Faith and Justice

by Peter O'Mahoney

  “I don’t.” Hunter leaned closer to Bauer. “Let’s get this straight between us—I’m trying to keep Anderson out of prison and I’m going to do what it takes to make sure that happens.”

  “Alright, alright.” Bauer drew a long breath and threw his hands up. “Amos is a very unusual character—that’s why he came to you. You’re probably the only lawyer in the city that can handle him. That’s why he’s willing to buy your services and pay top-dollar. He even downloaded a file about all the lawyers in the state, and you were the top choice. I told him not to go with you because of your family history. I’m sure you understand that, but Amos was determined to get you.”

  “I’m his third choice.”

  “No.” Bauer looked off into the distance. “You’re his last hope.”

  Hunter knew Anderson’s last lawyer, Matthew Marshall. Although only fresh out of law school, he had already developed a reputation as a very capable lawyer. Diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder, Marshall had a very low tolerance for anything that wasn’t standard. He wore the same black suit every day, drove a nondescript sedan, lived in a standard two-bedroom apartment, and talked in a monotone voice. Defending someone with ideas as crazy as Amos Anderson must have driven him insane.

  Hunter lived in a different world than Marshall. He loved the characters of his city. He loved the way they made city life a colorful place. And he always loved a challenge.

  “Did Amos have a motive to murder Reverend Green?”

  “As much as I loved Green and his arguments, he wanted to run us out of business. It seemed like his life goal was to make us bankrupt. That night, at the seminar, he confronted Amos and I. He said that he had evidence that we knew that the faith healing didn’t work and he was going to destroy us unless we stopped practicing right away.”

  “Why would he want to take your business down?”

  “Because he didn’t like what we were selling. He thought that we were doing the work of the Devil. Faith healing wasn’t something that he bought into, and when some of his congregation started coming to see us, to heal their problems, he was furious. He hated the fact that we were stealing people away from his church, away from his precious version of faith.”

  “What you’re selling has no scientific proof—naturally that must’ve infuriated a man who preached about religion.”

  “Ha!” Bauer laughed. “What I sell changes people’s lives. I know that. I don’t need an official scientific trial to tell me that I’ve changed the world for the better. Amos and I listened to our patients, and we’ve made their lives better. If it didn’t change their lives, they wouldn’t keep paying so much money for it. That’s all the evidence we need to have faith in the treatment. People are our results.”

  Many people had tried to shut them down before, tried to stop them from advertising, but Bauer was as clever as he was colorful. While some companies would’ve folded under the sort of pressure they experienced, Bauer’s business acumen had kept them out of trouble, and thriving.

  “Maxwell Hunter, your nephew, said you were by far and away the best criminal defense attorney in the city. He said to me, ‘Tex Hunter is the man you have to talk with. He can work magic.’ Apparently, they call you the ‘Virtuoso of the Courtroom.’”

  “Max believes in the faith healing,” Hunter admitted. “He said that it changed his life, and for that, I’m thankful. It got him off the drugs, and back into a day job. He’s lucky to have that sort of faith in a product that doesn’t work.”

  “Doesn’t work? Are you a naysayer as well?”

  “I look for the truth. Your product doesn’t have one single piece of scientific evidence to back it up, and Anderson admitted that his hands don’t have any healing properties.”

  “Ask your nephew if he wants scientific evidence to tell him that it doesn’t work. This is the only thing that has kept him off the drugs.”

  Hunter shook his head, but he couldn’t argue with that. “I’m going to need a list of all the people that Amos treated. I want to be prepared for anything that the prosecution throws at him.”

  Another girl ran lightly across the stage, holding her chest, covering her body that was naked from the waist up.

  Bauer smiled again.

  “We can do that. I’m not sure what you’ll find on the list, but I’ll get my assistant to email you the names. However…” Lucas turned uncomfortably in his chair. “On that list, you’re going to find some characters who are quite compulsive. Nancy Bleathman, for one, is an obsessive, psychotic client of the business.”

  “Go on.”

  “To her, we’re like a cult.” Lucas shifted in his chair again. “At first, that amount of praise was good for my ego, but after a while, she became too obsessive and started stalking us. If she knew that Green was trying to take us down, then she may have put a stop to it. I was talking to her that night at the depression seminar. You see, Amos cured her of her depression, and she latched onto anything he did.”

  “Interesting. She was with you at the conference?”

  “She was there that night.” Bauer checked his phone, read a message, and then slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Tell me, if you get Amos off the charges, will the cops come looking for someone else?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On how much evidence is available to charge the new suspect.”

  “Do you have a new suspect?”

  “I’m talking to one right now.”

  “Uh-uh, uh-uh.” Bauer waved his index finger in the air. “I know how this works. I can see that you’re thinking about framing me in the courtroom, but let me warn you.” Bauer stood up abruptly. “I’m a man that loves revenge, and if you try to pin this one on me, then I will make it my life’s work to have that vengeance. That, I will guarantee.”

  CHAPTER 8

  When the front door of the church opened, the wind blew inside, sending a shiver up the spines of the few people that sat there late on a Tuesday evening.

  The dimly lit church was well insulated, a much-needed feature for any building that had to withstand a Chicago winter, and the stained glass window stood proudly over the front entrance, highlighted against the darkness outside.

  A homeless woman sat in the second row, finding a place to rest, an escape from the violent nature of the streets.

  Tex Hunter waited in the last pew of the church, closest to the door, looking down at his hands. He resisted the temptation to look at the emails on his phone as he waited; instead, he chose to stare at his hands uncomfortably. It was not often that he was without some form of mental stimulation. There was always another email to check, another form to approve, or another update to read.

  He read once that the intense fear of not being able to access a smartphone even had a term, ‘Nomophobia’. He was sure he didn’t have it, but the longer he waited, the harder it was to resist looking at his phone.

  He had no idea what to do with his hands, let alone his mind, without the constant stimulation.

  “Mr. Hunter.”

  Hunter stood as the minister approached, relieved that he was once again occupied. “Reverend Darcy. Thank you for taking the time to talk with me.”

  “After what you did to save those children, putting your life on the line, it’s the least I can do. We said a prayer for you at mass last Sunday. We thanked the Lord that you were here to save those children. Many people prayed together to thank you for your presence.” The minister sat next to Hunter. He sat comfortably on the wooden pew with a very straight back, a lot more comfortable than Hunter felt. “We prayed for your soul.”

  Hunter didn’t know how to react; the commendation had caught him off-guard.

  “I imagine that my name went down like a lead balloon,” he joked, trying to cover his emotions.

  “You still saved the children’s lives. Without you, they would’ve been dead. There’s no doubt about that.”

  Darcy was of African descent—his father was bo
rn in Nigeria and his mother in South Africa. They moved to Chicago shortly before he was born, and after he read part of his father’s Bible in elementary school, he found his calling early in life. He led the predominately African American parish with passion, as a man with a loud, convincing voice.

  “But you’re still defending the man that was charged with killing our parish minister. Even after what you did to save those children, I wouldn’t say that you’re popular in this community. How’s your shoulder?”

  “It’s fine—nothing a few stitches couldn’t fix.”

  “It was certainly a terrible event, and like I said, we were thankful that you were here.” Darcy paused for a few moments. “And we must always look at the positives—events like this can bring people together. After the shooting, there have been a lot more people coming to me for support and a lot more attending the Sunday service. A tragedy is the most effective way to bring people together. A tragedy bonds a community.”

  “That’s not the point of view I expected from you.” Hunter rubbed his shoulder. “I’m not sure that’s the way I would think about a shooting.”

  “It’s the truth. Nothing brings people together like a tragedy, and we’ve seen that so many times through history. In this modern world, when everyone is becoming so disconnected, we need something to bring people together. I’ve seen communities in need of tragedy. I’ve seen communities that need something to link them together. Communities have become so disconnected, and people have forgotten how to even talk with each other. People need each other—that’s what makes us human.” Darcy moved in the seat, unable to control the emotions bubbling inside of him. “And it’s my job to bring people together. It’s my job to bring people to the Lord.”

  “That’s an interesting point of view, and one that goes beyond your role as a minister.”

  “I see my role as very different from Reverend Green’s. He wanted to fight a very public fight to achieve peace. He wanted to change the ideas of those filled with hate by giving them more reason to hate. That’s not the way I will approach change. My job isn’t to fight against the tide; my job is to warm the hearts of those that hate us and fill their empty hearts with love. My work is to achieve moralistic outcomes for everyone.”

  “Religion doesn’t equal morality. They’re very separate notions.”

  “As are law and morality,” Darcy snapped. “Your laws in a courtroom don’t equal morality. The laws of this city are only as good as the politicians that create them, and the majority of politicians aren’t the most moralistic people in the world. They want power.”

  “And organized religion was created by men who wanted power. No matter what you believe, whether you believe in God, or multiple gods, you have to admit that every religious organization is still run by a person. Its rules are still created by mere mortals.”

  “Our basis is faith. Faith in the word of God. Faith in the beauty of our Lord. Faith in our scripture.”

  “And the laws of this city are based on justice. Justice, fairness, and impartiality. That’s moralistic.”

  “We do our best,” Darcy conceded. “That’s virtuous. Your purpose is in a courtroom, chasing a politician’s version of justice; mine is here, in this church, bringing people to their better understanding of the Lord and His work.”

  Hunter drew a long breath and looked around the church. It was taking all his energy not to argue with Darcy, but he didn’t come to the church to have an ideological discussion with a minister; he was there for information. He ran his fingers through his dark hair and then turned to him.

  “I’ve read that you attended the seminar the night Reverend Green was murdered. What time did you leave?”

  “Around 10 p.m.” Darcy bit his bottom lip. “I caught a cab back to my place.”

  “How did you pay for the cab? Credit card?”

  “No, cash.”

  “Did you get a receipt? Or can anyone verify what time you arrived home?”

  “I don’t often get receipts for cab rides.” He shook his head. “And I live alone, so there’s nobody to verify when I arrived.”

  Hunter paused, the thoughts tracking through his head.

  He looked around the church and imagined it full of people; full of voices. He hadn’t attended church since he was ten years old, but he could imagine the power behind it on a Sunday morning service. He figured it would be wonderful—seeing all those people singing their praises for a higher power.

  “You said that people have started coming back to the church?”

  “They have. Our congregation has almost doubled since the unfortunate passing of Reverend Green. That’s what I mean about tragedies. They bring people together.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “It’s a beautiful thing to see the church filled on a Sunday morning. I always said that I could bring people back here; I always knew I could do it. People like Mrs. Nelson, rejected by Green, and told to leave the church, have started to come back to the services.”

  “Why was she rejected?”

  “She started to see Amos Anderson to heal her decades of back pain, but Green, as you well know, saw that as the Devil’s work. He told her she had to choose between the church or the faith healing, and she chose the faith healing. But she has since returned to our flock—returned to help our community.”

  “That’s lovely to hear.” Hunter made a mental note of her name. He looked at the names on the walls, of the parish ministers of past years. “Did you always want to be a parish minister?”

  “Leading a congregation was my calling in life; it was what I was born to do. This is where I grew up, where I found the beauty of the Lord, and where I had the pleasure of spending my formative years. I always felt like this church, this building, was my home.”

  “But you would’ve waited a very long time if you wanted to lead this congregation. Reverend Green was decades away from retiring.”

  Hunter waited, but Darcy didn’t respond. The minister scanned the pew in front of him, running his upper teeth over his bottom lip.

  “But with Reverend Green gone,” Hunter continued, “you’re now able to lead this church. You’re now able to fulfill your calling.”

  Still, Darcy didn’t respond. His brow creased, and he blinked frequently, almost looking like he was holding back tears.

  “How is your congregation handling the change in leadership?” Hunter pressed.

  “People were leaving the church in droves, Mr. Hunter. We were losing the community. Do you know what that’s like? Having something that you love so much, and watching as people walk away from it?” Darcy shook his head and looked up to the altar at the front of the church. “It was horrible to watch as every week we had more and more empty seats in the church. Horrible. Reverend Green blamed people like Amos Anderson for taking people away from the church, but he was wrong; people were leaving because the church didn’t change with the times. The church, this congregation, was stuck in the past.” He opened his hands wide. “And where were they going? Nowhere. Nothing was replacing the community, the love, or the guidance of the church. And that’s where society is failing. We’ve lost our way. We’ve never been more lost as a community than we are now. Communities need the church. We need each other.”

  “It’s more complex than that.” Hunter was stunned by the aggression of the man next to him. “Society is more complex than that. Our knowledge has grown, and science is answering many of the questions that religion couldn’t. Religion has been stuck in tradition, stuck in the past, and still refuses to accept science. That has been the church’s problem—and not only your church, not only your religion, but religions all over the world. I agree that the church has been the centerpiece of our communities for centuries, our place to share a common bond and that we’ve lost our way, but that responsibility must rest with the institution that has been stuck in the past. The responsibility must rest with the institution that has been plagued by scandal after scandal.”

  “No!” Darcy picked up the B
ible next to him and slammed it onto the wooden pew. The sound echoed through the almost empty church, the acoustics increasing the aggressive noise. “We’re more than our scandals. We must rise above our past, forgive it, and move on. We must move with the times!”

  “Reverend Green didn’t think so. He wanted to fight it.”

  Darcy stood up abruptly and walked away from Hunter to the end of the pew before turning back to him and raising his finger.

  “People need the church, Mr. Hunter. And I will bring them back to it! I will bring people back to the word of the Lord!”

  Hunter didn’t respond.

  He had come to the church looking for clues about the case, looking for answers about who had the motive to kill Reverend Dural Green and he expected to be pushed in the direction of Lucas Bauer, or perhaps the White Alliance Coalition.

  But instead, he walked out of the church with a new direction to follow.

  CHAPTER 9

  Amos Anderson fidgeted with his hands as he sat on the sofa in his living room, waiting for the arrival of his lawyer. He had a lot to hide, and he knew that the lawyer would uncover secrets from his past.

  He just wasn’t sure which one.

  When the loud knock on his front door echoed through the house, he jumped. He checked the peephole and took three deep breaths before he opened the door.

  “You weren’t telling me the truth, Amos.” Hunter was blunt as he came through the front door of Anderson’s home in the neighborhood of Bucktown. Bauer had forwarded the client file from the Faith Healing Project, and it was only a day before a name jumped out at Hunter. “And I don’t like lies. They annoy me. I’m your lawyer. Your link to freedom. Your last chance. If you don’t play by my rules, then you’ll spend the next twenty-five years behind bars.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Anderson’s answer was honest—but only because he had too many lies to hold back.

  Hunter walked into the living room at the front of the house. It had a south facing angle, which allowed the late winter sun to flood in through the windows with enough heat to take the edge off the cold. Built in the 1960s, the home was a suburban refuge from the most populated city in the Midwest, with Downtown Chicago only twenty minutes away by train. The pace in the suburb of Bucktown was relaxed; it was a community that huddled together, watching out for neighbors when the cold nights hit.