Everyone Was Left Behind

by Steve Armstrong

  “I suppose that’s possible.” The two detectives reached the back of the church and the fairly dense patch of woods that marked the outer boundary of the church property. “That’s a pretty nice footpath.” Seitzer pointed to a trail winding through the brush.

  “How far back does it go?” Harrison asked.

  “I wondered the same thing last night, so I looked at a map. Turns out, the other side of the woods is the cemetery. Richard Hayes said he saw no one leave the church and no cars on the street. Now, maybe the killer shot Wilcox, stayed inside for a while then left when Hayes went back to bed—which is possible—but he still would’ve had to escape on foot.”

  Harrison pondered Seitzer’s observations for a moment. “So if your scenario is right, then this killing must have been premeditated. The perpetrator would’ve had to have known they were going to shoot Wilcox so they could bring a gun and not bring their car.”

  “Unless the person walks everywhere and there was a gun on premises already,” Seitzer countered.

  Harrison frowned. “You really think there would be a gun at the church?”

  “Why not? Right wing gun nuts are very often bible thumping fundamentalists, too.”

  “I don’t know. Keeping a gun at church seems a bit much.”

  “Maybe so. But it is another possibility. And at this point, we need to consider all the possibilities. Or, someone could have left the church and come back later. It’s a small town. I’m sure plenty of people live within a twenty-minute walk or so of the church,” Seitzer said.

  He checked the note taking app on his phone. “Jim and Nancy Thompson live on 27 Pierson Drive. Do you know where that is?” Harrison shook his head. Seitzer pointed past the woods to the right. “Over there, on the other side of the cemetery. That’s a pretty easy walk. Let’s go pay the Thompsons a visit.”

  Chapter Six

  Charity Price sat on the front stoop of her family’s house. Sitting amongst the early displays of spring flowers and blossoming trees insulated her from the specter of death that had visited her family that morning. But Charity also sat outside because she could no longer stand listening to her parents, especially her mother. Ever since the detectives left, her mom and dad had locked themselves in their prayer room. Beyond the door, Charity’s mom alternated between sobs and the ecstatic ramblings she designated as “speaking in tongues.” Despite her parents’ best effort to coach her, Charity had never mastered the art of speaking in tongues and consequently avoided those who did whenever possible.

  Charity was also waiting for her sister to arrive. Their parents knew nothing of Hope’s looming visit and the young girl thought it best to personally escort Hope into the house. No one else was as qualified as Charity to serve as a mediator between the two frequently warring parties. Relations between them had become so frayed that the previous summer Hope elected to stay with a friend in town rather than abide under the same roof as her parents.

  While Charity waited, the figure of a boy her age rounded the block and came into view. As he drew nearer, she recognized the neatly cropped hair and lean frame of Kevin. Under normal circumstances, Kevin and Charity only associated with each other at church events. The watchful eyes of their parents—Kevin’s father and mother were also respected leaders in the church—prevented them from attempting anything more. Kevin did periodically suggest non-church affiliated rendezvouses; Charity always shot these down because she was sure her parents would find out. Just like they found out about what Hope had been doing, a discovery that had torn the family apart. Kevin continued on his path toward Charity.

  “Hey,” he said, stopping in front of her.

  “Hey,” she replied, attempting a smile.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around. “Crazy what happened, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  He sat down next to Charity. Instinctively, she leaned away from him. But he moved his hand up to her back, an action she had permitted in the past, provided no one was looking.

  “Kevin, what are you doing? My mom and dad are right inside.”

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. But if my parents catch us, they’re going to be so mad. And they’re both really angry already. I don’t want to do anything more to upset them.”

  Kevin withdrew his hand and his eyes became sullen. “Sometimes, I just want to know that you’re into me because it feels like you’re not.”

  “You know the rules, Kevin. You knew them before we started doing this.”

  “Yeah, I did. And I hate the rules. I want to touch you, a lot. And I want to do more than just kiss you. But whatever, we can’t, I get it.” He looked down at the ground as he organized his thoughts. “It’s just that sometimes I feel like you like the rules. And you’re happy that they’re there so you don’t have to touch me.”

  Charity glanced away from him. He was getting close to a core truth about their relationship, though he hadn’t quite reached it yet. Instead of explaining, Charity went on the offensive.

  “Are you doing this again?” she demanded. “Oh, Jesus is coming back, do you want to have sex with me before he comes?” she said in a mocking voice. “Oh, Pastor Wilcox just got shot, can I touch you? Don’t you want me?”

  Kevin rolled his eyes. “Well, forgive me being attracted to you! That’s just crazy.”

  “Why does everything have to be about sex with you anyway?”

  Kevin stood up. “Everything? We’ve been going out for six months and the most we’ve ever done is a tiny kiss on the lips. And in all of that time, I’ve talked about sex with you how many times?”

  At that moment, a tan Toyota Corolla pulled up to the curb in front of Charity’s house, forcing them to put their argument on hold. A diminutive redhead popped out of the car and grinned widely.

  “There’s my sister!” She gave Kevin a once over. “And who’s this?”

  “Hope, this is Kevin—you remember him from church right?”

  “Hi, Kevin.”

  “Nice to see you again,” he said, managing enough politeness to be passable. “I have to be going. Bye, Charity.” Kevin stalked off without looking back.

  “He’s cuter than I remember,” Hope said, watching him leave. “Looks like I interrupted something, though. What’s the matter?” She stared mischievously into her sister’s eyes. “Lover’s spat?”

  “We’re not lovers,” Charity protested.

  Hope tilted her head toward her sister. “Come on, Charity. I’m your sister. Something’s going on between you two—you’re not going to fool me.”

  “Nothing’s going on. Just don’t tell Mom and Dad about it.” Kevin would have contended that beyond a few episodes of holding hands, occasional PG-rated touches and a couple of tentative kisses, there was nothing to tell. At least, nothing that would have bothered normal parents. But Gary and Glenda Price were not normal.

  “Me? Tell Mom and Dad anything? Have you even been paying attention the last few years?” Hope sat down in the space Kevin had vacated. She changed the subject. “Did you tell them I was coming?”

  “No. I didn’t have a chance. Right after the police left, they shut themselves up in the prayer room.”

  Hope nodded. “That sounds about right. So what did the Police ask?”

  “Oh, Hope, it was awful. They were asking questions about who was the last to see Pastor Graham alive, about people in the church who might have something against him, and even about Pastor Wilcox’s relationship with his wife.”

  Hope nodded. “It makes sense that those are their first suspects. They were probably all the last people to see him alive. Especially the wife.”

  Charity glared at her sister. “How can you say that? Do you even know Elizabeth Wilcox? She might be the best person I know.”

  “Not everything is the way it seems,” Hope cautioned. “And marriages become troubled—even the best of them.”

  Charity rejected her sister’s warning. “Stop talkin
g about Elizabeth like that. She would never do anything that would hurt her kids!”

  “Geez, okay!” Hope raised her arms up in surrender.

  “And no one from the church would’ve done it either. We’re a family!”

  The redhead smiled. “Ah, Charity; so young, so naive. Families do worse things to each other than almost anyone else in the world.”

  Charity turned her head away from her sister to the park across the street. She released a sigh as she watched a mom and her two kids enter the playground. The squeak of nearby swings mixed with the lyrical voices of children, tugging on Charity’s memories.

  “Remember when we used to go there as kids?” Charity asked. Hope nodded. “Remember how much fun we had there—you, me, Faith and mom?”

  “Yes, I do. But that was a long time ago. We were just kids. We did whatever Mom and Dad told us to. Things change when you don’t want to live the life they want you to anymore.” Hope brushed Charity’s blonde hair back from her face. “You’ll find that out too one day.”

  “Just please promise me you’ll do everything you can to get along with Mom and Dad,” Charity said, her eyes pleading.

  “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. But there are two sides to this equation; you know that, right?”

  “I know.”

  “Alright, let’s go in,” Hope said. The two sisters rose and passed through the front door, arm in arm. As luck would have it, Glenda had just moved from the prayer room into the kitchen to make lunch.

  “Charity, dear, could you come in here and help me make lunch?” Glenda called.

  “Okay, Mom.” Charity walked into the kitchen with Hope following her. Glenda’s back was to her girls as she worked at the counter. When she finally turned around, Glenda froze.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “It’s nice to see you too, Mom.”

  Charity felt her insides churn as her sister and mother faced off against one another. “I told Hope about Pastor Wilcox. She came to help.”

  Glenda eyed her oldest living daughter suspiciously. “You didn’t need to come,” she said, her face rigid.

  “Would you prefer I leave?” Hope asked.

  Charity managed to attract her mother’s gaze and gave her the same pleading look she had given Hope earlier. Her mother softened, just a bit.

  “Well, I suppose we could add another plate for lunch.”

  Her mom’s reply was the best Charity could hope for. But even as the two sisters began helping their mother make lunch, Charity couldn’t help wondering if her sister possessed ulterior motives. It wasn’t that Hope couldn’t be kind and supportive because she could be. But dropping everything at a moment’s notice and intentionally placing herself in their mom’s line of fire? That did not correspond to anything Charity had seen in the last two years.

  Chapter Seven

  Detectives Seitzer and Harrison stood outside the apartment of Jim and Nancy Thompson, waiting for someone to answer the door. The couple lived in a small apartment in a large complex on the other side of the cemetery.

  “I wonder where they used to live,” Harrison asked, “before they sold their house.”

  Right after he uttered those words, footsteps neared and the door opened. A neatly dressed woman in her fifties with short gray hair and a regal face smiled at them.

  “Hello, can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m Detective Daniel Seitzer and this is Detective John Harrison. We’d like to ask you some questions about Pastor Graham Wilcox.”

  The smile vanished from her face. “Oh, yes. Please come in.” She stepped aside so the detectives could enter. “Please, have a seat and I’ll go call Jim.” The woman disappeared down a short hallway. Harrison and Seitzer hovered around the living room, surveying the tiny apartment.

  “I don’t know what their old house looked like, but this has to be downsizing,” Harrison said in a low voice.

  Seitzer nodded. “Given the size of the apartment, it’s taking a little longer than I’d expect for our hosts to return.”

  As if on cue, a refined looking man in glasses appeared in the hallway. He greeted them with a salesman-like smile and an executive handshake. “Jim Thompson, pleased to meet you. Have a seat.” He sat down in the nearest chair and Nancy Thompson perched on the arm of the chair next to her husband.

  The detectives obliged their hosts and sat down on the couch. Seitzer kicked off the interview. “We have a few questions in regards to Pastor Wilcox’s death if you don’t mind.”

  Jim Thompson removed his glasses and wiped them on his oxford shirt. “Of course,” he said, after returning his spectacles to their proper position. “Anything to help. We’re still in shock over Pastor Graham’s passing.”

  “We understand that you were at the church Friday night, is that correct?” Seitzer asked.

  “Yes, that’s correct. We were there with a few other families.” Nancy Thompson gave her husband a sideways glance and her hands tremored slightly.

  “Did you see anything unusual while you were leaving? Someone on the street or in a car that wasn’t supposed to be there?”

  “No, nothing out of the ordinary. By the time we left, it was very late.”

  “Do you remember what time you left?” Harrison interjected.

  “Sometime around 12:30, 12:45 am.” Thompson glanced at his wife who nodded in confirmation.

  “Just long enough to make sure Jesus didn’t come back, right?” Seitzer asked, who sprung up from his seat and began to pace around the apartment.

  Thompson, ready for a fight, gazed back at his interrogator.

  “I like your apartment,” Seitzer said, turning toward the Thompsons. “It’s very cozy.”

  “Thank you,” Nancy Thompson said, watching the detective’s movements closely.

  “I understand this is a recent move for you?”

  “Yes,” Jim Thompson replied.

  “Now I’ve heard that the reason you moved is because you sold your old house and business. Was that because of Pastor Wilcox’s prophecy?”

  Jim Thompson sighed. “Yes, it was. I’m sure our decision wouldn’t make sense to someone like you.”

  Seitzer narrowed his eyes at Thompson. “Someone like me?”

  “Yes, someone of the flesh. Someone who relies on his own wisdom and not the wisdom of God.” Thompson’s voice suggested Seitzer should be offended by that designation. Instead, the detective just chuckled.

  “What makes you so sure I’m a man of the flesh?”

  “Your tone, the way you look at us. I’ve been a follower of Christ for a long time. I’ve learned to tell over the years who thinks we’re crazy.”

  “Well, Mr. Thompson, you guessed right. I’m a man of reason, not of faith. And I’d say that most people would think you’re crazy for believing the things you do; of course in this country, you never know. But crazy or not, you must have been pretty angry at your pastor for the mess he caused.”

  Thompson hesitated, his wife fidgeted. “We were disappointed,” he answered slowly.

  “Disappointed? That’s the word people keep using. Are you sure you didn’t mean to say angry?”

  “We were too tired to be angry,” Nancy Thompson said. “We’d been out all day, and we were emotionally drained. So we went home to sleep on everything that happened. Like we already told you, we left, with at least half a dozen other people. Ask them, ask the Prices. They’ll tell you.”

  “Yes, ma’am, they did tell me that.” Seitzer walked over to the kitchen window and looked out. In the distance, beyond the next few houses, he could see the cemetery. “I was looking at a map and saw that the cemetery is basically right on the other side of the woods behind your church. Must be a ten, fifteen-minute walk at most.” Seitzer looked back at the Thompsons. “Do you ever walk to church?”

  “No,” Thompson said emphatically.

  “Do you own a gun?” Seitzer asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you really think we
killed Pastor Graham?” Nancy Thompson demanded. “Even if we were frustrated with the way things turned out, we never would’ve killed him. What kind of people do you think we are?”

  “The kind of people who sold their house and business because they believed in another year they’d be living in heaven. I’d wager you were more than just a tad bit frustrated about the way things turned out. I think you were angry—maybe even angry enough to kill the man who cost you everything.”

  Thompson sneered at Seitzer. “You don’t know anything. Man is not in control of anything—God is. And God has His reasons for the way things have worked out.”

  “Has God bothered to disclose to you what His reasons might be for having you sell your house and business?”

  “I don’t need reasons—I have faith,” Thompson replied as if that comment sealed his victory in the conversation. “If you really want to find Graham’s killer, I suggest you look at some of the people hanging around our church in the last few weeks.”

  “Yes,” Nancy Thompson said, jumping in again. “There’s been a dark presence hanging around the church lately.”

  Seitzer rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”

  “Ma’am, when you say dark presence, do you mean a feeling or a person?” Harrison interjected before Seitzer could further chastise the woman.

  “There was a strange person that I saw the last two Sundays at church. He was a man wearing a black hoodie,” Jim Thompson said.

  “Black hoodie?” Harrison repeated.

  “Yes. He kept the hood on during the entire service, which I thought was unusual.”

  “Do you have a name? Or can you describe this man?” Harrison asked.

  “He was white, kind of tall, medium build. Oh, and he had a tattoo of a dragon on his wrist,” Thompson said.