I was going to have to chew on his words for a while. “You ever regret your choice to walk away from one career and become a pastor?”
“No, but there were times I questioned my sanity. I wondered what I’d done, especially when I didn’t have insurance and I had to go in to have an appendectomy. It took me years to pay off that bill. Even now, I depend on the graciousness of God’s people in order to get paid. If offerings are low and we still have a building to rent and missionaries to support, then the cut comes from my paycheck.”
“You went from stable and secure to a life of passion and . . .”
“Servanthood. I wouldn’t have it any other way. All of those decisions were leaps of faith. They’re scary. Unnerving. But they show us what we’re made of.”
***
“I have one more stop to make. Is that okay?”
“Sure thing, Gabby,” the pastor answered.
He had no idea what he was getting himself into, I mused, as I pulled up to Freddy Mansfield’s house.
Last time I’d been here, Riley had been with me. We’d worked well together and made a good team—something that had taken a lot of practice and honing. For once, we hadn’t been fighting against each other. No, our efforts to find Milton Jones had brought us closer together.
When I was here two weeks ago, I would have never imagined my life would have played out as it had and brought me to this point now.
Just as I’d done the first time I’d come to Freddy’s residence, I gawked at the house in front of me. It could be in the running for “Most Haunted Looking House in Norfolk.” It had obviously been a beautiful old Victorian at one time. Now, it was faded and dirty with overgrown grass and butchered trees and bushes.
“Where are we?” Pastor Shaggy asked. “The place looks like something that should be on Ghost Hunters or something.”
“You’ve heard of Ghost Hunters?” I was impressed.
“Gabby,” he looked at me, dumbfounded, “I’m a pastor. I’m not a monk who’s locked myself away from the rest of the world.”
“Of course.”
I filled the pastor in. As far as I was concerned, Freddy Mansfield was scum. I didn’t care that he looked normal. I didn’t care if he claimed to simply be an entrepreneur. Profiting off of death was wretched.
I parked my van and hurried onto the porch. Pastor Shaggy followed behind me, and I was kind of glad he was here with me. Going to some of these places by myself was just never a good idea, no matter how often I tried to justify it.
Just as last time, I pressed the doorbell and strains of “The Twilight Zone” could be heard echoing inside. It wouldn’t surprise me if someone like Mansfield ended up planning an entire convention around the morbid. Even sadder, it wouldn’t surprise me if the event sold out.
As soon as Freddy opened his door, I assaulted him with accusations. “You sold Milton Jones mementos, didn’t you? And you gave him part of the money.”
He tried to shut the door, but I shoved my foot into it. The man looked so normal, it was almost scary. To see him on the street, you would never guess what he’d made a career out of. Average height, clean cut with dark hair, in his mid-twenties. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Who contacted you?” I demanded.
“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pushed on the door some more.
But my foot remained wedged in place. “Don’t play games. There are lives on the line.”
“I don’t know what you want from me. I’m trying to mind my own business over here, but you keep showing up. I’d almost rather you be some religious person trying to convert me.”
“Now that you mention it, I brought my pastor with me.” I nodded toward Pastor Shaggy.
Pastor Shaggy waved hello and offered a sheepish smile.
Freddy scowled at me. “You need to drive out the demons from this place or something?”
“The only demons I’m worried about are yours,” I announced. “I think you’re helping out Milton Jones. I want to know where he is.”
His face cracked as his mouth dropped toward the ground. “You’re crazy. Jones is dead. It’s been all over the news.”
“You sold some items for him. You gave him part of the money, and now he’s using that cash to fund his murderous rampage.”
Freddy raised his hands in surrender. “Wow. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I checked your website. Where did you get that picture of Jones with his sidekick?”
“I have sources.”
At times like this, I wished I had a gun and wasn’t afraid to use it. But I didn’t. I’d had one, but I lost it while struggling with Jones in a swamp. Long story. “How about his wig? How’d you get that one? Did you steal it from police custody?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He still pressed against the door, as if he’d slam it in my face at the first opportunity.
I pointed behind me with my thumb toward the pastor. “You wouldn’t lie in front of a holy man, would you?”
He cringed and part of his lip curled up in a sneer. “Why does any of this matter?”
“What if Jones didn’t die? That’s why it matters.”
His eyes widened—not with dread, but with excitement. “You think he took someone else?”
I shrugged. “I can’t say. But I can say that I have the detective on the case on my speed dial.” I held up my cell.
He scowled at me again. “You’re pushy. Has anyone ever told you that?”
I considered it a compliment. “I’m going to call the detective now and explain all of this to him unless you spill everything you know. On the count of three. I’d start talking if I were you. One. Two—” I put my finger over the button, ready to dial.
“Okay, okay.” Freddy raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll tell you what I know. Just put the phone down.”
I lowered it, but my fingers remained on the buttons, out of sight.
“Someone did contact me about selling some items regarding Milton Jones.”
“When was this?”
“A couple of weeks ago.” He leaned on the door.
“And you said?”
“At first, I thought it was a scam. But the more this guy talked, the more intrigued I became.”
“So, in other words, you thought this guy was the real deal. You thought he was Jones. How did you get the items from him?”
“He left them in my living room. While I was sleeping.” Freddy’s face looked a little paler as he said the words.
A shiver ran through me. I knew what it was like to have someone sneak into your home while you slumbered. I still had nightmares about it. “You didn’t hear anything?”
He shook his head.
“I saw that a couple of items sold. How’d you get Jones the money?”
“He called me again. Told me to leave the cash on my porch at night. I put the envelope together, just as he told me to do. I put it on my dining room table, went upstairs to take a shower before I went to bed. When I came back down, the money was gone. But there was a note.”
“What did it say?”
“It said that if I told anybody about the ‘transaction’ that he’d kill my mother. Then he left my mom’s name and address.” He shook his head, as if disgruntled. “Are you happy now? You may have just gotten her killed.”
No, I wasn’t happy. I was never happy when innocent people were in the line of fire. But I still didn’t trust Freddy, no matter what his story was.
“Did you ever consider going to the police with all of this?” Pastor Shaggy asked. “They could have helped. They could have maybe captured a serial killer and protected your mom at the same time.”
“I didn’t know it was Jones. Not for sure. It could be someone imitating him. But then he got in and out of my house so effortlessly. It spooked me, and I never get spooked.”
“Yet you still didn’t say anything?” I thought of all the people who coul
d have died. It was nice that he was worried about his mom and all, but really?
He shrugged, not a hint of apology in his gaze. “I’ve got an image to maintain. People can’t think of me, the one who sells murder mementos, as some scared little man who runs for help when the wrong people look my way.”
“Well, because of your pride, more people might die. I hope you realize that.” This man disgusted me. Truly.
“Think of my poor mom! What am I going to tell her?” His voice held a little too much outrage to sound sincere.
“I’m sure she’s proud of you, with your successful business and all.” I shouldn’t have said it. Sarcasm was always my go-to weapon. Usually, it was very effective.
He raised a shoulder. “She actually doesn’t know.”
“I would tell her to go stay with a friend tonight. And I’d do it now.” I shook my head, trying for a brief moment to think about what it would be like to have a child with this kind of involvement with a serial killer. It would be heartbreaking. “Did the caller say anything else that might give a hint as to who he was?”
“No. Nothing.”
“How much money did he make?”
“Around $5000.” Freddy frowned.
“That can last someone a while,” Pastor Shaggy said.
Freddy let out a long sigh and gave up on pressing against the door. Instead, his shoulders sagged for a moment. “Look, this was all supposed to be innocent. No one was supposed to get hurt.”
“Well, people are getting hurt. I hope you can live with yourself, knowing the role you played in all of this.” With that, I turned around and stomped back to my van.
Milton Jones was alive. I was convinced of it. And he’d used that money for a deadly purpose. To get help for his gunshot wound? To buy his gun? I didn’t know.
But my mission was feeling more and more urgent by the minute.
CHAPTER 19
The phone rang first thing the next morning. My eyes were still bleary as I grabbed my cell from the nightstand. “Hello,” I mumbled, not bothering to look at the number.
“Gabby, it’s Adams.” His voice sounded urgent.
I quickly pulled myself up in bed. I knew if he was calling me that something big was up. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve made an arrest. I knew you’d want to know.”
“Who?” I held my breath as I waited for his answer.
“Darius Walters.”
“Who’s Darius Walters?” I rubbed my eyes, wishing my brain would kick into gear a little more quickly.
“You might know him by T-Bone.”
I blinked, trying to grasp the gravity of his announcement. “T-Bone? A member of The Guardians?”
“Darius shot Riley. Iceman—real name Julio Preston—was the driver of the getaway car. Julio apparently dropped off T-Bone and then accidentally ran the car into an old dumpster by the railroad yard. He cut his leg up pretty bad, but waited a week to report his injuries. In the meantime, he developed gangrene, which eventually put him in the ICU. Right beside Riley.”
The cases had been connected! “Did Darius confess?”
“Not yet. But we have enough to press charges.”
Familiar doubt niggled its way into my mind. “What about Juliette? Are these cases connected?”
“Her disappearance is what led us to Darius. We found Darius’ DNA at her house. A hair he left, to be exact.”
I shook my head. “DNA never comes back that fast. She just disappeared three days ago.” What wasn’t adding up here?
“This case was top priority. We were able to move the evidence through quickly.”
“Are you sure it was Darius?”
“DNA doesn’t lie, Gabby. You know that.”
“But the presence of DNA can be misleading at times, also. Do you know where researchers got their sample that forms the base for all DNA testing?”
“Gabby—”
“From 200 FBI recruits in the 90s. Even stranger? Eighty percent of those recruits were from Salt Lake City. The sample was never random enough. DNA is not a perfect science. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”
“We’re going forward with the case, Gabby. I thought you’d be happy.”
I should be happy. But the fact was, I still couldn’t believe this development. Why did The Guardians pick this particular time to exact their revenge? Why did they retaliate against Riley instead of me? I was the one who’d made them mad. And, furthermore, why pull Juliette into this? The last question in particular was worth asking.
“Why Juliette? It doesn’t make sense. How was she involved with The Guardians?”
“She had just left Riley’s law office on the day he was shot,” Adams muttered, a tone of almost apology in his voice. “We think that The Guardians suspected that Juliette had seen them and didn’t want to take any chances that they’d be identified.”
“Juliette was in Riley’s office before he was shot?” The words did something funny to my heart. Made it squeeze, tighten, lurch, and then plummet all the way into my stomach.
“That’s correct.”
Did Adams also suspect that something had been going on between Riley and Juliette? Because the way his voice softened with sympathy made me believe there could be evidence of something more than simply an attorney meeting his client. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I’m just giving you the facts.”
“Did you talk to Juliette after Riley was shot?” I held my breath, waiting for his answer.
“We did.”
“What did she say?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
I sighed. “Well, this is what doesn’t make sense. You’re claiming The Guardians snatched Juliette so they wouldn’t be discovered. Why would they go to great lengths like that, only to leave DNA?”
“Criminals aren’t always as brilliant as you are, Gabby.”
I heard the hidden edge in his compliment. “Did Darius tell you where he stashed Juliette so you can rescue her, at least?”
“We’re still trying to get that information out of him.”
“But Jones—”
“I should tell you, Gabby,” he cut me off. “There’s one more thing.”
I braced myself. “What now?”
“A body washed up in the James River last night. We think it’s Jones.”
I blinked, shock ricocheting through me. “Really?”
“All the preliminary markers match. Caucasian male, same age and height. Jones is really dead, Gabby.”
How could I have been so wrong? “O . . . okay,” I mumbled. “Thank you.”
“I need to go now. I promised you an update.”
I mumbled thanks and hung up. I wanted to feel satisfied. But I didn’t.
And I had no idea what to do about it.
***
Locard’s Exchange Principle said that whenever two people or two environments interacted, something was exchanged.
That meant that people left trace evidence of themselves wherever they went.
If I’d shared that theory with Riley, he would have told me how there were signs of our Creator everywhere as well. He was great at turning theories into deep thoughts on God.
Right now, that wasn’t what I was concerned about. I was mulling over the fact that Darius’ DNA—his hair—had been found in Juliette’s apartment.
If he hadn’t left it, then how had it gotten there? It would have been as easy as someone getting ahold of one of his strands and making sure to leave that hair at the crime scene. That was a possibility. Whether investigators wanted to acknowledge it or not, DNA could be planted. But in this case . . . was it?
Then there was the issue of Jones’ body being found. Could it really be possible? Had I been blinded by my own agenda as everyone had warned me not to be?
I really needed to think this through.
I got dressed and started down the stairs when Bill McCormick stuck his head out from his apartment. “You of
f so soon?”
I slowed my steps as I approached the front door of the complex. “Places to go, people to see. You know the routine.”
“You talk to the police about that call to the station?” He stepped outside, totally oblivious to the fact that I was in a hurry. That was nothing new.
I remembered my phone call with Adams this morning. “Sure did. They still think Jones is dead.” Now more than ever. I didn’t share any more details with Bill. The last thing I wanted was to screw up their entire investigation.
“What do you think?” His hands went to his pudgy hips.
I shook my head slowly. What did I think? I knew I couldn’t always trust my gut—as much as I’d like to think I could—but something still wasn’t sitting right with me. I mean, what were the odds that the hair had been found and Jones’ body had washed up at the same time? It sounded like too much of a coincidence for me.
“I think he’s still out there,” I stated. “I think he’s clever.”
One of his eyebrows tugged upward. “What should I do if he calls back to the station?”
“Tell him that I’m coming for him,” I blurted.
“You’re not serious?”
Was I serious? I wasn’t certain. The words had been spontaneous. But I nodded. “Yeah, dead serious.”
***
Twenty minutes later, I got to the hospital. I sat with Riley for a while. I asked him why Juliette was at his office that day. I asked him his opinion on the whole case. I asked him if he still loved me.
Of course, he couldn’t answer. And, of course, I kept talking still.
Finally, I stood, knowing my time was up. I didn’t know what I was going to do for the rest of the day. Should I let this go? Should I trust Adams as he’d asked?
Maybe I’d see if Chad needed my help on a job. Maybe I’d just try to sleep a little bit and see if things made any more sense when I woke up. I wasn’t sure.
I stepped into the waiting room and saw Riley’s dad. I nodded hello.
He stood. The man had lost weight since everything happened, and he almost looked frail now. “Gabby,” he started.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as I approached him. “How’s your wife?”
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