Investigator Patterson arrived, and after a quick trip to the cave, he called SLED.
“Sled?” I questioned when he got off the phone.
“South Carolina Law Enforcement Division. They’ll be here in an hour to remove the bones. In the meantime…”
“I know, stay out of the cellar.”
In an hour to the minute, three men arrived. Blue uniforms were replaced by dress shirts and ties. Once SLED arrived, both Sergeant Patterson and Officer Studler disappeared. When the cruisers left, so did the crowd. Apparently, men in suits weren’t interesting.
“I’m Ben Smith,” said the first man, extending his hand.
“John Clark,” said the second man, followed by Frank Sanchez.
Ben Smith took the lead. “Hear y’all have a skeleton.”
The man looked about as interested as a pony forced to walk round and round at a children’s fair. I wondered how many of these cases he had been on. It probably felt like the same old, same old, to him.
“I’ll show you,” I answered.
“How about we chat first? Do you have a place we can sit?”
“We can use the parlor,” Ted replied.
After we were seated, Frank Sanchez pulled out a notebook and pen.
Ben Smith started the questions. “How long ago did you find your skeleton?”
“Yesterday.”
“Yesterday. And you didn’t call the police until today?”
“Our pastor was arrested about the time we found it,” Ted interjected. “Taking care of his wife was more urgent than calling about dead bones.”
Way to go Ted! Up another notch on my totem pole.
“Any idea who it is?” Smith asked.
Ted nodded his head toward me. Apparently, I was the official police spokesperson. “No sir,” I said.
“Any family missing or community legends?” He looked toward the other officers. “What was that kid’s name?”
“Jimmy Roberts,” I answered for the men. “The house belongs to his grandmother, Sandra Roberts.”
“Is she here?”
“She’s with our pastor’s wife,” Ted explained, “but I live here now. My wife and I are fixing up the house for Mrs. Roberts.”
“Nice job,” John Clark said, looking around.
“Well, gentlemen, let’s go see your skeleton.”
The men stood and headed toward the front door. “It’s this way,” I said.
“We need to get a few things first,” Clark replied.
An assortment of cases and containers was pulled from the trunk of the vehicle.
For the fourth time I led the way to the cellar.
Each man knew what to do. Sanchez pulled lights out of a case and positioned them so the bones were fully illuminated. Each man put on surgical gloves. John Clark took pictures, snapping from one angle then another, never touching the site.
Ben Smith leaned over and scraped the stone around the scene.
“You want some samples? Sanchez asked.
“It looks old. Doubt it will tell us much, but we might as well be thorough.”
Frank Sanchez pulled several test tubes and swabs out of one of the cases. He scraped the shiny surface that surrounded the body. I had not noticed the difference in color between the stone until now.
“What is it?” I asked.
Sanchez talked as he worked. “Dried up body fluids. When the body decomposes, the muscle and fat turns to a liquid which contains five fatty acids. The liquid oozes out of the body. If we can collect some of the residue it helps pinpoint time of death.” He looked up at me. “The profile of the acids changes over time, that’s how they figure it out.”
“Hmm.” Way more than I wanted to know, but it made me think about the cause of his death. The anger and fear that I had felt the first time in the cave had not reoccurred since finding the skeleton. Was the man murdered down here? Or did he die a slow death from an injury. Or starvation? I shivered.
John Clark lowered the camera to his side. “I didn’t see anything that would make this a crime scene,” he stated.
“Did you get good pictures of the hyoid?”
“Yes sir.”
“The ribs are scattered, but I’m not seeing anything that’s suspicious.” Ben Smith put his hands on his hips. “Let’s bag him up, gentlemen.”
Frank Sanchez unfolded a large brown paper sack.
“That’s what you’re putting the bones in?” I asked.
“Yes sir,” responded Sanchez.
“You don’t use a black body bag?”
Sanchez laughed. “You got that on TV, didn’t you? No, we use paper bags so any body fluids that are left soak into the bag and don’t contaminate the bones. Always put bones in a paper bag. It’s the first thing you learn.”
Sanchez picked up the boots, supporting the bones protruding from them with his gloved hands. Even so, a bone fell to the floor with a sickening thud. A small puff of sandy dust rose into the air. I held my breath, unwilling to inhale death.
“Careful,” said Smith. “They look old. Probably brittle. We don’t want to break any. Gives the coroner fits.”
Ted’s cellphone rang and he moved out of the room. When he returned he whispered, “Pastor Steve has been released from jail. He wants to know if you will come and get him.”
As I headed up the stairs, I caught just a glimpse, blackness on the top landing. Once in the kitchen I scanned for the shadow. It was gone. I ran to my room for my car keys. I stood just inside the door, wrapped in the room’s warmth. I had almost forgotten. As I backed the car out of the drive, anger tinted my mood. Why me? Wasn’t there anyone else who could pick up the pastor?
I gunned the engine, caring less about posted speed limits. I just wanted to get this over with.
How could I look in the face of someone I suspected was a child murderer?
24
Angst ate at my stomach. I could have been a character in a play, performing a role that was as phony as cheap ice cream.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Pastor Steve said as he climbed into the passenger seat of my car. “One night in jail is more than I ever hoped to experience.”
Dark circles hung under his eyes like black moons, and he smelled of cigarette smoke and body odor. Ten years had crept on him since Sandra’s party.
“Lisa would have been lost without all your help,” he added, struggling with his seat belt. “Picking her husband up from jail was more than she could handle.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
“I hope I still have friends.” He glanced my way.
I focused on the road, an ugly mood accompanying me. What did I know about the pastor? There had been too many surprises lately; I didn’t need to be naïvely pulled into a relationship with a guilty man. He seemed nice enough but he could hide his true nature behind the pulpit. It had been done before. And Jimmy would have trusted him.
The road in front of me was the same route I had driven on my way to Trina’s the first time. Was it only a month ago? Now the posters of Jimmy, which I had not noticed on that first trip, lunged off the poles and screamed for my attention. Murder—murder—murder. The pictures of a gentle Jimmy morphed into something ugly and dark. The demon. I blinked my eyes, hoping to lose the vision. It had to be my imagination; lack of sleep causing my mind to make up what wasn’t there.
Pastor Steve’s voice broke my almost trance-like state. “How many people know?”
“By now, the whole town.”
Pastor Steve shrunk into his seat. “How are the church members taking it?”
“There’s been a group praying all night. I have to be honest with you though; there are some who want you gone.” I still wasn’t sure where my loyalties would land.
“They haven’t even heard my side.”
“Sometimes they don’t need to.”
“Satan caused this,” Steve said.
I jerked my head in his direction. Satan?
&nb
sp; That evening at the pastor’s house Trina made chicken and noodles that no one ate. Soon after, Ted left for the church. Now Steve and Lisa, along with Sandra, Trina and I, were crowded into Pastor Steve and Lisa’s tiny living room. Still unsure of the pastor’s innocence or guilt, I contributed very little to the conversation.
Although discussions had been taking place all day at the church in preparation for the final meeting with the elders, not being a member, I didn’t think it right for me to attend. Ted kept us informed as he moved between the meetings and the pastor’s home.
There was another reason I hung behind. Leaving the women alone with the pastor was dangerous. Not that I thought the pastor would hurt them, but I envisioned what someone else might decide to do, knowing an accused child killer was at home, with only women for protection. A rock could suddenly come hurtling through the front window, or flames could eat through the wood siding and begin licking at the contents of the house.
Darlington was divided on Pastor Steve’s guilt. While picking up chicken for Trina at the grocery store, I heard one woman telling another how one can never trust a minister. And yet, Lisa’s phone rang non-stop all afternoon with people sending words of encouragement. Steve had been notified that the area preachers were meeting for prayer, and they would continue through the evening.
Once the congregation made their decision, I hoped the turmoil would settle into a simmer. I wanted the person responsible for Jimmy’s death punished, but knew if things got out of hand, a lot of innocent people could get hurt. And Trina and Sandra believed Steve was innocent, which made them targets.
My senses were on high alert. The cellphone in my pocket was charged and ready. I had planned three potential escape routes from the house. The evening’s goal—get the women away from the pastor’s house and home as quickly as I could. But against my advice, they had settled in for the long haul.
While they talked quietly, I had a job to do. Even though it pushed paranoia, the house felt strange, like eyes were watching me. Could someone be hiding inside, waiting to catch one of us alone? And which one was the intruder after? I assumed it was Steve, and part of me willed the attacker to go at it. But the women didn’t need to be involved in violence. Whoever had somehow slipped unseen in the house needed escorted out.
“Dad, sit down. You’ve been prancing around since we got here.”
I looked at Trina, and tried to glance behind the couch without being obvious.
“I appreciate your concern, Bill,” Steve said. “There’s nothing more you can do right now.”
If he only knew; there was a lot that needed done. “I need a glass of water.” I headed to the kitchen, ran the tap, and looked in the pantry. No other place to hide. Turning off the water, I walked through the corner of the living room to the narrow hall.
There, darting into the end bedroom! I sped to the door, knowing I had trapped whoever was in there. I quietly closed the door behind me, blocking his escape.
“I saw you come in here,” I hissed. “I don’t want a fight. I just need you to leave.”
Was that a rustle under the bed? I focused on the narrow space between the floor and bed frame. “I’m only concerned about the women. They don’t need to be a part of whatever you’re up to. Do it later.”
Frustration pumped through me. What was with this guy? Didn’t he know an offer when he heard it? If this became much harder, I may have to throw a few punches while dragging him out.
I figured the guy could see my shoes from under the bed, so surprise was gone. I fell to the floor and shoved up the cover, hands ready to grab.
Nothing.
He must have slipped out the other side of the bed. I jumped up, jerked my head around, arms taught. Seeing no one, I threw open the closet doors. The scent of perfume greeted me, feeding my anger. How dare someone threaten a woman? I shoved the hanging items from side to side, looking for the intruder.
I scanned the room. Where else? Blood pounded in my ears. On the far left was a door, probably a bathroom. A sense of satisfaction filled me as I knew I had him. There was no other place to hide.
The door to the hall opened. Trina stood clutching the handle.
I glanced between her and the bathroom. “Get out of here,” I grunted, rushing into the bathroom and managing to slam the door behind me. Two steps took me to the shower, which was empty. I was alone in the bathroom.
Remembering Trina, I flushed the toilet before returning to the bedroom. She stood at the bedroom door, her eyes expressing confusion.
“Had to go to the bathroom. Didn’t want the smell… you know.” I pushed her out of the room and closed the door behind us before she could figure out there was no telltale bathroom after-effects.
I knew what I had seen. Someone had gone into the bedroom. Either the pastor had an escape hatch hidden in his room, or what had entered was not human. Had the demon left Trina’s house and attached itself to Pastor Steve? Or was it a different demon? Impossible to sort it out, I stood in the hallway, hoping my bulk would block anything from coming into the living room.
The kitchen door to the outside rattled. Trina stopped talking in the middle of a word and stared at me with round-eyed fear. I quickly fingered the cellphone in my pocket. I swallowed my fear and threw my cellphone to Trina.
“Just in case,” I mouthed.
Steve started to walk toward the kitchen but I motioned him to sit. I was better equipped to fight than he was.
Before I left the living room, I heard footsteps on the kitchen linoleum. Why didn’t I check that door to make sure it was locked?
Counting on my size as a weapon, I rushed around the corner between the kitchen and the living room and plowed into Ted, sending him skidding across the floor.
He looked up at me in surprise.
“Shouldn’t come sneaking in.” I held out a hand to help him up. “We’re in the living room,” I grunted, adrenalin still pumping into my bloodstream.
“Everything quiet over here?” Ted asked.
“Trying to be careful.”
Ted made a wide loop around me and sat on the floor at Trina’s feet.
After locking the kitchen door, I paced between the kitchen and the living room, feeling too high-strung to sit.
“The elders are meeting now,” Ted said, sending a confused glance in my direction. “Ed Brown will be over when they’re done.”
“We should leave,” Sandra said.
Yes! Finally, I could get the women home to safety.
“Don’t go,” Steve pleaded. “Stay until Ed comes.”
“You’ll want some privacy,” I interjected. The climate outside the house was set for violence. Pockets of people, three or four in each spot, dotted the area around the church. It would only take one crazy act to start a town riot. We needed to be home.
“What privacy? There aren’t any secrets between friends,” Steve said. “Besides, it feels good to have someone in my corner.”
Sandra smiled at him. “We know the outcome already, Steven. The church members will support you. And you know we’re your friends.”
“I hope so,” Steve said, glancing at Sandra, “but I was worried most about your friendship.”
“Mine?”
“I was afraid you would grab at anything to solve Jimmy’s disappearance.”
“I have known you almost all your life, Steven Morgan.” Tears ran down Sandra’s face. “You wouldn’t harm Jimmy.”
Steve leaned forward in his seat, and shoved his hands between his knees. “You hear stories of neighbors who end up being serial killers. Some are even faithful church men. I was afraid…”
“I don’t want to hear another word about this.” Pulling a tissue from her pocket, Sandra wiped her nose. “You’re innocent, and we’ll prove it. The fibers from that blanket won’t match Ted’s. I know it.”
If Satan was orchestrating this, like Pastor Steve thought, would he be able to somehow make the fibers match? I had never thought about the extent of Satan�
�s power. The pit in my stomach grew. By now that pit should be a tree, sending limbs out my mouth.
The question had been a monster in the room all day, and finally I unveiled it. “How did you end up with that blanket?”
“I had never seen the thing until the police showed up at my office with a search warrant.” Steve leaned back into the couch cushion. “I couldn’t believe it. I thought it was a joke.”
“I didn’t laugh when you called and told me they were taking you to jail.” Lisa looked up at her husband. “What’s going to happen to us?”
Steve wrapped his arms around his wife and pulled her close. “Nothing is going to happen to us,” he murmured into her hair. “God is in control. We have to remember that. God has a plan.”
Ted rubbed his jaw. “Could someone have planted the blanket in the church?”
“Sure. The church is locked most of the time, but about a dozen people have keys. I suppose it wouldn’t be hard to get hold of one.”
“Sometimes it’s unlocked and empty,” Lisa added. “You go over about an hour before services and unlock. Someone could slip in then.”
“It seems strange,” Trina murmured, “that the police knew where to look.”
“They didn’t. They told me I had been seen entering the church with something rolled in a green blanket. The caller hadn’t thought anything about it until that article came out about finding the threads in your attic.”
“What took him so long?” I asked. “That was over a month ago.”
“I don’t know. Maybe he was afraid.” Pastor Steve turned to Sandra. “I’m so sorry about all of this.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She pinched her eyes closed, but the tears squeezed through and ran down her cheeks. “It makes me ache to think of what Jimmy must have gone through.” When she opened her eyes, a look of resolution transformed her face. “Now I’m getting mad. Whoever took Jimmy is still out there, somewhere, and I want him punished!”
Deadly Decision Page 16
