Silent is the Grave

by Candle Sutton

  Naturally. But Zander had chosen to come to him, Josiah, and Elly for help battling his alcoholism. He had a duty to ask and hold him accountable. “I’m praying for you, man.”

  Zander released a measured breath. “Thanks. I didn’t know how much I relied on…” he looked around again, “…it, until I stopped. Sometimes it’s all I can think about.”

  “It’s only been two days. Give it time.”

  Zander pulled out a recorder and notepad and pen. “So about our vic.”

  Yes, that was the point, wasn’t it? “I didn’t know James well. Rumor had it that he’d just gotten out of prison, although he never talked about it.”

  Not surprising. Why would he want to advertise that fact?

  “I can look that up. Walk me through finding the body.”

  “I was sitting here, talking to one of the guys, and we heard him scream. I knew even before God told me that it was bad. It sounded awful.” The sound still echoed in his ears. “I headed for the sound and God showed me the way. He was dead when I got there.”

  “Did you see anyone else around?”

  The blood-streaked face haunted his memories. “No. Just James. I didn’t touch anything, not even him.”

  “That’s good. Did he ever mention any problems with anyone? Did you see anyone threatening him?”

  Zeke ran through the last few weeks. “Not that I noticed. He usually ate alone. I talked to him a few times and about all I can tell you is that he was very antagonistic toward the gospel.”

  Pain stabbed his heart. Had James changed at the end? Had he turned to God before his life bled out on the asphalt?

  He could only hope so.

  “What about friends? Who did he spend his time with?”

  “I didn’t…” Wait. What about that one guy who’d been talking to James just last week? “Now that I think about it, there was this one guy. He and James were talking and James didn’t look too happy to see him. I can’t say for certain that the man threatened him, but I wouldn’t call them friends.”

  In fact, they’d looked more like enemies. Both had been tense, the man had scowled, James had pulled back.

  “Don’t suppose you heard what they said?”

  Zeke shook his head. “I don’t eavesdrop.”

  “Maybe God can tell you?” Zander sounded like he was only half-kidding.

  “It doesn’t–”

  “Work that way. I know.” Zander sighed. “So this guy, you know who he is?”

  “I’ve never seen him before. His jeans were new and his shirt clean. I don’t think he’s homeless.”

  “Maybe someone James knew from prison?”

  “Maybe.” Although if so, he’d done pretty well for himself since getting out. “He was a white guy, probably late twenties, tall, muscular, with a shaved head.”

  “How tall? Seven feet?”

  “Nah. Taller than us, though.” Zeke caught sight of Morgan crossing the street. “Maybe about Morgan’s height.”

  “What’s my height?” Morgan stopped a few feet away.

  “A possible suspect.” Zander glanced up from his notes. “Think you could describe him to a sketch artist?”

  “Sure.” The man’s image locked vividly in his mind. “He had a bit of an arrogant swagger to him, too. Like he thought he was better than James.”

  Not that such a thing was uncommon. In his experience, a lot of people thought they were better than the homeless.

  “So the 911 call came in anonymously.” Morgan studied Zeke. “Did you call it in?”

  Zeke shook his head. “A friend of mine did. We both heard the scream and I had him call while I went to check it out.”

  With exaggerated movements, Morgan looked around. “And where is this friend?”

  “Knowing him, anywhere but here. He didn’t want to get involved.” Not to mention that Reuben had a problem with authority figures. Why, Zeke wasn’t sure, but Reuben avoided anyone in a formal position of authority. “But he didn’t see or hear anything other than what I told you.”

  “We still like to talk to everyone involved.” Zander leaned his elbow on the back of the bench. “Sometimes people know something they don’t realize.”

  “He normally comes around at meal time. I’ll talk to him.” It might not do any good, but he’d at least try.

  “Thanks. We appreciate it.” Zander rose from the bench. “Come on by the station when you get a chance and we’ll have you write up your statement and work on that sketch.”

  “Sure thing.” Maybe he could even convince Reuben to go with him. “Catch you later.”

  Zander fell into step beside Morgan as they crossed the street, headed back to the crime scene, no doubt.

  As they disappeared from sight, Zeke pushed himself up.

  He should get inside. Lunch prep would be in full swing and they could always use an extra set of hands.

  Hauling the door open, he stepped into the air conditioned interior.

  Aimee looked up from her seat at the reception desk as he stepped inside.

  Crazy how much she looked like her dad. She had Mark’s square jawline, broad grin, and kind blue eyes. Plastic rimmed glasses slid down her nose and her cheeks had a robust rosy glow.

  “Hi Zeke.” She stood, an envelope in her hand.

  “Hey Aimee. How is everything?”

  “Good. We’ve missed you around here.”

  “Family stuff. You know how it is.”

  She winked. “Do I ever. Between Dad, Mom, and my sister, it’s a wonder I even have a life.”

  “You’ve got it easy. Being the baby and all.”

  She laughed. “Meg would tell you that, but don’t believe her. She thinks just because she’s the oldest, she gets to boss me around.”

  “Speaking of Meg, I should get in the kitchen and give her a hand.” Meg ran the kitchen, while Mark and Antonia, his wife, oversaw the clothing distribution and housing.

  “Probably. You know how she gets.” Aimee extended the paper. “But this was left for you.”

  Unusual. He approached the desk. “By whom?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t see. I went to the bathroom and when I came back, it was sitting right here.”

  Dirt smudged the envelope, which felt empty. His name was scrawled in barely legible writing across the front.

  He slid his finger beneath the flap, ripping the envelope where the glue refused to give.

  Inside, a piece of lined notebook paper was folded in thirds. He pulled it out and unfolded it.

  Zeke. His name, written in pencil, was scribbled above the top line. Beneath it, a few words jumbled together. South Bay Gym. Sixty-seven. Bethany will know.

  That was it? He turned the page over. Nothing on the back.

  Lord?

  James. God’s voice whispered the word into his ear.

  The note was from James? Well, that answered one mystery, but what about the rest?

  God was strangely silent.

  Okay, well maybe God wanted him to follow up on this himself. He stuffed the note back in the envelope, folded both, and tucked them in his pocket.

  “Something good?” Aimee stared at him with open curiosity.

  “Cryptic.”

  Some things are not meant for everyone.

  God’s voice silenced his own.

  Even as Aimee hung on his word, waiting for him to continue, he knew he had to keep the contents of the letter close. He smiled at Aimee. “Thanks for hanging onto this for me.”

  Disappointment shafted across her face. “No problem.”

  He strode down the hallway, through the dining room, and toward the kitchen, replaying the note in his mind.

  South Bay Gym should be easy enough to find. But what did sixty-seven mean? Who was Bethany and what would she know?

  After lunch, he’d head to the gym. Maybe all his questions would be answered there.

  Like what you see? Watch for Broken is the Grave, available winter 2018.

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andle Sutton