by Dave Balcom
“That’s something of a statement, Elmo. The police have technical capabilities that make staging a murder as a suicide pretty difficult.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. I do know that Benny was a soldier of God, driven to perform his duties without fear or consequence, and his mission was to feed the homeless, to embrace the helpless, to answer the call that arrived in the tiny voice in his heart.
“There’s no possible way Benny, or anyone involved with such a mission, would end it by their own hand. Benny, like many of us, had known the ravages of addiction; had spent his time with Satan, quenched his thirst for sin only to have found the light of salvation in service to Jesus. His joy was a daily testimonial to the way and the light; he’d never have...”
I waited for him to finish, but after a minute I concluded he was done. “So what do you think happened?”
“Many folks do not know that we serve food to homeless who are living under the radar of official citizenship...”
“Illegal aliens?” I interrupted.
“Undocumented, perhaps; illegal? I wouldn’t know. Hungry, cold, helpless? Often. There are encampments all along the Umatilla River, Spring Run, in the Blues not far from here.
“Every day Benny would load food into the van with our logo on it, and deliver meals to shut-ins and seniors around the city; and then, afterwards, he’d load more meals into that old beat up VW bus of his, and deliver food to those who fear coming to town; those living under the radar.
“Along with food, he took hand-me-down clothes that are donated by churches and individuals who care to share their blessings with the downtrodden.”
“I had no idea.”
“We had to revert to this approach after representatives of the police started following Benny, and then coming in behind him to either scatter those encamped or, worse, arrest them...”
“Vagrancy? That seems a bit over the top; I thought it was the kind of charge police employed only to move people who were pestering citizens – panhandlers and scam artists – not people who are just making their way.”
He was nodding at my words, and then I saw the cold look in his eyes. “Of course that’s what you thought; what all of us thought, but these acts weren’t officially sanctioned by the courts or even, I believe, by the Sheriff or Chief of Police.”
“You mean deputies or officers were rousting the homeless vagrants? For what purpose?”
“Evil has it’s own purpose, Jim. If God Almighty is unknowable, why would we think the actions of Satan and his minions would be comprehensible to the human mind?”
“You think Benny was killed? Why?”
“He was baffling them; subverting their heinous activities with love and kindness. They had threatened him time and again. He’d been assaulted twice, and once they locked him up for three days without filing a charge.
“We hired a lawyer who found a judge and served the Sheriff’s Department with a writ of habeas corpus, but by the time he arrived at the jail, Benny was gone. We found him at his apartment, unconscious, smelling of liquor. He admitted he couldn’t remember much about his ordeal. He was adamant he’d not touched a drop. I believed him.”
“Those are pretty serious allegations, Elmo.”
“Do you think such allegations would be worthy of a private investigation?”
“You know, I’m not a private investigator, Elmo. Just a retired scribbler who now writes books and tries to stay clear of trouble...”
“And how’s that been working out for you, Jim? From what I hear, you’ve found yourself in the center of several episodes in the past...”
“I’m hoping to never again be in such episodes, Elmo.”
“But it would make a great story if I’m right, wouldn’t it?”
“You want a cup of coffee or a soda?”
“No, thank you. I’d better be going; I don’t want to be away from Grace for too long right now. We have a funeral to plan...”
“Did Benny have family here or anywhere?”
“A son, estranged actually. It’s really just us, Jim; just those of us who cared for him and his mission; just us...”
Chapter 2
The next morning, I came back from my daily devotions to living a life prepared while Judy was still running circles around my tired legs.
Tai Chi has kept my 6-foot-five-inch frame at 235 pounds and maintained the flexibility at or near the same as I’d known back when I first practiced the forms as a basis for my combat training.
My daily workout regimen intersperses rigorous walking or jogging with concentrated practice of the forms that, when called upon, provide me with surprising quickness, flexibility, and leverage.
My first stop back home was at the fridge for a bottle of water, and then onto the deck where I thumbed my way through my phone’s contacts until I found State Police Sergeant Pete Boyd’s number. I’d met Boyd when he was a corporal assigned to a protection detail for Jan and me. He’d been a valuable asset who became a valued friend. He was actually wounded in another effort to protect us just a year ago. We saw each other as often as his life allowed. His two daughters called Jan “Aunt Jan.”
“Boyd here.”
“Pete, Jim Stanton. Can you spare me a minute?”
“Hey, Jim; how’s Jan?”
“Terrific; and your family?”
“We’re good. What’s on your mind?”
“What does the name Benjamin Travis mean to you?”
“Don’t know him. Should I?”
“Know the Table of Grace soup kitchen in Pendleton?”
“Of course; he part of that population?”
“Was; he died two days ago; found gunshot in his apartment on Emigrant.”
“What should I know?”
“I’m not sure, but somebody who knew him quite well is convinced Benny didn’t take his own life.”
“That the official line?”
“Seems like.”
“You know this Benny?”
“I did; nice guy; quiet – very religious in a do-gooder kind of way.”
Boyd paused, as if to share some measure of doubt about those who profess faith, “Pretty difficult to ‘stage’ a murder to appear to be a suicide, Jim.”
“That’s what I said, but there is a suspicion in some quarters that maybe Benny had some help from representatives of the local police establishment.”
Boyd didn’t respond to that for so long I started to wonder if he was still on the line, or if he was wondering if my apparent lack of religious overtones might be in question. Once again I felt disgust for the lack of any background noise to let you know if you’re still connected to a digital phone.
“Pete?”
“I’m here, just making a note. Time of death?
“Not sure; body was discovered mid-morning yesterday; Benny had failed to show up for work at the Table, but I don’t know if Grace or Elmo had called the police or how the body was found. A PPD officer delivered the news to Elmo and Grace after lunch yesterday; Jan and I were there at the time. Last night Elmo came to the house, wouldn’t ask for help – something about a deal Grace made with God – so he told me a story in hopes I would volunteer for God’s work on my own...”
“Just what Eastern Oregon needs,” Boyd said in an offhand tone dripping with sarcasm, “Jim Stanton wielding God’s terrible swift sword.” Then in his regular voice, he terminated the call, “Let me see what I can do to prevent that scenario, okay?”
“Much appreciated...” I began, but he’d already hung up. I stared at the phone and wondered for maybe the thousandth time if those phone manners were part of the curriculum in every police academy in the country, or just some trait common among the officers I call friends.
Chapter 3
I was working on a book that wasn’t cooperating. I liked the story, but its word count didn’t fit industry guidelines for the genre to which it seemed to belong. Whittling it down to size had proven to be a grimy task with no visible reward worth the effort. The phone ringin
g seemed like a relief until I answered it.
“Mr. Stanton?”
“This is he.”
“My name is Maggie Lennon, Mr. Stanton; Jeremy gave me your number...”
“He told me you might call; what can I do for you, Maggie? And, please, call me Jim.”
“Thank you. I’m trying to find out as much as I can about my genealogy. My mother died of ovarian cancer in 2014. She was only 40, and frankly, I’ve been thinking I might have to take drastic steps to avoid a similar fate.”
“Have you consulted a genetic counselor? I’ve read that there are markers for some cancers that can give a patient options for preventative surgery...”
“I hope to have children yet, Mr., er Jim; but to answer, no, I haven’t gone that route.”
“Well, I’m no expert, but everything I’ve heard argues that to be a great first step; meanwhile, you called to hear if I might have been involved with your grandmother, right?”
“Yes, please.”
I told her what I could about 1973, when I had been 20 and ostensibly in the U.S. Navy. I told her I had been stationed that year in Jacksonville, Florida, where I was an air traffic controller. And later that year, I was transferred to Quonset Point, Rhode Island where I served out the remainder of my enlistment. “Actually, I wasn’t a virgin in 1973, but I wasn’t sexually active that year. When was Julie born?”
“January 17, 1974. Could you have come across some woman in Florida from Washington?”
“I could have, but I don’t recall any such woman, and I certainly didn’t have sexual relations with any woman that year.”
“I thought all young sailors...”
“I found military service very trying for me, Maggie; it required all my focus... I didn’t meet my future wife until early in 1975, just before I left the Navy. Believe me, please, I’m not your grandpa.”
“Jeremy said you told him you never...”
“I don’t know how to prove that to you, Maggie.
I could tell she was making a note, and then I heard her sigh. “Thank you, Jim.” And she was gone.
Jan had been sitting behind me, eavesdropping. “Was that Jeremy’s long-lost relative?”
The sarcasm was evident in her tone.
“She sounds nice on the phone; I think she’s in dire need of help.”
“I heard you recommend genetic counseling; what is it for her?”
“What cancer is to most everyone, but in her case a counselor could put her on the spot to choose between having a baby or not dying young.”
“I’d take the counselor every time,” Jan said in a flat tone of voice. “There are alternatives to giving birth; the alternative to living and loving someone for the rest of your life is not attractive at all.”
“I wonder if she looks anything at all like her grandmother?”
“That sounds a little yearning, Mr. Stanton.”
“Not a bit. I was just wondering what it might have been like to not know your parents or grandparents. This gal seems bright, probably lively. She was probably raised to appreciate commitment before sex; love and trust before commitment. So, probably, was her grandmother... God, that was long ago. I was too young.”
“So there were no wild oats before your Sandy?”
“Unfair question.”
“Straight answer?”
“Yes, there were; but not with virgins.”
Chapter 4
I hadn’t heard anything from Pete Boyd since calling him on Tuesday, so on the following Monday morning, in anticipation of our appearance at the Table, I gave him a call.
He, of course, was out, so I left a message.
“Anything new with you?” Elmo greeted us at the kitchen.
“Hi, Elmo,” Jan bubbled in front of him, and he patted her shoulder while looking a question at me.
“Nothing much so far,” I said in response to the look. “I have a call out, but haven’t heard anything back yet.”
“Let me introduce you to Ahmed,” Elmo boomed in response. “Ahmed heard about Benny, and is now filling Ben’s role in our ministry.”
Ahmed was a short, swarthy man in his twenties. His coal black hair was short; a well-trimmed mustache adorned his upper lip, and black rimmed glasses were perched on his nose. His dark eyes danced with humor, and he greeted us in Arabic, “Ma sha Allah!” as he extended his hand to shake.
“Muslim?” I asked looking at Elmo.
“Nope; as Christian as you or me; it’s an Arabic expression of joy to meet you.”
Elmo completed the introductions, and Ahmed gave a brief nod to Jan and a firm shake of my hand, “Good to know you both; I just love to shake folks up with Arabic from time to time. My last name is Barnes; my mom and dad met when he was working in Beirut.”
Jan was grinning from ear to ear, “We’re very glad to see any hint of worldliness in this place, Ahmed. How long have you lived in Pendleton?”
“I was born here, actually,” he said, his smile growing. “My family moved away when I was three, and I was raised in Tulsa, and later Houston. Went to school at Cornell.”
“Ahmed is a veterinarian, by trade; involved in research with sheep,” Elmo said.
“Wow!” I said quietly, “Who do you work for?”
“I’m an independent contractor,” he said, looking up at me. “I’m involved in a two-year research project, and much of my time there’s nothing to do but wait, so when I heard about Ben, I figured, what the hey, might as well work lunch here as read in the sack, you know?”
“Welcome, Ahmed,” Jan said, “We’re so happy to meet you.”
“Let’s hustle,” Elmo said. “We have last-minute tasks to finish before we pray, and, look, the natives are waiting restlessly.”
When we’d finished our coffee break, and started for our vehicles, I noticed Ahmed was loading pre-packaged food into the “Grace Van.” I went back inside where I found Elmo counting the day’s “donation” cash at one of the tables.
“Elmo, is Ahmed taking all of Ben’s duties?”
“What do you mean?”
“I see he’s preparing to deliver meals on wheels to shut-ins; is that his last effort of the day?”
“It’s terrific he showed up, isn’t it?”
“Of course, but you know what I’m asking...”
“Jim, that young man has made himself available to our work; he’s energetic and committed. He showed up on Wednesday last week, and pitched in. Yes, he sees himself as the new Ben; and, praise God, we need him.”
“Does he know what you think happened to Ben? Is he taking on all of Ben’s deliveries?”
“He is; and, yes, I explained my concerns to him, and he shrugged them off as any true Christian would.”
“Elmo?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Jim; it’s God’s plan; it’s God’s ministry; we are just pieces in play...”
“Have a great week, Elmo.” I felt myself caught between fuming at Elmo’s seeming willingness to sacrifice a young worker as long as it fit the old man’s interpretation of “God’s will.”
I approached the driver’s-side door just as Ahmed was starting the engine. He smiled at me, his dark eyes dancing in good humor. “What’s up, Jim?”
“I just wanted to tell you how much I think of what you’re doing, but I also want to know if you’re really aware of what you might be involving yourself...”
He cut me off with another glowing smile, “I thank you, my brother. I really do, but there are souls in need, and who would we be if we ignored that?”
“When will you be finished today?”
“I’m not sure, along towards dark, maybe.”
“You have a phone?”
“I do.”
“Would you give me a call when you shut it down for the night?”
“Why?”
“I need it.” I handed him my business card.
“You write books? Neat! What kind of books?”
“Mysteries.”
&nbs
p; He inspected me up and down again, and the smile was still playing with his eyes, “I’ll give you a ring.”
Chapter 5
Ahmed reported he was back in town just after dinner with nothing new to report.
The next morning, Elmo called. “You have time for a cup of coffee this morning, Jim?’
“Where?”
“Here. We have an issue...”
I was at the kitchen fifteen minutes later, and found Elmo, Grace and Ahmed sitting at the counter.
Grace poured a cup as I entered, but her smile was a faint imitation, and then I saw Ahmed’s bruised and swollen face and understood.
“Wow, buddy; what happened?”
“I came here, it was half an hour after I’d checked in with you, and I was removing recyclables and trash after making my rounds... Three guys – big guys – came up to me, asked me where I’d been and what I’d been doing... One did all the talking, and the hitting.”
“What did they want?” Elmo pressed.
“They wanted me to stop helping you and the ‘illegals.’”
“Why?”
“He said it was the only way to prevent taking a beating every day.”
“You told them what?” I asked.
“That they were pushing a chain. If it wasn’t me, someone else would be doing this part in God’s work.”
“That earned you the shiner?”
“And, I think, a couple of bruised if not cracked ribs.”
“Are you quitting?” I asked.
He shook his head, “No. I can’t quit. I’m just going to be a bit more careful going forward. Elmo, I think I’ll take the van home with me, and clean it out the next morning when I come to work; if that’s okay with you.”
“That’s not a problem as far as it goes,” Elmo said, “but I don’t think you can keep going out there alone, Ahmed.”
“I’d like to take that ride with you, if you don’t mind,” I said.
Ahmed glanced at Elmo, who smiled, “Some company would be good, right?”
“If it’s okay with you and Grace; it’s okay with me,” he said with a half smile. “You’re a bit bigger than I, but those three were all pretty much your size and up...”
