Enigma

by Lloyd A. Meeker

  I drove home. I’d never solved a case where I’d known so little about what had happened in it.

  Once I’d settled in my favorite armchair with a cup of coffee, I put The Cross of Changes CD in my computer and copied “Return to Innocence” onto my desktop. Then I dialed James’ cell.

  “I recognized your number, Mr. Morgan,” he began. “I was wondering if you might call today.”

  “And here I am.” I tried to sound light and conversational, but really, how do you ask a blackmailer if he knew he’d just sent another letter? I figured the direct approach was best. “Did you know that another letter arrived at Kommen’s office?”

  “I’ve heard.” James’ voice was cautious, but to my surprise, completely unafraid. Happy, in fact.

  “I’d like to talk to you about it, but somewhere…” I hunted for a diplomatic word for ‘well away from everyone else’, “neutral. Is it easy for you to meet, say, at Washington Park around lunch time tomorrow?”

  There was a tiny hesitation. “Just checking. Sure. I can do that.”

  “Great. Let’s meet at the parking lot on the west side of the lake. Bring a sandwich, and we can find some shade, eat while we talk.”

  “Sounds like a plan. What time?”

  “Can you do early? Eleven-thirty?”

  “Sure. See you then.”

  I sat for a moment, letting the conversation recede. On a hunch, I sent one of my favorite poems of all time to the printer downstairs.

  Then I didn’t want to think about the Richardsons or their problems anymore. I needed to focus on something else. I remembered getting an email from The Center, calling for LGBT volunteers to help with their new SAGE program outreach mailing. I’d see if they could use another volunteer for a few hours.

  I was waiting in Wash Park’s main lot when James climbed down out of his honking big SUV and waved a cheerful greeting. He must have known that I suspected, but he seemed strangely carefree, as if he was confident I couldn’t prove anything. Or maybe he truly didn’t care.

  As he strode toward me, something about him struck me as different. His dark hair was now blond. I decided not to mention it.

  We shook hands. His aura sparked happy excitement, and I got still more confused. Maybe I’d got the whole thing wrong. “Thanks for coming,” I said.

  “Perfect day for a picnic,” he answered. “What did you bring?”

  “I like the custom deli sandwiches at King Soopers,” I said. “Roast beef, cucumber, and provolone on light rye, with sprouts and lots of horseradish is my current favorite.”

  He hoisted a Subway bag, grinning. “Meatball marinara with double extra cheese. A contraband treat. Don’t tell Leigh.”

  “My lips are sealed,” I said, instantly struck by the irony. He must have got it, too, because he barked out a short laugh but didn’t say anything.

  We strolled around the north end of the tiny lake, mostly in silence. All the benches seemed to be out in the open, and I was going to need shade.

  “Do you mind sitting on the grass?” I asked. “I don’t do very well sitting in direct sun.”

  He loosened his tie. “Shade is definitely preferable for me, too,” he said.

  We found a cluster of trees right at the edge of the water and set up shop, unwrapping our sandwiches. I was still a little unnerved by James’ calm atmosphere. He was as relaxed as if we were old friends who’d done this a hundred times, having a routine lunch at a favorite spot.

  When we finished eating, we stuffed our trash into the Subway bag. As if James could sense that I was unsure of how to start, he stretched languorously and said, “About that letter.”

  “Yes.” In that instant, I saw how to begin. I reached into my bag and opened up my laptop. “I want to play something for you. The sound isn’t very good on my machine, but it’s good enough for you to get the drift.”

  I clicked on “Return to Innocence” and the media player blossomed into action. “Ayy-yi-YI, Oh, ayy-yi-yii…” the haunting call of the song rose around us like ancient spirits finally set free to dance.

  James closed his eyes, and his aura swirled and pulsed in the same dance. Before the words began, he was crying. When the song ended, we sat in silence for a while as the conifers all around us breathed their scent down on us in pungent whispers.

  James wiped his eyes. “I’m glad you figured it out. Now you can tell Kommen and Howard, collect your fee and move on.”

  “And you? Won’t they press charges?”

  His smile turned hard. “No, it’s time for me to move on, too. And they won’t press charges. I’ve had fifteen years to plan this. They can’t touch me.”

  “Why? And I mean that question in the broadest sense. I’d like to understand.”

  He leaned back on one elbow. “Is it good, living openly gay?” he asked. “I have no choice, nor do I want one, but I’m scared.”

  I recognized that state, and compassion flooded me like a river breaching its banks. “It’s very good.” I closed my laptop and put it away. “There are surprises, though. Many of them unpleasant. Straight white men in this country are generally blind to how privileged their lives are. You will become part of a marginalized minority overnight, and that can be very scary.”

  “But spiritually. There’s an inner life there, right? Something to navigate by, other than the physical?”

  It was my turn to feel the burn of incipient tears. “Oh, yeah. It’s there, I promise. Maybe involving a religion or maybe not, but there’s a spiritual life for you as big as you have courage to make it.”

  “It’s not easy, though, is it.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Not for me, not so far. All the standard paradigms in our culture are tooled for straight people. You’ll have to build your own. It’s worth it, though.”

  James sat up and brushed dirt from his sleeve. “Good. I needed to hear that. Thank you.” He stared out over the lake, his aura thoughtful and determined. I got a flash of him locking the door to his Highlands Ranch house and walking to a waiting cab, on his way to his new life. He wasn’t carrying luggage. I wondered about the children.

  I waited for what I hoped was an appropriate length of time, given the magnitude of what he was facing.

  “Can you tell me more about why, and some of how?” I asked quietly. “And about the kids? Not that any of that is really my business.”

  Slowly, James turned to face me, as if coming back from very far away. “Sure. You’ll get most of the story Thursday when I come to Kommen’s office for the money and my grand exit.” He grinned. “You’ll have a front row seat for the fireworks. It’ll be worth every penny, I promise you.”

  He looked back out over the lake. “The main reason,” he said in a calm voice, “is because Howard Richardson is a brutal, cunning animal with the conscience of a crocodile. His moral compass is self-aggrandizement and power. He trades on the suffering and hope of others like a trader on the floor of the stock exchange. His hubris…” James’s voice tightened, and he swallowed hard, “is about to be chastised.”

  I stayed quiet. James’ profile was as grim, competent, and resolved as a soldier’s.

  “As it affects me directly, Howard Richardson’s use of people started with my mother. She was the daughter of another prominent evangelist, Jimmy Evans. Howard worked for him as a junior pastor. She got pregnant, not by Howard, but someone else. I’ve never learned who. The scandal would have destroyed her father, and an abortion was, of course, out of the question.

  “Maybe she confided in him, but somehow Howard learned about her situation. He approached her father with a deal: he would marry my mom, pretend the child was his, and in return he would inherit her dad’s ministry. That’s how Howard got his head start.”

  James paused. It’s a powerful thing when someone tells a story that’s been kept at the bottom of the heart’s well for a long time. Each word seems to weigh fifty pounds, and it has to be hauled all the way up to the surface and into the daylight. It’s hard work
. I gave him space, knowing that as much of the rest of the story as he wanted to tell me was already on its way.

  “He used that knowledge to bully my mom into submission. He bullied me with it, too. When I was ten, he told me I wasn’t his son, and that I’d been conceived in sin. Said I should be grateful he’d rescued us both. He blackmailed us into the behavior he wanted from us.”

  He threw a little stone into the lake. After it splashed, and the ripples softened away, he smiled as if he approved of the calm water. “The blackmailer is finally on the receiving end of the stick. Seems more than fair to me.”

  He fell silent, but I could tell his heart was busy processing. “He even made me dye my hair dark so it would look like his. By the time he went for the phony silver wisdom look, it was too late to change.”

  He turned to me with a broad grin and pointed to his head. “This is my real hair color, and I’m liking it a lot.”

  I smiled and nodded acknowledgment. “I noticed. Looks good on you.”

  “I’m going to pause the story in a minute, but there’s one more piece that you should hear today.

  “My mother didn’t want me committed to reparative therapy. The plague was everywhere in 1993, and she was terrified for me, but she wanted to let me live my life.

  “Howard was adamant, though. To his followers, my conversion would be another marquee triumph in his ministry. My mom refused to sign the commitment papers. Howard signed them, which he had no legal right to do, since he wasn’t my biological father and hadn’t adopted me. He couldn’t, because my birth certificate already said I was his son.

  “But because of all the earlier lies, he got away with it. That’s when she started using tranquilizers. She’s been adrift ever since. I truly believe she’ll be happy I’m doing this.”

  He stared out at the lake for a moment, and his aura softened into tenderness. “I love her, and I’ll miss her. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve arranged a way for us to stay in touch, maybe even get together once in a while. With or without Howard’s knowledge, I don’t care.”

  He turned to face me, his energy hard again. “While I was a prisoner in that torture camp—which is what it was—I realized my only chance of surviving intact was to pretend I’d been healed. As fast as I could, I learned what they expected as results from my ‘sessions’ and fed it back to them. Theology was the key. The torture got less severe, and little rewards started showing up. More food. The occasional warm shower, with soap, even. Less slave duty. But it still wrecked me. After I got out, I couldn’t have an orgasm, even on my own, for at least two years without feeling sick to my stomach, followed by a kind of paralyzing dread that I have no words for.”

  He turned toward me again and pulled off his tie, putting it in his jacket pocket. “An old saying goes that if you give a man enough rope, he’ll hang himself. I’ve given Howard fifteen years of rope. He’s now trapped in a web that he’s spun all by himself, and when all is said and done, he’ll be damn grateful I cost him so little.” He almost giggled. “Ooh. I said, ‘damn’! That felt good.”

  He punched me on the shoulder like we were veteran teammates. “The rest of the story is for Thursday. Go give Kommen your solution. Let him know I’m Enigma, and that I’m not kidding about the money.”

  He stood, and I followed suit. “I wish I could see his face when you tell him, but I’m prepared to forego that little pleasure.”

  He reached into his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. “I deliberately left my fingerprints all over the original, but here’s a copy of the letter. I couldn’t have made it without knowing what the original said, since his office has told me nothing about this one. He’ll get it. He’s a weasel, but he’s a smart weasel.”

  We walked back to his car in silence, and shook hands. “I wish you all the best on your journey into a new life, James.”

  I pulled the poem out of my bag and gave it to him. “This is something that helped me more than I can say. It’s a poem by Mary Oliver, called The Journey. I kept it taped to my dresser mirror for a couple of very dark years.”

  “Thanks, Russ. It feels good to tell all this to someone besides Raul.”

  “Raul?”

  James laughed. “I met him three years ago, doing the Lord’s work in Mexico. Tomorrow.” He climbed up into the cab of his SUV, and the beast snarled to life. The window slid down. “I’ll be so glad to leave this monster truck behind, along with the monster house, and the monster wife. The kids I will miss, but I can’t do anything about that.”

  The window slid up, and he backed out. I waved, watched him drive away, then headed for my own car.

  Telling Kommen tomorrow morning was going to be an interesting adventure. In the meantime, I’d type up my report and attach the letter James had given me.

  I needed a change of pace. There was a Rockies game this evening, and I decided to splurge on a high-end ticket. Maybe Colin would like to come with me, too. Three hours in the soft Colorado evening with Colin, side by side, knees brushing now and then. No. Still a bad idea.

  Andrew Kommen pushed away from his desk and marched to the window, clutching my report in a fist. Apparently the view from the window wasn’t any more comforting than the one he’d just left, so he returned to his desk. He hadn’t taken the news that James Richardson was Enigma gracefully. His face was as ashen as his office walls. His hands shook. “You bastard. You don’t know how much damage you’ve done to good people.”

  “Don’t shoot the messenger, Mr. Kommen.” I picked my words with care. “I’m not responsible for the behavior of others. It may be your practice to lay blame like that, but you can’t make me the bad guy.”

  I stood up. “I’m glad you refused to have Reverend Richardson here for this. He can learn the news from you, rather than me. I’m guessing he’s a messenger-shooter, too. Good luck with that.”

  I stopped at the door. “You’ll get my invoice for $39,000 this afternoon. That’s two weeks at seven thousand, and the bonus of twenty-five for solving the matter within four weeks of engagement. I’d like it in a cashier’s check, please. All as agreed in our contract.”

  This time I got all the way to the elevator before Colin caught up to me. I was genuinely glad to see him. His face told me he was glad, too.

  At five minutes to one the next day, Colin fetched me from the reception area and delivered me into Kommen’s inner sanctum. Everyone else was already there, and the atmosphere felt like sharks circling in chummed water. Two closed briefcases sat on the coffee table in front of Howard. I assumed it was the payoff. Colin bolted, and I sat down without anyone acknowledging my arrival.

  I wasn’t offended, though. I was just a spectator in this drama, now. In fact, I figured that both Howard and Kommen had objected when James insisted I be present. He’d promised me all the answers and the fireworks, though. Right now, it felt like they were going to be prizewinners.

  James got up and poured himself a drink at the bar. “Anyone else for a drink?” Ugly silence was his answer. “Right, then,” he said, sitting back down. “Let’s do the money exchange first, then you can ask me questions.”

  He pulled up a battered gray and black duffel from beside his chair, then a green one from inside the first. “Andrew, would you please transfer the money to these bags?”

  “No,” Howard Richardson jumped up as if his chair had ejected him, his face an unhealthy red. “Answers first.”

  James shrugged and sat back. “Ask away, then.”

  Howard paced. “Why in heaven’s name are you doing this?” he fumed.

  James was as relaxed as he’d been at the park two days ago. “Because you took my life away from me, and now I’m taking it back. With interest.”

  “But why now, when my ministry is doing so much good work—work that you’ve done so much to accomplish?” Richardson’s voice had a whine in it, and I almost felt embarrassed for him.

  “You are so fucking blind, Howard.” James shook his head. Apparently he’d been
practicing his swear words, because this time he didn’t even blink. “Why now? Because I’m finally ready, and because there’s a lovely symmetry to this timing.”

  He took a swig of his drink. “I was released from the prison you sent me to on March 31st of 1994. Easter was April 3rd that year. On that morning, you paraded me like a prisoner of war in front of the congregation and the cameras, claiming I’d been raised from the depths of temptation, restored by everyone’s prayers.”

  James Richardson had probably never had such complete attention from the reverend and Kommen. They were spellbound. Maybe it was the first time they realized how serious he was.

  “Easter was April 4th this year. Enigma’s first letter arrived on April Fool’s Day. So close to Easter, so apt. This time, I sat quietly on stage while you postured and pounded and prayed, knowing that it would be the last time I’d have to do it.” He took another sip of whatever he’d poured himself and smacked his lips.

  “In the fifteen years between those two Easters, I spent every moment I could planning my escape and your punishment. At first, I wanted you dead.” Everyone’s eyebrows went up, including mine.

  “But I realized that would be far too easy on you. I want you to live a long time with the knowledge of how you crippled your little empire, and how you have no one to blame but yourself.”

  “But I’ve done nothing—”

  “Nothing? Shut up, Howard, and listen. You ready?” James started counting on his fingers.

  “One. You turned my mother’s pregnancy into a bargaining chip to seize control of old man Evans’ church. And money.

  “Two. You signed my commitment papers to reparative therapy illegally, since you are not my father, but only my stepfather.

  “Three. You were already fucking Leigh when you introduced her to me, and you didn’t stop when we got married. And yes, there have been others. I have only a partial list, but it’s plenty long.” It was as if all the oxygen had left the room. Both men stared at James in silence. Neither one of them moved for several seconds.