What the Fly Saw

by Frankie Y. Bailey

  “But we’re talking murder, not suicide,” Baxter said. “Did Kevin mention anyone else he might have disappointed big time? Someone who would want him dead?”

  “That is a question that I can answer,” Burdett said. “Nothing Kevin told me suggested he felt that he was in danger or believed anyone wished him harm.”

  “So to the best of your knowledge,” McCabe said. “Mr. Novak was his own worst enemy?”

  “I think that’s an accurate statement,” Burdett said.

  “Reverend Wyatt introduced you as the family counselor for the church.”

  “Yes, I work in tandem with Daniel. He ministers to our members’ spiritual needs. I help them to work through their psychological issues. As you can imagine, there is often overlap.”

  “Is that why Reverend Wyatt referred Mr. Novak to you?”

  “Yes. He saw Kevin was dealing with guilt about Bob’s death and also depression related to that.”

  “Did that mean he needed a shrink more than a minister?” Baxter asked.

  “Or both, Detective. And I prefer to think I help my clients to expand their minds to see their lives in more positive ways.”

  “About your relationship with Mr. Novak,” McCabe said. “His secretary mentioned he was active in the church. Did the two of you work together on any church committees?”

  “Several. The deacons committee and the committee with oversight of the church budget. The youth committee,” Burdett added. “Kevin was the coach of the church’s softball team, and he also helped out with family-focused events. Both his son, Scott, and his daughter, Megan, are members of the teen book discussion group I direct. Kevin and Sarah sometimes joined us as group leaders.”

  “What kind of books do you discuss?” Baxter asked. “Books about religion?”

  “Books in a variety of genres. Particularly novels that are engaging enough to hold teenagers’ attention, but at the same time pose thought-provoking questions about morality and ethical behavior. Our book selection last month was an adventure novel set in France during the fourteenth century.”

  “Sounds like a fun read,” Baxter said.

  “The protagonist was someone with whom even our less-engaged group members could identify. And the plot raised some rather profound questions about how one should behave in a time of war, pestilence, and social turmoil.”

  “‘A time of war, pestilence, and social turmoil,’” Baxter said. “Sort of like now?”

  “Yes, unfortunately. Our reading group members did see the analogies.”

  McCabe said, “Getting back to Mr. Novak’s other activities in the church, Dr. Burdett. Has anything unusual happened on any of the church committees or with the congregation? Anything that Mr. Novak expressed concern about?”

  Burdett shook his head. “All large churches have their minor conflicts, but in general—much of the credit going to Daniel’s leadership—our church functions well. Problems are usually resolved with compromise.”

  “So Mr. Novak hasn’t mentioned any arguments he might have had with a church member?”

  “I don’t think you’re going to find Kevin’s killer among our congregation, Detective McCabe. But in answer to your question, the only incident involving a church member that I can remember Kevin bringing up recently was a humorous tag that he sent me on Saturday afternoon.”

  “Saturday?” McCabe said. “What was it about?”

  “I still have it on my ORB,” Burdett said, reaching into his jacket pocket. “One of our members, Olive Cooper, had a celebration of life on Saturday afternoon. She turned eighty-five recently, and she wanted to bring together family and friends to celebrate. I was invited but couldn’t attend because of another commitment, a lecture I had promised to give at a local college. After the lecture, I tagged Kevin to ask how the celebration had gone. Here’s his response.”

  He held his ORB out for her to see, and McCabe read the message out loud: “Met Olive’s medium. Olive says I should forget about counseling with you and attend a séance.”

  “So this church member, Olive Cooper, is into woo-woo?” Baxter asked.

  “If by that you mean the paranormal,” Burdett said, “Olive has a lively intellect. She met this woman at someone else’s function. She—the woman—was there as the evening’s entertainment, I believe Olive told me.”

  “And since then Ms. Cooper has been seeing her professionally?” McCabe asked.

  “When you meet Olive—and I assume you’ll want to talk to her about the party on Saturday—you’ll understand. She has a way of bringing people she finds intriguing into her orbit. I don’t think—based on my brief conversation with her about this woman—that Olive believes wholeheartedly in contact with the dead. But, as I said, she has a lively intellect. She finds the woman interesting. Her word, not mine.”

  “Have you met this medium?” Baxter asked.

  “No, I haven’t. I’m sorry I missed the opportunity to do that on Saturday.”

  “So you took Kevin’s tag about her as a joke? You don’t think of her as competition?”

  “Competition?” Burdett smiled. “No, Detective Baxter. Most of the members of our church would not be drawn to séances. Those who might would be curious in passing, as Olive is. And séances, as I understand what they involve, are unlikely to solve anyone’s psychological or emotional problems.”

  “Is your practice limited to members of your church?” McCabe asked.

  “I have other patients and I work as a consultant,” Burdett said. “But I do hold a paid part-time appointment as family counselor for our church members.”

  “Is that usual?” Baxter asked. “For a church to have a psychiatrist on call?”

  “It isn’t unusual to provide counseling services. These days, with the anxiety level high even among regular churchgoers, it seems prudent if the church can afford to do so.”

  “Just curious, Doc—how do psychiatrists chill out? You must know all kinds of tricks.”

  “I prefer to call them strategies. Tricks imply magic or sleight of hand. Strategies can be learned and applied.”

  “Got it,” Baxter said.

  McCabe asked, “Is there anything else you can tell us, Dr. Burdett? Anyone else you could suggest we talk to?”

  “I think after you’ve talked to Daniel and to Olive, you’ll have a good sense of Kevin’s involvement with the church and his friends.”

  “And I hope you won’t mind if we follow up with you if we have other questions as we go on.”

  “You understand that my responses will be limited by the doctor-patient obligation I still feel to Kevin. The need to keep confidential the more private thoughts and feelings he shared with me.”

  Baxter said, “Isn’t it a little weird sometimes—I mean, knowing all kinds of secrets about the folks in your church and hanging out with them?”

  “Sometimes. But no more than Daniel must feel. Or anyone else in whom confidences are confided. One learns to compartmentalize.”

  “What you’re told in your office stays in your office?”

  “My relationships with the individuals and the families I counsel require that.”

  McCabe said, “We shouldn’t keep Reverend Wyatt waiting too much longer. Just one more thing, Dr. Burdett. And this is a routine question. Could you tell us where you were on Sunday evening?”

  “Snowed in like everyone else, Detective. Unlike Kevin, I didn’t venture out even after the snow had stopped. From Saturday evening until Monday morning, I hibernated with my books and music. I used the opportunity to try out several recipes—a stew, a loaf of bread. Hearty winter storm foods.” He paused. “And, alas, being a widower and not currently involved with anyone, I spent the time alone.”

  “But hopefully you enjoyed the solitude,” McCabe said.

  “Yes, I did. Sometimes a brief respite from the world is exactly what the doctor orders—even for himself.”

  McCabe nodded. “Cops should keep that in mind. There are days when we could use a little
psychological downtime.”

  10

  Sarah Novak left her minister alone in the living room. The tray with the mug of tea and the shortbread cookies sat on the coffee table, untouched.

  Wyatt closed his ORB and stood up as they came in. “Sarah went up to her bedroom. She said she needed some time alone.”

  McCabe said, “Yes, she mentioned she wanted to think about what to say to her daughter.”

  “Scott should be back with Megan any minute, now,” Wyatt said. “Do you want to go into one of the other rooms in case they should return during our conversation?”

  “Good idea,” Baxter said. “Lead the way.”

  “Let’s use Kevin’s study. Sarah said to make ourselves at home.”

  That was helpful, thought McCabe. An opportunity to have a look in the victim’s study without having to ask the widow. Just follow the family minister, who said they had been given permission to wander about.

  Kevin Novak’s study was his office at the funeral home on steroids. His interest in death and death rituals was reflected in the posters on the wall—from a 3-D museum poster about a King Tut exhibit to an old movie poster about Burke and Hare, the nineteenth-century Scottish murderers who’d trafficked in cadavers for medical dissection. Novak’s pop culture collectibles included a hologram on his desk of a New Orleans funeral procession.

  Baxter waved his hand and the jazz musicians swung into action with “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

  “Guy had a sense of humor,” Baxter said, waving his hand again to close the hologram.

  “Yes, he did,” Wyatt said. “Shall we sit down?”

  They took seats around a small table in the corner. As his secretary had said, Kevin Novak was tidy. Nothing on the table.

  “Reverend Wyatt,” McCabe said, “Dr. Burdett was able to give us some sense of what had been troubling Mr. Novak without violating the obligation he felt to preserve doctor-patient confidentiality. We know Mr. Novak felt some guilt abut his friend’s death and was depressed. We know you referred Mr. Novak to Dr. Burdett.”

  “Yes, I thought Jonathan was better equipped than I was to offer the counseling I sensed Kevin needed.”

  “But apparently—from what his wife said—he was still troubled. So troubled she was concerned about him.”

  “I think Sarah’s perception is probably more accurate than mine, or even Jonathan’s. I’m practically a newlywed compared to her and Kevin, but I have learned it’s much easier to present a brave face to the world than to your spouse.”

  “Of course, it seems other people were also concerned about Mr. Novak,” McCabe said, taking the opportunity to go in another direction. “Dr. Burdett showed us a tag Mr. Novak had sent him on Saturday. Apparently, when he was at the celebration for Olive Cooper, she was concerned enough to suggest Mr. Novak attend a séance with a medium.”

  Wyatt grimaced. “If she meant that Woodward woman, I hope she was joking.”

  Baxter said, “So you don’t believe in spiritualists, Reverend?”

  “I believe that some, if not all of them, prey on vulnerable people. As to whether or not it’s possible to communicate with the dead, I’m of an open mind about that. But if it is, I don’t think a medium is required to do it.”

  “I see,” McCabe said. “So you wouldn’t have encouraged Mr. Novak to attend a séance.”

  “I would have encouraged him to continue his sessions with Jonathan. From what I understand, the therapeutic process can stir up disturbing emotions. And it becomes a matter of working through to get to the other side.”

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Novak never got that opportunity.” McCabe opened her ORB and glanced at her Novak file, giving Wyatt a moment to think about that. “Do you know anyone who might have wanted Mr. Novak dead, Reverend Wyatt?”

  “No, Detective, I don’t. That’s what concerns me. If this murder wasn’t committed by a stranger, by someone who came in off the street, then that means Kevin was killed by someone he knew.”

  “Someone you might know as well.”

  “Yes, and that possibility shakes me to the core.”

  “I can understand that it would. What can you—”

  McCabe broke off at the sound of the front door closing. A young female voice called, “Mom, I’m home. What’s going on?”

  They listened for a reply. Then Sarah Novak called out, “I’m up here, honey. Come upstairs.”

  Wyatt took an audible breath. “This is going to be so hard for Meg. She adored her father.”

  McCabe could empathize with that. She had been a “daddy’s girl,” too. But that had to do with the fact that her brother had been her mother’s favorite child. It wasn’t clear what the dynamics were in the Novak family. “As I was about to say, can you tell us about Kevin Novak’s involvement with your church?”

  Wyatt said, “I have some good memories about that. I was a young assistant minister at another church when I first met the two of them—Kevin and Sarah. Later, when I was thinking of going out on my own, they encouraged me. And they were among the first members of my new congregation.”

  “How did your boss at your old church take it when you left and took two of his members along?” Baxter asked.

  “Actually,” Wyatt said, a touch of pride in his voice, “I took about thirty members from the old church along. The senior minister was elderly and contemplating retirement. So he wasn’t deeply offended when some of the members followed me.”

  “If I could ask—just curious,” McCabe said, “but if the senior minister was about to retire, why didn’t you stay where you were?”

  “It wasn’t a sure thing that I would become the next senior minister there. By then, it had become clear I had some doctrinal differences with that church. I wanted the freedom of starting a new church from the ground up.”

  “With some supportive members from your former church?”

  “Who believed as I did,” Wyatt said. “In case you’re wondering what we believe, I can best sum it up by saying we’re social progressives who believe strongly in faith-based lives.”

  McCabe nodded her understanding, thinking she would go to the Web later and see if that meant what she thought it did. Conservative religious practices, but liberal on social issues like the homeless and immigration.

  “Dr. Burdett told us Mr. Novak was active in the church,” McCabe said. “That he served on a number of committees, and he and his wife were involved with the teen book discussion group. And Mr. Novak himself was a coach.”

  “Yes, Kevin was incredibly generous with his time in serving the church.”

  “Did he bury most of the members who died?” Baxter asked.

  “Many of them,” Wyatt said. “But he didn’t have a monopoly if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “So, are any of your other members funeral directors?”

  “A couple of years ago, we had another member who was,” Wyatt said. “But he moved to Portland, Oregon.”

  Before Baxter could make an observation about that, McCabe said, “Will you be delivering Mr. Novak’s funeral sermon?”

  “I assume so,” Wyatt said. “I never talked about it with Kevin. But I’m sure he left instructions about his service. No one knew better than he how helpful it is to the family to know what their loved one wanted done.”

  McCabe felt a twinge of guilt. Somehow she had never gotten around to dealing with her own funeral arrangements. Making a living will had been uncomfortable enough. Dealing with what came after they’d take her off life support and take her organs for donation had been a step further than she’d wanted to go at the time.

  Buried or cremated? Neither choice appealed.

  She wondered which Kevin Novak had opted for. She glanced again at his mummy poster. Maybe he’d had other plans.

  Realizing her mind had drifted, McCabe straightened in her chair and said, “Reverend Wyatt, would you tell us where you were on Saturday evening?”

  “Snowed in. At home with my wife, Iris, and our to
ddler.”

  “And you were at home until when? Were your church services canceled on Sunday?”

  “The live church services were canceled. But I was able to do a Web stream from the small studio I have in my home. My wife is my production manager, so there was no problem about technical assistance.”

  “Handy to have a wife who can do that kind of thing,” Baxter said. “Did she train as a production manager after the two of you were married?”

  “No, we met at the studio where I was recording my sermons for streaming. After we were married and the church began to grow, she decided to work for me full time.”

  Something occurred to McCabe. “Speaking of work, does Mrs. Novak work outside the home?”

  “She works at home. She’s an herbalist. She has her own line of soaps and other products she sells by mail and at fairs and festivals.”

  “Was that what she was doing when she and Mr. Novak met?”

  “I believe she’d had a number of jobs in sales. After they were married and Scott was born, Kevin encouraged her to do what she really wanted to do and try her hand at her own small business.”

  “That was supportive of him,” McCabe said.

  “Yes, it was. Kevin was a good husband. He would have done anything to make Sarah happy.”

  The problem with that, McCabe thought, was that being happy sometimes came with a price tag.

  She heard herself repeating the question she had asked at least three times that day: “Is there anything else you can tell us, Reverend Wyatt?”

  “Nothing I can think of. But something else may come to me after I’ve gotten over the initial shock. After I’ve really taken in that Kevin is dead and someone killed him. Do you intend to talk to Olive Cooper?”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Please remember her age. I’m sure she’ll be upset when she hears about Kevin.”

  “Speaking of Ms. Cooper, Reverend Wyatt, I gather you didn’t attend her celebration of life on Saturday.”