now arrived at our garage.”
“And why is that an issue?”
“Because they don’t inspect vehicles that are impounded as evidence, they only look for their own stuff, we’re the ones—”
“What did you find?” Luka interrupted.
“Someone had a GPS tracker wired into the vehicle. Fancy one—a lot nicer than the ones the department uses.”
“I’ll need the serial number. And is there a way to track who was receiving its signals?”
“You’d have to ask the cyber guys. I told my guys to leave it as is, so it’s still powered up. Figured that might help preserve any internal data.”
“Good thinking. I’ll send someone right over. Thanks for calling.” Luka hung up. If not law enforcement, who would want to track Spencer’s movements? Foster Dean was the obvious candidate, but he hadn’t even arrived in Craven County until Sunday morning. Unless the Zapatas had sent someone else in addition to Dean. Or maybe the not-so-grieving widow had suspected her husband’s plan to leave without her? Or perhaps another of Spencer’s victims was searching for their stolen money? Someone like Larry Hansen?
He glanced at the video—Harper was wrapping up and still getting nowhere. He called Ray. “You said Larry Hansen brought Tassi home, right? Is he still there?”
“No one’s come in or out since they got back from the hospital. Why?”
Luka explained about the GPS. “Could’ve been either of them who planted it.”
“I’ll take a run at them—unless you want them brought into the station?”
Luka considered. A familiar environment might relax them, help them to drop their guard. Of course, he’d thought that about the reverend as well when he’d gone to the church to speak with him. But somehow, he didn’t think Tassi or Larry would be as difficult to get talking. He glared at the crutches leaning against his desk. That stupid piece of impaled glass was making his life much too complicated.
“Yeah. Bring them in. I want to see their reactions. Besides, so far they’ve been handled with kid gloves; let’s show them how real criminals are treated.” Ahearn wouldn’t like it, but Luka was past caring.
“You got it,” Ray said, sounding eager for action. “I’ll call you once we’re en route.”
Luka hung up just as Harper tapped on the door. “Guess you saw,” she said, hanging her head. “Sorry. I should’ve tried a different approach—”
“No. You did fine.”
“Okay.” Clearly she disagreed with his assessment. “What about my father? Are you pressing charges?”
“For what? Carrying a diaper bag out of a hospital isn’t a crime.” Not to mention that arresting a prominent clergyman without probable cause really would have Ahearn blowing a gasket. “I shouldn’t have sent you in there. I wanted to throw him off balance.”
She took a step inside, leaned against the bookcase. “No. It was the right move.”
“You brought up what happened to you in college,” he said in a gentle tone, giving her space if she didn’t want to talk about it. “You never told your father what happened?”
“He never asked.” She thought for a moment. “I really thought I could get him talking.”
“Why don’t you drive him home?” he suggested. “No questions, no judgments, simply listen. Maybe if you let him take the lead, give him back control, he’ll tell you what really happened and where Beth and the baby are. Anything he says would be inadmissible, but seriously, as long as they’re safe, and we can get the baby back to the hospital, I don’t mind breaking the rules.” He studied her. “That is, if you’re okay with it.”
“No, it’s fine. If he had anything to do with Beth and her baby, or with Spencer’s death, then we need the truth. If I can get it, I’m happy to do so.”
“I don’t want to put you in a position where you have to choose between your family and your job. But we need to make saving that baby a priority.” He shook his head. “Explain it to me. He’s a man of God; I can’t understand why he won’t talk to us, help us.”
“Because that would mean admitting he’s wrong,” Harper said. “The Reverend has lived his entire life believing God works
directly through him—”
“So how could he ever be wrong about anything?” Luka finished for her. Not for the first time, Luka wondered about Harper and how strong she was. Growing up in that environment must have been complicated. “I’ve no idea if that’s a sign of a faith beyond my imagination or pure hubris.”
“Don’t ask me. I’ve given up trying to find those answers.” She started to leave, then turned back. “Just so you know, boss. If it’s between the truth and my family, I’m choosing the truth. Every time.”
“I already knew that, Harper,” Luka replied. “Now get going. Call me if you need anything.”
The door had no sooner shut behind her than Luka’s phone rang. Ray. “Got a bit of a complication, boss.”
“What?”
“Tassi and Larry Hansen are gone.”
Thirty-Seven
The Reverend said nothing as Harper led him out of the police department and to her car. They got inside, turned onto the street, and drove three blocks before finally he sighed and spoke. “Tell me the truth. About college. Everything.”
Startled, she jerked her head up, eyes blazing as they met his. He couldn’t handle the truth. At least that’s what she’d told herself for eleven years, choking it back down every time she was tempted to set it free. No one in her family could handle the truth. They’d already judged her, cast her out without a word—she was the irredeemable, the prodigal. Not even the Holy Redeemer himself could find grace in her.
He reached his hand across the seat, covering hers with his in the same gesture he had made when she was a child and he wanted her to know she had his full attention. It was a gift, a blessing, an honor. The Reverend was listening. Finally listening. To her. “The truth, Naomi.”
She hauled in a breath, staring out the windshield at the road—she couldn’t face seeing his expression or it might break her entirely. “I went to the party at the house. John wasn’t there but he’d told his friends to look after me. They were nice, real gentlemen. One of them brought me a Coke. We danced—everyone danced together, it was a big crowd. Nothing intimate, just letting off steam. Kids having fun. People were laughing, I thought maybe a few were drunk, but everyone was having such a good time.” Her words caught; her throat felt raw. She swallowed twice. “Then I started feeling funny. Sick. Like the sounds were too loud and the lights too bright, everything was fuzzy.”
