by Neal Griffin
“So, really,” Livy said. “Rich is working with you on this case?”
“Yeah, he is,” Tia said. “I guess I should’ve brought him along. Something tells me he could have softened you up a whole lot quicker on the print idea.”
Livy blushed. “Oh, stop it.”
“Sorry,” Tia said. “But seriously, he’s got some good instincts. Might turn out to be a pretty good cop. I’m starting to like the kid.”
It was obvious Livy wanted to change the subject. “So, you heading back to Newberg?”
Still thinking about the press conference, Tia said, “Not yet. I’ve got one more stop to make.”
They figured it would be best if they didn’t leave together, so Livy headed out alone. Tia lingered for a few minutes, taking a last look into the water. The walleye had recovered from his dizzy fall and she watched him glide away, allowing the current to carry him slowly south.
TWENTY-FOUR
The Crown Vic was made right off as a PD ride so the whistles and “Five-0” catcalls started before Tia even pulled to the curb. Across the street, a corner boy dressed in baggie shorts to his knees and a tank top—a kid she figured couldn’t be older than nine or ten—looked Tia’s way and broke into a dead run. Tia couldn’t help but be impressed by the display of agility considering his tomato red Nike Lebron’s were loosely tied and at least two sizes too big. About halfway down the block, he turned back, looking over his shoulder. When Tia showed no interest in giving chase, he dropped down onto the cement porch step of the nearest house, breathing hard. He sat with his elbows on his knees, doing his best to appear uninterested in her arrival. Across the street a group of young men loitered under a McDonald’s sign so heavily tagged with graffiti the Golden Arches were mostly red and blue. They all gave Tia a hard look, but were way too cool to run.
The traffic on the 94 had been light, so she’d made the drive from the lake to the north side of Milwaukee in less than an hour. She’d found the church easily enough. The two-story structure had a steep-pitched roof that was topped by a tall steeple and a bell tower that Tia could see had no bell. Most of the windows were boarded over except for one all the way at the top. There, a pane of stained glass showed a levitating Jesus with arms outstretched and eyes cast down to the street. Tia wondered if the glass remained intact out of respect or because it was beyond rock-throwing distance.
After seeing him at the news conference, Tia remembered how Alex had gushed over Sam Mills and she had decided to do some online research of the preacher. She hadn’t found the trade magazine Alex had mentioned, instead coming across a year-old piece from the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. The lengthy article, titled “Father and Son,” was a human-interest story, contrasting the professional careers of Ezekiel and Sam Mills.
After seminary, the younger Mills had spent two years in Africa as part of a humanitarian outreach effort. In the article he was portrayed more as the voice of the downtrodden than as a preacher. A realistic purveyor of modern social issues, his statements attempted to explain the public health benefits of needle exchange programs and free condoms for teenagers.
Apparently, Ezekiel Mills had declined to be interviewed, for all quotes attributed to him were taken from other interviews, press releases, and sermons.
It seemed pretty obvious the reporter had slanted the article to emphasize the philosophical differences between Sam and his father. One man was serving the lowliest members of one of the poorest cities in the country. The other preached a message on the glory of wealth to an audience of a thousand people whose idea of human suffering was the Packers losing to the Bears.
The sign outside the church read, FIRST FRIENDSHIP CHURCH OF MILWAUKEE, PASTOR SAM MILLS, EVERYONE WELCOME. We’ll see about that, Tia thought.
She pulled on the heavy, ten-foot-tall wooden door and walked into a building bustling with energy. The laughter of children came from all directions. The walls of the long hallway were covered with art made by kids, mostly from paint, colored felt, sparkles, and glue. Tia walked slowly down the hall, studying the bright images, until she came to a door marked OFFICE.
Inside Tia found an African-American woman sitting at a desk with a Bible open in front of her. The woman’s sand-colored hair was pulled back in a ponytail of long, tightly wound sister locks that fell past her shoulders. Looking up from her reading, she flashed a smile so genuine Tia could only smile back.
“Hi, welcome to First Friendship. I don’t recognize you, do I?”
“Probably not,” Tia said. Dressed down in jeans and a collared shirt that she wore untucked to conceal her gun, she had every intention of withholding her identity as a cop. “I was looking for Pastor Mills.”
“Oh, he’s around here somewhere. Let me find him.” She needed both hands to heft a bulky walkie-talkie not unlike the type carried by Newberg PD officers, which meant it was about ten years behind the times in terms of technology. “What did you say your name was?”
“Oh, sorry.” Tia already liked the woman and her answer felt deceitful. “Tia. He knows me.”
The woman held the radio awkwardly near her face and pushed the “talk” button. Tia noticed the simple gold band on her left ring finger. She spoke louder than necessary into the radio. “Hey, Pastor Sam. You there?”
After a few seconds of dead air, his reply crackled through: “What’s up, Darby?”
Darby hunched her shoulders and smiled. Tia was pretty sure the room got brighter. Darby winked as she spoke into the radio. “Tia is here to see you.”
“Tia?” Even through the static, Tia could hear his surprise. There was a long pause followed by, “Be right there.”
The receptionist said, “You want to sit? Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine. Darby, is it? That’s a pretty name.”
“Thanks. I like your name, too. Tia.” Darby nodded in approval. “You look like a Tia. How you know Pastor Sam?”
Tia decided to come clean and tell the truth just as the outer door opened. Sam Mills walked in. “Detective? What brings you all the way into the city?”
“Detective?” Darby said and Tia picked up on her disappointment and apprehension.
Apparently so did Mills, for he spoke reassuringly. “Yeah, Darby. Tia is a detective in Newberg. She’s a friend.”
The woman’s smile had been replaced with a look of suspicion. Tia was pretty sure Darby wished she’d been less helpful.
“I’m not here for work,” Tia said. “Well, I mean, it is work, but it’s not got anything to do with folks down here.”
“Yeah?” Darby said, unsatisfied. “Okay. You just didn’t seem like no cop to me is all.”
Tia smiled. “I get that a lot.”
“Come on in my office,” Sam said. “Thanks, Darby.”
“Yes, thank you,” Tia said, meaning it. “Nice to meet you.”
Darby didn’t look up from her Bible. “Okay, then.”
“Sorry about that.” Tia followed Sam into his small office, which was lined with full bookshelves. It had a single window, covered on the outside with thick security bars. He took a folding chair from the wall and offered her a seat. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You mean Darby? No worries, but yeah, she’s a little skittish around the police. I don’t think you’d blame her.”
“How’s that?”
“Her dad’s been in prison for sixteen years.”
“That’s rough,” Tia said. “What was it?”
“Twenty-five years for cultivation.”
Confused, Tia said, “Cultivation of what?”
“Marijuana.” His tone was clipped.
“Then it couldn’t have been local cops. It had to be a federal thing, right?”
Sam shrugged. “Yeah, not that it matters much to the guy doing time. Apparently he had a pretty good indoor grow and a really lousy lawyer.”
Tia wasn’t surprised. Back in the day, when the War on Drugs was in full operation, if a person got in the crosshairs of the DEA, i
t wasn’t all that unusual to get locked away for the long haul. Even for growing pot in your basement.
“So,” Tia said. “He’s in a federal pen?”
“Yeah. He used to be in Marion, and Darby got to visit him once a month or so. She could take the first Greyhound down there in the morning and the last one home at night. But then about two years ago they transferred him to a prison out in Arizona and she hasn’t seen him since.”
“How come?”
“What’s she going to do? Buy a plane ticket? Book a hotel?”
Tia was struck by the emotion in his voice, which sounded a bit like anger. He went on, “It doesn’t work that way. For the Darbys of the world, a trip to Arizona may as well be a trip to the moon.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “It’s always seemed odd to me that the government doesn’t give some consideration to keeping an inmate close to their family. Seems like that would go a long way in terms of prisoner morale. Not to mention it’s the decent thing to do. At least her husband is closer.”
“Her husband?”
“Dale,” Sam explained. “He’s doing time for a local thing. Officially, it’s commercial burglary, which is a felony. Personally, I call it petty shoplifting. He got a year. He was almost finished, about thirty days to release, when he got into a fight with another inmate. Ended up getting another seven years tacked on for assault.”
“Damn. He must have messed the guy up, huh?”
Sam shrugged. “That’s what the guards said, but I know Dale. He told me it was self-defense. He’s in Waupun. He should be out in three to four years if he can stay off the radar.”
“Sounds rough.” Tia couldn’t think of what else to say. She’d long since come to realize prison could be an all-in-the-family-type experience. She knew of plenty of fathers and sons who were locked up at the same time.
“Their son, Robbie, turns eighteen in a few months. She’s afraid to let him out of the house.” Sam shook his head. “Darby’s a great woman but she’s got some trust issues when it comes to the system. So anyway, what brings you to the city?”
“Honestly, I just came down…” Tia’s mind was still on Darby and it took her a moment to mentally change topics. She was careful not to come off too strong. “Uh … I was surprised to see you on television. The press conference?”
“Oh yeah. Dad asked me to help out with the boy’s mom. She’s kind of a mess.” He looked at her closely. “She said you came by and told her about her son’s suicide.”
“I did.” Tia nodded. “She was pretty adamant that her son was murdered. And now I agree with her.”
“Really?” Sam was taken aback. “But the ME? He’s ruled it suicide.”
“I won’t get into that,” Tia said with a shrug. “Call it a professional disagreement. It happens on occasion.”
“And this is one of those occasions?” Now she picked up on his hesitancy.
“Looks that way.” She nodded. “There’s pretty strong evidence, irrefutable, actually, that Henry’s wound was not self-inflicted.”
Still standing, Sam leaned back against his metal desk. “Well, no offense but I think I’ll go with the scientific community.”
Tia tilted her head and wondered where the conversation was headed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, again, no disrespect, but a medical doctor declared the case a suicide. That sounds pretty conclusive to me.”
Tia was starting to feel a bit testy and it came through. “Just because he’s got MD after his name doesn’t mean he can’t blow the call.”
Sam crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to one side. “And that’s what you think happened? This Dr. Walkoski got it wrong?”
“Kowalski, and yeah,” Tia said. “He spit the bit on this one.”
Sam stared ahead for several seconds, then shook his head and went to take a seat at his desk. “Do you really want to put the family through this, Tia?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning this is already a very emotional and difficult situation. And now you’re talking about … I don’t know, adding all this suspicion and innuendo.” He stopped and stared at her. “We’re talking about murder, Tia.”
“Yes, we are.” Tia finally took a seat in the chair Sam had offered. She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “And I plan on solving it.”
“Is that what this is?” It was Sam’s turn to get testy. “Some chance to play cop?”
“I’m not playing anything.” Tia didn’t move and her voice was calm but stern. “I am a cop and this is a murder. But the only reason I came by is to ask you to not be turning Carla against me.”
“What do you mean?”
“This attorney you have for the church told her not to talk to me.”
“Come again?”
“I went by to see Carla this morning. She was very … well, I don’t know what to call it but the bottom line is she was told by an attorney not to speak with me. I’m assuming it was the attorney who represents Church of the Rock.”
“I had no idea. I’m sorry that happened, Tia. I’ll have a word with Mr. Myers.” Sam’s tone softened. “And I’m sorry about the ‘play cop’ comment. I was out of line. This is just coming as a bit of a shock. I know you have a job to do.”
“Exactly,” Tia said. “So let me do my job and you do yours.”
“And what exactly is my job?”
Tia leaned back in the chair and tried to lower the tension. “I think it’s great that your church has reached out to Carla. I hope you can help her. But honestly? I think it’s a little over the top.”
“Sorry, Tia,” Sam said. “Again, I don’t follow you.”
“The makeover at the trailer.” Tia paused and when Sam only stared back she went on, “Flat-screen? New couch?”
Sam closed his eyes and nodded. “That sounds like my father’s doing. I’m talking about my earthly one.”
“Ah.” Tia allowed herself to smile. “Guess I got my do-gooders mixed up.”
“If it ever involves luxury items and bundles of cash,” Sam hooked his thumb in the general direction of Newberg, “head west to the glass cathedral. The best I can do for anyone is a bag of canned goods and maybe a voucher for a night at the Super 8.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tia said.
“But seriously,” Sam said. “If anything I’ve said or done has somehow interfered or made your job harder … well, I apologize. It wasn’t my intent. And I’d like to think I can speak for my father as well. I’ll have a talk with him. But again, I just have to say: it seems to me like the family has been through enough.”
“I appreciate your honesty, Sam.” Tia stood to leave. “Sorry again if I upset Darby. She seems really great.”
“She is,” Sam said. “She’s a tough lady.”
“Sounds like she has to be,” Tia said, closing that part of the conversation. “I should be getting back to Newberg. Need to check in with my boss. Can you point me to a drive-through? Maybe something just a little better than that Mickey-D’s across the street?”
“I know a great place. Five minutes from here. My treat.”
Tia looked at her watch. It was pushing noon and she still hadn’t checked in at the PD. She was sure Travis and maybe even the Chief were looking for her, but Sam was her best avenue to maintaining open relations with the church, which meant access to Carla and the long list of still to be contacted staff members from the retreat.
“Sure, Sam,” she said. “But I’ll buy my own, all right?”
“Great.” He hesitated. “You mind driving? My car leaves a lot to be desired. It’s pretty much on its last leg.”
Tia laughed. “Sure, we can take my ride. You’re going to love it.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Tia followed Sam’s directions through the city streets. They enjoyed a good laugh about the condition of Tia’s car, and she explained the draconian budget cuts at Newberg PD. He wanted to take a picture of her
sitting on the phone book but she refused. He pulled out his cell phone and took it anyway.
“I better not see that on Facebook or anything,” Tia said.
“No promises,” he replied, smiling. He pointed through the windshield. “Just about another mile or so, straight up this road. It’ll be on the right.”
As they drove past boarded-up storefronts and run-down apartment buildings, the conversation shifted to more serious topics. Tia asked Sam about his life as a minister, not tipping her hand that she had already done a bit of her own research. He surprised her when he opened up about it so quickly. Looking casually out the windshield, he talked about his time trapped in the middle of the Sudanese civil war.
“Seemed like one day we went from worrying about potable water and malaria to running from a rebel faction that had never heard of the Geneva Convention. I was there with half a dozen other missionaries. I ended up getting separated from my group so I hid out with a family of Copts.”
“Copts?” Tia asked, drawn in by the story and already quietly comparing it to some of her own combat experiences.
“Coptic Christians. There’s a long history of Christianity in Africa. Persecution. Genocide. But anyway, it was ten days before I saw an opening to escape across the northern border into Egypt, so I took it. Found my group at the American embassy. They’d written me off. We were another three months getting stateside. A few weeks after we got back I learned through the embassy that the family had been picked up by a group of rebels. The men, a father and his three sons, were tortured. Burned alive. The women. Well no one knows for sure.”
“Jesus, Sam.” Tia forgot for the moment she was talking to a preacher. “Sorry, I just mean, that’s awful.”
“No worries and believe me, I’ve taken his name in vain a few times myself. I look back and think of what I could’ve done. What I should have done.”
Tia heard the anger in his voice and it was anger she understood. “That’s a lot to carry around. Trust me. I speak from experience. You gotta let it go.”
The car went quiet for a few minutes and it was Sam who redirected the conversation. She could hear the different tone in his voice, as if he was anxious to change the subject. “Not looking for an argument, but can I ask you something?”
