Everyone Was Left Behind

by Steve Armstrong

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Evidence that maybe Graham Wilcox wasn’t as paranoid as I thought he was. Justin found two deleted text messages from the week of the murder between Jason Watkins and Elizabeth Wilcox.” Harrison stopped at a traffic light and Seitzer passed the phone over so his partner could also see it.

  “This is big,” Harrison said after reading through the messages.

  “We have to get warrants to search Watkins’ house and the Wilcox place. And we have to find out if Elizabeth Wilcox’s father is still in possession of his .357.”

  Seitzer shook his head as Harrison set the car in motion again. Elizabeth, what have you gotten yourself into?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Seitzer knocked on Elizabeth Wilcox’s door for the fourth time. He hadn’t believed on any these previous occasions that she killed her husband: Not the first time, the night of the murder when the detective had feared the assailant might still be loose. Not the second time when he responded to the call about Titus finding a gun in the basement. And not even the third time, when he came to seize her phone as evidence. But tonight, as he pounded on her door, Seitzer feared that Elizabeth was involved. Glass, Kelly, and Harrison stood behind him, ready to execute the search warrant he had procured for Elizabeth Wilcox’s house.

  The gun was the key. If Seitzer could draw a connection between Elizabeth Wilcox’s father’s .357 and the murder weapon, combined with the new, inflammatory texts between her and Jason Watkins, he might have enough to arrest the young mother.

  The widow opened the door. “Hi.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Wilcox. We’d like to speak to your father.”

  “My father?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “We have some questions we’d like to ask him.”

  “What could you possibly want to ask him?”

  Seitzer sighed. “Please, Mrs. Wilcox. We need to speak with him. We also have a warrant to search your home.”

  “For what?” Her tone elevated, growing fiercer with each successive question.

  “We’re looking for the gun that killed your husband.”

  “I told you that there are no guns in our home. The only time there was a gun, I called you to turn it in.”

  “You also told me that there were no other messages to Jason Watkins on your phone, but that wasn’t true, was it?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? I told you everything that I knew.”

  “You left out two important messages.”

  “What messages?”

  Seitzer took out his phone, cued up the texts to and began to read them. “Here’s one that Watkins sent to you: I know I shouldn’t feel this way about you, but I do—I love you. All I can think about is you. Even if we only have a few days left on this earth, I want you to know how I feel.”

  “Let me see that!” Elizabeth demanded. “I’ve never seen that message before in my life.”

  Seitzer narrowed his eyes at her. “Then why did you reply?” He read the next text. “You can’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear that. I love you too!!!!!”

  “I never wrote that!”

  “Do you really expect me to believe that someone took your phone and decided to text these messages from your phone to Jason Watkins? Who would do such a thing?”

  Elizabeth alternated between defensiveness and confusion. “I don’t know. But I didn’t.”

  “It goes on. His response to you: ‘If he’s wrong and Jesus doesn’t come back, I’ll leave my wife for you. Will you leave with me?’”

  Elizabeth didn’t protest this time, though a mixture of shock, embarrassment, and anger colored her features.

  “Would you like to hear your answer to that question?” She didn’t answer, but Seitzer read it anyway. “Yes. You said yes.”

  Seitzer glanced back at Harrison, Glass, and Kelly who awaited his orders.

  “Alright guys, come on in,” Seitzer said. Each officer shuffled past Seitzer into the house. Harrison coordinated the search with the two officers.

  “We’ll do our best to be careful with your personal belongings, ma’am. Now I need to see your father, please,” Seitzer said.

  “Detective, I never wrote any of that.” She looked down at the ground, her features seemed uncertain. “Could I have? When were the messages sent?”

  “According to the time stamp, 12:47 am—a few nights before the murder.”

  “But I’m always asleep then. Once I take the sleeping pill, I’m out. You’ve seen that for yourself.”

  He stepped toward her. “Then give me another explanation. Give me a reason to believe you.”

  Elizabeth glanced back up at the detective. Her eyes implored him to listen and Seitzer wanted to, but the evidence spoke louder than his misguided affection for the widow. Eventually, Elizabeth surrendered and ran upstairs. A few moments later, her father came down, dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants. Despite the man’s wrinkles and thinning, gray hair, Seitzer could easily imagine him tossing bales of hay in his pick-up or picking off enemy soldiers in his younger days.

  “What’s this all about? How dare you come in and disturb my daughter’s home? She and the kids have suffered enough.” He seemed to be trying to set Seitzer ablaze with his stare.

  “I’m sorry for their suffering—truly. I hope you can understand this is an active investigation and we need to cover every angle of the case. I have a few questions for you, actually. Can you have a seat over there?” Seitzer motioned to the kitchen table. Reluctantly, the elderly gentlemen followed the detective’s suggestion and sat down in a wooden chair that creaked under his weight.

  “I have a warrant to search your home too, Mr. Thornton, which is a little hard for me to do since you live two hours away. But I’ve given your local police a call and they’re standing by to execute this warrant. You can save us that trouble because there’s only one thing we’re looking for—your .357.”

  “My .357? Why are you looking for that?”

  “Well, sir, it just so happens that whoever killed Graham Wilcox used a .357.”

  “You think I killed Graham?”

  “No; not really. But it’s possible your gun might have been used. So where is your gun? Is it in your house? If you tell me where it is, your local police can go find it, and then I’ll know for sure your gun wasn’t involved in Pastor Wilcox’s death. So where is it?”

  “I lost it,” Thornton said.

  “You lost it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. I looked for it a couple months back and it was gone. Couldn’t find it.”

  “Did you check between the cushions in your couch? ’Cause I always lose my guns there.”

  The old man shrugged. “Guess I must be getting absent-minded in my old age.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. So I’ll have to give your police a call so they can tear your house apart, looking for it. Anything else you’d like for them to look for while they’re at it? Maybe a missing remote control or something?”

  The man crossed his arms and said nothing.

  “Are you telling me you don’t know where the gun is because it might be incriminating? And when I say incriminating, I don’t mean for you, I mean for your daughter.”

  The man ran his hand across his forehead. When he finally reestablished eye contact with Seitzer, he spoke.

  “Alright, alright. I gave the gun to that nutcase.”

  “What nutcase? Your son-in-law?”

  The old man nodded. “I know I’m not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but I never really liked the guy. At first, I thought he was just kind of mediocre. Not really bad, but just kind of weak. Then he went off the deep end.”

  “So you gave a man you believed was crazy a handgun?”

  “I didn’t think he was that kind of crazy. Besides, he said some people had threatened him online and he was afraid he was being followed. The last time they visited us, he asked if he coul
d borrow a gun from me, something he could use to protect himself and his family if need be. I decided it would be okay.”

  “Did your daughter know about this?” Seitzer asked.

  “No. He made me promise I wouldn’t tell her. She hated guns. Always did, especially with the kids around. She wouldn’t have let him keep it if she knew about it.”

  “Maybe she found a use for guns or someone else who wouldn’t mind using it on her behalf.”

  “If you think my daughter has anything to do with her husband’s death, you’re out of your mind,” Mr. Thornton said through gritted teeth. He leaned toward Seitzer, as though he was poised to spring if the detective uttered any more missives against his daughter.

  “I hope you’re right,” Seitzer said. He walked away from the dad. “You’re free to go now.”

  Seitzer joined the search with Harrison and the other two police officers currently rooting through the Wilcox residence. None of them had discovered anything of interest yet, which didn’t surprise the detective. If Elizabeth Wilcox or Jason Watkins had dispatched the good reverend, they would have been foolish to hide the gun in their own homes. But searching the Wilcox home was a box Seitzer had to check off.

  Later, Seitzer found Harrison in the playroom. Two diminutive spectators watched him as he worked. Seitzer was surprised Elizabeth Wilcox hadn’t gathered the kids and taken them upstairs away from the police activity. Since none of the adults were downstairs at the moment, maybe they were having their own conference and discussing why the detectives seemed so focused on Elizabeth as a suspect.

  “Have you seen any other guns around the house?” Harrison asked Titus as the detective looked under the couch, an admittedly unlikely place to discover a gun.

  The boy shook his head. “Well, that makes two of us,” Harrison said. He stood up to face Seitzer. “Glass and Kelly have already searched the basement and garage. I checked the crawl space in the attic. And we’ve gone room by room through the living space. I don’t think it’s here.”

  “I didn’t really think it would be. Now we have to go over to Jason Watkins’ house and do the same thing there.”

  Seitzer exited into the kitchen. Elizabeth Wilcox now sat at the table, her arms crossed. Her mom sat in a chair on her left.

  “I might have sent the text messages,” Elizabeth said, looking at the table.

  “Might have?” Seitzer raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you know one way or the other?”

  “Last week, in the middle of the night, I called my mom. We spoke for a few minutes, but I can’t remember any of it. I was asleep the entire night.”

  “You were talking in your sleep?”

  “Apparently.”

  Seitzer turned his attention to her mother. “Is this true?”

  Predictably, the mom nodded. Of course, she would corroborate her daughter’s story. “What did she say to you?”

  “I couldn’t quite catch it all. But something to the effect of being tired of the rapture prediction and hoping things would get better. I was kind of out of it myself.”

  “Was this an actual conversation, or just your daughter talking?”

  “She did respond to me. I asked her if she was okay when I picked up the phone, and she said, ‘Yes’.”

  “Was your daughter coherent the entire time?”

  “Mostly. A few of her words seemed a little jumbled, but I generally understood what she was saying. Then she started talking about things she needed from the grocery store. That’s when I figured out something was off.”

  Seitzer could feel Elizabeth tracking his expression, perhaps wondering if this revelation satisfied him. The detective didn’t know how to catalog this new information or what it meant.

  “And you don’t remember the conversation at all?” Seitzer asked. She shook her head. “Okay, we’ll look into that possibility.”

  Elizabeth nodded. Her frustration manifested itself in her furrowed brow and distracted gaze. Either she was a good actor or the revelation of these texts truly shocked and devastated her. Her mom rested her hand on Elizabeth’s arm, patting it occasionally.

  “Good night, Mrs. Wilcox,” Seitzer said.

  “Good night, Detective. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

  The rest of the policemen filed out with Seitzer, leaving the Wilcox family to process the suspicion being aimed at them. Next, they moved to the Watkins’ apartment. No one was home, so Kelly managed to pick the lock. This search proved as fruitless as the previous one. They did not find any gun, bloodstained clothes, or anything else that suggested anyone who lived in the house was involved in any kind of criminal activity.

  “Should we be getting concerned that we haven’t seen Theresa Watkins since the murder happened?” Seitzer asked.

  “I left a message on her voicemail,” Harrison said. “I also called into her job. She sent an email over the weekend informing them she would be out for a week because of a family situation.”

  “An email, huh? That could easily be faked.”

  “Do you think Jason Watkins might have done something to her?”

  “It’s possible. If Jason Watkins and Elizabeth Wilcox really did kill her husband, maybe they doubled down and killed Theresa too,” Seitzer said.

  As long as Jason and Theresa Watkins remained missing, he had to at least entertain the idea that a double homicide had occurred. It didn’t mean, however, that he couldn’t pursue other explanations for Theresa Watkins’ conspicuous absence.

  “Maybe Theresa found out about what was going on between her husband and Elizabeth Wilcox. Assuming he didn’t kill her, what might she do in that situation?”

  “I don’t know. Confront him? Kick him out? Stay with a friend? Her parents?” Harrison answered in rapid fire succession.

  “Alright. So let’s ask around and see who Theresa Watkins was tight with in church. And let’s find out where her parents live. Maybe they know where their daughter is.”

  Glass and Kelly emerged empty handed from the storage space under the stairs. They shook their heads.

  “I think we’re done here,” Seitzer said. The officers moved toward the door. “You ever hear of someone sending text messages in their sleep?” Seitzer asked Harrison.

  “I’ve heard of talking in your sleep, but not texting. Why?”

  “Elizabeth Wilcox thinks she might have sent those texts when she was asleep. I guess a few weeks ago, while she was asleep, she called her mother in the middle of the night.”

  “I could do a little research on the internet, see what I can find.”

  “Okay, sounds good. Let’s go.”

  Pressing charges against Jason Watkins and Elizabeth Wilcox wouldn’t be possible without a link to the gun or some other piece of damning evidence. Seitzer possessed mixed feelings about that fact. On the one hand, it might mean that Elizabeth Wilcox was innocent. On the other hand, it meant that the killer was still at large. Either way, they needed to unearth some new evidence or the Graham Wilcox murder investigation would eventually grow cold and slip into the dreaded pile of unsolved cases.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Charity turned the handle to the door in her house that was seldom opened. Day after day, it remained shut, sealing off a room that hadn’t changed for seven years. She pushed open the door and turned on the light. A familiar purple teddy bear sat on the neatly made bed, furnished with the same sheets and blankets her sister used to sleep in. The bulletin board on the wall still displayed photos of Faith with her friends and family. Notes that she had written lay on the desk in the corner. The room seemed as if it were waiting for its occupant to return.

  People did occasionally slip in and out of the space. Charity popped in every so often, but the sadness lingering there quickly chased her away. One morning, she saw her mom emerge from the room. Glenda had walked by Charity without saying a word, acting as if she had never visited the space. Another evening, Charity watched her father pause in front of the door, paralyzed by the absence of the perso
n inside. He never did enter or even touch the handle and eventually went on his way.

  One of the two features of the room that most affected Charity was the photo of the three sisters together, back before Charity had even started school. It wasn’t the only picture of Faith, Hope, and Charity together, but it did reflect a moment that she could vividly recall. Faith’s premature death had amplified the memory of that ordinary summer day of playing in the park across the street, lifting it into the realm of the transcendent.

  The other item in the room that gripped Charity was a paper cut out of a colored-in Jesus fish, a symbol Christians used to identify themselves to one another. Like the day in the park, Charity remembered when Faith had created the fish in a Sunday School class. It was a perfect symbol for Faith. She was the only one of the children who rivaled the simple, childlike belief that her mom possessed. Faith’s devotion to God, however, felt light and airy, not suffocating like her mom’s belief could sometimes feel. Charity knew she could never match Faith’s conviction. She tried, but struggled to really commit her life to Christ like Faith had.

  “I’m leaving now,” a voice said from the hallway. Charity turned to see her sister standing outside. Hope looked straight through Charity to the room beyond, most likely enduring the same deluge of memories that Charity was. For a moment, she thought Hope wouldn’t venture across the threshold, but after a moment of silent contemplation, she joined her younger sister in the de facto shrine.

  “You understand what I want from Mom and Dad, right?” Hope asked after she surveyed the photos on the bulletin board.

  “Yes and no,” Charity said.

  Hope faced her sister. “What part don’t you get?”

  “You want Mom and Dad to admit that losing Faith was hard on them, right?”

  “I want to know that it wasn’t just hard on them. I’m sure they would admit that much. I need to know that it is hard. Still. That it never stopped being hard. That there are moments when their faith in God doesn’t make everything better or mask every heartache. Do you see the difference?”