“Mrs. Wilcox?”
“Last week, Jason sent me a weird message. It said, ‘I did it. It’s over. What do we do now?’”
Seitzer repeated the words under his breath. He hadn’t seen that message. “When did he send it?”
“I saw it Saturday morning.”
“So you got a message the night your husband died from a man who might have been interested in you that read, ‘I did it. It’s over,’ and you didn’t think that was relevant information?”
“I knew Jason couldn’t have done anything to Graham. So I deleted it and did my best to forget about it.”
“Have you talked to Jason since your husband’s death?”
“No. Haven’t seen or heard from him since.”
“Alright. Anything else?”
“No. That’s it.”
Seitzer turned to leave. Elizabeth stopped him. “Detective?” He rotated to face her. “Jason couldn’t have done it—he’s not capable of it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Goodnight.”
As Seitzer walked to the car, evidence in hand, he passed what must have been Elizabeth Wilcox’s father’s truck, parked in front of the parsonage. An NRA sticker caught his eye and gave him an idea that cast even more of a shadow of suspicion over Elizabeth Wilcox and Jason Watkins. Maybe Elizabeth Wilcox would never have pulled the trigger, but what if she found someone else who could?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
One week had passed since Graham Wilcox’s murder. Many things percolated inside Detective Seitzer’s mind as he worked at the police station Friday morning. Seitzer wrote the victim’s name on a blank sheet of unlined paper. At least five people possessed motive and opportunity to kill the minister, but no hard evidence linked any of them to the crime. Seitzer scrawled each suspect’s name on the paper and drew a line to each person from Graham Wilcox’s name. Beneath each suspect, Seitzer scribbled whatever evidence—no matter how slim— that might connect the person to the homicide.
Jim Thompson. The man possessed motive and opportunity since his apartment was a short trek through the woods. George Gregorson. The disgraced parishioner had perhaps the greatest motive of any of the suspects, and like Jim Thompson, possessed a convenient escape route from the murder scene. Ray Browning. Though the self-professed demon-possessed man lacked a clear motive, he seemed like someone people would’ve expected to do something violent. Jason Watkins. The young, talented, and good looking guitarist with the troubled marriage certainly had cause to off Wilcox, but nothing else linked him to the crime, besides a cryptic and inopportune text he had sent Elizabeth Wilcox. Elizabeth Wilcox. Seitzer wrote the name down and stared at it for a moment. She did have a reason. The detective drew a line between Wilcox and Watkins. If Elizabeth was involved, so was Watkins. Seitzer saw no possible way she could have had acted alone.
“What’s this?” Harrison asked, now standing over Seitzer’s shoulder as he worked.
The older detective sat up straight. “Oh, nothing. Just some notes on the case.” Both detectives had kept detailed reports since the case opened, but writing down the names and evidence in free form always seemed to jumpstart Seitzer’s thinking. He now wrote down the latest clue he had just unearthed, one that even Harrison didn’t even know about yet.
“Gun?” Harrison read the word that Seitzer had just scrawled beneath Elizabeth Wilcox’s name followed with a question mark. “Which gun?”
“I saw an NRA sticker on her father’s truck, so I checked with the New York handgun registry. Ted Thorton, her father, has a .357 that matches the make of the murder weapon.”
“You think Elizabeth Wilcox used his gun to kill her husband?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. If the gun is still in the father’s house, then I guess we’ll know she didn’t. But if he doesn’t have the gun anymore, then other possibilities exist.”
“Do you think her father could be a suspect? If he thought Graham Wilcox was mistreating his daughter, maybe he’d try something.”
“I think it would’ve taken abuse or something like that for her father to kill him. Besides, we called them at their home the night Graham Wilcox died, which is two hours away, at least. There isn’t any way he drove down here and then got back in time to pull off the shooting.”
“I suppose you’re right. Unless he was already here and his wife knew it. She could’ve driven down on her own and then met him here.”
Seitzer frowned. “I don’t know. That theory has a lot of moving parts to it. But I guess it’s possible. Maybe after we interview him, I’ll include him in the list of suspects. By the way, I picked up Elizabeth Wilcox’s phone last night. I dropped it off for Justin to extract deleted messages and images. He should have it ready by the time we get back.”
“You went to Elizabeth Wilcox’s by yourself? Why didn’t you call me?”
“It was easier to just do it alone.”
“Okay.” Harrison made a skeptical face but Seitzer ignored him. “Let’s go see if we can find Jason Watkins and Ray Browning.” He had tried calling their last known numbers to no avail. The call to Watkins went straight to voicemail and Browning’s old number was disconnected.
Before they could leave, Kelly and Glass walked into the room.
“So, you guys crack the case yet?” Kelly asked.
“It’s only been a week,” Seitzer answered, standing up to leave.
“Yeah, but with this new, young, hotshot detective from New York City on the case, I figured you would have it solved already.”
Harrison maintained his distance. He seemed unsure how he should take Kelly’s words. Even Seitzer didn’t know what Kelly was trying to accomplish. At that moment, Justin Lansky approached the three policemen from the other side of the station, carrying a file folder.
“I ran those background checks on the Wilcoxes like you asked, but nothing stood out. However, I did find something interesting with the Price family, though I don’t know if it matters to this case or not.”
“What’d you find?”
Lansky handed the detective the file folder. “The oldest Price girl, Faith, died of cancer seven years ago. But that isn’t really the interesting part. Remember that scandal two years back when that teacher got busted for having sex with a student?”
“Yeah, I do. Detective Howard worked that case.” Howard was the detective Harrison had replaced.
“Well, Hope Price was the student the teacher had sex with.”
“No kidding.” Seitzer opened the folder and searched through the case details. “I never met her back then. But I do remember that she refused to testify against the teacher.”
“What, was she in love with him?” Kelly asked.
“I don’t think that was it. If I remember correctly, it was something to the effect that she didn’t think it was fair for him to go to prison. The guy was married and had a young kid. She was sixteen and a half. Six more months and he would’ve been fired, probably still gotten divorced, but he wouldn’t have gone to prison.”
“She was right,” Kelly said, “It isn’t fair.”
Harrison, quiet up to that point, asserted himself into the conversation, an edge to his voice. “It was fair. He was in a position of power and used it to his advantage. I feel bad for his wife and kid, but he should’ve known better.”
“Oh, come on!” Kelly said. “Are you telling me if some pretty little thing threw herself at you, you’d just say ‘no’ and move on?”
“Yes, I would. And how do you know she threw himself at her? It’s much more likely he manipulated her.”
“Have you seen sixteen-year-olds these days? I’m telling you, they know what they’re doing. And the way, they dress? It’s just asking for trouble.”
Harrison, whose emotional temperature seemed like it had been steadily rising with each of Kelly’s replies, started to offer a rebuttal, but Seitzer cut him off.
“Kelly, maybe you should you stop telling us how attracted to sixteen-year-olds you are. There’s a time t
o shut your mouth and you crossed that point five minutes ago.”
The officer slapped Seitzer’s desk and walked away, murmuring as he went. “Stupid PC bullshit—can’t even say the obvious stuff.”
Seitzer watched him go before shaking his own head. Now that the irritant was removed, Harrison sat down at his own desk and collected himself.
“Ready to go?” Seitzer asked, ready to put the episode behind them.
Harrison nodded, stood back up again and followed Seitzer out the door.
The detectives stopped first at Jason Watkins’ job site, an insurance company in town. A middle-aged man with thinning hair and glasses named Terrence Williams greeted them at the door.
“Can I help you?” he asked, flashing a salesman’s smile.
“We’re looking for Jason Watkins. Does he work here?” Seitzer asked, showing his badge.
“He does, but he never came into work today. Didn’t call in, either. Is he okay?” The man seemed anxious.
“I’m sure he’s fine. Is that out of character for him?” Seitzer asked.
“Oh, yes. I can’t remember Jason ever missing work without calling in. He’s a great worker. I just hope everything is okay. Is he in trouble?”
“No. We just had some questions for him.”
“Is it about the Pastor of his church?” Terrence Williams asked, leaning in closer to the detectives. “I know Jason went to church there. He seemed awfully upset the last few days. Yesterday, I just sent him home. Poor guy. It must have been really hard on him.”
“Yeah, it must have been. Well, we’ll be on our way. Thank you for your time.”
The detectives departed from the insurance office and headed over to Jason Watkins’ apartment. The newlyweds shared a first-floor apartment in a multi-level Victorian house, one of the older houses in the neighborhood. No one answered the door after Seitzer repeatedly knocked and rang the doorbell.
“You think he skipped town?” Harrison asked. “I don’t see a car in the driveway or garage.”
“Maybe. They could just be out, I guess. We know he was still in town as of yesterday.”
“So what do we do now?”
“I’ll call in Glass and Kelly and have them check in from time to time. We’ll have to try to track down his wife’s contact info too. For now, let’s just go see if we can find Ray Browning.”
Ray Browning lived not far away from Jason Watkins. Browning, too, resided in a multi-family home where he occupied the basement apartment. No one answered his door, either.
“It looks like we’re going to be oh for two,” Harrison said, walking the perimeter of the home.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” a voice asked from the front of the house. An older man with a comb-over and a blue jacket approached them.
“Yes. I’m Detective Seitzer and this is Detective Harrison. We wanted to ask Ray Browning some questions. He lives in the downstairs apartment, right?”
“Thank God!” The man hustled over to them. “Please tell me you’re going to take him into custody.”
“Why we would we do that?” Seitzer asked.
“Because he has to have done something against the law. I figured it was a matter of time until he got himself arrested.”
“What makes you say that?” Harrison asked.
The older man began counting off his reasons. “He talks to himself. I can hear him screaming in the middle of the night. When I ask him about it the next day, he says he must have been having a bad dream. When you talk with him, he seems like he’s looking right through you. He stares at people. He makes everyone uncomfortable.”
“With all due respect, sir, you’ve just described a socially awkward man who suffers from night terrors. We usually need a little bit more reason to arrest someone than that,” Seitzer said.
“Look, I’m telling you, this guy feels dangerous. I’ve complained to the cops before, but they just say they can’t arrest crazy, which is what you just told me, I guess.”
Seitzer eyed the landlord. “Sir, you must have some other reason you’re so afraid of Browning.”
The man pursed his lips and folded his arms. “You’re going to think I’m crazy if I tell you.”
“Just tell me, sir.”
A frown spread across the old man’s face. “There was this one time that I lost a watch. Couldn’t find it anywhere. Later that day, I see Browning outside. We talk a little bit. This was before I thought he was some kind of freak. Anyway, as Browning’s on the way to his apartment, he turns to me and says, ‘You should look in the pocket of your black jacket.’ Then he keeps on going. Well, I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about at first until I remembered the watch. I never told Browning about it, but I thought I would give it a try. Sure enough, my watch was in the pocket of my black jacket. That’s weird, right?”
Seitzer shrugged. “Maybe Browning hid the watch on you.”
“That’s partly what I figured—either he snuck into my house and put the watch in my black jacket, or—you tell me? He’s psychic? He had some other weird way of knowing things? Because I’m telling you, there was no way for him to know that otherwise.”
Seitzer just stared at the man.
“I knew you’d think I was crazy.”
“I never said you were crazy, sir. I just assume there has to be a reasonable explanation for that.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t know. I wasn’t there. Maybe you tipped him off that you were looking for a watch, and the pocket of your jacket isn’t that weird of a place to suggest. But, if you’d like to speak with someone who will be more likely to believe you, you should try that guy.” Seitzer gestured to Harrison. “He’s a Christian. He’s contractually obligated to believe in the supernatural.”
The man cast a hopeful glance at Harrison, who looked skeptical. “Without actually being there, I can’t say what happened,” Harrison said, much to the old man’s chagrin. “Are you the owner of this house?”
“Oh yes, sorry. My name is Tom Pawlaski.” He shook hands with the detectives. “And it’s fine that you need more evidence before you arrest someone, it’s just I think I’ll be the one who gets killed in my sleep first.”
“If you thought Browning was dangerous, then why did you rent the apartment to him?” Seitzer asked.
“He had good references. In particular, he had a pastor who vouched for him.”
“Which pastor? Do you remember the name?”
Tom Pawlaski looked thoughtful. “I can’t remember the name. I do recall it was the little church in town, the one on the end of the street, on the other side of the cemetery. Browning used to work there as a janitor.”
“Was Graham Wilcox his name?”
“The one who was just murdered? Did Ray Browning kill him?”
“Not as far as we know.” Seitzer tread carefully over what he told the already paranoid man. “We just had some questions for him because we thought he might have worked at the church and could shed some light on some building related questions we have about the church.”
Pawlaski didn’t seem satisfied by Seitzer’s patchwork answer but didn’t push the detective further. “No, it was someone else, not Wilcox. I think that church folded or something and sold off the property. This was a few years back.”
“Does he have a job now?”
“Yeah. But I don’t know where. He leaves early in the morning and comes back really late at night, often after midnight. Do you want me to call you when he gets in?”
“Yeah, sure.” Seitzer reached into his pocket and produced a business card. “We’ll check back tonight.”
“Does Browning wear a hoodie?” Harrison asked.
“Are you kidding? That’s like his uniform.”
“Thanks for the information,” Seitzer said.
“If he was the church custodian, how much do you want to bet he knew about the tunnel in the basement?” Harrison asked as the two left the residence of the man with the dragon tattoo.
“Se
ems probable. But I have to imagine someone from Holy Spirit Tabernacle besides Titus Wilcox knew about that tunnel.”
“Who’s next on our list?” Harrison asked.
“Gary Price. Let’s see why he decided to lie to us about the church’s financial records.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Charity found her older sister seated on the second-floor hallway of their house near the stairs. Hope was close enough to the landing overlooking the first floor to see her parents assembled with the other prominent couples of Holy Spirit Tabernacle, but just far enough away that she wouldn’t be seen.
“What are you doing?” Charity asked, even though her sister’s reconnaissance mission was obvious enough to reduce her tone to a near-whisper.
“I’m listening,” Hope replied.
Charity sat down next to her sister. “What are they talking about?”
“They’re discussing their plans to reopen the church this Sunday.”
Charity became quiet so she could hear what the leadership core was discussing.
“We need to make a definitive statement,” Jim Thompson said in the blustery voice he often used in leadership and church settings.
“And reopening the church on Sunday will make a strong statement,” Glenda Price responded, always one to stand her ground.
“I’m not just talking about a symbolic gesture. We just looked like fools in front of our own church, our community, and God only knows who else on the internet-”
“That’s the risk we took when we believed Pastor Wilcox’s vision. And we were all in on that,” Paul Jones, Kevin’s father, said.
“Yes, I know that. But we need to address what happened and why we were wrong. We need to control the message.”
“What do you mean, control the message? People are going to say what they’re going to say. It’s always that way. We serve God, not man,” Gary Price said.
“Yes, I agree. But I’m afraid we made God look like a fool in all of this,” Jim Thompson replied.
“The foolishness of God is wiser than the wisdom of man,” Glenda Price said emphatically.
Everyone Was Left Behind Page 17
