Granted, Mark was no attorney. But the more he prayed and meditated about the situation, the more he felt led to get in Rozanno’s face.
From what Mark could tell, Rozanno didn’t appear to be quite the big man Sharla had described him to be. Yet, he probably came across forcefully when he was sitting alone with a woman. He had that air about him—like he’d buck up to a woman, but put his tail between his legs with another man.
Hernandez was a little late, which gave Mark an opportunity to sit in the chair across from Rozanno and just stare at him. Study him. Ask God for insight into him.
“Can I get you some coffee?” the detective offered with a pinch of nervousness in his tone.
“No, thank you,” Mark declined, eyes dead set on Rozanno.
“Sorry I’m late,” Hernandez breezed into the room, sitting on the other side of Sharla. He looked at Mark. “We haven’t started here, have we?”
“Nope,” Mark answered.
“Good.” He homed in on Rozanno. “We’re ready to officially clear my client’s name so she can move forward with her life, right?”
“Not so fast. The results from the car sweep were inconclusive.”
“What the—”
“Hold your horses, counsel,” the detective challenged. “I think we can, however, exclude her on the basis of other eyewitness testimony. As I understand it, Bria Logan is fully conscious. If she corroborates Mr. Carter’s testimony, that will suffice.”
Hernandez laughed cynically, “We don’t want to leave this technicality lingering. It’ll give the insurance companies enough of a loophole to keep her in court for months. I don’t understand how the car sweep was inconclusive; we’re not talking DNA, here. Either you found gunpowder residue, tire irregularities, or whatever the heck you were looking for, or you didn’t. Which one is it?”
“I don’t tell you how to do your job. Don’t tell me how to do mine. You got that?” Rozanno shot back.
“Look,” Mark tried, “I was in the car. I know my wife wasn’t shooting at us.”
“What color was the car that chased you?”
“I don’t know,” Mark admitted.
“Was it a male or female who shot into the vehicle?”
“I…I can’t be sure. It all happened so fast.”
“Then you’re not a reliable witness,” the detective concluded. “Plus, you’ve got a motive to clear your own wife, just like she had motive to kill you.”
“That’s not true!” Sharla interjected.
Mark went in again, “What about Boomie? My wife told you that Bria’s family said someone named Boomie was the shooter who also forced me to have the accident.”
Angry lines crossed Rozanno’s forehead. “That lead never panned out.”
“Was it ever in the pan?” Danny questioned.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss another person of interest with you at this time,” he avoided the question.
Mark smelled a rat.
Hernandez must have smelled it, too. He slurred, “I seeeee. So, if my client is no longer a suspect and you find no other leads, the investigation stalls. Everything’s just accidental, and that’s the end of it. Leave the real aggressor on the streets.”
Rozanno shrugged. “Maybe. They are still looking for the real killer in California, you know.”
Finally, Mark received discernment. The “real killer” was an allusion to the Nicole Brown Simpson case. As far as law enforcement was concerned, the guilty man had gotten away with murder.
Sharla wasn’t guilty, of course, and this was no murder. But it was clear to Mark that Rozanno wasn’t going after Boomie, regardless. For all Rozanno cared, Boomie might come back to finish Bria off.
Mark decided to test his theory. “I’d like to offer a reward for the capture of this Boomie character.”
Just as Mark thought, the blood left the detective’s face.
“Great idea!” Hernandez roused. “We could involve the press, the church. It would be great!"
“Wait!” the nearly ghost-white man yelled. “Listen, I can promise you a report that pretty much exonerates your client. Isn’t that what you want, Hernandez?”
“Yes.” The attorney stood and shook Rozanno’s hand. “We’ll expect it by week’s end.” He looked down at his clients. “Let’s go.”
Quickly, Danny led Mark and Sharla out of the building. They stopped at his car. “Get in.”
Mark got in the back; Sharla took the passenger’s side.
“What was that all about?” Sharla panted.
“There’s something about Boomie that they don’t want to mess with,” Danny inferred.
“You think Rozanno’s on his payroll or something?” Mark guessed.
“I don’t know. Could be.” Danny cracked his knuckles. “Or he might be state’s evidence, they might be building a bigger case against him—drugs, prostitution. Bringing him in now might blow something they’ve already put millions into. I don’t know.”
“But what about Bria?” Mark pleaded.
Sharla shot a dagger at him with her eyes.
Mark ignored the jab. “This guy is dangerous. He wanted her dead—me, too, probably.”
Sharla’s eyes softened with the implication.
“I don’t know what to tell you about that. All I can do as your attorney is advise you to take the report clearing Sharla and run. We’re not gonna get Boomie off the streets with this particular case.”
Maybe Hernandez could rest well knowing he’d cleared Sharla’s name, but that wasn’t enough for Mark.
Chapter 31
Thanks to Jonathan’s texts, Mark was able to keep up with New Vision business to some extent. The numbers were still declining, though not as sharply. Local news had begun to devour its next victim: a teacher who’d been caught sleeping with her students. Like Jackson had said, they’d followed fresh blood.
The bloggers who’d trashed him had new headlines; the commenters posted their latest negativity. Within a matter of a few weeks, Mark’s name had been dragged through the mud and left to dry.
Fortunately, he didn’t have as much time to spend on the internet. Between preparing for and leading family devotions, teaching Amani how to do things that didn’t involve screens, reconnecting with Sharla, and struggling through physical therapy, Mark couldn’t have followed up on all of his Google hits if he’d wanted to. Besides, if something really important came up, Jackson or Jonathan would let him know.
This Friday was one of those times. “Pastor, I’ve got a few things I need to run by you before our next meeting. I know you’re not officially back until next week, but could you come by the office a little early Friday?” Jonathan requested.
By that time, Mark had come to respect Jonathan’s judgment as much as he could with someone who still looked like he’d have to show an ID to get a drink. “Sure thing.”
Parking at the church lot again that early in the morning, got Mark’s juices flowing. He’d already been in prayer for an hour at home before coming to the church—something Pastor Phillips advised him to do when he’d called earlier in the week to check on Mark.
“Tell you like this, sin and pride and selfishness is like yeast – they rises overnight. That’s why His grace and mercy got to be new and fresh every time the sun gets up. You got no business conducting God’s business without dyin’ to yourself fresh every mornin’.”
Climbing in and out of Sharla’s small car was getting old. He couldn’t wait for his appointment with the insurance representative, an acquaintance from his days at StateWay. They could finally move forward with the claim now that all criminal implication had vanished with Rozanno’s report. The day he got a taller cab—whether an SUV or a truck—couldn’t come fast enough.
A pleasant sense of familiarity coursed through his veins as he unlocked the side door of the church and walked toward his office. The smell of plaster and carpet still lingered, welcoming him back to that place he now recognized wasn’t actually his.
; He unlocked the suite.
“Hello, Pastor!” Jonathan greeted him warmly from across the desk.
“Same to you.”
“You look good, sir. Can’t wait to have you back.”
“Isn’t this coming Sunday your turn to preach?” Mark guessed.
“Yes, it is.”
“I look forward to it,” Mark encouraged him.
He hoped Jonathan’s message would be a nice addition to Jackson’s personal testimony, shared the previous week. Jackson wasn’t really a preacher so much as a storyteller, and a good one at that. He’d shared how Christ changed his life from that of a lyin’, womanizin’, juke-joint piano-playin’ rascal to a clean man with one woman on his mind. He’d said he wasn’t perfect, a statement Mrs. Jackson had “amened” loudly, but that God was faithful. And he trusted God to keep working on him.
“What’s your topic for Sunday?” Mark asked.
Jonathan tapped a few keys on the computer and read from the screen. “To the Utmost. Coming from Hebrews chapter 7.”
“Wonderful,” Mark cheered. “I’m teaching my family from Hebrews this week. I’ll share my notes with you, if you’d like.”
“That would be great,” Jonathan sparked. “I like this.”
“What?”
“You know, the chance to collaborate with God, then you.”
“So long as you keep it in that order, I think you’ll be fine,” Mark advised. “What did you want to see me about?”
“Oh, you may want to sit.”
Mark blew out air. “Alrighty, then. Let me put my stuff in the office.” Mark left the attaché behind his desk and rejoined Jonathan. “What’s up?”
“Miss Bria has been trying to reach you. She’s left messages.” He handed Mark several pink slips of paper.
The pastor thumbed through them. She’d called six times over the last three days. All of them the same: “Call me.”
“I wouldn’t give her your number,” he said, “but I promised that I’d let you know she called. What do you want me to do about her?”
Mark raised both eyebrows. “I’m going to call her back.”
“Oh? I mean, after all the trouble she’s caused, I just didn’t think, you know, you’d want anything to do with her.”
The confusion in Jonathan’s face required an answer. In fact, he’d been so unquestionably faithful throughout that whole ordeal, Mark owed Jonathan a thorough explanation.
“Bria is Amani’s birth mother. We adopted him out of the foster care system. I think, originally, she was trying to seduce me so that she could somehow get back into Amani’s life. But in her efforts to get close to me, Christ got close to her. Next thing I knew, she apologized to me, and she was trying to tell me the truth at my car when some guy comes up shooting at us. We hopped into my car to get away, and that’s what led to the wreck.”
Jonathan’s mouth hung open. “Wow. That’s how it happened, huh?”
“Yep. Now you know.”
“Thank you, Pastor, for telling me. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to fight back the press, the tabloids, the members…it was crazy.” Jonathan shook his head and pressed palms against his ears.
“Thanks, Jonathan, for having my back. A lesser person might have caved under the pressure. You’re alright with me.”
“’Preciate it.”
Mark checked his watch. “Guess I’ll give Bria a call before the meeting.”
He slipped into his office and closed the door for privacy.
Since the operator didn’t give him any flack about transferring the call, Mark guessed the media had laid off Bria, too, thank God.
“Hello,” a dim voice creaked.
“Bria. It’s Pastor Carter.”
“Hi, Pastor. I’m so glad you called.”
Mark had to listen carefully to make out her words. “I’m so glad you’re doing better,” he replied cheerfully.
“How’s your arm?”
Mark smiled. Given her injuries, his arm wasn’t worth discussing. “Getting better every day. You?”
“Me, too. My swelling has gone down. And I can sit up pretty good.”
Somehow, Mark knew what was coming next.
“I’m ready to see Amani, now that I don’t look like a monster anymore.”
A mixture of emotions flooded Mark’s body. She had no idea how much Amani wanted to meet her, too. Nor how much Sharla dreaded their reunion. There was also the question of how it might go with Lisa in the room. Was it a set-up?
“Hello?” Bria sputtered.
“Yes. Um…yes. I’ll bring him to you. I’ll call you first, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Chapter 32
Kit was early that time. Had his good church suit on with his briefcase and presentation folders ready to roll. As soon as Jackson turned the agenda over to him, he eagerly distributed them to Mark, Marshall, Jackson, and Jonathan.
“Before anyone says anything, hear me out. Straight?”
Though he’d asked for everyone’s agreement, Mark knew Kit’s request was aimed at him. “Okay.”
“Theta Phi Mu is Houston’s most active African American fraternity. Take a look at their numbers on page two.”
Mark flipped through the manila folder and skimmed the numbers. Over twenty thousand likes on their Houston area Facebook page. Five alumni chapters throughout the metroplex consisting of almost four thousand active members.
“Granted, a city like ours has many organizations with active members,” Kit adlibbed, “but they’re not just four thousand men. They’re four thousand college-educated men, which equates to better-than-average jobs, higher-than-average salaries, greater-than-average influence in the community. Plus their wives, who tend to have those same qualities. These are the kinds of connections we need for New Vision, the kinds of members we need to attract if we plan to get back on our feet and fly.”
Marshall nodded. “Looks like you’ve done your homework, Kit.”
“Thank you.” He smiled. “What I’m proposing is actually on page six. A networking symposium hosted by New Vision and Theta Phi Mu fraternity here at the church. We’ll have workshops and roundtables for established and potential business owners. We’d have booth spaces available for rent so vendors could showcase their products, too. It’s a win-win for everybody involved.”
Presented in the “community effort” vein, it sounded harmless enough. But Mark had a few questions for Kit. “How will this further the cause of Christ? What makes it any different than if the fraternity had partnered with a recreation center or the chamber of commerce?”
“Well…” Kit stalled, “since the fraternity is not a religious non-profit organization, they really can’t, you know, say anything in a way that makes it sound like they’re proselytizing. But many of them, I’d say most of them, are Christians.”
Marshall dove into the conversation, “Not everyone’s a preacher, Pastor. In the real world, people have to be careful of what they say. Separation of church and state.”
“I get that,” Mark readily acknowledged. “But if it’s taking place at the church, the separation is forfeited.”
“Okay, we’ll open and close with prayer,” Kit conceded. “They still do it at graduations, so I’m sure we can get away with it.”
Get away with prayer at church? Mark kept that one to himself and moved on to his main concern. “What about the fraternity itself? Will they hang banners and advertise themselves at the event?”
A crooked grin punctured Kit’s face. “Pastor, I’m sure they’ll say or do something to bring honor and recognition to the fraternity.”
Mark couldn’t have said it better himself. “That’s precisely where the problem lies, Kit. No fraternity, no sorority, no worship of Greek letters and gods and secret societies should take place in the house of God. What people do outside of church is on them. But I won’t bring that inside these walls.”
“Are you serious?” Kit laug
hed.
“As serious as I’ve always been about this issue, Kit. Don’t act brand new,” Mark laughed as well. Even before he’d made the decision to make Christ the vision for New Vision, he’d come to that conclusion and made his entire staff aware of his stance. Why Kit wanted to push it now was anybody’s guess.
Mark felt the tension multiplying. He sensed that Kit and Marshall were on the same page. Jackson and Jonathan hadn’t uttered one word. At that point, the only thing coming from their side of the room was the ticking of the wall clock.
Not that he could be persuaded otherwise, but Mark decided to ask them for their input. “Jackson?”
“I don’t know enough about Greek groups to know what’s what. I gave my granddaughter four hundred dollars so she could pledge in college. Other than that, I got nothin’.”
“Then, obviously, you saw nothing wrong with it,” Marshall deduced.
“I saw nothing at all,” Jackson spoke for himself. “She’d been watching a whole bunch of old episodes of A Different World; next thing I knew she wanted to attend a black college and pledge a sorority. She got a job, worked for some of the money during the summer, I gave her the rest. If your granddaughter’s in college, doin’ good, not pregnant, when she asks for something, you give it to her.”
His humorous anecdote loosened the stiffness in the room.
“Amen to that,” Marshall concurred.
“Jonathan,” Mark asked, “what’s your position?”
All eyes focused on the youngest man in the room. Jonathan shook his head. “No, I don’t know a whole lot about them, either. I have a friend who was going to pledge, but decided not to after…you know…it all started.”
“Too weak, huh?” Kit leered.
“No, actually she read through the Rho’s books of rituals and chants and hymns they gave her and decided she couldn’t do it.”
“Wait a minute – my granddaughter is a Rho. What kinds of rituals?” Jackson urged Jonathan to spill the beans.
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