“Jake, how would you respond to that?”
“Well, she’s kind of let herself go a bit. I find myself not attracted to her anymore.”
I fought the urge to strangle him. Julie was about five foot four inches, curly blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, and weighed, maybe, one hundred and thirty pounds. I had seen their wedding pictures at a cookout they had at their house. She had probably gained ten pounds since they were married, if that.
Jake had been pushing three-hundred and twenty pounds on his six foot frame. In the past year, he had gone workout crazy and shed eighty pounds, an amount that would have neared a hundred except for the muscle weight he had added. No doubt it improved his looks as women in the church were always fawning over him and giggling at his stupid-ass jokes. Personally, I liked him better when he was fat and not an asshole.
Julie looked at Jake with hurt in her eyes. This conversation could spiral out of control if I didn’t get a handle on it. Although a part of me wanted to see Julie claw his eyes out, I thought better of it.
“Jake, here is a good place for us to work on communication,” I said. “Do you think there might be a better way to say that?”
He sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, and fixed his gaze on me. “I don’t know.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Try speaking in a gentler tone for one, and use words like, ‘I feel like’ or ‘this is what I think.’ That way, it doesn’t seem like you’re attacking her.”
“Seems kind of girly.”
“There is nothing girly about treating your wife with gentleness and respect, Jake. The Bible says that…”
I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence. My vacant faith wouldn’t permit the words to come out. I had been using the phrase “The Bible says” all my faith-filled life. Now, it felt like a curse. I coughed to cover it up.
“I thought the Bible said that wives are supposed to submit to their husbands on everything.”
Not when you are being a total shithead!
“Not in everything, Jake, and it also calls you to gently love your wife.” I sighed. “I don’t want to put all the blame on you, but any sane person can see that Julie has not ‘let herself go.’ You have.”
He looked down at his flat stomach and back up with a puzzled look.
“I don’t mean in body. I mean in your personality and the way you treat your wife. It might be time to put your focus on pleasing her rather than yourself.”
You would have thought that I slapped him and called him a bitch. He had this amazing and gorgeous woman who, for some reason, loved a total jackass. He should be thanking, well, someone, every day of his life.
“You’re a preacher,” Jake said. “Aren’t you supposed to get her to submit to what I want?”
“I…”
The pager on my desk phone rang, and I answered.
“Sherry, I’m in the middle of a counseling session.”
“I know, Pastor Aidan, but this caller is very insistent. She called yesterday, didn’t you get the message I left on your desk?”
The printed message. I had forgotten all about it. Damn, I wish Sherry would just use email. “I did, but I just forgot to read it. Who is it anyway?”
“Detective Jennifer Brown from the Columbus Police Department.”
Jake and Julie stared at me.
“I’m sorry, Sherry, did you say the Columbus Police?”
“I did.” Her tone rebuked me for my idiocy.
“Okay, put her through.” I turned to Jake and Julie. “I’m sorry you two, this will only take a moment.”
I held the phone back to my ear. “This is Pastor Schaeffer, can I help you?”
“Pastor Schaeffer, this is Detective Jennifer Brown, Columbus Police Department. How are you this morning?” She spoke in a Scarlett Johansson voice. Low but feminine.
“Fine, detective. How are you?”
I smiled at Jake and Julie to assure them.
“Good, thank you. I was wondering if you had any time to come down to the station this afternoon.”
What in the world?
“Hold on, let me check.” I looked at my schedule. “Sure, but may I ask what this is about?”
“Of course. We think you might have some information we need to clear up some points in an ongoing investigation.”
“Can I ask about what you are investigating?”
“I would rather not say over the phone. We prefer to handle this sort of thing at the station because officially we have to record our conversation. Typical police procedure. I’m sure you understand.”
I paused. “Sure, just let me know the time and place.”
“Say, one o’clock at the main building downtown?”
“Sounds good.”
“Great, see you then. Thank you very much, Pastor Schaeffer.”
“No problem, detective, talk to you soon.”
I hung up the phone and turned back to Jake and Julie. “Now, where were we?”
“Are you sure you want to go on?” Julie asked.
“Yeah, it’s no big deal. They just need some advice on some things.”
Jake butted in. “So, you were insulting me.”
I held up my hands. “Not insulting you, Jake. I’m just pointing out that since we started a few weeks ago, you’ve resisted any notion that you bear some of the responsibilities for the condition of this marriage. I’ve tried to be tactful, but that wasn’t working.”
“Seems to me you’re being a pansy.”
I gripped the handles on my chair. “I think we are done for the day. Think over what I said.”
I did the obligatory end-of-session prayer, following the standard Protestant formula that gives the irony to our hatred of written prayers. “Dear Lord, we know we are broken people, and we confess our brokenness. O Lord, help us to admit our sin and need for You. Show us in Your word how to relate to one another. We ask this in Your Son’s name, Amen.”
Jake and Julie left the office as Jake took the time to give me, what he probably thought, was an intimidating glare. I’d seen it a million times, guys like him, heavily into compensation when their manhood got challenged in any way. I figured he would just go out and buy a bigger truck or something.
I sat back in my chair to think about the phone call from Detective Brown. What in the world was that about? I had enough to deal with right now. Maybe it was the parking ticket I got a few days ago. No, I had another week to pay that. Maybe they needed some sort of theological piece of information? If that was the case, why did they call me? I was an assistant pastor at a fairly small church, not really what you would call consulting material. I always pictured that kind of role to be reserved for pastors of mega-churches or respected scholars.
I worked hard to finish my tasks for the day so I could be out of the office by noon. There wasn’t much to do except plan the worship service, write a few emails, and make an outline for Sunday school.
As I made my way out the door, I stopped by Sherry’s desk. “Sherry, would you please send my phone messages by email? I lose paper all the time, and it would really help me keep track.”
She looked at me over her reading glasses. “I don’t like sending email. People might access my private information by email.”
“Sherry, no one can get your information by just sending an email.”
“Not what my friends at the coffee shop say.”
Sherry was a part of a women’s study group that Mike and I had dubbed the “Four Horsewomen of the Apocalypse.” They didn’t really study the Bible. They just sat around and traded conspiracy theories for two hours every Saturday morning.
“Right, got it. Thanks, Sherry.”
Chapter Nine
I parked on the street and walked up to the police station. The white walls and green pyramid roof seemed to breathe authority and warning to anyone thinking of breaking the law. As I passed under the seal of the city of Columbus above the doors, I felt a weird sense of guilt, as if I had just been out
committing a crime.
The grim old guard poked and prodded to make sure I had no firearms on my body. I thought about the standard “date” jokes, but the people manning the security checkpoint didn’t seem like the joking kind.
I went up to the information desk. “Hi, I’m looking for Detective Jennifer Brown.”
An African-American woman with graying hair gave me a warm smile. “I can help you, darlin’, but I need to know who you are.”
I smiled. “I’m Pastor Aidan Schaeffer. I have an appointment with her at one o’clock.”
She looked at her sheet. “Ah, right. Pastor, if you could sign in here. I will give you your visitor’s badge.”
I signed my name and took the badge.
“Go down the hall, take the elevator to the fifth floor,” she said. “There’s a lady who will take you to Detective Brown. I’ll let them know you are coming.”
“Thank you very much.”
“No problem, take care.”
I followed the directions and was met by a middle-aged white lady in an officer’s uniform.
“Pastor Schaeffer?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Please follow me.”
She led me past a group of desks and cubicles. I saw pictures of families, wanted posters, handcuffs, and various other cop materials.
A sign hung over a door that read “Major Case Squad.” I had heard somewhere that they handled major murder investigations. That thought made my heart beat a little quicker.
The cop took me to a small room. “Could I get you anything, Pastor Schaeffer?”
“Some water would be nice, thanks.”
She left the room, and I pulled out a metal folding chair from a small table. The room had been painted a dull white, and no pictures hung on the walls. A darkened window to my left made me wonder why it had been put there before I realized it was one-way glass, and there might be people on the other side.
This was an interrogation room.
I tried to look calm and not fidget. After fifteen minutes in the room alone, it became hard to sit still. Finally, the lady cop came back with a water bottle.
“Sorry about the delay, pastor. Here is your water. The detective will be in shortly.”
“Um, ma’am? I hope it won’t be too long. I have some other appointments later this afternoon.”
“No problem. Just a few more minutes.”
A few more minutes turned into another fifteen. I looked at the time on my phone and decided to play a few rounds of Texas hold ‘em.
I finished one hand, then another, and then another.
Where was this detective? This was getting a bit ridiculous.
I began to text my brother when at last, a woman walked into the room.
I missed her initial greeting because I couldn’t help staring. Her black shiny hair hung down to her shoulders. Her eyes were a distracting shade of green. Her body reminded me of the curves on a sound wave diagram. A slight hint of coconut wafted toward me as she walked over to the table.
“Pastor Schaeffer?”
I nodded. “I am sorry, detective, a bit distracted this morning. Never been in a police station before, believe it or not.”
She looked me over and gave me a polite smile. I noticed a thin ragged scar that stretched from the side of her mouth.
How did that happen?
“And we don’t get too many ministers here either,” she said as she sat down opposite me. She offered me her hand. I took it and marveled at her soft, yet firm handshake. “It’s nice to meet you, Pastor Schaeffer.”
“Aidan, please, detective. I don’t insist on ‘Pastor’ very much.”
“You can call me Jennifer.”
She smiled, and I had the chance to be distracted all over again. I’d bet this woman got criminals to confess to anything just by being in the room with them. I’d probably confess to any crime she wanted.
“Do you mind if my boss joins us?” she asked.
“Not at all.”
She motioned at the window and confirmed my suspicion. “Sorry, I’m a new detective. They put us in these rooms so they can observe me. I don’t like it much.”
“I can relate. I’ve taken ordination exams.”
She smiled and raised her eyes. “Oh?”
“Yep, wrote for fifteen hours and then defended what I wrote for about five hours in an oral exam in front of forty people, all biblical scholars.”
“Wow, and I thought preachers had an easy life.”
“Hardly.”
After a soft knock on the door, a salt and pepper-haired man with an athletic build walked into the room. The guy looked like he probably ran marathons for fun. His suit had a crisp just-back-from-the-dry-cleaners look. He had a pleasant relaxed face, but the intense blue-gray shine of his eyes made me feel like I was being X-rayed.
He held out his hand. “Pastor Schaeffer, Lieutenant Scott Weaver. Thank you for coming in and talking with us.”
“No problem, lieutenant. And please, it’s just Aidan.”
“Great, call me Scott then.”
He sat in a chair backed up to the blackened window and waved his hand to Jennifer. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
Jennifer cleared her throat. “For the record, Aidan, could you state your full name?”
“Aidan Chester Schaeffer.” I tried not to grimace. I hated that middle name. It had been one of those old family names that, for some reason, people couldn’t let die.
If Jennifer found it funny, she didn’t show it. “And your occupation?”
“I’m the Assistant Pastor of Ministries at John Knox Presbyterian Church.”
“How long have you been at the church?”
“Um, it’ll be two years in March.”
“Thank you and your address please?”
“197 North Cove, Columbus, Ohio.”
“Good, thank you.” Jennifer wrote something down. She took out a picture and slid it across the table. “Do you recognize this person?”
She handed me a picture. I looked at it, and my throat tightened. Amanda.
“Yeah, yeah I do. That’s Amanda McDougal, my ex-fiancée.”
Jennifer tapped her pencil. “When was the last time you spoke with Ms. McDougal?”
“May 15th, 8:00 P.M.”
She raised her eyebrows. “A bit precise on that one, aren’t we?”
I sighed. “It wasn’t a pleasant conversation.”
“Can you please relate the nature of this conversation?”
I stared at Jennifer’s face. It may as well have been a map written in French, full of information but giving none of it away. “I’m sorry, did I miss something? Why are you asking me questions about Amanda? Is she okay?”
She looked at Lieutenant Weaver, who nodded. “Aidan, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Amanda is dead.”
My vision blurred as though I had suddenly become aware of the earth’s rotation. I had not realized how much I still loved Amanda until that moment. What had been a dull ache in the back of my soul now sprung up in a quick, sharp pain, like someone knifing me in the gut.
“Are you okay?” Jennifer asked.
“I’m sorry, I … I just can’t believe…”
My throat constricted as tears built in my eyes.
“Take a minute. It’s okay,” Lieutenant Weaver said.
I fought to get a hold of myself. “How?”
“Before I explain how, you must understand this is a private investigation. The identity of the victim has just become known as of a few hours ago. The family was just informed this morning. We have not released the name of the victim to the press. All they know is that there has been a brutal death. We are trying to let the family have some time.”
I thought about Amanda’s mom and sister. They had endured so much devastation in their lives already, and this would be the worst for them. Amanda had been the rock in her family after her father had died in a car accident a few years ago.
“I understand.” The
tears began to build in my eyes again. I fought the urge to let the dam open.
“We have every reason to believe that Amanda was murdered.”
I nodded. “I kind of guessed that but how?”
“We’ll get to that, but first we need to ask some more questions.”
“If you think it will help,” I said, recovering some control in my voice.
Jen nodded and wrote something down on a small notepad.
“Where were you on January 6th, at about three in the morning?”
“That was what, two days ago?”
“Yes.”
“I imagine I was at home sleeping.”
Jen looked at me with her left eye scrunched in a skeptical twitch. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, wh … no! Wait, I’m sorry. I was at the hospital.”
“What were you doing at the hospital at three in the morning? Cut yourself doing yard work?”
I got a bit annoyed. “It wasn’t for me.”
“Then, why?” Jen pressed.
I gripped the water bottle. “Detective Brown, I’m a minister, and like doctors we often get calls in the middle of the night. On that night, or rather that morning, I got the call at about one o’clock. A member of our congregation called to say her husband was having severe chest pains.”
Jen traced a finger along her scar. “And you rushed right off to be there?”
“I did. Even if I wasn’t on call, I would have.”
“On call?”
“The senior pastor and I take turns being on emergency pastoral call.”
“Can you describe what that looks like?”
I folded my arms against my chest. “Whenever there is an emergency in the church, for example, if someone goes to the hospital, plumbing breaks, or little Julie has just gotten pregnant … whatever it is, we drop what we are doing and go.”
“I see.” Jennifer continued writing on her notepad. “Can you tell me their names?”
“Of course, Olan and Edna Wilkes. It turns out Olan just had a bad case of acid reflux, thank God, but it took them about seven hours to get the diagnosis.”
3 Gates of the Dead (The 3 Gates of the Dead Series) Page 6
