The Last Sunday

by Terry E. Hill

  “I’m sure I speak for millions of people when I say how sorry I am for the tragic loss of your husband.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a slight nod of her head.

  “Let me start by asking you, are the police any closer to finding out who assassinated Pastor Cleaveland?”

  “The Los Angeles Police Department has been amazing throughout this entire ordeal, but unfortunately, they are no closer today to finding his killer than they were the day it happened. A part of me feels we may never know who killed Hezekiah. The important thing, however, is that this person will have to answer to God either in this life or the next.”

  “You are a woman with strong religious beliefs. Are you in any way able to forgive the man, or woman, who did this to you, your family, and all the people who love you?”

  “I’m so glad you asked me that.” Gideon remembered how Samantha had looked him directly in the eye when she answered. “I have already forgiven him. This has caused my daughter and me immense pain and anguish. There were days when I didn’t think I could go on without him. But you know, Gideon, God promised us all that He would never give us more burdens than we could bear. And with that knowledge I was able to get up one morning a few weeks after it happened, put on my makeup, and face another day. Don’t get me wrong, though. I still cry every day, and I miss him more than you can imagine, but life must go on, and every day I get a little stronger.”

  “You mentioned your daughter, Jasmine. How is she handling the loss of her father?”

  “Jasmine took her father’s death very hard. They were very close. She was Daddy’s little girl,” Samantha said with a smile. “They were inseparable from the day she was born until the day he died. She couldn’t bear to be in the house after he was killed, so she’s staying temporally with very dear friends of our family in Malibu. I see her every day, and we pray together on the telephone every evening, before she goes to bed. God and time heal all wounds, and every day she gets a little stronger. As painful as this has all been, I know that someday she will come to understand that this is all a part of God’s master plan.”

  “Can you think of any reason anyone would want to kill your husband?”

  Gideon noted that Samantha’s suddenly dilated pupils were the only visible reaction to the unexpected question.

  “I have thought a lot about this and have had multiple conversations with detectives, who wanted to know the same thing. Everyone loved Hezekiah. He was the kind of person that would give you his last dollar if you needed it. I’ve never known him to have an enemy. I can’t think of anyone who would have wanted him dead.”

  “New Testament Cathedral is the sixth largest church in the country. Your television ministry generates millions each year. Do you think jealousy may have played a part into this?”

  “I would hate to think jealousy was a factor, but anything is possible,” Samantha said coolly. “There are many troubled people in the world. We may never know what motivated this person to do what he did.”

  “Do you think you may have factored into his death in any way?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” Her eyes became a centimeter tighter.

  Gideon saw the almost imperceptible shift in her demeanor. He pressed on, unfazed by the icy glare from his guest or the rustling of his producer behind his shoulder. “What I mean is, could you have done something to contribute to the murder of your husband, inadvertently, of course?”

  Megan, his then segment producer, clutched her mouth to prevent a gasp from escaping. The four cameramen looked nervously at each other and then zoomed in on Samantha’s stone face.

  “Anything is possible, of course. I’m sure I’ve made decisions in the ministry that may have possibly upset some people, but I honestly don’t think I’ve done anything to anyone that would illicit such an extreme response as that. What your viewers need to understand is that, for the most part, the world is filled with people who have no desire to hurt anyone.

  “I have traveled all over the world and have met so many people from different cultures, and I’m always amazed to find people just like you and me, all believing in the same God, but maybe calling Him by a different name, who simply want to live their lives without doing harm. There is, however, a small minority of people out there who don’t have God in their lives, and unfortunately, they sometimes make misguided decisions that hurt other people.”

  Gideon found some solace in remembering that he had pushed a little harder. “I find it difficult to fathom that a man as powerful as Hezekiah Cleaveland didn’t have any enemies. So do you think this was a random shooting?”

  “My husband was human like everyone else. He made mistakes like us all. He’s done things that, if he were alive, I’m sure he wouldn’t be proud of. But I’ll say it again. I don’t think he ever did anything that would warrant him being killed. If that were the case, we all would have to walk down the street, looking over our shoulders.”

  It was at this point in the interview that Gideon abandoned the thought of exposing Hezekiah’s affair with Danny. He knew from experience that after her last response the audience would be sitting snugly in the palm of her hand. She was officially immune to scandal. He grudgingly conceded that at that point the interview had turned into pure fluff.

  “Let’s talk about New Testament Cathedral,” Gideon said, flipping the index cards. “Shortly after Hezekiah’s death you were installed as pastor. How has the transition from first lady to pastor been for you?”

  “I believe it was a blessing for me. The appointment was totally unexpected. I didn’t even know I was being considered for the position until I received a call from the president of our board of trustees,” Samantha said, batting her mink eyelashes.

  “I, of course, was honored,” she continued, “and a little concerned whether it was too soon after losing my husband. However, the trustees had faith in me and insisted that it was the best thing for New Testament Cathedral. Initially, I said no, because I felt I needed more time to mourn my loss. But my daughter said something that changed my mind.”

  “What did she say?” Gideon asked, abandoning all hope for a hard-hitting interview.

  “Something very simple. She looked me in the eye and said, ‘Mommy, Daddy would have wanted you to be pastor. ’ So I prayed through my tears and through my grief, and God . . .” Samantha paused and gingerly dabbed the corner of her eye with the tip of her finger. “God spoke to my heart late one night and said, ‘Samantha, this is my will. With me, you can do all things.’ After I heard that, I knew I had to either live what I’ve been preaching all these years or just walk away. I decided I would stand on God’s word.”

  Gideon remembered looking down at his index cards so the camera could not catch the smirk on his face. He regretted that he had resisted the urge to ask, ‘Were you aware that your husband was involved in a homosexual affair for two years with a man named Danny St. John?’ Or ‘How do you think the millions of people who send you their hard-earned money every year would feel if they knew you knew about it?’ Or ‘If the public found out that one of the most loved ministers in the country was gay, it would have cost you millions. What did you do to Hezekiah when you learned of the affair?’

  “Pastor Cleaveland,” Gideon said, looking up again, “I think your board of trustees made an excellent choice.”

  An audible sigh of relief could be heard from Megan in the background, signaling her relief that Gideon had become less aggressive.

  For the remainder of the one-hour interview Gideon censored any question that would in any way appear accusatory. His questions could have been asked by any novice journalist. Samantha skillfully spun each response to fit her image as the brave grieving widow who set aside her own needs for the good of the church.

  “Pastor Cleaveland, it has been a pleasure speaking with you today. I now see why America has fallen in love with you.” Recalling this comment hurt Gideon the most. “I wish you, Jasmine, and New Testament Cathedral the best.”

/>   “It’s been my pleasure.”

  Now sitting with Cynthia in the hotel lobby, Gideon felt attacked and needed to defend how he had handled Samantha during that interview.

  “She made a fool of you,” Cynthia said, pressing on with her assault. “And on your own television show. She made you look like just another one of her lackeys. You let me down, Gideon. Not only that, you also let down everyone at New Testament Cathedral. The world deserves to know the truth, and you were the only person in a position to tell it.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a bit melodramatic, Cynthia?” Gideon asked, finding it increasingly harder to protect himself from the barrage of accusations. “The only thing you handed me was a stack of e-mails. That’s not enough to build any kind of credible case on.”

  “So you don’t believe they’re authentic?” she asked.

  “I didn’t say that. I’m saying you’ll need more than a bunch of e-mails if you want to be the first lady of New Testament Cathedral.”

  “I never said that was my primary motivation,” Cynthia snapped, leaning forward in the wicker chair. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I’m not an idiot, Cynthia,” Gideon responded as his patience grew thinner. “Any fool can see through that ridiculous pious ‘good of the church’ routine of yours. It’s obvious this is all about destroying Samantha so your husband can become pastor and, thereby, you first lady.”

  Cynthia pressed forward, unashamed of the exposure. “Whether that is true or not is irrelevant. What’s important is Samantha should have never been installed as pastor and someone has to do something about it.”

  “And you’ve elected yourself as that person?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around with the balls to do the job,” she said, looking to Gideon with disdain.

  “Look, I didn’t ask to meet you today to talk about any of your grand schemes,” Gideon said dismissively.

  “Then why did you ask me to come here?”

  “I wanted to ask you what you know about Hezekiah’s death.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I’ll be blunt with you, Cynthia. There are some people who think Samantha may have had something to do with his murder.”

  Gideon felt his relationship with Cynthia had sunk beyond the reaches of discretion. He was desperate for any piece of information that would potentially remove Danny from Samantha’s deadly path.

  “Do you know anything that might potentially link her to his death?” he asked point-blank.

  Just as he spoke the words, a waiter bowed over his right shoulder. “May I get you two another glass of chardonnay?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Cynthia quickly responded, with Gideon’s words still hanging in the air. The waiter departed with a confirming nod of his head.

  “My husband and I just had a very similar conversation,” she said, finding it difficult to contain her glee. “I’ve always had my suspicions.”

  “What type of suspicions?”

  “Well, for starters, not many people knew their marriage was a sham. He had so many affairs, I stopped counting. Not to mention the last one was with a man, and he was thinking about leaving the church for him. I called Samantha ‘his camera wife.’ They were the perfect couple in front of the camera, but when it was turned off, they went their separate ways.”

  “No one ever told me that.”

  “No one wants to speak ill of the dead.”

  “No one but you?”

  “I thought we were beyond the bullshit, Gideon. As you said, you’re ‘not a fool,’ and neither am I.”

  “You’re right. We are beyond that. Anything else? You said you had your suspicions.”

  “Well, there’s also the fact that Samantha hated living in Hezekiah’s shadow. You could see it in her face sometimes when she was standing behind him. It was only a hint of disdain, but I could see it, and I’m sure others could too.”

  “But why would she be jealous of him? He made sure she had everything. She’s got two Picassos, for Christ’s sake, and that god-awful house in Bel Air.”

  “You have to understand something about women like Samantha. They make men into the successes they are only because they believe the world isn’t ready for them to be in positions of absolute power, especially in the church. The faith community is still very chauvinistic. I suspect once she felt the world was ready for her, she figured she no longer needed Hezekiah.”

  “Is that how you feel about your husband?” Gideon asked unapologetically.

  “Perhaps, but you forget the difference between Samantha and me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Samantha is an ordained minister with a doctorate in theology.”

  Gideon tried to hide his disgust with her frankness. “She obviously didn’t do it herself. If you think it’s possible that she is responsible, who do you think she could have convinced to do it?”

  “That’s easy,” Cynthia said, beaming. “Have you heard of Willie Mitchell?”

  “Yes. The minister that committed suicide.”

  “That’s right. Coincidentally, on the same day Hezekiah was killed,” she said with a slight wink. “He was a fool who Samantha had wrapped around her finger. Uneducated and very crass, but also very rich,” she said. “Made a fortune in a string of shady real estate deals. He was connected to all sorts of underground gangster types and street thugs. Guys with the balls to do whatever is necessary in order to get the job done,” she revealed, looking disappointingly toward Gideon’s crotch. “All he wanted in life was to fuck her, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually let him in exchange for arranging Hezekiah’s murder.”

  “Can you prove any of this?” Gideon asked with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

  “I can’t prove a damned thing,” Cynthia said with an exasperated sigh. “All I’ve got are the e-mails, which you say are useless.”

  The two sat in silence, looking out the bay window at the ocean in the distance. Surfers danced on the cresting waves. The shoreline was dotted with kaleidoscope umbrellas, dripping coolers, and folding beach chairs with heads sticking over the tops.

  Cynthia broke the silence. “Sometimes I feel the only way to get rid of her is if the same thing that happened to Hezekiah happens to her.”

  Gideon looked to her with suspicion but said nothing. The instincts of a seasoned reporter kicked in. This was the time to listen and not to ask questions.

  The silence allowed Cynthia’s mind to wander. “God forgive me, but sometimes I wish someone would . . .”

  “Would what?” he asked, prodding cautiously.

  “Someone would put a bullet in her pretty little head,” she said while casually scanning the shoreline.

  Gideon did not respond. He couldn’t without admitting that he had entertained the exact same thought.

  The wall safe was tucked discreetly behind a nondescript oil painting that would not catch the eye of a burglar trained in the art of identifying valuable masterpieces. Samantha nimbly turned the dial. With each spin, an almost inaudible click reverberated through her quiet home office.

  This room, her office, provided a startling contrast to the decor of the other rooms in the house. A sleek Swedish couch and two modern leather chairs, too perfect and erect to provide comfort, floated on a bloodred island rug in the center of the room. Sparkling modern light fixtures served more as art than as illuminators. Stark teak planks covering the floor directed every step taken in the room to the front of Samantha’s desk. The glass desk glowed at the rear of the room from light shining through a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the lush grounds of the estate.

  With the last turn of the dial, a louder series of clicks indicated that the safe was unlatched. Samantha slowly opened the heavy metal door, revealing a small portion of the hidden treasures she had stashed in secure locations around the world.

  A 478.68 carat blue sapphire and diamond necklace, once
worn by the queen of Romania at the coronation of her husband, was nestled in a burgundy velvet box. A flawless 10.04 carat black diamond from South Africa in a much smaller velvet box sat atop a stack of stocks, bonds, and deeds to a winery in Napa Valley, a villa in the South of France, and a penthouse in Bangkok.

  In the rear of the wall safe were stacks of one-thousand-dollar bills. The stacks were comprised of bundles containing fifty one-thousand-dollar bills held together by a single white paper strip.

  The gun that was used to, almost, kill Danny St. John was sitting on one of the stacks of money. Samantha reached past the fortunes and removed it from the steel cave. It was a small matte black Smith & Wesson Centennial 442 snub-nosed revolver. She trembled slightly when she felt the sensuous weight and cold steel in her hand.

  Samantha had fond memories of the gun. It held a special place in her heart. It was also the same gun Virgil Jackson had used to kill her husband. It was the gun that David had used in his bungled attempt to kill Danny. She viewed it as her friend. A friend who would do anything she told it to. A friend who asked no questions and a friend who obediently removed anyone who stood between her and her heart’s desires.

  Samantha walked slowly across the room to the window overlooking the estate grounds. The sun was just starting its slow decent to the horizon. Her world was quiet and peaceful as she fondly reminisced about the day her loyal friend removed Hezekiah from her life.

  It had been a beautiful Sunday morning at New Testament Cathedral. The parking lot was filled with freshly washed cars. Children played on the lawn in front of the church, carefully trying to keep their flowered white dresses and little tan suits clean for as long as possible. Women rushed their husbands up the stairs to the church to get a good seat. The lobby was filled with members waiting to be seated by the ushers. White-gloved ushers handed neatly folded powder-blue bulletins to each person who entered the sanctuary.

  The day before, Samantha had arranged for the balcony to be closed to give her hired assassin the privacy he needed. When the sanctuary had reached full capacity, the overflow of worshippers was directed to Fellowship Hall, where folding chairs had been assembled auditorium style. No one liked viewing the service over the television monitors, but they could not refuse the only remaining option.