“How’d you see a tattoo on his wrist if he was wearing a hoodie?” Seitzer asked.
“His sleeve was rolled up just enough so I could see it when I shook his hand.”
“I don’t suppose you got a name?” Seitzer asked.
“No. I said good morning to him, but he didn’t say anything back. He just shook my hand and sat back down in his chair. The whole time it was like he was looking past me.”
“This man, did you see him at the church on Friday?” Harrison inquired.
“No, I don’t remember seeing him at the church, but I think I saw him when we were at the park, earlier in the day.”
“Did you see this man too, ma’am?” Seitzer asked.
“I did see him, but only from a distance. He gave me the creeps.” Nancy Thompson seemed a bit more nervous at the mention of the man with the tattoo.
“What about among church members—did anyone have anything against Pastor Wilcox?” Harrison asked.
“Now that you ask, there was a man who Pastor Wilcox disciplined a few months ago,” Jim Thompson said.
“Disciplined?” Seitzer asked.
“Yes. George Gregorson was his name. He was having an affair. His wife discovered it and came to Pastor Wilcox looking for help. Pastor Wilcox called George to repentance in front of the entire church. Gregorson stormed out that day and never returned.”
“Anyone else besides George Gregorson?” Harrison asked.
“Well, Graham was pretty active on the internet. He did a lot of stuff on YouTube and social media. He had some pretty heated conversations with people, I think. I’m pretty sure I remember Graham getting death threats from people online.”
“Did you see any of these alleged threats?” Seitzer asked.
“No, I didn’t. Graham didn’t seem too worried and we figured God would protect him.”
Seitzer resisted the urge to say something snarky. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, thank you for your time. Please give us a call if you remember anything important. No doubt we’ll be in touch.”
The detectives exited the apartment. “How are we going to track down a nameless man who wears a hoodie and has a dragon tattoo?” Harrison asked while they walked to the car.
“If he even exists in the first place, I don’t know,” Seitzer replied. “Do you know what a dragon represents in the book of Revelation?” Harrison blinked at Seitzer but didn’t respond. “Satan. Once again, it looks as though we need to track down Beelzebub.”
Before they entered their Impala, Seitzer leaned his back against the door and stared off in the direction of the cemetery. “Since we’re discussing bible trivia, do you happen to know what the prescribed punishment in Deuteronomy is for a failed prophecy?” Again, Harrison didn’t answer, forcing Seitzer to answer his own question. “Stoning. And not the good kind.”
Harrison frowned. “Do you really think the leaders of the church conspired to kill Pastor Wilcox? You know people don’t take most of the stuff in the bible one hundred percent literally, right?”
“I don’t know,” Seitzer replied. “I see a lot of people around here taking a whole lot of stuff literally. I wouldn’t put it past these people to do something drastic in the name of their Lord. And for what’s it worth, their stories are starting to sound similar. A dark presence hanging around the church—Thompson ran with what the Prices first brought up. They all left at the exact same time—it just seems a little convenient.”
Harrison processed his partner’s theory before replying. “Assuming you’re onto something, how would we catch them if they’re going to corroborate one another’s alibi?”
“Bring them in at the same time, put them in separate rooms, see if we can catch them in a lie or contradiction. Conspiracies break down eventually. You’d think with these religious folks, if they were conspiring, someone’s conscience would prick them sooner or later.”
Harrison remained silent as they boarded the car. As the two drove away, Seitzer asked, “You got plans tomorrow?”
“Something in the morning with my fiancée—why?”
“I wondered if you’d go to church with me.”
“I thought you weren’t a man of faith.”
“I’m not. But I want to see how Holy Spirit Tabernacle responds to the tragedy. Maybe our being there will put the pressure on a bit if someone from the church did kill Wilcox. Besides, maybe our man with the hoodie and dragon tattoo will show up.”
For one morning, Seitzer could set aside his aversion to entering houses of worship. Maybe they’d find Satan infiltrating the Holy Spirit Tabernacle. Or maybe they’d discover he had been there all along.
Chapter Eight
Daniel Seitzer went for his usual Sunday run. Sundays were the worst for him—just one long foray into killing time, trying not to obsess over the darkest moments from his life. He mornings began with a small breakfast while perusing the sports scores from the night before on his tablet. Then, regardless of the weather, he would hit the pavement for a good hour, despite the fact his knees were bad and his body would ache for the rest of the day.
While he ran, Seitzer’s mind wandered. His most frequent mental destinations included his ex-wife’s betrayal of him and his father’s failing health and recent death. That morning, he imagined—as he often did—that his former spouse had returned to him, remorseful over ruining their seven-year marriage and desirous of a second chance. The detective’s reaction varied with each hypothetical situation. Sometimes, he delighted in rebuffing her and casting her to the side as she had done to him, so he could revel in the expression of pain on her face. Other days, when Seitzer felt lonelier, he caressed her face and drew her toward him in a gentle embrace. Still, on other darker days, Seitzer pictured having a tryst with her only to viciously reject her afterward. Since the opportunity of carrying out any of these scenarios had not presented itself in the three years since they had split, imagining any of them was like deciding what he would do if he won the lottery.
After Seitzer exhausted his usual speculations of reuniting with his ex-wife, his thoughts turned to the Wilcox case. He mentally sifted through the various lines of evidence that had presented plenty of suspicions, but no clear suspects. Because it was on his mind, Seitzer deviated from his normal running route onto Grove Street, where the murder had taken place.
Seitzer stopped in front of the church, unusually lifeless for a Sunday morning. Before he could decide what he wanted to do there, voices from next door caught his attention. Elizabeth Wilcox and her two children were in their backyard. Mrs. Wilcox looked his way but quickly diverted her gaze back to her children. Seitzer walked in her direction.
“Good morning Mrs. Wilcox.”
She turned toward him. Elizabeth wore a cream button down sweater and gray yoga pants. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, which coupled with the morning light displayed the creases in her face encroaching on her youthful beauty.
“Good morning Detective.” She examined his navy blue t-shirt, stained with sweat, and his striped track pants. “Are you here in an official capacity?”
“Not really. But honestly, it is hard for me to shed my ‘official capacity,’ even if I’m not working.”
She nodded. “I guess I could understand that. Is this what you enjoy doing when you’re not on duty—visiting crime scenes?”
“Well, we don’t get too many scenes like this one, fortunately.” Seitzer once again tried to read the widow. As Harrison had noted earlier, she didn’t seem overly mournful. Melancholy, yes, but not despondent. Seitzer thought he detected the slightest hint of relief in her face.
“Did you come to ask me more questions?” she asked, returning her attention to her children. Abigail ran in circles with a bubble wand; Travis swung a small branch against the fence on the other side of their property. “I am one of your suspects, right?”
Seitzer redirected the conversation. “How are your kids doing?”
Elizabeth let out a sigh. “They’re doing okay, I guess.”<
br />
“I know the boy took it hard when he found out.” Titus’ back was turned to his mother. He dropped the stick he had been holding and stood motionless over it.
“Actually, in some ways, it’s easier to deal with Titus. He’s hurting, but that’s normal. He understands what happened and he’s in mourning. It’s Abigail that’s harder. I think I’ve had to explain five times already that her daddy is gone. But then thirty minutes later she’ll ask me, ‘when is Daddy coming back from heaven?’” A tear formed in her eye and slid down her face. “I hate that they have to know this pain.”
The tear was the first sign of grief that Seitzer had seen in her, though it seemed to be more on behalf of her children than it was for her.
“Titus has talked about finding the killer a few times and how he wants the person who hurt his daddy to suffer for what they did. I’ve warned him that getting some kind of justice might not feel as good as he thinks it will, but I’m trying to let him have his feelings.”
“We’ll do everything we can to bring his father’s killer to justice,” Seitzer said.
“I believe it,” Mrs. Wilcox replied.
“Oh, there is one question I’d like to ask.”
“Go ahead.”
“Jim Thompson described a man wearing a hoodie who attended your church last Sunday and maybe the Sunday before—do you remember seeing a man who fits that description?”
Elizabeth Wilcox considered Seitzer’s question before shaking her head. “No, sorry. I don’t remember anyone like that. But I’m not saying someone like that didn’t come, either. Things have been pretty hectic in the church for the last few weeks and we’ve had lots of visitors. Plus, I usually work with the children during the service, so if that guy came in a little later, I probably would’ve missed him.”
“Okay. Thanks. I should be going. Let us know if there’s anything the department can do for your family.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
Seitzer suspected Elizabeth knew the department could do very little to assist her or her children beyond apprehending the murderer. He turned to continue his run but stopped.
“Do you know what they’re doing for church today?” Meeting at Holy Spirit Tabernacle would have been out of the question.
“They’re meeting later today, at the Methodist Church.”
Seitzer knew that church well. In fact, just the mention of it jolted him enough that he physically recoiled. Elizabeth Wilcox looked at him curiously.
“Something wrong, Detective?”
He shook off his memories of Sundays at the Woodside Methodist Church. “No, I was just trying to remember which church it was.” His excuse didn’t seem to pacify the widow who continued to watch him. “Will you be at the service?” he asked, to further distract her from his reaction.
“I don’t think so. It would be a bit much for us to handle at this point,” Elizabeth said.
“Has anyone from the church reached out to you since your husband’s death?” Seitzer asked.
Elizabeth shrugged. “A few people.”
“Isn’t it kind of odd that more people haven’t reached out?” Seitzer asked.
“Truthfully, I never really fit in here. The only thing that connected me to the church was Graham and now that he’s gone …” Mrs. Wilcox trailed off and resumed her observation of her children.
“Alright, I’ll be in touch, ma’am.”
Seitzer dismissed himself and resumed his run. He headed toward the center of town to the Methodist church where the Holy Spirit Tabernacle would hold their service later. The large stone edifice, located just off the row of small shops and restaurants of Main Street, rose above the Woodside skyline.
He froze twenty yards from the church. “Why did it have to be here?” The Methodist Church’s own service must have just been starting because groups of people were moving from the parking lot to the front entrance while a bell in the steeple chimed. One couple, in particular, caught Seitzer’s gaze: a tall, lean man with short, brown hair, dressed in khakis and an oxford shirt escorted a slender woman in a long sleeved dress with shoulder length, dirty blonde hair. Their backs faced Seitzer, but the detective identified them when the woman turned her smiling face toward the man, who returned her affectionate gaze.
“Harrison?” Seitzer called. The man stopped in his tracks and the woman looked back at the detective. Despite being coated in sweat, Seitzer approached the well-dressed couple. Harrison led his fiancée back to his partner and met him halfway.
“Good morning,” Harrison said. “Going for a run?”
“Yeah. Thought I’d scout out where the Holy Spirit Tabernacle service is happening later.”
“It’s happening here?” Harrison asked.
“Yeah, later today. You going to join me?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Good.” Seitzer shifted his attention to the woman holding hands with Harrison. “You must be Harrison’s fiancée.”
“Yes, I’m Julia.” She gave him a welcoming smile.
“Nice to meet you, Julia. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a little disgusting at the moment.”
“That’s okay.”
Seitzer eyed his partner. “I didn’t know you were a church-goer, Harrison. You never mentioned it before.”
“Yeah, I guess it just never came up.”
Seitzer continued to stare down Harrison, who looked away at his fiancée. “Well, I don’t want to keep you. It was nice meeting you, Julia. Harrison, I’ll meet up with you later.”
“Bye.” Julia waved to him.
Harrison nodded as Seitzer began the home stretch of his run. He would definitely need to have a conversation with Harrison about his partner’s religious affiliation later. There were worse things his new partner could have been, like an alcoholic, white supremacist, or corrupt cop. All of these identities would have strained Seitzer’s relationship with Harrison more than the young detective being a Christian. Still, Seitzer didn’t welcome the prospect of working so closely with a person of faith—especially on this case.
Chapter Nine
The Price family arrived early for the 3 pm worship service. Charity sang in the church’s worship team, which meant she had to meet the rest of the musicians to practice before the service began. Her family was the first to arrive. Gary Price, the preeminent elder in the church, was slated to preach. Glenda, the effective matriarch of the church, performed all kinds of vital functions that allowed the worship service to happen. All of that felt normal. The strangest aspect wasn’t even that her sister, Hope, was also in tow. On a typical day, that fact would have been odd enough, since to Charity’s knowledge, Hope hadn’t darkened the doors of a church in two years. But due to Pastor Wilcox’s violent death, everything felt surreal.
Most Sundays, Charity enjoyed singing at church. But she dreaded this service. The large, cathedral style building intimidated Charity with its grand arches and high ceilings. As she progressed through the church’s sanctuary, followed by Hope, Charity feared her wispy, ethereal voice would be swallowed up by the structure’s vast recesses. But the acoustics of the new location represented only of the young girl’s fears of what would take place during that day.
Jason Watkins, dressed in skinny jeans and a graphic t-shirt, already occupied the stage, standing behind a black metal music stand with his acoustic guitar strapped over his shoulder. An incredible vocalist and guitarist, Jason led the worship team. He gave Charity a half smile when he saw her and Hope approaching. His normally fashionably gelled hair seemed disheveled.
“Hi, Jason. You remember my sister Hope, right?” Charity asked. No one was likely to forget her rebellious older sister or the scandalous thing she had done. Jason nodded and gave a terse welcome to Hope.
“Where’s Theresa?” Charity asked. “I thought she was supposed to sing with us today.” Theresa, Jason’s wife, periodically sang with the group, too. Though plainer than Charity’s voice, Theresa’s was stronger and would have projected bet
ter into the vacuous sanctuary.
The young man’s countenance seemed to droop at Charity’s question. “She was really shaken by what happened this weekend, so she went to spend some time at her parent’s house.”
Jason’s response and Theresa’s absence troubled Charity. Amanda Wallace, the church’s keyboardist, emerged from the wings of the sanctuary. She carried a cup of water in one hand while the other hand secured her seven-months-pregnant belly.
“Hi Charity,” she said, smiling widely until she noticed Hope sitting behind Charity. “Oh, hi Hope. So nice to see you.” Amanda strained to demonstrate a modicum of grace to Charity’s fallen sister.
Hope gave a perfunctory wave at Amanda. Charity’s sister never extended much energy in putting up appearances. Going into the service, Hope must have been aware of the kind of hushed scrutiny her presence would draw.
After that brief exchange, Kevin entered the sanctuary, drumsticks in hand. Though not the principal reason Charity enjoyed singing on the worship team or the reason she joined the team in the first place, playing together every week had stoked the tepid embers of their secret relationship.
“Hi, Kevin,” Amanda said. No one else in the group acknowledged his entrance verbally. Charity gave him a very measured smile, Hope shot a two fingered salute in his direction, and Jason ignored him completely.
“Alright, we should get started,” Jason said, his voice tense. Charity and Amanda each stepped toward him so he could pass out their music. When Charity took the sheets from him, she noticed Jason’s hands were shaking. “Okay, let’s do ‘Jesus, Messiah,’” he instructed. The team started to play, but the song faltered from the beginning and the players never managed to get in sync with one another. Jason seemed tentative. With their leader moving forward uncertainly, every other aspect of the team’s sound suffered. After a few moments of fits and starts, Jason gave up and stopped playing.
“I’m sorry. I’m off key, off rhythm today.” Jason rubbed his face with both hands. “Let’s try it again from the top.”
The team’s second went no better than the first. Once again, Jason abandoned the song. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do this today,” he said. Without another word of explanation, Jason walked off the stage and straight out of the church.
Everyone Was Left Behind Page 6
