Everyone Was Left Behind

by Steve Armstrong

  “Everything was fine there,” Charity managed to say. She told herself that they were, that what she knew didn’t matter in the end.

  Glenda appeared satisfied that Charity’s short, tentative reply settled the matter of Elizabeth’s innocence. But Detective Seitzer continued to eye the young girl.

  “You seem to think that someone from our church killed Pastor Wilcox when you should really be investigating someone else,” Glenda said.

  Seitzer released Charity from his gaze and turned toward her mother. “Who should we be investigating, then?”

  “You should be investigating Satan,” her mom said defiantly. Charity sank down on the couch as far as she could. Though her mom never worried about sounding like a crazy Jesus lady, Charity always feared this.

  “Satan? As in the prince of darkness?” Seitzer asked.

  “Yes. We’ve been under attack lately.”

  “What do you mean under attack?” Harrison asked.

  “There’s been a dark presence in our midst the last few Sundays,” Glenda claimed. “I could feel it.”

  “A dark presence? Like a person, or just a feeling?” Harrison asked without a hint of skepticism in his tone.

  “Both,” Glenda said, her visage fierce.

  “We have had lots of visitors to the church lately. A lot of people that we don’t know, drawn in by Pastor Graham’s prophecy,” Gary Price said, perhaps to inject some credibility into his wife’s claims.

  “Let me guess—you don’t have any record of their visits, do you?” Seitzer asked.

  Price shook his head slowly. “We don’t really keep a visitor log.”

  Seitzer rolled his eyes.

  “Some people were pretty hostile to Pastor Graham online. We had a YouTube channel for the church where we posted his messages, plus some social media pages. Graham even mentioned receiving death threats,” Price said before the detective could once again criticize him for his sloppy record keeping.

  “Did he ever show you these threats?” Harrison asked.

  “No. Graham said he deleted them, so they wouldn’t attract too much attention.”

  Seitzer jotted something down in a small notepad he had stashed in his jacket pocket. “Well, we’ll be in touch. We’ll also keep a lookout for a guy with horns and a pitchfork. Or should we be watching for someone masquerading as an angel of light?” He looked specifically at Glenda Price as he uttered that last statement. “In the meantime, if you think of anything else that might be helpful to our investigation, please let us know.” The detective, who seemed exhausted by the conversation.

  “Thank you for your time,” Harrison said as he stood to leave. “We can let ourselves out.”

  The detectives departed without another word. Charity’s family remained on the couch, unable to move. Her mom and dad exchanged troubled glances.

  “Charity, could you excuse your father and me? We need to talk and pray about this.”

  Charity searched her parents’ expressions. They often included her against her will in impromptu prayer sessions inspired by random events. Never once could she recall being asked to leave before the family prayed. Of course, their pastor had never turned up dead the night before.

  Charity left her parents in silence and retreated to her room. She tried calling Elizabeth, but the call went unanswered. She considered contacting Kevin, but things were still awkward between them. Without further recourse, she dialed the number of a somewhat unlikely confidant.

  The raspy and short voice of her older sister Hope answered the phone. “Charity, I thought I told you to never call me before eleven. If you’re calling me to say that Jesus didn’t come back, that wasn’t necessary.”

  “Someone shot Pastor Wilcox.”

  “What?”

  “He’s dead.”

  The revelation brought silence on the other end. After another moment, her sister asked, “Who did it?”

  “They don’t know, but I think the police suspect it’s someone from our church. Hope, I don’t know what to do.”

  “Okay, just try to relax. I’m coming home—I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”

  “Yes.”

  For once Charity looked forward to her sister coming home, despite the inevitable conflict it would spark—especially now when emotions in her house were so frayed anyway. Maybe Hope could even help Charity figure out what to do with her secret—a secret her parents could never find out about.

  Chapter Five

  “What do you think?” Harrison asked as he and Seitzer walked to their car.

  Seitzer waited until they were both seated inside the black Chevy Impala to reply. “For starters, I think that for someone who’s supposed to know everything, Gary Price possesses a disappointing amount of information.” He put the key in the ignition and started the engine. “I also think I’d like to speak to Charity Price without her parents around.” Seitzer considered his words, then lest his partner conclude he had illicit motives for privately interrogating the reasonably attractive young blonde added, “She knows something.”

  “What did you think about what the mom said—that the perpetrator could be an outsider?”

  “Could be an outsider?” Seitzer did a double take at Harrison. “Is that what you took away from what she said? Because I’m pretty sure she’s convinced that Graham Wilcox was murdered by the devil.”

  “I know that’s what she said, but the husband mentioned death threats on the Internet. It might be worth looking into.”

  “It’s the Internet. Death threats aren’t exactly unusual.”

  “Yes, but given that this time a man actually ended up dead… . maybe some online dispute went too far. Things can get really ugly online, especially when it comes to religion.”

  “Well, then you can have the job of scouring through the church’s YouTube channel. But people usually only get combative online because they’re cowards and can hide behind a screen name.”

  “Yeah, but this wouldn’t be the first time a murderer developed his or her motivation online.”

  Seitzer scraped his fingernail against his tooth. “My money’s still on someone from the church. You’re more likely to get killed by someone you know than by someone you don’t.”

  “Are we going to check out the Thompsons now?”

  “Eventually. But right now, I thought we should stop by the Wilcox house. Maybe now the wife will be able to tell us a little more.”

  After another minute of driving in silence, Harrison turned toward Seitzer.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Seitzer replied, maintaining his focus on the road.

  “Why did Kelly treat me like a rookie last night? He does know I was a cop in New York City for six years, right?”

  Seitzer smirked. “Oh, he knows.”

  “So why?”

  “I think you might already know the answer to this question.”

  “Because I’m young?”

  “For starters.”

  Harrison pondered his next answer before adding, “Because I’m an outsider?”

  “You’re not just any outsider—you’re from New York City. And that creates an instant inferiority complex for some of us around here.”

  “So, is that it, or does he have other reasons too?”

  “What do you think?”

  Harrison glanced out the window as he mulled over other possibilities. “Who’d I replace?”

  Seitzer smiled. “Good question. Only the longest standing member of the Woodside Police Department, run out of town by the village trustees for his bloated salary and questionable style of communication with women and minorities.” He turned left onto Grove Street. “See, you knew the answer before you even asked the question.”

  “Any way I can change his mind about me?”

  Seitzer slowed the car to a stop in front of the Holy Spirit Tabernacle parsonage. “I don’t know. Buy him a beer, tell him dirty jokes, and come through when we need you—should help things
.”

  The two detectives exited the car and walked toward the Wilcox’s door. “What about you? Are you okay with me as your new partner?” Harrison asked.

  As they reached the front door, Seitzer looked at him and nodded. “Yeah, sure. You do your job and I have no problem with you.”

  A thin, gray-haired lady answered the door. She nodded at Harrison, who she probably recognized from the night before. Elizabeth Wilcox’s mother led them inside where the widow sat on the couch reading to her daughter who was seated on her lap. The scene looked normal, like it could have been any other Saturday.

  “Abbie, why don’t you let Nana read to you while I speak to the policemen?” Elizabeth said when she saw the detectives. Her daughter nodded and allowed her mother to lift her off of her lap and down to the adjacent cushion. Abbie’s grandmother sat next to her and picked up the story—something to do with rabbits—where Elizabeth had left off.

  The pastor’s wife escorted the detectives into the small kitchen. They sat down at a square, wooden table next to the refrigerator. Like the church next door, the parsonage was in need of updating. The linoleum floor, compressed wood cabinets, and Formica countertop harkened back to a different era.

  “We’re very sorry for your loss, ma’am,” Harrison said, his expression as genuine as ever.

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair. Seitzer examined her rigid facial features. Her green eyes lacked the shimmer they possessed in the family photo. But Seitzer had a feeling the loss of that sparkle predated her husband’s death. “I wanted to thank you for staying with my children last night. It means a lot to me,” she said.

  “That was all Harrison here,” Seitzer said. “He and his fiancée.”

  “I just feel so bad I wasn’t there for them last night. They needed me and I just went to sleep.” She bowed her head.

  “It’s not your fault, Mrs. Wilcox. You actually gave us quite a scare,” Seitzer said. “How long have you been taking sleeping pills?”

  Her eyes reconnected with Seitzer’s. “A few months now.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you need to start taking sleeping pills, besides the fact you couldn’t sleep?”

  She sighed and swept her right hand back through her gently curled brown hair. “Ever since Graham’s prediction went viral, things have been pretty stressful around here. I guess it was taking its toll on me.”

  “How had things become stressful?” Seitzer asked.

  The widow inhaled before she answered. “There was more attention from outsiders, more all-night prayer meetings, more events designed to get the word out.” Elizabeth paused for a moment. “It was like holding your breath for a year and just waiting until you could breathe again.”

  “How was your marriage during this time?”

  Mrs. Wilcox grimaced. “Not very good. I really tried to be supportive, but it was just so hard. Graham was obsessed. We couldn’t do anything normal. Everything revolved around the fact that Jesus was supposed to come back and we had to be ready. Most nights, Graham would disappear into his office until late at night. He was hardly ever here when I went to bed.”

  “What was he doing in his office?”

  “Praying, I guess. Or studying the Bible. Honestly, he could have been watching porn or having an affair and it would have had the same impact on our marriage.”

  Elizabeth’s dour assessment of her marriage didn’t surprise Seitzer, though people often expected more from clergy. But the fact that she divulged their struggles so freely did give him pause—it was as if she had been waiting for someone to ask these questions.

  “So it wasn’t unusual for him to be there late on a Friday night?”

  “No. Especially since yesterday was the big day and they had the service at the church to wait for Jesus.”

  “What exactly happened last night?”

  “We came back to the church from Winston park when the sun set. People were singing and praying, mostly.”

  “What was the mood like when you went back to the church?”

  “People were starting to murmur. The leadership was maintaining a united front to the congregation, but I think everyone was wearing down a bit. Most of the people had to take off work to go to the park and demonstrate. People had been there all day and they were tired.”

  “How many people were there?”

  “A hundred, hundred-fifty.”

  “That’s a big crowd for that small church,” Seitzer said.

  Elizabeth Wilcox nodded. “Standing room only. It was Graham’s big dream—a full church.”

  “What time did you leave?”

  “I finally took the kids home at 10:30 pm. They were just wiped.”

  “How did your husband feel about you leaving?”

  “He wasn’t happy. But I told him there was no rule saying Jesus wouldn’t take His people if they were sleeping and I walked out.”

  “Your husband let you leave without an argument?”

  “He might have put up more of a fuss, but he didn’t want to make a scene in front of everyone.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “I put the kids to sleep, then I went to bed, took a sleeping pill, and the next thing I remember is you waking me up.”

  “You didn’t hear any gunshots or any other noises?”

  “Nothing. Once I take the sleeping pill, I’m out for the rest of the night.”

  “Gary Price said that your husband had received some death threats because of his prediction—do you know anything about that?” Harrison asked.

  “No,” Elizabeth replied, shaking her head. “Graham never mentioned that. But then again, we hadn’t been talking much lately.”

  “How do you think people in the church reacted when they found out your husband was wrong?” Seitzer asked.

  “I really worried about what the fallout would be. I warned Graham. But he would never temper his prediction. He believed if he did, it would show a lack of faith. There was no reining him in.”

  “Was there anyone in the church that Graham was having problems with, someone who might want to hurt him, or harbor a grudge against him?”

  “No, not that I can think of. The church really seemed to eat up his prophetic bravado. Graham was ready to walk headlong into the abyss because of what he believed and they were more than happy to follow.”

  “It doesn’t really seem like you were,” Seitzer said. “Didn’t you believe he was right?”

  Elizabeth glanced down at her feet and swept her hair away from her forehead again. “I wanted to. I really, really wanted to. I don’t know how much you know about rapture predictions, but Graham was not exactly the first person who believed he knew the date of Jesus’ return. And they were all wrong. So I just figured Graham was too.”

  Harrison jumped in again. “Do you know anyone outside the church who might have wanted to hurt your husband?”

  The widow considered the question. “Graham organized a lot of different demonstrations. Obviously, some people from the community didn’t like that.”

  “What kind of demonstrations?”

  Elizabeth appeared hesitant to answer the question. “Mainly, it was just about warning people about Jesus coming back. Most people ignored us or mocked us. I didn’t really ever witness any hostility.”

  Seitzer nodded. “Ma’am, I hate to ask this, but I have to; given the state of your marriage, was there anyone else that maybe you were involved with?” Seitzer usually rifled these questions at his suspects, regardless of their emotional state. But he found his voice become softer as he questioned Elizabeth Wilcox.

  She glanced back at him, her dull eyes regaining their sharpness. “What are you asking me?”

  “Were you having an affair?”

  She hesitated just long enough to demonstrate some kind of qualifying thought process was taking place in her mind. Eventually, she replied, “No.”

  Seitzer couldn’t let her hesitation go unchecked. “Anyone that maybe you
were just talking to or confiding in that might have been interested in you romantically?”

  “No.” Elizabeth Wilcox answered quicker this time, but her voice still sounded tentative. Seitzer tried to follow his own counsel to Harrison that people didn’t always react the way he expected them to. Besides, if she had vehemently denied any extramarital relationship, Seitzer would have still suspected her. However, he did file her reaction to the question away for future consideration.

  “Well Mrs. Wilcox, thank you for your time. I imagine we might want to speak to you again as we find out new information. We’d appreciate it if you didn’t leave town for a while.”

  “I didn’t kill my husband,” she insisted.

  “Never said you did,” Seitzer replied. “Just figured you might want to go to your folks’ house and get out of town and it’d be easier for us to communicate with you if you stuck around.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Elizabeth replied, an edge to her voice.

  “Good.” Seitzer smiled. “That will make life easier on all of us. Thank you again for your time. We’ll see ourselves out.”

  The detectives trekked through the living room, where Elizabeth’s mom was still seated with Abbie. The grandfather and the boy were nowhere to be seen. Harrison smiled and waved at the little girl when she looked up at the policemen walking out.

  “I wonder how the boy is doing,” Harrison said after they stepped off the porch.

  “Who knows,” Seitzer replied. He walked past their car, parked on the street in front of the parsonage, toward the church. Harrison followed him.

  “She still doesn’t seem too broken up about her husband’s death,” Harrison said.

  “Maybe not,” Seitzer conceded. “But she strikes me as someone who said goodbye to her husband a long time ago. I know that feeling. Friday night was just a formality. A bloody and violent formality, but inevitable nonetheless.”

  Seitzer stepped onto the lawn on the side of the small, brick church. He made his way to the back as Harrison followed.

  “You know, she could’ve walked over to the church after everyone left, shot her husband, taken the sleeping pill and hoped that if someone did call the police, she would be asleep by then,” said Harrison. “That would explain why the neighbor didn’t see anyone leave the church or drive away after the shooting. If she used the back door, I doubt the neighbor would have been able to see her.”