The Sinners' Garden

by William Sirls

  She looked through an opening in the drapes. She could see Rip near the far wall, sitting on the couch. His legs were up on the table in front of him and a book was on his lap. It looked like he was staring at his cell phone.

  She went up the three steps and rapped on the door. She could hear the floor creak and then the drapes moved. He looked surprised and held his index finger up. She nodded and then grinned as she watched him through the window, scrambling to do a quick tidy-up on the table and small living room.

  The last time she had showed up unannounced was close to six years ago at the luxury apartment he lived in off Humbug Point. It was a favor from the department. They had kept her as far away from the investigation as they could, and when the multi-city case against Rip had become a slam dunk, Chief Reynolds had called her into his office. It was probably out of respect for her father, more than for her.

  “Go arrest Gerald Ripley.”

  It was the second toughest day of her life, one she would never forget.

  “I have to put the handcuffs on you, Rip.”

  She remembered how he had just smiled at her and calmly put his hands behind his back. When she had gotten him to the station, it was clear she’d been crying, but she was glad she’d been the one to arrest him. Not just for her sake, but for Judi’s, and for Rip’s.

  But that was all behind them. Back when Rip was . . . different. Now she needed help, and she couldn’t think of a better person to talk to than the man Rip had become.

  The door opened. Rip stuck his head around the corner and smiled.

  “I thought you were meeting me at Judi’s,” he said.

  “I need to talk, Rip,” she said. “Can I come in?”

  “You have a warrant?”

  “Shut up. I’m serious.”

  Rip tilted his head and his eyes rounded in curiosity.

  “C’mon in,” he said, stepping aside and holding out an open palm. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  There was no air conditioning and the mobile home was uncomfortably warm. Still, she was surprised at how neat he kept it. “It smells good in here, Rip.”

  “Gotta burn a candle most of the time,” he said. “It helps keep that old-house smell away.”

  The living room walls were covered in thin brown paneling that shined as if newly polished. He only had a couple cheaply framed pictures on the walls and there was no television in the room. The carpet was a light brown, threadbare at the center and darker as it got closer to the wall, where an old and worn sofa sat. Resting on top of a beat-up coffee table was Rip’s Bible, his cell phone, a half glass of what she guessed was water, and a tiny white oscillating fan that wasn’t oscillating, just blowing right at where Rip had been sitting.

  “Very tidy, Rip,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

  “Thanks,” he said, guiding her toward the small kitchen table that only had two seats. It looked like one of the old setups from the cafeteria over at Hart Industries.

  “First the motorcycle,” Heather said, sitting down. “And a kitchen table to boot? Kevin’s been pretty good to you, hasn’t he?”

  “Okay, Judi Junior,” Rip said. “I’m thankful, even if we both know he’s a complete tool.”

  “Kevin Frances looked a little startled today by Andy’s comment.”

  “No more than anybody else,” Rip said. “It’s weird how Andy spoke with such purpose and such confidence. I just don’t get it.”

  “How did he know Kevin’s middle name?” Heather asked. “I dated him and didn’t even know it.”

  “I have no clue,” Rip said. “If my middle name was Frances, I wouldn’t broadcast it either.”

  “Why would Andy think he knows everything about Kevin?” Heather asked.

  “Huh?”

  “That’s what he told him at church.”

  “Those weren’t Andy’s words.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was sort of quoting a Bible verse. It’s from Psalms.”

  “I don’t remember Andy going around quoting Bible verses. Quoting anything, for that matter.”

  “He doesn’t remember doing it,” Rip said. “Judi mentioned he said something strange to her last night, but she wasn’t sure what it was. She said Andy called her using her middle name as well.”

  “You sure what he said is from the Bible?”

  Rip blew out the candle and went back over near the sofa. He picked up the fan with one hand and his cell phone with the other. He came back in the kitchen and placed the fan on the counter, directly behind her. Heather welcomed the breeze on the back of her neck.

  “Close enough,” Rip said. He opened his cell phone and turned it toward her. “Read Psalm 139.”

  Heather leaned forward and read it off his smartphone: “You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.”

  Rip pointed at the phone. “Pretty close to what Andy said to Kevin, right?”

  “Yes. But why would he say that to him?”

  Rip held up his hands and shrugged. “I grilled him about it over lunch. He said he just remembered hearing strange music from his iPod, but didn’t remember anything else. I kept harassing him, and I think he was actually getting a little miffed at me.”

  “Andy’s miffed at the whole world.”

  “He’s a teenager. He’ll be all right,” Rip said. “So what’s on your mind?”

  “God.”

  Rip stirred for a second, as if he thought she was kidding. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve got issues, Rip.”

  “I appreciate that revelation.”

  “Shut up, Rip. I’m trying to be serious here.”

  “Sorry,” Rip said. Then he grinned and hiked his thumb to his chest. “Everyone has issues, Heather. Believe it or not, even me.”

  “You’re doing really good, aren’t you, Rip?” she asked. “I mean, you really have never seemed happier than you do now.”

  He smiled again. “To be honest with you, I never thought living in a single-wide and working for Kevin were good life goals. But I’m good now. I have everything I’ll ever need. Plus, I have a little set aside for a rainy day.”

  “I thought we wiped you out during the raid,” Heather said.

  “You just about did,” Rip answered.

  Rip was wrong. They did wipe him out. After she arrested him, officers and agents from four different departments seized everything he owned. And between the money from selling Judi his half of Ripley’s Field and the funds he’d amassed over the years from selling pot, they’d taken better than $600,000, leaving him set to start at ground zero when he was released from prison.

  But that was something to talk about another day.

  “Look,” she said, leaning forward. “I know your faith is the real deal. And that’s why I’m here. To talk to you about God.”

  “Me?” he asked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. Then that nice smile, the one she’d always loved . . . “That makes me feel good, Heather. Thanks.”

  “I mean it,” she said. “Something’s changed in you. I think God has done it and I want to know more about it.”

  Rip shifted uncomfortably. “You know you can talk to Pastor Welsh about God whenever you want.”

  “I know,” she said, giving him a little shrug. “I just thought . . .” Maybe it’d been a mistake. Coming here. Thinking they could have a deep conversation like old friends.

  “Wait,” he said, bending his head to look in her eyes. “Let me start over. I’m happy you came to talk, Heather. I’m all ears. Where do you want to start?”

  She mulled it over for a few seconds and then dived in. “I have doubts.”

  “Doubts . . . about what?”

  “About my dad.”

  Rip ran his hand along the side of his face, like he was trying to find the right words. “I’m assuming our little prowler friend from the other night got you thinking?”

  She nodded. “He came up from behind me. He wasn’t armed, Rip. But if he had been and wanted to
hurt me, he could have. I turned around and raised my gun. I could tell that he knew . . . he knew I couldn’t pull the trigger. But God knows I wanted to. To prove it to my dad. To prove it to myself.”

  “Prove what?”

  “That I’m a good cop. That I’m honoring my dad’s memory.”

  Rip seemed to consider her for a long moment and then looked down to his hands. “Heather, I think it’s more than that. I think you think if you could just stop one bad guy, shoot him before he shoots someone innocent—”

  “No, no, that’s not it,” she said, frowning.

  “I think it is,” he said gently. “I think you put such pressure on yourself—to be able to pull that trigger—so you’ll feel like you’re ready to find your dad’s killer.”

  Heather swallowed hard. A tiny part of her admitted it. He’s right.

  Rip leaned forward and covered her hands with his own. They were warm and broad, encompassing hers, which were suddenly cold. “Sweetheart, it’s not your job—or Kevin Hart’s—to settle the score with the man who murdered your father. You need to lay that to rest and let God take care of it, in His time.”

  Heather took a deep breath and thought about the prowler, standing in that hallway and making the sign of the cross.

  “Do you think my dad’s in heaven, Rip?”

  Rip brought his hand to his chin and paused for a second. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “My gut tells me he is,” Heather said, oddly remembering the Wheel of Fortune puzzle her mother had solved: FOLLOW YOUR GUT. “I tried to talk to my mom about this, but you know how she is.”

  Rip nodded.

  “When it happened, when my dad died, I really don’t know where he was. Spiritually speaking.”

  “Wasn’t that why he was at Mr. Hart’s house that night?” Rip asked. “Mr. Hart was a good man and a good Christian leader. You used to tell me that your dad went there to pray and read the Bible with him.”

  “I guess, but I still don’t know what he believed.”

  “I’d say it’s a good bet,” Rip said. “Maybe we should pray that you can feel a sense of peace about it. And that you realize every bump in the night isn’t the man who killed your father.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “Okay,” Rip said. “But I still think you should talk to God about it. I know He will help.”

  “Really think so?”

  “Of course,” Rip said. “I still struggle with all kinds of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know . . . Mostly about my temper and how I can be a little judgmental.”

  “Like about Kevin?” she said. “He’s not the bad guy you think he is, Rip.”

  “Yeah, right,” Rip said and then laughed with his mouth closed. “But you know what? Every time I struggle and my baggage gets a little heavy, I pray about it. I talk to God like He is sitting right next to me. And guess what happens?”

  “What?”

  “That baggage gets lighter.”

  Heather forced a smile and leaned back in her chair. There was a sign above the door that caught her attention. Rip had taken a piece of cardboard and thumbtacked it in place. Written on it in black Magic Marker, in big thick letters, were the words SERVANTS’ ENTRANCE.

  “I like that,” she said, pointing to the sign. She liked it a lot better than the answer Rip had just given her about her father. A simple Yeah, I think he’s in heaven would have worked just fine.

  “The words on that sign are true,” Rip said. “Every time we step outside into the world, we can go serve God and serve others.”

  “I just wish I knew my father was in heaven,” Heather said. “I want to be sure, you know? I think that ever since it happened, I’ve felt hollow, almost like I can’t be entirely happy.”

  “What better smile could there possibly be than knowing someone you love is in heaven?” Rip asked. “That would be the best of smiles.”

  “Yes, it would,” she said, glancing at her watch. “Oh. I’ve gotta hit it.”

  “That was quick,” Rip said.

  “Sorry,” she said, knowing her departure was abrupt. “I guess I’m just in one of those moods. You gonna be at Judi’s later?”

  “Not a whole lot of other choices on my budget,” Rip said. “But I kind of like hanging out with that nephew of mine.”

  Heather went to the door. She glanced back up at the sign and thought again about the prowler, and the way his hand moved, making that cross. And then a sickening thought ran through her head.

  “What about next time?” she asked.

  “Next time, what?” Rip said.

  “What if the next bad guy has a gun, and he’s not leaving gifts? What if he intends to hurt me or someone else? What if I can’t shoot?”

  He held her gaze for a long time, and she thought he saw a shadow of worry. “Is it safe to assume the department doesn’t know about your inability to pull the trigger?”

  “I didn’t even know about my inability to pull the trigger,” she said. “I freaked out and blew all kinds of procedures. I swear I’m the worst cop ever.”

  “Then quit. I’ve been telling you that for years. You don’t have to be on the force to honor your dad’s memory.”

  “Great. And do what?”

  “Teach. Everyone sees how good you are with the kids at Sunday school, except for you. It’s what you want to do and were meant to do.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just quit tomorrow and move in with my mom until I finish up my degree.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t afford to do that,” she said. “I’m gonna be a cop forever. Unless I actually meet up with a bad guy and he pops me.”

  Rip didn’t laugh. “How long you been a cop, Heather?”

  “Twelve years.”

  “This isn’t Detroit,” Rip said. “Seriously, how many times have you pulled your gun out and aimed it at someone?”

  “The only time I ever pulled my gun out was last week.”

  “Exactly. And did he have a gun?”

  “No.”

  “Let it go,” Rip said. “And if you do ever run into someone who has a gun, I know you’ll be able to shoot. I’m sure of it.”

  TEN

  Rip peeked over the dashboard of the police car as Heather unlocked the front gate of the main entrance to McLouth Steel. The police from Benning and Carlson were the only ones who had keys to the fence, and since he and Andy had made such a big deal out of the flower garden again last night, Heather insisted on seeing it the second Rip got off work.

  “This better be good,” Judi said. She and Andy were ducking in the backseat of the car. “What if somebody sees us and Heather gets in trouble for this? For crying out loud, I feel like I’m sneaking into the drive-in movies.”

  “It’s not our fault you and Heather are too lazy to walk out through the corn,” Andy said.

  “I don’t even know why we have to hide,” Rip said. “We’re the only ones out here.”

  Heather opened the driver’s side door. “Stay down until we get past the fence. I can’t risk having anybody see me take you guys in there. I’m already on Chief Reynolds’s nerves.”

  “Maybe we should go back to the house and slap on some black face-camo,” Rip said.

  “Shut up,” Heather said, giving him a little smack on the back of his head as he crouched on the passenger’s seat.

  “How do you like getting hit?” Andy snickered.

  Rip looked back between the two front seats at his nephew, who was still ducking. “Like it when Uncle Rip gets knocked on the head, eh?”

  “Yeah,” Andy said as Heather pulled the car forward. “Dose of your own medicine.”

  “I’ve never hit you without your helmet on,” Rip said. “Pansy.”

  “Hang on to this,” Heather said, putting a closed hand next to Rip’s head.

  “What is it?” Rip asked, lifting his chin to see what she was holding.

  Heather opened her hand and gave him another litt
le smack on the cheek, drawing another quick laugh from Andy.

  “Hey!” Rip complained.

  “Quit being such a lightweight,” Heather said with a playful grin. “Okay, we’re clear. You guys can sit up now.”

  “I remember when you were a lightweight,” Rip said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” Rip said.

  “You calling me fat?” Heather said. “I’m not fat.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “I remember when you had hair.”

  “Ouch,” Rip said, sitting up straight and getting a really good look at the building that served as the old blast furnace for the plant.

  “This place is cool,” Andy said, his face right up against the window.

  “I think it’s spooky,” Judi said.

  Rip agreed with his sister. The place was a ghost town and it gave Rip a sick sense of déjà vu. The feeling that he’d never get back to the other side of the fence, the same feeling prison had given him. What was left of McLouth Steel looked like the ideal place for something bad to happen, or where the FBI would finally corner some mass murderer at the end of a movie. Behind the blast furnace was the main part of the factory. They could see the upper half of it over the trees from the main road, but Rip had only been this close a handful of times and had forgotten how big it was. It was easily seven to ten stories high, blackened everywhere by soot and ash. And it was long. It ran away from them like the walls of some haunted fort as far as he could see. At the top of the building, about every hundred feet, dark smokestacks stood guard, like ancient cannons from a war long since over.

  They continued to drive over the cracked cement that surrounded the plant. They made it past the blast furnace and Heather carefully maneuvered the car around uncovered manholes, piles of broken glass, and scattered pieces of scrap metal that could put a serious hurt on some tires.

  When they finally approached the rear of the main building, he noticed a sliding door—about the size of an entrance into an airplane hangar—had been left open. Even with all the broken windows, it was black inside.

  “Let’s go in there,” Andy said.