Ray shuffled up to Matt’s side of the car and rapped on the glass.
“How was this club going to help you get ahead?” Berg asked. “Open your eyes right now.”
In moments like these—I’d experienced a few in the past year and a half—there was something in Berg’s rich voice that demanded a response and called for trust.
Matt did as Berg asked but carefully averted his eyes as Ray motioned for him to roll down his window. “We network. We meet, talk about new opportunities, our dreams, things like that. We help each other. So when Ray and I talked, I told him I wanted to turn some offbeat building into a bed and breakfast.”
“The club is basically a harmless fraternal organization,” I said sarcastically.
“Women can and do belong,” Matt replied.
“That’s not what I meant,” I said.
Hattie looped around the car, walking from the hood to Carissa’s window. “My dear, are you all right?” She bent down. “What’s bothering you, dear? Can I help?”
That’s how they had sucked Carissa in at the beginning, I realized. She needed care and compassion, and because her husband couldn’t provide it, she’d obtained it where she could.
“Get out into the fresh air, please,” Hattie beseeched. “Come on out.”
“Oh, I’ll get out all right, you cow,” Carissa grumbled.
“Stay where you are,” Berg said. He opened the door and pushed his way out of his seat.
I waited a beat, until it was too late for him to instruct me to remain, then got out and found myself face to face with Hattie. Yet again.
“Teagan, how are you? I didn’t expect—”
“Shut up,” I said, shoving her aside and whipping around the Petersons’ car until I was standing behind Ray. Berg was already at full throttle, launching into Nickle, threatening him with the police.
Ray threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, that’s droll. The police. You’ve got me now. I’m quaking in my boots.” He continued to chuckle, and with a backward look—two seconds at most—he bared his teeth at me, exposing his receding gums, the filth of his mouth.
“I’m aware you have people in your pocket,” Berg said, “or rather, you and Hattie are in the pockets of others. Policemen, clergymen, politicians, attorneys. Some of them wield a measure of power. But you and Hattie are foot soldiers, not leaders, and as such you’re expendable.”
Ray laughed again, but this time his laughter was thinner, with a reedy quality.
“But even as plebian foot soldiers,” Berg continued, “I will hunt you down, and God will stop you. Leave the Petersons alone, from this moment on.”
“Matt Peterson has a debt to pay.”
“It’s you and your wife who have a debt to pay, and you’re adding to it with every day.”
“I know about you, Bergland, you disgrace,” Ray said. “They know about you. They were so right to bring you in. I doubted it at first, but now I see. You’re the talk of many dark places, did you know that? They know what you’ve done, and they could eat it up. They have Jack, and now it’s you they can’t wait to meet. They’re so hungry for you.”
I was ready to explode. Berg was handling matters, as he always did, but at that moment I found myself battling an urge to do violence. Nothing big, just a fist to Ray’s bony chest.
“The police are aware of you,” Berg said, “but more important, God is aware of you, and He won’t let you torture these people anymore. Or destroy St. Michael’s. Turn away from evil while you still can.”
“You’re lecturing me about evil?” Nickle snorted. “I never murdered anyone, least of all someone I claimed to love. I never caused a soul to raise a gun to his chin and blast a hole through it and the top of his head.”
I tapped on Nickle’s shoulder and he spun back. What to say? I didn’t know. All I knew was I wanted to stop him in his dirty tracks.
So I said the first thing that came to mind. “Can you get both me and Berg a discount on a home security system? Or is that off the table now?”
CHAPTER 33
For a few precious seconds the look on Ray Nickle’s face was priceless. As was the look on Berg’s. I don’t know what had possessed me, except that I was inclined toward inappropriate humor, and nerves usually doubled that inclination.
Ray quickly pulled himself together and threatened me with demonic visitations and a terrible death—my just reward, he said, for murdering a child.
But demons, even the shadow I’d encountered alone in the church hall, were of no consequence compared to God’s judgment, and despite there being no condemnation for those in Christ—as Berg frequently said to me and as I sometimes said to him or myself—I’d always suspected that, in God’s economy, there would one day be a fit reckoning for Bethany’s death. Something dreadful. If not drowning, then something I feared as much.
“Do you ever think about the agonies of drowning, the desperate wish to live?” Nickle asked me. “It must be an excruciating death.”
A couple walking by turned to stare.
Of course I’d thought of the horrors. How Bethany must have suffered in her final moments. For a reason never determined, she hadn’t even struggled on the surface of the water. No flailing, no screams for help. She’d simply gone under and drowned.
Berg jumped into the silence. “You speak so cavalierly about demonic visitations, Mr. Nickle.”
Ray swung around. “I speak with reverence.”
“Have you thought about what awaits you at the judgment?”
Ray roared with laughter. “Still preaching, old man? That’s priceless. Hattie, are you hearing this?”
“I am, dear.” Hattie leaned into the hood of the car, and as I pivoted for a look at her, I caught sight of Carissa, her face wet with tears, and Matt, listening with his window rolled down, wearing an expression of resignation. As though a sentence had been pronounced on his life and there was no escape.
“You may not believe it,” Berg said, “but I’m concerned about your eternal soul. I pray for you and Hattie.”
Berg had hope for every soul until at long last that soul rejected all hope. But Ray Nickle was a twisted creature, and so he took Berg’s promise of prayer as a slap in the face, as such creatures usually did.
“I don’t need your prayers. Be concerned about your own soul, you deformed old goat, and pray for your brother in hell. Would you like to hear what I’ve seen of him? I’ve been shown such pictures.” Nickle slapped his chest in pride. “They’ve shown me! A glimpse into my master’s house—I’ve been allowed! You say your god won’t let me have the Petersons, but has he stopped me? They’re mine and the church is my master’s. Who’s winning and who has the power? Answer that and there’s your answer to everything. You’ve already lost.”
To my right, about fifteen feet away, I saw a handful of people standing still, riveted by Nickle’s rant. A couple days ago I’d seen the man as a pitiful and sinful soul with bad teeth. Now he was the full-throated ram of hell. The transformation, and the pleasure he drew from unleashing it, was nauseating.
It was one of those spiritual battles in mundane places Berg often talked about—right there in the Boyle’s Burgers parking lot. Suddenly, with crystal clarity, I realized I had best raise my sword and raise it now.
I couldn’t quote Scripture like Berg could—I was flawed and sinful to the core, I didn’t feel the truth of my faith much of the time, and I was often fearful—but I had a sword to wield.
“Ray, you’re so very wrong,” I said. A weak start, but a start.
In a remarkable display of neck-muscle flexibility, his head swiveled toward me a full two seconds before his body did.
“Do you know what your great leader has done in his life?” he asked.
“I know enough, and he knows enough about me.”
“You know nothing.”
“I know all I need to know.”
“The depth of his evil—and does he know everything about your evil?”
�
�Listen, here’s the thing, Ray. Your words have no effect—your fists are beating the air. Want to know why? You don’t understand the miraculous power of forgiveness. Berg’s been trying to tell you it’s there for you too, if only you ask. For Hattie as well. If only you understood.”
He gaped. Then he recovered. “What is wrong with you?”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “Have you got an hour?”
After speaking as patiently to him as I knew how, I was done. Suddenly and weirdly depleted of good thoughts toward this man, like someone had punctured my kindness balloon. Those few sentences were as kind as he would get from me. I honestly thought—looking at his reptilian grin—that I could have pummeled him, and I’d never been the boxing type. But for Berg, our witness was paramount, and beating up an old man in sight of what was now a dozen burger-joint patrons was not bearing good witness, however satisfying it might be.
Yet sometimes raising a sword meant raising hell. Being Christian didn’t mean being nicey-nice to those intent on destroying good people, good things, or good values.
“They’re not finished with you, Teagan,” Ray lashed out. “They’ll never be finished. They hate you.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” I replied. “We’re known by our enemies.”
“Ray.” Hattie had walked to the hood of the car, and now she reached around me and tugged at her husband’s coat. “Let’s go. This is pointless.”
“I hope that’s not true,” Berg said. “I hope both of you see the point. It’s not too late, even if you helped murder Lloyd or Meyer.”
“Ray, stop talking.” Hattie tugged again, and we watched as the couple toddled off toward the diner’s door.
One car row up, Ray halted, turned, and called, “Happy dreams, Teagan.”
I shouted back, “May yours be happier.”
Berg ran his hand down his face. I felt good. He was wiser and did not.
He went to Matt’s window. “A few quick questions before we go,” he said. A brittle, businesslike tone had entered his voice. “What did this Order of the High Places want from you?”
“They wanted me—Carissa and me—to buy St. Michael’s, which wasn’t a problem. It was a huge, amazing opportunity, so I didn’t see how it was wrong. We wanted the place anyway. They knew it was going on the market months before it did, so we could prepare and wait.”
“Who helped you with your offer? Names.”
“My real estate agent in Fort Collins, Glenda Ferguson, and this guy in Denver connected with the club. I never found out his name, he just phoned and said he’d take care of things and I should rest assured our offer would be accepted.”
“Who told you to open up the basement wall?”
“What?”
“There’s no time for nonsense.”
Looking like a cornered beast, Matt finally coughed it up. “Hattie did.”
“My dear neighbor,” Carissa said ruefully.
“Did the Nickles or the club pay for the renovation?”
“Hattie gave me cash, so I don’t know, and I didn’t ask.”
“Did you talk to the Nickles after you found the body?”
“After I talked to the police, yeah.”
“What did they say?”
“They pretended to be surprised, but I know they weren’t.”
I stepped close to the window. “That’s why you took a photo of the body. As proof.”
Matt said nothing, but his expression was answer enough.
“Have breakfast”—Berg glanced at his watch—“with what’s left of the morning. Someplace other than Boyle’s. Then go back to your hotel and stay there until I say otherwise. Call the police if anyone comes to your room. Write down the name of every person you came into contact with at the club and every name you heard mentioned after joining, then text me with the names.”
“Will we be okay?” Matt asked.
“Let the police know if the Nickles or Hecht or anyone from that club tries to get in touch with you. You’ve done the right thing, Matt.”
“But I mean . . .” He glanced down at his hands. “I want my life and family back. Will we be okay?”
“You’ll have to ask Carissa that. Stay away from the Nickles and Hecht, ask to speak to Detective Dempster and tell him what you’ve told me, then text me as soon as you have names.”
we drove downtown and spotted the Coffee Bean straight away, though I had to circle the block to find an open parking space not too far from the door. Searching for a spot, I asked Berg if Dempster had discovered how many people in the hierarchy of the church knew about the decision to sell St. Michael’s and when they’d made that decision.
As suspected, Berg had been bluffing about knowing that in order to draw the truth out of Matt. Dempster had talked to the real estate agent, but that was all.
The coffee shop was a one-story natural stone building surrounded by small brick buildings of a similar age. Out front, on an oval sign hanging above the door, was the shop’s name painted above a large, steaming cup of coffee. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee, sugar, and winter spices lured me to the counter while Berg looked for Dempster among the Bean’s many nooks and alcoves.
A couple minutes later, coffees and two blueberry scones in hand, I found them both at a secluded table, Dempster staring into a mug of dark black coffee.
“You both need a shave,” I said, handing Berg his coffee and taking a seat. “And I need a shower.”
“I filled Joe in on the Petersons and Matt’s club,” Berg said, “and he has news for us.”
“About Nicole?”
Dempster looked up. “She hasn’t confessed, if that’s what you mean, but I grilled her last night and have her down for Meyer’s murder.”
“Did you arrest her?”
“Not on murder. First, she admitted to painting ‘Jack’ in the church, so we charged her with vandalism, but not breaking and entering.”
“Because she had one of the Petersons’ keys,” I said.
“Bingo.”
“Did the Nickles or Matt give it to her?”
“She’s mum on that. Second, the young lady slapped a female officer when we politely requested she come in for questioning, so we arrested her for assault and took her DNA. Nicole Ellis is not the brightest of women. They’ve fast-tracked the DNA, and if it holds up, I’ll charge her with murder today. Maybe she’ll crack after she’s charged, but she is one cold weirdo. Way too young for that much ice in her veins. On the plus side, she’s dumb as a box of rocks. But that’s not why I asked to meet. First thing this morning the chief told me to back off digging into Congresswoman Neal and Bishop Talbert. He was there like”—Dempster snapped his fingers—“after I’d made just two inquiries from home. Shut me down in a heartbeat.”
“But why?” I asked.
“Got me. Tell you something, though. I’ve been around long enough to know it doesn’t smell kosher, and when something doesn’t smell kosher, I’m all over it. I’ll tell you something else. I can do what I please on my own time.”
I really liked this guy.
“Don’t do anything that might put your career in danger,” Berg said.
He waved a hand. “Nah, I’ve been thinking of leaving for a long time, and I’m almost there.”
Berg’s heavy white brows shot skyward. “You’re not quitting?”
“No way, no how. I mean I’m leaving the Wells force. I approached the Fort Collins PD nine months ago, and I’m glad I did. Never did like my chief. Fort Collins reached out late Friday. I would’ve said something before, but I was going to wait till I accepted Monday morning and the deal was sealed.”
“Well, how about that? Cheers to you,” Berg said, lifting his cup. “That’s a big change.”
Dempster, his grin growing ever wider, responded in kind with his own cup. “I’m starting to realize that.”
“Are you two going to toast each other every time you meet?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s right, you guys live in Fort Collin
s,” Dempster said. “Maybe we’ll run into each other when you’re on another cosmic-hipster case.”
“We need to solve the cosmic Peterson case first.” I blew across the rim of my cup, took a sip of coffee, and tore a sugar-sprinkled corner off my blueberry scone. Then another. How I could eat like I did and not put on weight was a mystery, but one I gladly accepted. I wasn’t bird-thin, but for now I was okay. Acceptable.
“And I want to leave Wells with a clean plate,” Dempster said. “Okay, so. Let’s say Nicole is good for Meyer’s murder. No way she planned it on her own. Too dumb.”
“Neither did she have a personal motive for killing him,” Berg said. “She was doing someone else’s bidding.”
“We’re back to the Nickles,” I said. “They knew Edward Lloyd was buried in the wall.”
“Yeah, so Berg told me.” Dempster downed the rest of his coffee and then patted his coat pocket. “Okay, best run. If I can crack Miss Ellis, she’ll implicate the Nickles, and it sounds like Matt Peterson can put another nail in their crow coffins. They can pretend they didn’t know Lloyd was there, but they’ll have a devil of a time explaining why they paid Peterson to open the wall. Least I can do right now is bring them in for questioning, shake ’em up.”
Berg set his coffee aside and crossed his arms on the table. “The Petersons are still at the Quaker Inn, and I’m concerned for their safety.”
“I’ll have a talk with them after I pull the Nickles in. They can file a report and maybe take the kids out of town for a while.”
“I’m not sure that’s enough,” Berg said. “The Nickles know a lot of bad people.”
“Then I need to take those two crows off the streets and scare the living crap out of their friends, don’t I?”
“That’s a plan,” I said.
Dempster stood, an angry glint in his gray eyes. “What was Peterson thinking? He has a family, a good life, but he gets in bed with lunatics. Of all the dumbass things—sorry, Pastor, but that’s the word for it. I don’t get the attraction.”
Chasing Angels (Teagan Doyle Mysteries Book 1) Page 23
