Robert B. Parker's Little White Lies

by Ace Atkins

  McCullough smiled and dabbed the hot end of her cigarette toward my chest. “Good question,” she said. “Been trying to find out that for myself. I know Ridgeway is part of the deal. He’s very vocal about us preparing for the government failing us. I never have been able to wrap my head around why Christians need guns. But I’m sure Ridgeway and Wells have tried to make an argument for us.”

  “Ever heard of a man named Bliss?”

  She shook her head and waved the smoke from her face.

  “Does he work out at the compound?”

  I nodded. “Big, ugly, and lots of tattoos.”

  “Press isn’t exactly welcome out there,” she said. “And if you haven’t noticed, we’re not equipped for any major project stories. We do local news. Friendly news. My board of directors says they want stories that grandparents can be proud to post on their refrigerator.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I got laid off at the AJC,” she said. “I covered courts for ten years in Cobb County. I’m not rocking the boat down here. Besides, if I did, no one would really give a crap.”

  “So Wells and Ridgeway showed up here about the same time,” I said. “From where?”

  “Ridgeway is from Kansas,” she said. “Maybe Wichita? I’m not sure. Wells is from Georgia, but didn’t grow up around here. They took over a storefront downtown, and before we knew it, they had started an executive committee to build that monstrosity by the interstate. I always figured it was some kind of tax dodge. And I know they made a hell of a lot more money fund-raising for that big-ass cross than they spent on it.”

  “I like how you talk, ma’am.”

  “Nice to have some straight shooters in town,” she said. “You do know Wells is on his third wife?”

  “Lucky her.”

  “Really nasty divorce with wife number two.”

  “Any idea on where to find wife number two?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m pretty sure she left town. But if you’re looking for people who lost money to Wells, I have quite a list.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” I said. “But I’m more interested in the training compound. And anyone who might have known my client.”

  McCullough shook her head, crushed out her cigarette in a coffee cup, and looked at me. She gave me a big smile. “Sure would be good to have some real action in this town,” she said. “Please let me know if you decide to take down the Greater Liars.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A private joke in town about Greater Faith.”

  “Anything else I should know about Ridgeway and Wells?”

  “I know Ridgeway was in prison,” she said. “I ran a story about it and got my ass chewed out by the board and the owner of the paper.”

  “What for?” I said.

  “Embezzlement. Writing bad checks. That kind of thing. He did five years at Leavenworth.”

  “What did his congregation think?”

  McCullough let out a long, tired breath. “Only made them love him more,” she said. “He took it into his personal narrative as a story of faith and redemption. A real lovable loser. Folks are suckers for that crap.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m a southerner,” she said. “And I go to church every Sunday. God and me are okay with each other. But damn, how I hate these guys. They make us all look bad, Boston.”

  “You have my card.”

  We shook hands. I headed back to the motel to find Hawk.

  45

  Hawk was gone. He’d moved out of the Holiday Inn and hadn’t left a note. I knew he’d call when it was safe.

  I lay down on the bed, curtains open to show a breathtaking view of a Waffle House, a Chevrolet dealership, and the interstate, and called Susan. She would have just finished her last session.

  “What are you wearing?” I said.

  “No hello?” she said. “No ‘How was your day?’ You just want me to gratify your sick fantasies.”

  “You know me so well.”

  “I could describe everything in great detail,” she said. “But as you are thousands of miles away, that kind of discussion might only lead to frustration.”

  “Way past that,” I said.

  “Absence is good for the heart,” she said. “Bad for the libido.”

  “Damn,” I said. “You sure talk fancy, Yankee. Let me grab a dictionary.”

  “Picking up a southern drawl already?”

  “What can I say, I blend into all environments,” I said. “My skill set as a professional sleuth, ma’am.”

  “And how’s the sleuthing?”

  “Slow going,” I said. “Perhaps even terrible.”

  “Are you any closer to finding out what happened to Connie?”

  “You mean with actual witnesses and evidence I could turn over to a district attorney?”

  “Yes,” Susan said. “That type of thing.”

  “Not really,” I said. “But I do have a better idea of Wells and his life down here. Did I tell you he’s an ordained minister?”

  “I never had any doubts.”

  “And he has a wife, three lovely daughters, and a McMansion,” I said. “According to Wells, Connie followed him down here against his will. And that he broke things off immediately. His conscience wouldn’t allow philandering.”

  “A true gentleman,” Susan said. “How’s your bullshit detector?”

  “Obliterated,” I said. “I know he was seen several times at Connie’s apartment. He’s also being untruthful about his hair color. His hair is now darker than mine.”

  “We all have our secrets.”

  “Really?”

  Susan didn’t answer. I stretched on the bed. The traffic was stalled out on the interstate ramp.

  “She was killed,” I said. “I think so. The local cops and Feds think so. What does her shrink say?”

  “Connie was impressionable and needy,” Susan said. “But I never thought of her being emotionally impulsive.”

  “And I find it hard to believe anyone could shoot themselves in the back of the head.”

  “Wells?”

  “He’s at the top of my list,” I said. “And had the most to lose.”

  We were quiet for a while. The motel’s wall heater rumbled to life. Traffic along the interstate moved as quickly as maple syrup.

  “Where are you now?”

  I described the motel down to the nearby Chevy dealership and the Waffle House. However, it took some time to explain the concept of a Waffle House to Susan.

  “Don’t you have any other dining options?” Susan said.

  “My dining options tonight seem to be a Panera or Chipotle,” I said. “Take your pick.”

  “No Pano’s and Paul’s?”

  “Alone?” I said. “Besides, I hear it’s no longer in business.”

  “That’s a shame,” she said. “Where’s Hawk?”

  “Hawk’s indisposed.”

  “Doing what?”

  “He’s joined up with the bad guys,” I said. “In an effort to help the good guys find out exactly what’s going on.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “Would it matter?” I said. “Hawk does what he wants.”

  “Just who are these people, anyway?”

  “Some kind of outcropping from a big church down here,” I said. “The preacher is a seasoned con man from Wichita turned respected member of the Rockdale County community. He’s as handsome as Gollum.”

  “And Wells?”

  “Wells has kept the same Navy SEAL, CIA persona but with more emphasis on preacher and family man,” I said. “Did you know that Jesus Christ was a big proponent of fully automatic weapons?”

  “Are you getting any help down there?”

  “From cops?”

  “From anyone.”
r />   “ATF Boston field agent is down here,” I said. “He’s working the same thing we’re working. But I don’t think he’s a fan.”

  “Making friends as you go.”

  “I tried to reach out to Tedy Sapp, but he’s a tough man to find.”

  “Did you call that place he worked?” she said.

  “Bath House Bar and Grill,” I said. “Yep. Line’s been disconnected. Might ride up there tomorrow.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Hawk, too.”

  “Yep.”

  “And don’t get your Jingle Bells shot off.”

  “I’ll do my dead-level best.”

  “Love,” Susan said.

  “Love,” I said. And hung up.

  46

  I took Susan’s advice and drove thirty minutes for a good meal. At the OK Café in Buckhead, I ate a blue-plate special of meatloaf topped with creole sauce washed down with two bottles of SweetWater 420. I was feeling so homesick I didn’t feel guilty about the hot pecan pie and coffee for dessert.

  Afterward, I headed back to the Holiday Inn, calling Rachel Wallace on the way. She wasn’t in and I left her at least two minutes of rambling questions. I hoped she might shed a little light on the larger picture of the Greater Faith Church’s outreach and philanthropic mission. I would run down corporate filings tomorrow. And try to make a connection to the gun range and EDGE. But I asked Rachel to find out about EDGE’s work internationally through some of her friends in the State Department.

  I checked my messages at home. And through my answering service at my office. No word from Hawk. When he had something, he’d find me.

  I parked and trudged up to the second floor, now growing used to the concrete landscape of Atlanta’s Perimeter. Cars and trucks zipped up on the interstate. Eighteen-wheelers coming and going from the truck stop next door. I reached into my jacket for my hotel key when I realized my unit’s door was cracked open.

  I stepped back to the outdoor landing and heard car doors slam. I saw two men rounding the corner of the second floor and moved fast down the concrete steps. Two men met me at the landing. The parking lot was nearly empty, a half-dozen cars gleaming in the artificial glow of the streetlamps. I was twenty yards away from my rental and forty yards from the hotel lobby.

  I grabbed my car keys, pressed the unlock button, the horn chirping and lights blinking. The men closed in on me, yelling for me to stop. I reached the driver’s-side door and nearly got inside before two more men approached me from the street. In all, six men had come to roust me at the hotel.

  The two men from the second floor closed in. The men behind me showed me their guns. Very impressive. A pair of bright chrome Taurus nine-millimeters. One tried to hit me. I dodged the punch and his hand struck a nasty dent in the top of the rental. The other grabbed the leather sleeve of my jacket and pulled me toward him. I countered with an overhead right and reeled him back several steps.

  Someone yelled to stop. It was a voice of authority.

  A bald man walked toward me. He was built like a Mack truck and had the dark outline of a beard of the same length as his shaved head. He had on jeans and a dark green Henley shirt. He carried a sawed-off shotgun as it were a loaf of bread. His eyes flicked up and down on me, leaning into the fella who’d braced me on the stairs. “Toss him in the trunk,” he said. “Take the car. This fella is checking out.”

  Before he got the last bit out, I kicked at the knees of the closest man, finding purchase in the cartilage and bone and sending him to the asphalt. I tried to run but two of them were on me; the bald man was standing close with the shotgun in my face. “Up,” he said. “Easy. Up.”

  “You must be Brother Bliss,” I said.

  “And you must be fucked.”

  “Onward, Christian Soldier.”

  One of the men started my rental and popped the trunk. Despite my protests, three of them got me into the trunk. I had no doubts Bliss would have used the shotgun in the lonely parking lot. The men were of varying sizes and ages. The only thing I knew for sure was that Hawk wasn’t one of them.

  The trunk closed over me with a solid thunk. Even in the glow of the taillights, I couldn’t find anything like a release. Despite the swerving and braking rolling me back and forth, I did get into the well for the spare and pulled out a lug nut wrench. I tried to use the wrench to pry open the trunk. When that didn’t work, I cracked out the back taillights with hope some passing motorist might report the car.

  They had me in the car for more than a half-hour. After the ride, the car stopped and the engine turned off. I heard men’s voices but could not make out what they were saying. I was pretty sure they weren’t praising my demeanor or saying I was a really swell guy. Finally, the trunk opened and I saw Brother Bliss’s face staring down at me. He was not a handsome man. He had scar tissue under his eyes and part of his ear was missing.

  “Get out,” Bliss said.

  I was stiff but crawled out, trying to be aware of my surroundings. It was only three men this time. Bliss and two others. Each of his men carried an assault rifle. Bliss stuck to the tried and true, the sawed-off shotgun.

  “With me,” he said. “Move.”

  We were in the woods somewhere. It was very dark and very quiet. I could see a blanket of stars overhead and smell wood smoke down a winding trail. I did not like being led into the woods in the dark. I especially did not like being led that way by three men with guns.

  I started to whistle. “O Come, All Ye Faithful.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Bliss said.

  I stopped whistling.

  Bliss jacked the twelve-gauge into my back and I tumbled forward. We were now into a clearing and moving up to a bright white trailer. The good Reverend Josiah Ridgeway awaited me with a big smile, slabs of big white teeth, and open arms.

  “Hallelujah.”

  47

  The trailer was tight, cramped, and airless. It had been gutted to fashion a classroom of sorts, complete with small plastic chairs, a big whiteboard filled with handwritten Bible verses, and a world map with hand-drawn swooping arrows emanating from the Middle East. I didn’t know what they were doing but was pretty sure they weren’t working for ways to distribute their UNICEF donations.

  Two men dressed in dull green fatigues and ball caps stood by the front door. They each held AR-15s. Bliss leaned against the wall near the board while creepy-old-man Ridgeway stepped in close. He had very large white teeth and the permanent grin of a huckster or someone who’d long ago lost touch with reality. He wore an out-of-style gray suit, a bright blue shirt, and no tie. Even with a thorough dosing of cologne, he still gave off a musty old-man smell.

  “Are you a praying man, Mr. Spenser?” Ridgeway said. His teeth were a bright, artificial white.

  I didn’t answer him. Bliss pulled a Glock from his waistband and made a “get on with it” motion with the barrel.

  “I prayed for the Sox to make the playoffs,” I said. “And for mercy on Tom Brady. Does that count?”

  “You mock people like us,” he said. “You Godless liberals who will break America right in two.”

  “Maybe I walked into the wrong classroom?” I said. “I was looking for underwater basket weaving. This must be Crazy 101.”

  “You’re not a part of this, sir,” Ridgeway said, shaking his head sadly. “Nor were you invited. We’re doing God’s work. Your presence down here only interferes. Christian people will die if you make trouble for us. Many good folks. Are you following me?”

  I shook my head. “To be honest, your accent is pretty thick.”

  “Why are you here?” Bliss said.

  “A woman named Connie Kelly died,” I said. “I worked for her. And I believe your people here killed her.”

  “That’s an outrageous lie,” Ridgeway said, still grinning. “Miss Kelly was an
honored member of our church. I baptized her myself in front of nearly two thousand people. I was sad to hear she’d taken her own life. For some hotshot private eye from up north, you sure don’t know shit from Shinola, sir.”

  “Got me there, Rev,” I said.

  “When a member of my church is called home, we all suffer,” he said. “Why on this earth would you accuse me of such a horrible thing?”

  “Maybe not you,” I said, jacking my thumb at Bliss. “You don’t have the stomach for it. Probably Sergeant Rock.”

  I looked at Bliss and smiled. Bliss didn’t react. He stuck the Glock back into this belt and placed his hands on his hips. I stared at him and he stared back. If we did this any longer, we might get engaged.

  “Get the hell out of here,” Bliss said. “Out of Rockdale County and the state of Georgia. And we won’t kill you.”

  “Is there a second option?” I said.

  “Some things are just bigger than you, son,” Ridgeway said. “Times change. What our Christian community is facing these days ain’t unlike the olden times. If a thief is found breaking in and is struck so that he dies, there shall be no bloodguilt for him.”

  “Lovely sentiment,” I said. “But I’m not a thief.”

  “You have come down here to accuse us and take money from our church,” Ridgeway said. “From our ministry. Surely that is theft, sir.”

  “I came for the two hundred and sixty grand Pastor Wells took from her.”

  Ridgeway nodded to Bliss. Bliss stepped up and took a swing at my kidneys. I blocked him with my forearm and hit him in the throat. Bliss staggered back a few steps and then tried to punch me in the face. I ducked it. He shook his head and pulled a gun.

  The door opened. Hawk walked in.

  Bliss kept the gun beside his leg. He nodded at Hawk. “You got the vehicle ready?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hawk said something to the two men by the door. They headed outside. Hawk leaned against the wall. He wore the same dull green uniform as the other men. I had to admit he still looked sharp in the costume, although green wasn’t really his color.