by Dijorn Moss
I see Sister Deborah in front of her house with a pink bathrobe on. She has a man who is head and shoulders taller than her. He resembles the man Spider and I saw earlier tonight. The man rubs her shoulders and Sister Deborah proves to be a woman who is adaptable. I don’t know what possess me to go over to her, but I want to check to make sure she is okay. I maneuver through the crowd that stood still like zombies. Once I am in Sister Deborah’s sight, she smacks her lips at me.
“I know you don’t have the nerves to come up here after you just up and left!” Sister Deborah says, and the guy she is with pivots from around her and sizes me up.
In a fair fight the guy would take me, but I don’t fight fair. I fight to win, and please believe that I wouldn’t hesitate to kick him in the jewels if I had to.
“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” I say.
“I was worried about you. I thought something happened to you,” Sister Deborah says.
“Oh please, put away the violin will you? That doesn’t suit you,” I say and the guy takes a step closer to me. “Don’t try it!”
The guy heeds my threat and loses respect from Sister Deborah in the process. “Whatever! All I know is that you ain’t no Apostle Paul.”
“And you ain’t Esther either.” I rub the back of my head because I don’t know what else to do. “Look, I saw the news and I came by to see if you were okay. It’s clear that you are, so have a nice night.” That is all I say before I leave. I don’t have time to squabble with a promiscuous woman; I have a first gentleman to find.
From the crime scene I go to Spider’s house. Spider manages to eke out a living that affords him a two-bedroom flat in the heart of Rancho Cordova. Rancho Cordova is a city about twenty miles outside of Sacramento. I am greeted by Chopper, Spider’s black and tan coonhound. Chopper doesn’t take his eyes off me until Spider arrives at the door.
“Come here, Chopper,” Spider says with a whistle, and Chopper goes inside the house and takes a seat next to his master.
“Guinness!” I hold up the six pack of beer.
“Aww, dog, I gave up drinking a year ago.”
I feel bad. The last thing that I want is to challenge Spider’s sobriety. The scripture talks about not causing your brother to stumble. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I have friends who come over to watch the football games and they drink Guinness.”
I walk into Spider’s living room and drop my jacket over Spider’s loveseat. Spider’s living room consists of hardwood floors and his desk is stacked with empty pizza boxes. Spider’s wall looks like an ongoing saga. The wall is full of maps and most-wanted posters. To glance at this wall is unnerving, but for Spider I can imagine that he gets fuel from the hunt.
“Any word?” I ask.
“Not yet. They haven’t confirmed the victim’s identity, but I’m pretty sure that it’s not your boy.”
Somehow, Spider’s words do not provide comfort. It is a long shot that the victim is Tony Robinson, but it is not outside of the realm of possibility that it is Tony. I can’t shake that small percentage in me that thinks Tony Robinson has been murdered.
“Let’s just entertain the idea that it is the guy we are looking for. Why would anyone want to kill him?”
“I don’t know. The further I go into this case the less sense it makes. Maybe he was involved with the wrong woman and it’s a crime of passion.”
“Possibly. I went by Sister Deborah’s place and she seemed just as shocked by the murder as anybody. I’ll rule her out as a possible suspect.”
“Was this guy involved in some illegal activity?”
“I can’t imagine the first gentleman being involved in anything that would cause him to be murdered and thrown in a Dumpster. Did you encounter anything with his friends? Did anyone mention his habits or anything of that nature? Any vices?”
“Nothing. Your boy lived a pretty pious lifestyle.” Spider sits back in his chair.
Spider gets up and makes his way toward his computer. I follow Spider to the computer and stand over him. Spider clicks on his mouse and gets rid of the Sofia Vergara screensaver. His computer now has the Google Maps page up. Spider zooms in on a particular area of Sacramento.
“I’ve covered this whole area.” Spider draws a circle with his finger. “From friends to family to coworkers, no one has seen or heard from Tony in a week; and you said his wife hasn’t seen him in over two weeks.”
“But when I was approached by the situation, Tony had already been gone for a week so that means his wife was not the last person to see him,” I say.
“I checked all of the hotels around in the area and there was no record of Tony staying at any place in the area,” Spider says.
“Maybe he stayed under an assumed name or under someone else’s name.”
“If he did, then it wasn’t anyone from his inner circle,” Spider replies.
I put my hands in my pockets and start to pace the floor. Even though I know it’s a long shot regarding Tony being a victim of a brutal murder, outside of that theory, I got nothing.
“What about this murder?” I ask.
“Without knowing the details I think the position of the body was planted there to send a message.”
“A message to whom?” I wonder.
Spider shrugs his shoulders while looking at the maps. “I don’t know, but there’s one type of murderer who does their killings with a specific agenda in mind.”
“A serial killer,” Spider and I say in unison.
Just saying it out loud feels like a knife in my chest. “Offhand what do we know about serial killers?”
Spider turns around and gets off of his chair. He walks over to the dry-erase board he has on the wall next to his maps and most-wanted posters. Spider erases what was on his board with the sleeve of his thermal shirt and starts to write on the board with a black marker.
“We know that ninety percent are men.” Spider writes the word “male” on the board.
“We know most come from broken, single-parent homes. Either that or they have abusive fathers,” I reply.
“They’re usually social outcasts and have high IQs.” Spider writes his comments and my comments on the board.
“I got a friend who works for the Times. I wonder if he can shed some light on the subject.” Since I don’t have anything to go on, I might as well consider all avenues.
I pick up my cell and call my buddy from the L.A. Times, Paul. I haven’t spoken to Paul since the day he brought me the news that Pastor Lewis had committed suicide.
“Hello?” Paul asks.
“Hey, Paul, this is Nic. Listen, have you seen the news about a murder in Sacramento?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard about it. Why? Where are you now?” Paul asks.
“I’m in Sac.”
“What a surprise. What are you doing in Sac?”
“I’m doing some work for a church.”
“I bet,” Paul says.
The last time I talked to Paul, he delivered the news that Pastor Lewis committed suicide. A very sore subject.
“Hey Paul, I was wondering if you heard anything about the murders going on up here?”
“I have and, I am on my way up there. I was wondering if you could pick me up?” Paul asks.
“Sure!” And just like that, the call ends. There must be something to this murder to cause my friend to come up from Los Angeles.
“What’s up?” Spider asks.
“We need to pick my friend up from the airport.”
We arrive outside of the arrival station at the Sacramento airport. The airport, which is usually subdued, is vibrant, which means that there are several reporters coming in to get the story of the hacked-up victim. My friend finally emerges with his signature black leather jacket and tie. I chuckle to myself; my friend wears a leather jacket because he thinks he is cool.
“Funny finding you here,” Paul says as he enters the car.
“I’m here on church business.”
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“Sure, and I’m here to interview the Pope.” Paul takes a moment to size up Spider before he sets his attention back on me. “Who’s he?” Paul asks.
“Spider. I’m a bounty hunter,” he answers for himself.
“You keep some interesting friends,” Paul says.
“So why are you here?” I ask Paul.
There had to be more to this murder for Paul to make a sudden trip up North. Sadly there is no shortage of murder cases in Los Angeles.
“I’m here to do a story on the body found in the dumpster.”
For as long as I’ve known my friend, Paul has always wanted to win a Pulitzer. I know that there has to be more to this than he is saying.
“So what is going on with the case?” I ask.
“I’m not telling you. This is sensitive information,” Paul replies.
“We can help?”
“He can help.” Paul points to Spider. “You, on the other hand, what are you going to do? Pray and lay hands on the sick?”
“I have some information that may be helpful.”
Paul carries on an internal debate, I can tell. He then waits and pauses for a moment. “Okay, but tell me this: what do you know about the Husband Stalker?”
It takes me a moment to remember that the Husband Stalker was a serial killer who went around murdering married men.
“What about him?” I ask.
“We think he’s back!” Paul says.
I shudder to think that Tony Robinson might’ve been the Husband Stalker’s latest victim.
Chapter Seventeen
In the early nineties there was a rash of serial killings that caused men to run to their homes and hide. At first the news reported the murders as random killings, but later on they saw a common link with the victims. All victims had wives who were in a position of authority. The husbands took on nontraditional roles from alpha males, and as a result they were targeted and killed by one lone suspect known as the Husband Stalker.
The male victims were mutilated in areas I bother not to imagine. I got chills while I read through the articles online. I remember being in a debate about the stalker in my criminal psychology course and I long held the belief that the killer came from a broken home where he saw his father in an emasculate role.
The last victim that we are aware of was a stay-at-home father whose wife was an appellate court judge. After that, the stalker disappeared and was not heard from for years. Now, is it possible that the Stalker might’ve resurfaced?
I hope that the stalker has not resurfaced and that Tony Robinson was not one of his latest victims. What are the chances that the stalker has, in fact, resurfaced and that my guy was his latest victim?
After we pick Paul up from the airport we go right back to Spider’s place to try to figure this whole murder scenario out.
“Wow? You guys have already got started,” Paul says as he admires Spider’s board.
Spider stands next to his dry-erase board, which is full, with the exception of one thin corner. “Now that we believe it may be the Husband Stalker, let’s establish what we know about his movements.”
“We know that the first string of murders took place in San Jose,” Paul says.
Spider writes “San Jose” on the board and then goes over to his maps. “The last victim was found on the side of the road next to the 101 freeway.”
“That makes sense,” I say.
“How so?” Paul asks.
“The 101 is a major freeway that goes along California. He could be anywhere between San Jose and Santa Barbara before the police even found the body.”
Paul shrugs his shoulders in agreement and Spiders writes “the 101 freeway” on the board. “That means when things start to get too hot, look for his last victim to appear near a major freeway.”
“The 80,” we all say in chorus.
“He can end up in Reno before we even know it,” I say.
“Any ideas who the victim might be?” Paul asks.
“We’ve been looking into a missing minister’s husband,” Spider says.
I don’t want Spider to divulge such information. Paul pounces on such newsworthy gossip. “Yeah, but I don’t think the guy I’m looking for could be the victim. His wife is not a popular figure.”
“I wouldn’t rule it out. A minister is traditionally a man’s role, so a husband to a woman minister fits the Husband Stalker’s mode even if the woman isn’t that popular.”
“Even so, I doubt that it’s my guy,” I say with my hands in my pockets.
“So you’re looking for a missing husband, Nic?”
“Just trying to help resolve a marital spat.”
Paul lets out a sadistic laugh because he knows that nothing with me is ever simple. “Well, gentlemen, this is all fascinating, but I need to get to my hotel room and unpack. We’ll compare notes tomorrow. Nic, can you give me a ride?”
“Sure,” I say to Paul and then I give Spider a head nod.
“Tomorrow then.”
I pray that by tomorrow I can cancel this meeting because Tony Robinson will somehow reappear.
I need a drink. A drink will be good right now and a drink is right in front of me. I grab the bottle by the neck and twist the cap. I inhale the strong scent of the alcohol and allow it to tickle my nose. I want to drink, but I don’t need to drink. The choice is simple; it comes down to wants and needs.
It is a simple decision but so hard to make. I go to the sink and I start to pour out the contents in the sink. I know I will rejoice for not giving into temptation, but I will be upset with ruining a perfectly good bottle of cognac.
There’s a knock on the door and I open it without considering the fact that I have a bottle of alcohol in my hands.
“Minister Dungy.” Minister Blackwell can’t take his eyes off of the bottle.
“It’s not what you think. What’s up?”
“I’ve been leaving you messages and you haven’t been returning calls. I thought something had happened to you.”
That much is true. Since the recent turn of events I have screened all of my calls and have not checked in with the church. “I’ve been really busy. Why? What’s up?”
“We needed you to preach tonight.”
“Oh no! I’m in no condition to preach.”
Minister Blackwell focuses on the bottle. I focus on the minister and not on my bottle.
“Not that, I’ve been good, but I’m following up on a lead. I need to meet up with my guy and see if he has any more intel on Tony Robinson.”
“It’s our Friday night service and unless you’re going to let Pastor preach, then you’re the best man for the job.”
I have not showered yet today. I still smell like yesterday, but despite my brain being cloudy I know that I should go. I need to go and get out of my hotel room.
“Give me ten minutes,” I say as I swing the door open long enough for Minister Blackwell to catch it and enter.
I hop in the shower, and after about three minutes I am out. I’m sure the shower misses me. I dry off and throw on some clothes. As I have foretold, in ten minutes I am out the door with Minister Blackwell and my Bible.
“Should I be concerned?” Minister Blackwell asks.
I cannot afford to play coy or stupid. I know what the minister is referring to; he is referring to seeing a minister of the Gospel open the door with a bottle of cognac in his hands.
“No, not at all. My internal issues will not prevent me from performing my duties to the best of my abilities.”
“But isn’t it a contradiction?”
Again I do not want to play coy. “Yes, it is, but life is filled with all sorts of paradoxes. I bet you feel like I am a man beyond redemption?”
“No man is beyond redemption; that’s why I believe in the Gospel,” Minister Blackwell replies.
Minister Blackwell’s words inspire me. I sit beside the pulpit alongside Pastor Robinson and soak in all of the praises the saints give on to God. Praise and worship is in full
swing, absent Kanisha, who had to work. Pastor Robinson once again stares into the deep abyss. Ever since I dropped the news that her husband might’ve been murdered or badly injured, Pastor Robinson seems to mentally check out.
I’ve stayed in contact with Spider and he’s checked all of the hospitals and nothing has come up under Tony Robinson. At this point I am certain that Tony had skipped town under the nose of Spider. I would have to follow up with Spider later, but for now I have a sermon to preach and for the first time in a long time I am excited to minister the Word of God.
“Didn’t our hearts burn with gladness from the Word? We were blessed the other night by Minister Dungy and he’s back to bless us again with the Word. Jubilee Temple, please give him a warm welcome and tell him to preach!”
“Preach!” the church says in an ecstatic manner.
I plan to preach and I plan to preach in a manner that is worthy of my calling. I approach the pulpit with confidence and pride.
“Praise the Lord, saints. I said praise the Lord.” I do not feel phony in my praise. The congregation receives me and Pastor Robinson looks on, not amused. I bet she wonders if this is all an act.
“Matthew 26:31. ‘Then Jesus said to them, you will all be offended and stumble and fall away because of me this night.’” Just as I did with the Bible Study, I decide to come off the pulpit and walk down to the front row. “We all know that this is the part of the Gospel where Peter talks real big about how he would follow Jesus until the end and Jesus predicts that he would deny Christ three times.”
I receive a few amens, but not a lot. I am sure this does not sound like a “Double for Your Trouble” sermon, but I have a point that I need to make. “Jesus already knew that Peter would fail this test, but how many of you know that God gives make-ups?”
More amens start to pour in and my adrenaline starts to kick in.
