“We had another friend, Abby. We were the Three Musketeers. Her family was incredibly strict and controlling. They sent Abby to seminary because they wanted her to marry a pastor, not because they ever expected her to do anything with the education.”
Cindy realized that Abby was probably the loved one Oliver had once told her he had lost. When he paused, she nodded, encouraging him to continue with the story.
“But Abby was special. She had big plans to change the world. She wanted so much to help people.”
“What happened to Abby?” Jeremiah asked.
“Exactly what her parents had hoped. She fell in love.”
“With you?” Cindy asked.
“With both of us, actually. And we fell in love with her. Karl was too shy to ever let her know how he felt, though.”
“But you weren't,” Cindy guessed.
“No. We were young and we were stupid and for a short while it seemed like the world smiled upon us. We were involved with the theater ministry group. Karl was always too terrified to actually go onstage and talk, but he loved building sets and helping out backstage.
“It was Easter, and our professor had written a new play telling the story of Easter in modern day with language and situations that would be understandable to those who had grown up in the inner cities. He hoped to use it as a real ministry tool. We were debuting it the night before Easter, and most of the school came. Our parents were there. It was meant to be a great night.”
Oliver drew a deep breath. “Then, two hours before the play was supposed to start, Abby found me. I could tell by her face that something was really wrong.”
“She was pregnant?” Cindy guessed.
Oliver nodded. “Nothing I said helped, but then I was terrified, looking out for myself. I begged her not to tell anyone. I was a coward.”
“What happened to Abby?” Jeremiah asked when Oliver stopped talking. The reporter's eyes stared into space as though he were reliving that moment.
“She killed herself. In our play there was a stage gun with blanks. She switched the blanks for real bullets. Then she left a note apologizing, explaining everything, and saying that in the end she didn't have the courage to shoot herself.”
“If she didn't shoot herself … ?” Cindy let the question trail off.
“Like I said, it was a big night. The role of the mugger was a very small one. No speaking lines. It had taken us four weeks to convince Karl that he could do it. So, when act three started he aimed the gun at Abby, just like he had in all those rehearsals. He fired.”
“And shot her to death,” Jeremiah finished.
“Yes,” Oliver said, sobbing openly.
“He had to know it wasn't his fault,” Cindy said.
“The note explained everything. I was so terrified. I was afraid of my parents, of her parents, of being kicked out of seminary. I destroyed the note.”
“Without a suicide letter, people thought he meant to kill her?” Cindy asked.
“He was this shy, awkward guy with some really oppressive beliefs. Everyone knew he was crazy about her. And, after she died, they quickly discovered she was pregnant.”
“How terrible,” Cindy said.
“I never dreamed they would think it was anything more than some crazy accident. I ran away, took a two-month sabbatical from school. Everyone thought I couldn't live with the horror of what had happened. They were only partially right. When I came back I discovered that the drama professor had been fired and that Karl had been convicted of murder.”
“Why didn't you speak up?” Jeremiah asked.
“I was still too afraid. I lost my best friend, the woman I loved, and my unborn child. And even to save my soul I couldn't tell people the truth. Because of me she died. Because of me Karl went to prison for ten years, a sweet shy boy falsely accused and locked up with murderers and rapists because I couldn't confess the truth. I violated the most important principle.”
“Which is?” Jeremiah asked.
“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
“It's not too late,” Cindy said. “Maybe if you confessed publicly Karl would stop.”
“It's my fault he became a killer, and I would give anything to change that, but it's not going to work.”
“How do you know unless you try?” she insisted. “You have the power to stop this.”
“You know how I stop it? I run. That's what I do. When I'm not here to witness his performances he stops.”
“You can't know that for sure,” Cindy protested.
“Especially not now that he's taken such an interest in Cindy,” Jeremiah pointed out.
“It's always about me,” Oliver said. “He watches me, taunts me. He even broke into the newspaper and swapped out the online crossword puzzle just to taunt me, because he knew what I'd done to Ryan. He knows I love crossword puzzles. He knew I'd see it. No, the only way anyone is safe is if I disappear.”
That was one mystery solved. It also explained why Oliver had shredded the puzzle in Cindy's kitchen.
“Why does he keep putting people with names similar to yours in the position of Jesus?” Cindy asked, hoping to at least keep him talking so that she could try and convince him to help.
“Because at seminary I was voted 'Most Christlike'. Ironic, huh? And in the play, I was supposed to be Jesus.” He pushed the button for the nurse, and turned his face to the wall.
“You should get back to bed,” the nurse said sternly when she walked through the doorway and saw Cindy.
Jeremiah wheeled Cindy back to her room, and she couldn't control her frustration. “Why won't he help us?”
“He's afraid,” Jeremiah said.
“That's no excuse for letting people die.”
“I know, but you can't force the man to help.”
“You sound like a truly frustrated cop,” Mark said, popping his head into the room.
“What are you doing back here?” Cindy asked.
“The hospital called to tell me Oliver is awake. However, that looks to have been a temporary condition. A little bird did tell me, though, that the two of you were in there talking to him. Tell me everything.”
Unlike most weeks there was no Friday night service at the synagogue, so Jeremiah stayed at the hospital until visiting hours were over and the nurses kicked him out. When he finally got home he sat down at his computer and attempted to organize his thoughts for the morning service.
There was so much to say about Passover itself, and now he had to incorporate what had happened to the Schullers in a way that answered people's questions but didn't create panic or hinder the efforts of the police.
He thought about the things he had told Olivia earlier. He truly did believe them, and he could do worse than sharing some of those thoughts with the congregation. He jotted down a few notes, but tried to keep it open. He often found that when he only gave himself a basic framework there was greater opportunity for inspiration, and people often found the least scripted sermons to be the most moving.
He thought about the two people in the hospital who had survived the latest attack. One was an innocent victim, guilty only of repeatedly being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The other was a guilty victim whose actions had started a chain reaction that resulted in the deaths of dozens, perhaps more. They were a perfect illustration of the fickle and tempestuous nature of fate that gave to each not as they deserved but as it willed.
There was a sermon in there somewhere. He felt it. He also knew that he was too tired and too close to the events to truly see it. The best thing he could do for Cindy, his congregation, and himself was to get some rest. Like most things in life, though, it was easier said than done.
19
JEREMIAH HAD NOT GOTTEN AS MUCH REST AS HE WOULD HAVE LIKED. He stood before his congregation and tried to bring comfort for the loss of the Schuller family. He spoke some words from the Psalms and then asked people to reflect on the meaning of Passover. In light of all the death in the commu
nity it seemed a poignant reminder. He wondered if the more superstitious among them would consider it a good time to mark their doors with lamb's blood.
After services some of the elders approached him. He could tell by the looks on their faces that they had something in mind, and it would be difficult to talk them out of it.
Malachi was the apparent spokesman for the group, and he plunged in without preamble. “We intend to hold a vigil tonight for those who have lost their lives in the recent tragedies.”
Jeremiah didn't like it. With the end of Easter week in sight the last thing he wanted was for members of his congregation to gather together and make a target of themselves.
Before he could protest, Malachi continued. “We've spoken to a few of the elders next door and have decided that a joint vigil would be a good idea, especially in light of what happened to Samuel's family and their guests. These deaths are a blow to the religious community as a whole.”
Any other day and Jeremiah would have been pleased at such thoughtfulness. It was just asking for trouble, though, and the involvement of members of First Shepherd would just make disaster all the more likely to strike.
“We understand that you may have some concerns, Rabbi, but we feel that it is crucial for us to make this effort. We will not be hunted into our homes like rabbits hiding from dogs.”
He looked into their eyes, and he understood. Never again would they go quietly into that good night, or do the safe thing instead of the right thing. He could respect that. It was one of the things that had made it easier for him to bond with the congregation. Like those in Israel they had not forgotten that being God's chosen people came with a price. They never stuck their heads in the sand but always responded with courage and passion.
He smiled at them. “You have made it impossible for me to say no,” he admitted.
“That was the plan,” Malachi assured him. “We will hold the vigil tonight at ten o'clock here. That's right after the Easter play ends at First Shepherd.”
“I will be here,” he said.
“Thank you, Rabbi. We appreciate your understanding and support.”
“And I appreciate yours,” he answered.
Meeting over, they were eager to be on their way with their own families. Jeremiah successfully avoided getting pulled into any other discussions, and made his way toward the hospital.
Karl smiled as he drove past Fairhaven Cemetery. The police were so predictable. This cemetery actually had a squad car parked out front. That was okay. What he had in mind would surprise them all. This time he would finish what had been started so long ago.
Oliver would pay for what he had done, and no one would stop his hand of justice. The bus bounced over a pothole, and he eased up a little more on the gas. No hurry. He had plenty of time.
In the back he could hear someone whimpering, a pathetic sound, weak and helpless. Good soldiers shouldn't whimper. He sighed. He'd just have to turn them into good soldiers.
Karl turned off the main road onto the access road and smiled. Soon, all the good little disciples would discover that Oliver wasn't where they had left him. Oh how they would run around and scream and fret. That was okay, because they would all be reunited soon enough.
Jeremiah was pleased to see that Cindy looked much better than the day before. Color had returned to her cheeks.
“You look like a woman ready to get out of here,” he said by way of greeting.
“I am. I'm desperate to get out of here.”
“Food terrible?”
“I've had worse. The situation here is intolerable.”
Before he could ask what was wrong a young nurse bustled in and asked cheerfully, “How are we doing, Mrs. Silverman?”
Cindy glared at him, and it was all he could do not to laugh out loud. “I'm ready to go home,” Cindy told the nurse.
“We'll have to see what the doctor says once he gets a chance to look you over,” the nurse replied.
She checked Cindy's chart, made a few notes, and then went on her way, leaving Cindy to glare at her retreating back.
“You see?” Cindy asked.
“I do.” Jeremiah struggled not to laugh. “Still, it could have been much worse.”
“How do you figure?”
“You could have been Mrs. Walters.”
“That's not funny,” Mark said as he walked in the room. “That would make me a polygamist.”
“Can you get me out of here?” Cindy asked.
“Only if the doctor clears it.”
“Any news?” Jeremiah asked.
Mark shook his head. “So far all's been quiet. Frankly, I don't like it.”
Neither did Jeremiah. After accelerating the pace of the murders sudden inaction by the killer was suspicious. It made him wonder if the next murder had already taken place, and they just hadn't found it yet.
Mark's phone rang, and he flipped it open, his voice anxious as he answered, “What?”
Jeremiah strained so he could hear the voice on the other end. It was Paul, and he sounded grim. “We got a possible hit on Karl and the missing tourists.”
“Which cemetery? Who do we have on-site?” Mark glanced at Cindy.
“None of them, and no one.”
“What do you mean?”
“It looks like he's reenacting the empty tomb, but he's way ahead of us.”
“Just tell me where he is,” Mark said, moving into the hall.
Jeremiah followed.
“I'm on my way,” Mark said.
“I'm coming with you,” Jeremiah informed him.
“No, you're not,” Mark snapped, breaking into a jog.
Jeremiah easily kept up with him. “I need to see this through, and it sounds like you need all the manpower you can get.”
“This is not a job for a rabbi.”
“Yeah, but if you need one, you'll call. Skip it, I'm coming. This guy has done too much damage to the community, and I intend to see that he gets taken down.”
“Short of handcuffing you I can't stop you from following me,” Mark said grudgingly.
“Great, we'll carpool. It will save gas.”
“For a rabbi you sure like to stick your nose into other people's business,” Mark said.
“Professional hazard.” Jeremiah picked up the pace.
Moments later they were flying down the road, cars scattering as they came up behind them with lights and sirens.
“Which cemetery?” Jeremiah asked.
“A private one. A few of the really old mansions in the area have them. I should have seen it coming. This one belongs to a First Shepherd member named Joseph.”
Clearly, that was meant to be significant, but Jeremiah was at a loss. “Okay, you'll have to explain that one for the rabbi in the car.”
“When they took Christ off the cross, one of his followers, a rich man named Joseph of Arimathea, gave them his tomb to lay the body in.”
“That is clever. It's like he finally picked the right community that had everything he needed,” Jeremiah said.
They turned off the street and onto an access road and pulled up behind four patrol cars. Another couple pulled in behind them. Together they wound up the narrow road to the top of a plateau.
It didn't feel right to Jeremiah. It felt too private. For the most part Karl had chosen bigger and flashier. This was wrong somehow.
They parked a short distance from the first gravestones and leaped out of the car. One man dressed like a Roman guard sat on the ground. Another man dressed in normal clothes stood beside him, looking in surprise at all the police cars.
Police officers fanned out as Mark and Jeremiah headed straight for the two men.
“Are you Joseph?” Mark asked.
“Yes.”
“Detective Mark Walters. Tell us what happened.”
“Well, I came outside this morning to walk a little bit, and I happened to glance over here and saw something moving on the ground. I came over, thinking it was somebody's dog who had gotten loo
se or something, and I found this guy. He was dressed just like that but his hands were tied behind his back, and he was gagged. I called the police immediately and then I untied and ungagged him.”
Jeremiah saw the rope and the bandana on the ground that the killer had used.
“He must have interrupted him during his work,” Mark said. “Spread out people. Find Karl and those tourists!”
“I don't think so,” Jeremiah said quietly. He crouched down next to the man and spoke a few words of rusty Italian. The man responded with a torrent, and after Jeremiah asked him to slow down he did.
“He's been here for hours,” Jeremiah said. “I'm pretty sure he's a decoy. He said that he is the only one in his tour group who doesn't speak any English whatsoever.”
“Karl counted on us not being able to talk to him,” Mark said, gritting his teeth.
“I think he lured everyone away while he did his work in another cemetery,” Jeremiah said.
“What are you talking about?” Joseph asked.
“A serial killer is mimicking the events of Passion Week. We thought since you were Joseph of Arimathea that he was going to use your tomb,” Mark said.
Joseph stared at him for a moment. “If he was going to use my tomb, it wouldn't be here.”
“What do you mean?” Mark glanced around at the small graveyard.
“I've always found this place pretty creepy. That's why several years ago I bought my family a crypt in Fairhaven.”
“Thank you for stopping by and letting me borrow your laptop,” Cindy said.
“No problem,” Geanie told her with a shrug. “I don't need it back until Monday.”
“I'd better be out of here by then,” Cindy said.
“Surely, they'll let you go by then.”
“What did I miss at work yesterday?”
“Chaos. Fortunately, I think everything got straightened out. The Easter pageant is on for seven o'clock tonight as planned.”
“I really want to see it,” Cindy said.
“Well, you've still got about six hours. It could happen.”
The Lord is My Shepherd Page 20