by Cass Sellars
“Some churches can be good and helpful places, don’t you think?”
“True, it just doesn’t sound like he goes to a very nice one. Real judgmental. I told him he needed to keep a lid on that stuff while he was here, or he would get in trouble.”
“What did he say?” She picked up her pen again.
“That he would just pray for the sinner, and God would do the rest.” He rolled his eyes.
“Did he ever mention Satan or use the words ‘whore’ or ‘dyke’?” She issued that statement quickly and with the same intonation as the other questions.
“Hell, no. I mean, someone said ‘damn’ in the office, and I thought he was going to have to bless himself just for hearing it. The worst he has ever said around me was ‘golly,’ and I haven’t heard that since the fifth grade.” He looked genuinely perplexed.
“What about you? Do you use those words?”
“Well, yeah, I have, but not like every day or anything.” He looked as if he was going to be issued some official sanction for admitting it, but Mack ignored him.
“When was the last time you’ve written poetry, Frank?”
Syd wrote the word “poetry” and underlined it before she looked back at the screen.
“Um. That’s easy…never. I don’t get into that stuff. I don’t write much of anything. I have really atrocious handwriting, so I usually type everything.”
“Frank, when was the last time you sent someone flowers?” She flipped to another page in her notebook.
“Never have. My mom always told my dad that spending money on flowers was a waste because he was really just bringing home things that were going to die in a few days. She said if he wanted to spend fifty bucks he should just hand her the money and let her go get her hair done.”
Mack took a moment to respond. “If you had to buy flowers, maybe for a girl, what kind would you buy?”
“I don’t know. Roses, I guess. I don’t know any other kind you would buy for a girl.”
What kind of car does he drive? Syd scratched in her notebook.
“What kind of car do you have, Frank?”
Syd chuckled to herself as she realized how well she knew Mack’s general strategy.
“I just got a Prius. I drive so much for work; the gas was killing me. It’s a great car, but sometimes it’s a little scary because you can’t hear the damn thing running.” Frank seemed desperate to secure some rapport.
“Thank you, Frank.” She smiled at him. “Can I ask a favor?”
“Okay.”
“Would you keep our conversation confidential for right now?”
“Sure. Is there something I need to know about people around here?” He tapped his fingers on the table distractedly.
“Not yet. I just know you’re one of the top guys around here, and people look up to you. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong impression.” She flattered him in order to get his buy-in.
“Me either. And I’ll think on it a little bit. If I get any lightbulbs about anyone else, I’ll let you know.” He was suddenly an eager puppy with a task, and he clearly liked it.
“Thanks. My number is on the card.” He took her business card and slid it into his pocket without studying it. He left the room, issuing an awkward wave as he went.
Syd unmuted the line when she saw the phone move. “Too simple, doesn’t know when to quit talking,” she said immediately. “He could never run a covert stalking op. Hell, I’m not sure he can go to the bathroom without telling twelve people.”
“Agreed,” Mack said. “But I’m really intrigued to talk to our new friend, Chris.”
“Me, too. And by the way, there is entirely too much discussion about the women in HR for me. I’d prefer not to think about Parker as the subject of anyone’s fantasies but my own.”
“Trust me, I know.” Mack agreed and whispered, “Incoming.”
After a brief knock, Chris Newkirk stepped into the conference room. His khaki pants were perfectly pressed, and his ironed short-sleeved button-up was tucked in flawlessly at his waist. Syd thought she detected a military crease at each hip.
“Hi, Chris. I’m Lieutenant Foster, SLPD, have a seat.”
Mack stayed seated, and Syd knew Mack was establishing her power position.
He watched her cautiously and sat across from her at the table. “What’s this about?” His tone was irritated and sullen.
“You seem like you’re already angry about something, Chris, and we haven’t even started talking.” Mack reclined comfortably in the chair, and Syd watched her let the young man be compromised by his own reactions.
“I just don’t know why the cops would want to talk to me. I haven’t broken a law in my life, ever.”
Syd thought that was a lie since it always was.
“Good, then you shouldn’t be worried about talking to me, right?” She gave him a wan smile.
“Okay.” He shifted uncomfortably in the chair and pushed it back slightly from the table, increasing the distance between them, perhaps unconsciously.
“What do you do here, Chris? Is it Christopher?” She moved her notebook in front of her, poised to take notes.
“Christian. Christian Joseph Newkirk,” he said proudly. Mack made an obvious effort not to smirk at him as she wrote it down.
“What do you do here, Christian?” Although any skilled investigator like Mack would already know the answers, she would use baseline questions to gauge the veracity of future responses.
“I’m a scheduler II, which means I help plan out all the jobs that we do.” He seemed very impressed with his title.
“Do you like it here?” Mack was still writing.
“It’s okay. I miss my hometown.” Chris looked faraway as if recalling fond memories.
“Young guys like you usually want to go sow their wild oats, meet girls, go clubbing. None of that for you this close to DC? No wild flings with loose women?”
Chris’s expression immediately hardened. “I was raised in the church. My parents raised me to behave as God expects me to. To do God’s work, not succumb to the sins of the flesh. I believe if you do that kind of stuff, participate in that type of behavior, you’re going to go to hell.” The response was rehearsed and familiar.
“Wow, that’s a serious consequence for partying when you’re in your twenties. I used to party every night before I got married.”
Syd watched him form questions, the expression on his face easy to read.
“Wasn’t your husband disgusted by your behavior?”
Syd thought they were getting somewhere now. “Actually, my wife and I met at a party.”
Syd watched Chris’s expression change. He looked as if he had suddenly tasted something revolting.
“Two girls can’t be married.” His disgust was audible.
“The state of Massachusetts said we could, and now the United States Supreme Court says we can, for that matter. We got married in Boston. In a church there.”
“I’m a Christian.” Chris dropped the statement as if it answered all past and future questions.
“Me, too.” Mack was clearly enjoying this.
“God says that marriage is between a man and a woman. Like Adam and Eve. A real church wouldn’t have done that; it’s against God.” His fury was mounting, and his eyes darted back and forth as if looking for the thing that would change what Mack had said.
“Hmm. I guess we must have a different God.” They only had to wait for a second before Christian Joseph Newkirk exploded.
“There is only one God!” His face was beet red, and his fists dragged angrily along his thighs.
Mack waited a long time before she spoke. “Okay. Then how about we agree to disagree and move on?” Mack didn’t wait for an answer. “Do you like working here at Davidson Properties, Chris?” She had unnerved him on purpose. People were much more likely to slip up when they were pissed.
“It’s okay. Different.” He spoke quickly and breathed rapidly, as if he had just scaled a flight o
f stairs.
“Different how, Chris?” She was conciliatory in her delivery now.
“I’m not used to being around people who are not…God-fearing.” Chris spoke quietly now, almost weary.
“What does that mean to you?” Syd wanted that answer most of all.
“Go to church on Sundays and Christian days of observance, and respect the Lord always. Don’t drink or smoke or defile your body in any way. You know, do what it tells you in the Bible.” Chris had practiced that speech or been made to practice it many times. It seemed to somehow calm him.
“What about sexual orientation? You seem to have a strong opinion on that.” Mack pushed just a little but still spoke evenly.
“It’s a sin to have relations outside of marriage. And I already told you what the definition of marriage is.” His look was bordering on pitying, as if he were explaining the alphabet to a slow child.
“When people do that, what should happen to them?” She poised to write this answer down word for word, and Syd was doing the same from her car.
“They should repent for their sins.” His delivery was measured, and his tone was again suspicious.
“Should they be punished?” Mack leaned a little farther over the table, which drove him farther backward into his chair.
“Of course! God will punish them. Sinners are punished.” The answers were repeated from memory, not from original thought.
Syd wondered when Chris had last had an original thought.
“Does anyone deserve to be punished by someone else? Maybe someone doing God’s work?”
“Maybe the preacher could talk to them and get them to mend their ways before God got to them.” He seemed to relax into his answers since they were indisputable in his world.
Syd wondered what kind of God “got to” people.
“What ways would you think of to fix them?” Mack pushed, lobbing the conversational ball gently.
“I wouldn’t.” Simple as that.
“Would you ever go on a date with someone who maybe had dated another girl a long time ago?”
“No, ma’am! I am only interested in courting a girl who is pure. They must have walked the path of righteousness, and then our parents decide if we are right for each other.”
Syd knew Mack couldn’t follow the current line of questioning without him shutting down.
“Do you ever talk about Satan, Chris?”
“Of course. Every Sunday in church. He is the devil that makes people do the wrong things. We are taught about how to stop from getting sucked in by the devil.”
“Do you think women who don’t walk the right path are whores?”
Syd watched him wince at the word.
He breathed as if preparing to defend himself from an assault. “I do not have the right to use such language. If they are cast out by the Lord, then he makes the judgments on their souls, not me.”
Mack pushed. “Have you ever called anyone a dyke or a bitch, Chris?”
“It is a sin to use such language, Miss Foster.” He looked indignant.
“It’s Lieutenant Foster, and you didn’t answer my question.” Her voice was hard.
“No, I would be cast down in the eyes of my church and my God for using such language.” He was so sure and so pious.
Syd again wondered if he had ever had an idea that hadn’t been hammered into him by someone else.
“Do you believe that there is anyone here that would make a good prospect for your wife?”
Syd thought Mack was no longer interviewing a potential stalker; she was looking at the textbook definition of mind-control in its purest form.
“No. I am to marry a virgin bride selected for me from my church.”
Mack saw a glimmer of sadness cracking through the armor of doctrine.
“Have you ever sent a woman flowers, Chris?” Mack pulled her notebook onto her lap when he seemed too interested in what she was writing.
“No. I’ve picked flowers for my mother, but I’m not courting a woman at the moment. Such gestures should be reserved for courting.”
“Have you had any difficulties since you have been working here?” Mack was beginning to sound weary.
“It’s just that I’m still getting used to working with people who aren’t Christians, and sometimes, that’s hard. The lady in HR told me I have to be better about keeping my religion and my beliefs to myself, but the Bible says that I should spread the word.” He looked genuinely bewildered by the concept that not everyone should believe as he did.
“What do you think of the lady in HR? Ms. Duncan, right?” Mack acted as if she was simply a name she was reading from a page in her book.
Chris nodded. “She’s nice, I guess, but I don’t think she’s a Christian.”
“Why not?”
“Because I asked her, and she said it wasn’t appropriate to ask that stuff in the office. And that she would choose who to tell about what she believed.” The evidence was obviously sufficient in his mind.
“Did that make you mad?”
“No, I just feel sorry for her, I guess. She’s real pretty, but she isn’t married, so maybe she’s lonely. My dad says that some women try to act like men at work by being the boss, and then no man wants to marry them.”
Mack stared at him. “Do you think something is wrong with her because she isn’t married?”
“I don’t know. She just seems sad and tired, and I feel sorry for her.” The sentiment was genuine and, for once, not practiced.
Sydney felt responsible that her girlfriend could be seen as sad. She yearned to relieve the burden of their present nightmare.
“Would you ever want to be with someone like that, Chris? Like Ms. Duncan?”
“No, ma’am. I told you that they have to go to my church. Can I ask why you’re asking me all of these questions?” He suddenly looked at her as if the totality of the conversation had just dawned on him.
“We’ve just found out that someone might be giving some other people here unwanted attention, and we need to make sure that they stop.”
“If I saw anything like that, I would tell my boss. It says in Leviticus: Do not stand idly by when your neighbor’s life is threatened.”
Syd thought he seemed to give himself an internal point for pulling that out of his impossibly tight ass.
“Good rule to live by. By the way, what kind of car do you have?” She asked quickly so he couldn’t think about his answer.
“I have a Ford F-150 truck, beige.”
Syd wondered if he knew that his whole life was varying tones of beige.
“If you think of anything that might be helpful, you can give me a call.” Mack slid a card across the desk, and he scanned it quickly.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that.” His former stoic nature returned.
“Chris, not everyone is as, well, honorable as you, shall we say. Can I ask you to keep this conversation between us?”
“Proverbs says ‘A gossip betrays a confidence, but a trustworthy person keeps a secret.’” Chris turned and closed the door behind him.
Mack spoke into the speaker after a few seconds of reflection. “And what do you think of that bundle of fun? Have you met anyone more frustrating in your life?” Mack asked Sydney.
“You have no idea how much I want it to be him just so we can break his holier-than-thou persona. I just don’t think there’s much chance.” Syd rubbed her temples, frustrated they were hitting dead ends.
“I agree. Just from watching his face and his body language, you can see he’s too timid. His ideology is too ingrained for the modern world he has to live in with the rest of us, but I doubt he would dare step over a line…any line, at least not on purpose.”
“Our guy is angry. He’s got a problem with any woman who doesn’t want to sleep with him or who rejects him. He expects her to return his affections even if he hasn’t made them known. Mr. Newkirk can’t even imagine a first date not sanctioned by Daddy.”
“Very true. I think our guy is
impotent or just got dumped on by enough chicks that it’s manifesting like this.” Mack was writing her thoughts as she spoke to Syd.
“I think he definitely got dumped on somehow, except my gut says it’s one chick, Mack. One that maybe reminds him of Parker or vice versa.”
“Yeah, he mentions cheating in the last note when he talked about you. Maybe she stepped out on him or left him for someone else…even a female someone else. He definitely has a significant history with one woman.” Mack flipped through her notes. “Frank is like a dog in heat, chasing any woman who’ll look at him, but he doesn’t have the maturity to keep one of any substance, not for any length of time anyway. And he’s not a misogynist, and I think on some level, our guy is. And the Newkirk kid might pass out if he even touched a girl. He’s incredibly frustrating, but I don’t think he’s the one. I certainly can’t picture him lurking outside your car for the free sex show. The good news is we can cross two off the list.”
“Great. Our odds of figuring this out either went way up or way down.” Syd felt defeated.
“I’m going to bank on ‘way up’ because one of us has to be an optimist.” She spoke quietly. “I believe contestant number three has arrived.”
Syd muted her line as Randy Miller walked into the conference room talking rapidly on his cell. He held his finger up to indicate that she should wait. She stared at him until he got the message and hung up.
“Sorry. Accounting in this place still runs on ledger paper and hope. I found out they needed me way more than I needed them, but I guess everything works out. What can I do for you?”
From his appearance, Syd had expected the nerdy forty-two-year-old to be quiet and reserved. Instead, he was a classic narcissist in bad clothes.
“Randy, I’m Lieutenant Foster with the SLPD. I’m looking into some incidents, and I wanted to see if you can help me.”
Syd had seen guys like Randy Miller many times in her career. She knew direct was the only way to go.
“No problem.” He looped an arm over the back of his chair and spun his phone like a top on the shiny surface of the conference table as if he was waiting for a waitress to show up and take his beer order.
