She saw Mark check his watch. “Mind if we pay him a little visit right now?”
“No.”
A minute later they parked in the roundabout in front of Joseph's door. Mark made Cindy stay in the car, and she was glad to do so. She didn't believe for a minute that Joseph could be the killer, but she'd rather err on the side of caution.
She watched through the windshield as Joseph came to the door. After a minute the two men disappeared inside. They were gone long enough that she started to worry. Just when she was eyeing the police radio, though, they reappeared.
“Not him,” Mark said as he got back into the car.
“At least you can cross him off your list,” Cindy said.
“Yeah, him and his dogs.”
“He shows dogs.”
“You think? I saw enough trophies on the mantel to choke a horse.”
“Rumor has it he buried a couple of his dogs in the old family cemetery behind the house.”
“More power to him. Some guys race cars, and apparently, some show dogs. All I care is that he has an alibi that checks out and still has his Shepherd's cross.”
9
JEREMIAH WENT FOR A WALK TO GET SOME AIR. A LONG NIGHT stretched before him. Volunteers were already hard at work in the kitchen preparing for the Seder. He glanced into the neighboring parking lot but didn't see Cindy's car. He couldn't help but wonder how she had fared the night before. He had thought about calling when he left the synagogue but decided against it in case she was actually asleep.
A car pulled into the church parking lot, but it wasn't hers. He continued to walk, breathing in deeply. A minute later he heard her voice, and he turned to see her getting out of the car. Mark exited the driver's side, and Jeremiah was instantly alert. Why was she in the detective's car, and what were they doing at the church?
He took a step forward. Not your problem. Be glad she's turning to the proper authorities for help. You don't need to get involved.
But he was involved, as much as he hated to admit it. He cut through the hedge and arrived next to her. “Is everything okay?”
She turned frightened eyes on him and for a moment he could swear that she looked like she was afraid of him. He took a step back, and she blinked. The look faded. He glanced toward Mark and was surprised to note that the detective had a hand on his gun.
Jeremiah raised his hands shoulder high and took another step back. “What's happening here?”
“Two more people were killed,” Cindy said.
After another glance at the detective, Jeremiah slowly lowered his hands to his sides. “And you were there?”
“After the fact,” Mark said.
“He thinks someone is doing this for my benefit,” Cindy said, tears welling in the corners of her eyes.
Jeremiah shook his head. It made no sense. Who would want to torment a woman like Cindy?
“What's the plan?” he asked Mark.
“The plan is to let the professionals handle it. I can't babysit you and her both, so do me a favor and stay out of it.”
Do as he says. This isn't your fight. Not your friend, not your responsibility. He turned to Cindy “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to take care of a couple of things.” She dropped her glance and scurried toward the office.
“This is how you baby-sit?” Jeremiah said.
Mark glared at him before hurrying after her. Jeremiah couldn't help himself; he followed too. He had no idea what had happened earlier, but from their actions, it couldn't have been good.
They were almost at the office when a man exited, heading away from them.
“Oliver!” Cindy called.
The man turned toward her, his body language guarded. “Hey, Cindy.”
She walked toward him. “Thank you again for dinner last night.”
“You were okay going home then?” Oliver asked.
Jeremiah eyed him with suspicion.
“Yes, thank you,” Cindy said, all smiles.
Mark cocked his head to the side, also sizing up Oliver. “Oliver Johnson?”
“Yes.”
“You're a Shepherd here at the church?”
Oliver nodded. “Can I help you?”
“I'm sorry,” Cindy apologized. “Oliver, this is Detective Mark Walters. He's investigating the murder. Oliver is a reporter,” she explained. “And this is Rabbi Jeremiah Silverman from next door.”
“Detective, Rabbi,” Oliver said, nodding to each of them.
“Mr. Johnson, where were you Sunday evening?”
“Doing visitation at the hospital.”
“That's right!” Cindy exclaimed. “I saw you there.”
Oliver smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
“And are you wearing your Shepherd's cross?” Mark asked.
“No, I usually keep it in my dresser at home.” Oliver's eyes blinked rapidly.
Liar, Jeremiah thought. It took all of his will power not to call him on it. The reporter hadn't lied about visiting the hospital though.
“I'm going to want to see it,” Mark said.
“Okay, do you mind if I ask why?”
“It's just part of the investigation. I'll be in touch a little later.”
“Let me give you my card,” Oliver volunteered, reaching for his wallet.
“I've got your contact information,” Mark said.
“I'll take a card,” Jeremiah said, striving to make his tone friendly. He pulled one of his own out of his wallet, one of the ones without any of his personal information, and exchanged with the reporter, noting the softness of the other's hands. He's never worked with his hands; he's used to making a living with his mind, thinking on his feet.
“Since we're being so formal, I'm not sure I have your number, Cindy,” Oliver said.
Cindy flushed to her roots. “I'm in the church directory.”
Odd time to flirt with her, Jeremiah thought.
Oliver grinned at her.
“I almost forgot to tell you,” Cindy said. “Your friend stopped by the office earlier. Said he mixed up the time he was supposed to meet you.”
“Did he leave his name?” Oliver asked.
“Karl. He said to tell you he'd catch you later.”
All the color drained from Oliver's face. “Thank you,” he murmured and then turned and walked away quickly.
Jeremiah shook his head. “That was—”
“—interesting.” Mark completed his thought.
Cindy turned to look at them. “What?”
“What happened last night?” Mark asked.
“We bumped into each other downtown and ended up having dinner together at Rigatoni's.”
“A date?” Mark pushed.
“No, we just had dinner. We talked.”
Mark's phone rang and he answered it. “Yeah, yeah, on my way.”
“One of the Shepherds, Jack Randolph, is on the run. I've got to go.” He headed for the parking lot.
“What about baby-sitting?” Jeremiah called after him.
“Looks like you just got yourself another job, Samaritan!”
Jeremiah bit his tongue and turned to Cindy. “You know Jack Randolph?”
“Not very well. He's a professor, I think. No family that I know of.”
“Well, hopefully, this is the end of it. Now, what do you need to do here? I'd feel better if we got you somewhere safer.”
“I'll just be five minutes. How about I meet you at your car?”
He didn't like it, but he grudgingly agreed.
Cindy stepped inside the office, and Geanie pounced on her, eyes blazing. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Um, no?”
“Deadline time. And not a word from Roy or Gus.”
“Then go ahead and make up the order of service the way you want to. That's what you told them you'd do.”
“Really?” Geanie asked, eyes wide. “I've got your permission?”
“For what it's worth, you've got my permission.”
Geanie did a little hop.
“Just one thing,” Cindy continued. “I need to go now. You're in charge for the rest of the afternoon.”
Geanie snapped a salute and sailed back to her desk. Cindy shook her head, wondering what havoc she had just unleashed. The deed was done, though, and it served Roy and Gus right.
Cindy shut down her computer, locked her desk, and headed for the door. Instead of marching straight to the parking lot, though, she found herself detouring to the sanctuary. She hadn't stepped foot inside since Monday morning.
The door stood open and half the lights were on. She walked inside, hesitantly at first, but then more boldly. She walked about halfway down an aisle and then sat down on a pew. She bowed her head and prayed that the police would catch the killer before he harmed anyone else. Finished, she stood, turned toward the back of the church, and saw a dark lump lying on the pew three rows back.
She took a step closer, and as soon as she realized it was a man she screamed. Seconds later Jeremiah sailed to her side. She realized he must have been closer than his car. Together they stared for a moment at the body in horror.
“I'm telling you that's a scream,” the man said, suddenly sitting up and causing them both to jump back.
Cindy sagged against Jeremiah in relief. “Harry, you know you're not supposed to sleep in here,” she told the homeless man.
Harry rubbed his face. “I didn't mean to sleep in here. I came for the service. And that preacher man just droned on so long I got a bit drowsy. And then you were screaming.”
Out of the corner of her eye she could tell Jeremiah could hardly contain his laughter.
“Harry, you frightened me.”
“You know I don't mean to frighten folks.”
“I know, Harry. Service is over, though. It's time to go.”
He got up and shuffled towards the door, and they followed him out. Jeremiah turned off the lights, and Cindy locked the door behind them.
“Can you get to the shelter all right, Harry?”
The old man nodded, and she felt sorry for him. Harry was a fixture in the neighborhood and a regular at the shelter down the street. She glanced up at Jeremiah, who regarded him through narrowed eyes.
“I still need to get that box of canned goods out of my trunk,” he said quietly. “In all the craziness yesterday, it never got done.”
“Would it be okay if we took it over now and dropped Harry off?” she asked.
He nodded.
The drive over was short and some volunteers happily came and emptied Jeremiah's trunk. Harry pulled a paper out of his pocket with great ceremony and handed it to Cindy.
“What's this?” she asked.
“I found it crumpled on the floor of the church. I figured I should throw it away, but maybe you want it for something.”
“Thank you, Harry,” she said. She took it and a quick glance at the paper revealed it to be a program from earlier in the day. She shoved it in her pocket.
A minute later she and Jeremiah were back in the car. “Where to now?” he asked her.
“I'd like to get my car back. It's parked downtown.”
“Fair enough,” he said.
They drove for a moment in silence.
“So, what happened this morning?” Jeremiah asked at last.
“Two people were killed in a beauty salon. The woman was posed washing the man's feet.”
“Two murders instead of one?”
“I know. Escalation, huh?” she said. “I mean, it's not like he didn't have the opportunity before. The guy on the donkey, there could have been other dead people there, putting the palm fronds down or something. He's raising the stakes.”
She clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap, wishing she had something to do with them. She needed to remember to put a different deck of cards in her purse so she'd have something to fidget with.
“No telling what he has in mind,” Jeremiah said quietly.
She glanced over at him. “So, is it true that in Israel military service is mandatory for everyone, men and women?”
“Yes, although, any Arabs living in the country are exempt.”
“So if you're Jewish you serve. No exceptions?”
He smiled. “Exceptions are made for people with mental impairments and physical disabilities. Also, exceptions are made for those pursuing some types of religious education and training.”
Like a rabbi, she thought. “Oh. That's a convenient out.”
“Yes, it is. Why do you ask?”
“Just something I heard, and I was curious about it,” she said, trying her best to sound casual.
She felt somewhat relieved. It was stupid, but what the detective had said about the killer being anyone, even Jeremiah, had spooked her. It seemed hard to picture a sweet guy like him even carrying a weapon.
“Do you mind if I stop at home for a minute first? I want to pick up my suit for tonight's dinner so I'll have it with me.”
“That's fine,” she said. “How go the plans for tonight?”
He smiled. “Complicated. Fortunately, I have many eager volunteers willing to shoulder part of the responsibility.”
Cindy laughed. “Sometimes it can take more effort to supervise the volunteers than it would to do their job.”
“I have noticed that that seems to be true, particularly around holidays.”
They pulled up outside his house. “Come in. It will only take me a minute.”
She slid out of the car and followed him inside. She walked around his living room, and again her eyes fell on the bookshelf of poetry. Then she took a close look at the sparse furnishings and the paintings on the wall.
“I think I know your secret, Rabbi,” she said.
“Really, and what would that be?” he asked, emerging from his bedroom with a garment bag.
“This is just like my house. You're renting this from a member of the synagogue. I'd be willing to bet nothing in this room, from the poetry to that hideous painting to that ancient video player, is yours.”
“Very perceptive,” he said.
She shrugged. “It's obvious. I should have realized that last time I was here.” She pointed to the poetry. “These aren't your books.”
“No, they're not,” he admitted.
“It's amazing how most of the time we don't see what's right under our noses.”
By the time Mark arrived on the scene, officers had already cornered Randolph in his home where he had fled after being approached at the university. Something felt off to Mark. He didn't see the guy they were hunting being stupid enough to stop off at home to pack a few things on his way out of town.
“What's going on?” he asked Paul.
His partner rolled his eyes. “He keeps shouting that he doesn't want to lose his job.”
“He's crazy if he thinks that's the worst that can happen to him,” a uniformed officer said.
Mark took a deep breath. “Any sign of a weapon?” The officer shook his head. “Okay, get me a vest.”
“What are you doing?” Paul asked as the officer hurried off.
“Playing a hunch.”
“Gambling with your life.”
“You honestly think we've got a serial killer trapped in there?”
Paul sighed. The officer returned with the bulletproof vest, and Mark strapped it on.
“Don't do anything stupid,” Paul cautioned.
“I think we passed stupid on Monday,” Mark said. He walked slowly toward the door of the house, hands at shoulder height.
“Can't lose my job,” he heard someone moaning inside as he got closer.
“Mr. Randolph?” Mark shouted.
There was silence for a minute and then the man inside the house shouted, “Go away!”
“I can't do that, Mr. Randolph. I need to come in and talk with you, just for a few minutes.”
“No!”
“Please, Mr. Randolph. There's a lot of worried people out here who don't want anyone to get hurt.”
“I never hurt anybody!”
“Well, we can talk about that when you let me inside.” Mark moved to stand next to the door.
“I can't lose my job! I don't want to do anything else. I can't do anything else!”
“We can talk about that too.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Just let me come inside, Mr. Randolph.”
The door opened slowly. Mark glanced out at the street and saw half a dozen weapons drawn. He stepped around the door and saw a middle-aged man wearing jeans, a shirt and striped tie. He was short with thinning hair and a bit of stubble on his face. His eyes were wild, desperate, and for a moment Mark wondered if he had made a terrible mistake.
Then Randolph turned and sank down on a chair in the living room, his head in his hands, and rocked back and forth. Mark eased inside, leaving the front door open. He positioned himself so the shooters outside would have a clear shot at Randolph, and he would be out of the line of fire.
“You want to go first?” Mark asked after a moment.
“I can't lose my job!” the man wailed.
“And why would you lose it?” Mark decided to discuss the topic that seemed most pressing to the suspect.
“Because I lied. I didn't want to, I had to.”
“Lied about what?”
“You know. It's why you came after me.”
“Yes, but sometimes it's good to say these things out loud. It helps put things in perspective.”
“Perspective?” Randolph looked up. “Perspective!”
“Yes, perspective,” Mark said, working to keep his voice level.
“How's this for perspective? I work harder than any other teacher on that campus!”
“And why is that?”
“Why do you think? Because when I don't work hard, people don't learn. I work hard for the kids. No one could ever know—” Randolph stopped abruptly and dropped his head back into his hands.
Out of the corner of his eye Mark could see officers approaching the door, getting ready to make a move. He held up his hand, and they paused.
“What is it that you don't want them to know?”
“I lied.”
“Then tell the truth now. It might help.”
“I don't have a doctorate. I never even finished my bachelor's,” Randolph ended with a wail.
The Lord is My Shepherd Page 10