The Apostle Murders

by Jim Laughter

Chapter Twenty-Three

  While Morris visited the Clay Cup Coffee House, Keller and Benjamin, along with Grundy Cooper, drove to the Murfreesboro Post newspaper office where they interviewed John Dupont’s editor and several other writers and employees about July 7, 2011, the day Dupont disappeared. No one at the paper had any idea why John Dupont had been singled out by whoever had injured him. The only useful piece of information they learned was the name of the symphony lady Dupont had interviewed. They would speak to her later in the day or perhaps tomorrow.

  Driving back up Maple Street toward the Clay Cup Coffee House, Keller spotted Morris walking along the sidewalk. He was measuring distances by stepping off paces between the door of the coffee shop and a parking lot around the side of the building.

  “Tap the horn,” Keller said to Cooper.

  Morris heard the horn and held up his right index finger, signaling for them to wait for just a minute.

  “Grundy Cooper,” Keller said, more to herself than to the agent in the front seat of the car.

  “Yes ma’am?”

  Keller realized that she’s spoken out loud.

  “It’s probably nothing,” she said. “Your name seems familiar but I can’t place it.”

  “I get that a lot because of my dad,” Cooper answered. “He was bureau chief in Sacramento for a long time. A few of his cases are required reading at the academy.”

  “That could be it. Didn’t he work a big child abduction case back in the 70s that made national news?”

  “The Stayner case,” Cooper said.

  “Stayner?”

  “Steven Stayner. He was a seven year-old boy who was kidnapped by a pedophile in December of 1972 in Merced, California and held captive for seven years. Then when the kidnapper, a man named Kenneth Parnell, grabbed another little boy in February of 1980, Steven rescued the other kid and returned him to the police and to his family in Ukiah, California. The story stirred up a lot of media attention. Some guy wrote a book about it, and they made a movie about it in the late 1980s.”

  “And your dad was involved with the case?”

  “He was the FBI agent in charge of the investigation.”

  “Was he in the movie?”

  “No, ma’am. He wasn’t impressed with the way the book and movie portrayed the Stayner boy as damaged goods instead of as the hero he really was.”

  Keller sat back in the seat. “I’m sure I saw something about it recently. I just don’t know what it was.”

  “You probably mean the new book that came out last year about the Stayner case,” Cooper said.

  “New book?”

  “Yeah, some writer out in Oklahoma wrote a new book about the Stayner kidnapping. But instead of concentrating on the sexual abuse the boy suffered, he wrote about Steven’s heroism in rescuing the other kid, and then later in his life speaking at schools and other places to help prevent child abductions.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “Yeah, it’s been getting quite a bit of media attention because it received two or three national endorsements from some big child safety advocacy groups,” Cooper said. “My dad met the author in Merced in August 2010 at a book signing when they unveiled the Steven Stayner and Missing Children’s Memorial. He said it was pretty neat meeting the guy and that the book is a lot better than the first one.”

  “Do you know the title of the new book?”

  “Yeah, sure. I bought a copy a few days ago but I’ve not read it yet. I’m anxious to see what it says about my dad. The title is From Victim to Hero—The Untold Story of Steven Stayner.”

  “Catchy,” Keller said. “But you don’t know the author’s name?”

  “No. Sorry ma’am. It’s an odd name but I can’t think of it off the top of my head. I have a copy at home. I’ll try to remember to bring it with me tomorrow.”

  “We can Google it when we get back to the hotel,” Benjamin offered.

  Morris opened the door to the Crown Victoria and slid into the front seat. “Any luck at the paper?”

  Morris seemed to be in a better mood than when they’d dropped him off at the Clay Cup Coffee House. He’s almost chipper. I wonder what he’s up to?

  “Nothing,” Keller answered. “Just the name of the lady from the Nashville Symphony. You?”

  “Nothin’ much,” Morris answered. “Just a picture of the killer.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Preach disconnected the electrical feeds and sewer and water connections from the motorhome and stored his hoses and lines in the RVs utility storage compartment. He’d planned to stay another day or two in Denver and leave on Wednesday or Thursday but something inside stirred him to action. He felt like if he didn’t get back on the road now he might never get away.

  The RV was all serviced and ready for the road. Only an unforeseen accident should stand in his way of fulfilling the next step in his mission. But he figured that if he kept to his plan and was careful, everything would work out according to the will and plan of God.

  Preach looked up from fastening the storage compartment door just as his son, Simon, pulled his Lexus under the portico where he always parked. Simon noticed his dad and that the RV was disconnected from the utility hookups. Instead of going into the church to prepare for his Wednesday night Bible Study, Simon crossed the parking lot to the RV.

  “You pulling out, Dad?”

  “In a little while, son.”

  “I thought you were leaving Wednesday. The kids were looking forward to spending a little more time with you.”

  Preach looked away at the Rocky Mountains rising up in the distance. He’d forgotten that he’d told Abigail and Robbie they could spend a night or two with him in the RV. How could he disappoint his grandchildren? How could he look them in their eyes and tell them that something more important was causing him to break his word to them? What kind of an example would that be? Was there anything more important than his family?

  Preach opened the storage compartment door and removed his utility lines and hoses again. “You’re right, son,” he said. “I promised them they could stay with me for a day or two, didn’t I?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But I’ve got to pull out first thing Wednesday if I’m going to make Portland by Friday, so you’ll have to pick them up sometime tomorrow night.”

  “That’s great, Dad!” Simon said. “I’ll call Cheri and have her drop the kids off this afternoon.”

  “How about school?” Preach asked.

  “They’re home schooled, remember?”

  “Home schooled?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Dad. We’ll make sure they get their school work done. You just have fun with them, and don’t give them too much soda pop and candy.”

  “Maybe I’ll take them to the zoo,” Preach reasoned aloud. “Can’t go wrong with the zoo.”

  “Robbie will love that.”

  “And Abigail?”

  “She’ll enjoy anything as long as she’s with you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lynn Keller and George Benjamin sat in the back seat of the Crown Victoria, stunned at Morris’ announcement that he had a picture of the interstate serial killer. And it wasn’t even the fact that he said he had a picture that stunned them, but the way he said it–nonchalant as if it was just another routine fact of the case.

  Morris didn’t turn around and face Keller or Benjamin. He just sat in the front seat of the car staring straight ahead. He nudged Cooper’s right arm. “You can take us to the hotel now.”

  Cooper slipped the Ford into gear and started to pull forward but stopped when Keller laid her hand on his shoulder.

  “Just hold your horses there, Cooper.”

  George Benjamin smiled. This was going to be good. Keller had given Morris hell all morning since his screw up at the burn center. Now it was his turn. Benjamin could tell by Morris’ demeanor that he intended to play Keller for all she was worth.

  “What the hell do you mean you have a picture of the
killer?” she asked Morris. “You say you have a picture of the killer?”

  “Did I stutter?” Morris asked, still facing forward, looking out the windshield. “Did I use words that none of you college educated computerized smart asses in this car could understand?”

  “You can’t get into this damn car and make an announcement like that then just sit there like a fly on a horse’s ass.”

  Morris turned around and faced Benjamin. “What have you two rookies been doin’ to Keller?”

  “Sir?” both Cooper and Benjamin responded.

  “She was a nice white Christian college girl until you come along,” Morris said. “I leave ‘er alone with you for an hour and you’ve got her cussin’ like a two-dollar hooker.”

  “Morris!”

  “I mean to tell you that two weeks ago I had her under control. Then you come along with your hot tea and straight arrow Bible-thumpin’ ways and she starts bustin’ my hump about ever little thing.”

  “Morris!” Keller exclaimed again. “I’m going to bust more than your hump if you don’t tell me about this damn picture!”

  “See there, George? Two-dollar hooker. Three at the outside. You two rookies ought’a be plum ashamed of yourselves for corruptin’ a sweet kid like Keller.”

  “I swear to God, Morris. I’m going to shoot your ass through the damn seat if you don’t come clean with me right now!” Keller said. “And you know damn well I’m just the girl who can do it.”

  Morris shook his head and rolled his eyes. It wasn’t often he got the upper hand on Keller and he was enjoying it. Benjamin sat back in the seat and watched the drama unfold between the two senior agents. He didn’t know how Morris had obtained a picture of the serial killer but he was enjoying the show.

  Cooper scratched an invisible itch on the top of his red head. He thought Morris and Keller were both out of their minds–one of them threatening to shoot the other, and Benjamin not seeming to care one way or the other.

  “Two dollars and maybe some change,” Morris repeated. “Seventy-five, eighty cents tops.”

  “Morris! Damn you, Morris!”

  “You were mighty sassy with me this mornin’, Keller, blamin’ me for gettin’ us kicked out’ta the hospital, even though I was innocent as could be.”

  He laid his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes.

  “Now you want me to just roll over and share my expert investigative secrets with you and these two shave tails.”

  Morris looked out the window at the quiet sidewalk.

  “Pretty little town. I could get used to this.”

  Keller opened her purse and reached inside. Cooper thought she might really be reaching for her service revolver.

  The damn crazy woman really is going to shoot this old fool.

  Instead of removing a weapon from her purse, Keller extracted a note pad and ink pen. She opened the pad and scribbled something on a blank page, tore it out, and handed it across the seat to Morris. Morris read the note and said, “Damn right you do,” then folded the paper and placed it into this shirt pocket.

  Benjamin caught a glimpse of the note but didn’t understand it. “Doubt?” he asked Keller.

  “I O U B T,” Keller countered. “It’s a game we’ve played for years. Whenever one of us does something really extraordinary, or finds a clue that the other could not possibly find, we write the other a note. I O U B T. It stands for I Owe You Big Time.”

  “So?”

  “So now Morris can call in his marker whenever he wants to and I have to do whatever he demands.”

  “Anything?” Cooper asked.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter, kid,” Keller said. “The last time he called in a marker, he made me go to the White House and sit in on some damn security briefing for the President. Damn near three hours of useless security crap just so Obama could take his daughters to the damn zoo.”

  “You met the President?” Benjamin asked.

  “Hell no! He wasn’t anywhere around. Then when the day came for the zoo trip, something came up and they had to cancel. Wasted my whole damn day.”

  Morris sat in the front seat and smiled. “This next one will be better than that.” A mischievous grin playing across his lips.

  Keller returned the notepad and pen to her purse but left her hand in the bag.

  “Do I get my gun out now or are you going to tell me about this damn picture?”

  Morris opened his satchel and took out a black and white photograph and handed it across the seat to Keller. It was grainy and of poor resolution but it did indeed bear the image of a man exiting the Clay Cup Coffee House.

  The man appeared to be in his mid-to-late sixties, approximately five foot seven inches tall, 170–180 pounds. His posture suggested that he stooped just a little at the shoulders. He wore khaki pants, a white long-sleeve open collar shirt, and black oxford shoes. A dark felt fedora pulled low over his forehead obscured a clear view of his face, but he was definitely a white man.

  “Where’d you get this?” Keller asked.

  Morris pointed across the street to the bank on the corner.

  “They have an outside security camera. It’s not real good but it’s better than nothing.’”

  “Can’t see his face clearly,” Keller said. “How can you be sure he’s the killer?”

  “Because I showed this picture to Chris, the manager of the coffee house, and he says this man arrived just before 8 a.m. that mornin’, and he left just before John Dupont.”

  “And he doesn’t know this man?” Benjamin asked.

  “Said he’s not a regular customer. Just some old guy who come in off the street.”

  Benjamin examined the photograph. “Look at his right arm,” he said, pointing at the picture.

  Morris and Keller took a closer look but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  “Does it look misshapen to you?” Benjamin asked. “Look at his hand. It looks like it’s deformed.”

  “Looks like a claw,” Keller said. “It’s bent inward at the elbow and wrist and his fingers look like they’re curled.”

  “I wish we could see his face more clearly,” Benjamin said. “Did the bank print this off of a digital photo server, sir?”

  “Hell, I don’t know what they printed it off of, son,” Morris answered. “They have all kinds of fancy electronic crap in there.”

  “We need to see all of their footage from that morning,” Benjamin said. “Maybe they recorded him going in as well.” Benjamin pushed open the car door and started to get out.

  “Hold your water there rookie,” Morris said. “Don’t you think I already thought of that?”

  Morris reached into his satchel again but this time he removed a 32-gigabyte thumb drive and handed it to Benjamin.

  “The man at the bank security office said you’d know how to access the information on this thing on our laptop computer.”

  Benjamin held the thumb drive in the palm of his hand. He looked back and forth between Keller and Morris and just smiled.

  “Well kid, can you get into this thing or not?” Morris asked.

  “You bet your ass I can!” Benjamin exclaimed, then realized what he’d said to the senior agent. “I mean…”

  “We know what you mean,” Keller said.

  “I need the laptop,” Benjamin said. “It’s back in my room.”

  “In your room?” Morris asked. “I thought it was in the trunk.”

  “No sir, it’s in my room. The battery needed to charge.”

  “We’d be halfway there by now if Killer Keller here hadn’t started bustin’ my hump,” Morris said.

  Keller reached up and slapped the back of Morris’ head. Without waiting to be told, Cooper slipped the Ford into drive and pulled into traffic heading northwest toward Nashville.

  These friggin’ people are nuts. George too. The whole damn bunch of ‘em.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Preach was happy to be back on the road. He’d only been at his son
’s church for a week but it felt like a month. The urgency of his mission weighed heavy on his heart and he felt that if he didn’t continue now, he may never complete his task.

  He had spent yesterday at the zoo with Abigail and Robbie, followed by a visit last night to the local mall; a grandfather on an outing with his grandchildren. It seemed like such a normal thing to do. No one had given them a second thought or glance. People passed by, unconcerned with their state of eternal future.

  Has this world completely forgotten God? Weren’t they aware that the end of time was at hand? In a land that claims a Christian heritage, has everyone abandoned God?

  My mission will change all of that. Once the full story of God’s will is revealed, people in this country will once again be forced to acknowledge the sovereignty of Almighty God.

  The visit to the mall had been an education for Preach. Abigail scoured the shelves and tables of The Gap and purchased several bargain pieces of clothing with the hundred-dollar gift card Preach had given her for her birthday at the suggestion of Simon. Preach was amazed at the selection of immodest apparel his granddaughter had purchased, clothing best left on the shelf as far as he was concerned.

  Do kids wear that stuff in public? What happened to ankle-length dresses and to blouses that covered everything without revealing the shape of a girl’s breasts? Has holiness and modesty been swept away with the rest of decency?

  Robbie spent an hour playing video games at a noisy arcade. Twenty dollars wasted in an hour.

  That’s a decent hourly wage for a man to support his family and here we are flushing it down the toilet on trivial pleasures.

  Preach didn’t understand the attraction the violent video games exerted on kids, but there must have been fifty or sixty kids in the arcade wasting hundreds of dollars on the meaningless machines. Preach thought of the offerings he used to take in his church trying to do the work of God or to support missionaries. Sometimes he’d only raise pittance for the cause of eternity, and here were kids wasting money that could be put to better use.

  * * *

  The motorhome glided along Interstate 25 north out of Denver toward Cheyenne, Wyoming. The air was crisp and the leaves on the trees had begun to change to brilliant shades of red, orange, and a deep auburn. Soon snow would blanket the landscape, hiding the last traces of summer.