by Dijorn Moss
As agreed, Pastor Robinson has turned over most of her services to her ministerial staff. Pastor Robinson does, however, keep her speaking engagements. I am in attendance at the Virtuous Women conference in Stockton and I watch on as Pastor Robinson speaks.
“We all know that Ruth was a virtuous woman but as the scriptures say, we are living epistles and each of us has an epistle to write. Your story doesn’t end with drug abuse; your story doesn’t end with prostitution; your story doesn’t end in welfare. No, virtuous women of God, your story is written by the master and he says in Jeremiah 29:11 that God plans to give hope and an expected end. You story ends with praise. ” Pastor Robinson looks up and makes eye contact with me and she is thrown off. Women started to turn their heads to get a peek at the shadowy figure in the back that threw Pastor Robinson off her game.
After the workshop I weave through a crowd of women chitchatting and I find Pastor Robinson engaged in an intense conversation with a small group of women. Pastor Robinson is never lacking in passion, I’ll give her that. She shows conviction in everything that she does. When she makes eye contact with me a second time she dismisses the group and I wait until there is no one within earshot to talk.
“Please tell me you have good news.”
“Not really. I had a meeting with your old buddy Brian Perkins.”
If Pastor Robinson could, she would have turned white. Instead her eyes enlarge and Pastor Robinson puts her hands on her throat as if she is choking.
“We need to talk,” I say.
“Not here.” That’s all Pastor Robinson says before she starts walking and heads up the aisle toward the exit. I follow Pastor Robinson up the aisle and out of the sanctuary.
We do not stop in the lobby, but make a hard left to a narrow hallway with office doors on each side. Pastor Robinson stops at the office before the last office on the left-hand side and enters. I follow Pastor Robinson and close the door behind us.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you were supposed to be looking for my husband and not prying into my personal life,” Pastor Robinson says.
“Your personal life has relevance with your husband’s disappearance. Especially when a guy finds out that his wife is a former adult film star.”
The weight of her past causes Pastor Robinson to fall back into her seat. I know that she wishes her past would stay hidden, but we can’t hide from our past. We have to expose it and let it go.
“So let me guess. Tony discovers you she hid a big secret from him and bounces.”
“Our marriage had gone cold. We had not been on the same page in a long time. And throw in the fact that we hadn’t had sex in months and you can see that a man will explore other options to get satisfaction.”
“So one day he puts in a movie and, lo and behold, he sees his sanctified wife engaged in some hardcore porn,” I say, and a tear falls down Pastor Robinson’s face.
“I grew up in a strict home. I went to church every time the doors were open. I wasn’t even allowed to watch PG-13 movies. I ran away from home at fifteen and you know the rest of the story.”
I do. Unfortunately I do know the rest of the story. Pastor Robinson became desperate, and one cannot build a life out of desperation. I’m sure Pastor Robinson wouldn’t be able to tell how she went from being a church girl to a porn star, but it happens and in her case it happened.
“So what happened?” I ask.
“One night I was on my way to a shoot and I got lost. I saw this middle-aged woman walking with a Bible in her hand, headed to this church. I stopped the woman and told her that I was lost and she said, ‘You sure are!’” Pastor Robinson chuckles as she wipes the tears from her eyes. “She convinced me to come with her to the church and I got saved right then and there.”
Pastor Robinson has a powerful testimony. Her journey from adult film star to a prominent pastor reminds me of the power of the Gospel. The Gospel is the good news that we all can be transformed and become what God originally designed us to become. Despite the power behind Pastor Robinson’s testimony, I am a man of principle and of rules; and rules have been broken.
“So what happens now?” Pastor Robinson asks.
“Now I leave. I go back home.”
“Excuse me?” Pastor Robinson stands up.
“I live and operate by a strict code and one of my rules is no lies. I’m not the guy you lie to. You pay me to both keep and clean your dirty little secrets, and once you lie to me then the trust is broken.”
“You should understand why I wouldn’t tell you.”
“You should’ve told me the truth. You left out a critical piece of this case and had me spinning my wheels, worried that your husband might’ve been murdered. It never occurred to you to tell me that maybe the reason why your husband disappeared was because he found out about your past.”
“Yes, he found out about my past. He found out that the reason why his wife is a little overweight is because I went through a deep depression after I got saved and found comfort in food. He left because instead of having the best sex of his life, he gets blank expressions and halfhearted responses. What do you do when you’ve been trained how to perform and nothing else?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to tell you.” I don’t know what to tell Pastor Robinson. I don’t know the first thing about how hard her life was as a porn star, but I didn’t need to know to be helpful. I just needed her to trust me enough to help and she didn’t.
“What about my husband?”
“I’m sorry but that’s no longer my concern. I hope he does turn up.” I turn away from Pastor Robinson and I head toward the door.
“You’re a coward!”
I stop dead in my tracks, ready to go off. I don’t turn around because I do not want to go off on Pastor Robinson because of the respect I have for her.
“I see why you couldn’t hack it as a minister. You prefer covering up the muck instead of getting in there and actually making a difference.”
“I never said I was a saint. I just know that I ain’t a liar.” Those are the last words I say before I leave the office.
Chapter Twenty-three
It has been almost a week since I have had a drink, but as I wait for my flight to board, I find myself at the bar with a tall glass of Heineken in front of me. I am beyond discouraged; not because Pastor Robinson has lied to me, but because the job is left unfinished. I have walked away from a job before and I didn’t feel anything, but this is different. I have grown attached to the members of the church and I sincerely want to find Tony Robinson and talk with him. I guess the reason why I feel discouraged and guilty is because I knew that the reason why I walked away is a cop-out. I knew that Tony Robinson is long gone and rather than admit that, I used Pastor Robinson’s past as a scapegoat.
“Breaking news. News of another murder in the Rancho Cordova area has citizens in the community alarmed,” a reporter says.
“Turn it up!” I tell the bartender, who turns up the TV without hesitation.
I don’t know why but reading the breaking news regarding another murder potentially done by the Husband Stalker makes me want to find him and bring him to justice. I am filled with an overwhelming sense to see this job to the end even if that means an end that I don’t want to see. I get on the phone and call Spider.
“Hello?” Spider says.
“It’s me! Come and get me! I’m at the airport.”
“Good, because I got something,” Spider says.
Back at Spider’s house we try to figure out the Husband Stalker’s next move. Spider has his tablet up with a map and all of the areas pinpointed where the police found the Husband Stalker’s victims.
“This is what the police have found, but I did some digging and your reporter friend found out that the police did recover this.” Spider pulls out a picture of a worn-out pair of pliers.
God only know what unspeakable horrors were committed with this tool. I imagine that the Husband Stalker took his time and inflicted as
much suffering as he could on his victims before killing them.
“There’s something special about these pliers. They aren’t just any old pliers that you can get at Home Depot. These are pliers that are specifically sold at Ned’s Depot,” Spider says.
Ned’s Depot is a chain of supply stores throughout the Bay Area. I am familiar with the store though I never really had a reason to go in there. Spider then brings up another map that has entirely different markings.
“These are the markings of the victims from the first time the Husband Stalker attacked.” Spider points to a specific dot on his tablet. “This is where they found the first victim and this victim was found less than five miles from a Ned’s Depot.”
Spider then goes back to the original screen. “Here is where we found the first victim after the Husband Stalker resurfaced.”
Spider points to another spot on the map and I can put two and two together. The first victim, who I pray was not Tony Robinson, was found not too far from a Ned’s Depot location. That piece of information tells me two things: the killer is a creature of habit and that his patterns will be what leads to his downfall.
“Not too far from this Ned’s location is a used car lot. According to this sales record, they most recently sold a gray truck to a Mulad Benson. I checked the name and the ID is a fake.”
“Why would he buy a truck? Most serial killers would use a van or a car. Unless . . .”
“He needed to go off road!” Spider and I say in unison.
Spider saves his best for last when he shows pictures from what I can best describe as a bomb shelter. He even shows a spot where a piece of the wall has been carved and a small space that someone could sleep in has been made. It is a spot that only Spider could’ve found.
“We thought this whole time he was using the main road as an escape and really he was going underground.”
“Is this . . . ?” I ask, and Spider gives me a head nod.
Spider then shows the previous screen from the first murders and the screen with this new pattern of murders. Both of them show the killer’s trail going cold near a mountain range. I am so engulfed by the grim details of the Husband Stalker that I don’t pay attention to the fact that Spider has left my side until I hear the sound of a shotgun being racked. I look up and see Spider with his twelve-gauge shotgun in hand.
“You feel like taking a ride with me?” Spider asks.
“I don’t know . . . maybe!”
Chapter Twenty-four
Spider has a hunch and it means driving out to San Jose. I go along with Spider’s theory because he is hardly wrong; and if we can put an end to this nightmare then so be it.
“So how do you know about this place?” I ask.
“Law enforcement and alcohol don’t mix. Guys get together at a bar and start spilling secrets of bunkers hidden in the mountains in case of a doomsday scenario.”
“So the Husband Stalker could be a cop?” I ask.
“Or an engineer, architect, or scientist. The spot we are going to has been abandoned; lack of funding, and I guess the government started to believe that the world wasn’t going to end anytime soon.”
And that’s the reason why I don’t trust my government. Just imagine that our leaders, who are elected to serve us, are secretly meeting and plotting ways to insure their own survival. Politicians have one agenda and that is self-preservation.
“Oh, by the way, word is they identified the first victim . . . It wasn’t your boy Tony. It was a stay-at-home father whose wife was in constitutional law,” Spider says.
For some reason I knew that the first victim wasn’t Tony, but that doesn’t bring me any more comfort because I still don’t know where Tony is.
“We got to find him,” I say, though I’m not sure Spider hears me.
We drive off the 101 freeway into a mountain range. We go deep into the mountain, to the point where I am concerned that we won’t make it back in one piece. This will be a waste of a trip if there is nothing here, but we keep on driving until we come upon a row of boulders. To the untrained eye the scene looks like normal wilderness, but I am sensing that there is something to how these boulders are positioned; in particular a boulder at the end that dwarfs all the other boulders.
Spider turns off the ignition and gets out of the car. He walks along the path of the boulders and I get out and follow him without saying a word. Spider stops at the large boulder at the end and after careful examination he tries to push. I try to give him a hand but Spider successfully pushes the boulder on its side.
“There we go.” Spider is referring to a hatch that is placed underneath the boulder.
I can’t believe Spider is right; there is a bunker. It doesn’t prove that the Husband Stalker hid here after he finished his string of murders, but it doesn’t disprove it either.
“How many more of these bunkers are there?” I ask.
“Dozens throughout Northern California, but there’s one in Sacramento that I’m curious about,” Spider says.
I have done some stupid things in my life, but this by far wins the gold medal. We drive through the mountains on a hunch. A hunch that I pray to God Spider is wrong about; otherwise, we are about to encounter one of the most dangerous killers in the twenty-first century.
Darkness is all around and only a thin layer of light from Spider’s truck shines. I thought this is a wild goose chase. I hoped that this is a wild goose chase, until Spider runs over something that makes an awkward noise on his truck.
“What was that?” I ask.
“I think it’s what I’m looking for. Let go and see.” Spider stops the car and I wish that I had not said anything.
Spider grabs his flashlight and exits the car. I get out and follow Spider. The wind chill is present and we walk only a few feet before we reach a metal plate. To say that it’s awkward to come upon a metal plate in the middle of a mountain range is odd to say the least. Spider kneels down and uses his flashlight around the different corner. He sees a slight opening and he uses his index finger to try to pull up on the metal plate. The plate jerks back and Spider stands up.
“It’s locked!” Spider starts to walk back to his truck.
I don’t have to do too much speculation as to why there is a locked steel plate in the middle of the mountains. On the way Spider says that there were a few bomb shelters that were built as a precaution in case of a disaster. One of the many precautions our government officials took in a post-9/11 era. My heart is about to burst through my chest. Especially when I see Spider open up the back of his truck and get out his gear. He puts on a bulletproof vest, puts on his gloves, and then I grab his shotgun, a handgun and a Taser.
“Hold this.” Spider hands me a set of bolt cutters. “You remember how to shoot?”
“Of course! ” In college Spider used to take me to the gun range on several occasions.
“Let’s hope you don’t.” Spider closes his truck then places the shotgun squarely on his shoulder.
We walk back to the steel plate and Spider rests the shotgun on the ground next to him and calls for the bolt cutters. The lock is positioned where someone could lock it from the inside; in fact, the lock itself is from the inside. I hand Spider the bolt cutters and after a few moments of maneuvering, Spider is able to clasp on to the lock and cut it open. He lifts the steel plate and looks down the hole with his flashlight. Sure enough, there is a set of stairs.
“I’ll go first,” Spider says, and there is no argument there.
Spider grabs his gun and goes down the set of stairs. I reluctantly follow and by the time I reach the bottom, Spider already has his shotgun up in firing position. I follow Spider at a safe distance. We walk through a hallway that is so narrow both of our shoulders brush up against the walls until we enter a space that is clean enough to perform surgery.
The room has a steel chair and to the right are a bunch of newspaper articles and clippings that sit above a computer. The image reminded me of a scene from the movie Seven when M
organ Freeman and Brad Pitt entered John Doe’s apartment. The newspaper clippings tell a disturbing story of a deranged individual. To the left is a set of tools purchased from Serial-Killers-R-Us.
It happens too fast to recall, but I suddenly feel the presence of an individual up behind me. I turn around and all I see is a blur. All I can make out is an individual around my height with salt-and-pepper hair and beard. The image is superior in strength as the individual grabs a hold of my throat. I try to fight him off, but it seems useless. I try to go for the gun that Spider gave me, but I panic. All of a sudden I spin around and then I hear a loud thud and the individual loosens his grip on me until I am able to breathe again.
I fall on top of the individual who is now unconscious, and then roll over to the side as I try to catch my breath. Another image appears above me that is blurry until I make out that it is Spider.
“Thanks for keeping him distracted for me,” Spider say.
I want to laugh, but at the moment I forget to laugh.
Chapter Twenty-five
I savor the smell of bacon. I thought that I might never get a chance to eat another piece of bacon, but as Spider, Paul, and I sit and eat breakfast, I give praise to the Lord.
“Thank you for the story, gentlemen. I’ll make sure to include you in my Pulitzer speech.”
Spider and I shake our heads.
“Let me know, what were you guys thinking?” Paul asks.
“I was thinking ‘stop him before he takes another life,’” Spider says.
“I don’t know if I was thinking at all,” I say.
We eat breakfast and allow the sound of scraped forks and moaning be our conversation.
“So, Spider, I guess you got breakfast since you picked up a healthy bounty,” Paul says in between sips of coffee.
Spider has collected a $200,000 bounty for the capture of the elusive Husband Stalker.
“I got breakfast, but to be honest with you. I’m probably going to donate most of the money to this youth center where I volunteer.”
