Six hours. Cindy hadn't heard anything yet from Mark or Jeremiah. Had they caught Karl or would people at the pageant need to worry about when he would strike next? How gruesome.
“Anything else I should know about?”
“There's a prayer vigil afterward at the synagogue.”
“Whose idea was that?”
“Theirs. Pastor Roy called me this morning to fire up the prayer chain so everyone would know in advance. We'll also make an announcement at the pageant that anyone who wants to join can.”
“And the prayer vigil is for …”
“Everything that's happened, everyone who's been killed. I think it's mostly for the Schullers and the Jensens.”
“I'll be there if I can,” Cindy said. “I'm still waiting for a doctor to sign off on me.”
“You want me find one for you? I can be really annoying when I want.”
Cindy smiled. She had been on the receiving side of Geanie's annoyance. “Let's give them another couple of hours, and then I'll turn you loose.”
“You got it. I need to print off some things at church for the prayer vigil, but give me a call if you need a ride or if I can crack some heads.”
“I will,” Cindy said.
Geanie left, and Cindy fired up the laptop, keeping her fingers crossed that she'd find a wireless signal. She breathed a sigh of relief as she got online.
Armed with more information, it only took her five minutes to find articles relating to the death of Abby and the imprisonment of Karl. She read the original articles about the death. The first one called it a tragic accident.
So when did they start calling it murder?
She scrolled through the initial articles, then found others about the trial. If only Oliver had spoken up, so many lives could have been saved, including Karl's.
Still she searched for that moment—that news article—when it shifted from an accident to a murder in the public eye. If everyone had been willing to accept it as an accident, then it would have been incredibly tragic. Karl might have been scarred for life, but he wouldn't have gone to prison and things would have probably turned out differently. She took a deep breath and continued to search on.
Finally, she found an intriguing link: “Prayer Vigil Turns Ugly.” She clicked on the article and skimmed through it. As she read deeper into the piece she realized the true horror of what had happened. The night after the shooting, seminary students held a vigil for Abby. It was still considered an accident.
At the vigil Abby's roommate came forward and revealed Abby's pregnancy and that she was afraid it might have had something to do with her death.
Instead of setting the record straight, Oliver had come right out and accused Karl. The police arrested his former best friend, and the rest was history.
“Oliver, how could you?” she whispered. Photos showed a younger version of Oliver. His face looked innocent, but his eyes might as well have been dead.
You didn't just keep silent, you accused him.
Rage filled Cindy as she thought about what Oliver had done. She surfed the Web for a few more minutes but didn't find anything else of interest. She shut down the laptop, put it away in a drawer, and then swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
Her crutches leaned against the closet. If she could reach them, then she could make it to Oliver's room and give him a piece of her mind. Maybe she could brain him with one of her crutches.
“And just where do you think you're going?” a doctor asked in surprise as he walked into her room.
“Home?” she asked hopefully.
“Well, let's see about that.” He picked up her chart and flipped through it.
She briefly considered making a break for it while he was distracted but figured that in the long run it would be less than useless. She waited in frustrated silence as he took his own sweet time.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“I feel like going home.”
“What's your pain number?” he asked.
“Two,” she lied. The throbbing in her foot was more like a five, but she wanted to leave.
“Has someone taught you how to use the crutches yet?”
She wanted to lie about that, too, but she figured if she tried them and then face planted they would definitely keep her longer. “Not yet.”
“Okay, I'll send a therapist down to help you practice. I tell you what, if he checks you out then you can go home today. If not, you can go home tomorrow.”
“That's fair, send him in,” Cindy said.
He smiled. “You really are eager to get out of here, aren't you? Is the food that bad?”
She shrugged. No, there's a killer stalking me, and I'm not safe here. Then again, I'm not sure I'll be safe anywhere.
Mark cursed himself as he drove through the gates of Fairhaven Cemetery at eighty miles an hour—lights only, no sound. He didn't want to alert Karl yet.
“We've spotted the bus on the northeast corner,” someone reported in on the radio.
“You stay here. I don't know what we're up against, and the last thing I need is to worry about you,” Mark told Jeremiah.
Not waiting for an answer, Mark exited the car and slipped silently through the grave stones, trying not to dwell on their symbols of death or the death that he was likely to discover.
Movement flashed in the corner of his eye, and he turned his head to see a police officer, weapon drawn, also advancing toward the northeast corner. Northeast. That was where Joseph had said his crypt was. Northeast was where they had found the bus.
A tall structure came into view, and something told him it was Joseph's crypt. He paused, not sure he wanted to see what waited there. He pushed himself on. Even a second's delay could cost someone their life.
He realized he was approaching the crypt from behind. He moved quickly, silently, and circled around.
The scene burst into view. A man dressed as an angel sat atop a small boulder in front of the crypt. Lying on the ground were “Roman soldiers.”
Silently, officers converged on the latest crime scene. We're too late, he's finished his work. He turned in a slow circle, and then a flash of light several yards away caught his attention.
A second flash told him it was a camera. He took off running, vaulting a low-lying headstone. He twisted in and around the graves and then spotted a man in a dark hoodie and jeans running from him.
Mark shouted, and two other officers joined the chase.
The man ran, then tumbled down a steep slope. Mark struggled to keep his footing. He was almost within reach when he hit the bottom. The guy twisted and ducked behind a large stone angel just as one of the other officers fired his weapon. Shards from the angel dusted Mark's shirt.
The guy ran and zigzagged in and around monuments, making it impossible to get a clean shot. Other officers fired their weapons, and Mark ground his teeth in frustration as more monuments and headstones caught the lead meant for the man they were chasing.
Hindered by the headstones, the man pulled away from them until they hit a long, straight section of land. Mark nearly screamed as he saw the guy put on a fresh burst of speed, which would take him hopelessly out of reach.
Just then, another man stepped out from behind a tall monument right into the runner's path and popped him in the face. The runner dropped, and the interceptor fell on top of him, pinning him to the ground.
Mark didn't slow until he reached the two of them. “Thanks,” he said to Jeremiah, his breath ragged.
The rabbi just nodded and continued to pin the man's arms. A digital camera hung on a cord around the guy's neck. Mark bent down and pulled back the hood covering the face. Disappointment washed over him. It wasn't Karl. It was a teenager with wide, terrified eyes and an acne problem.
“Who are you?” Mark shouted.
“Chip.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Some guy gave me a hundred bucks and said he needed a picture for a newspaper article. He said not to let th
e cops catch me because they might take the camera away and use it for evidence.”
The other officers groaned. For a brief moment Mark reflected on how Chip owed his life to the gravestones that interfered with every shot. Somebody upstairs was looking out for this kid. Jeremiah stood up slowly, and the sweating teen sat up, rubbing his jaw.
“Were those guys actors or what? It's illegal for them to do what they're doing, is that why they're in trouble? Is it some kind of protest?” Chip asked.
“No, it's a crime scene,” Mark said. “Now give me that camera.”
20
DID YOU CATCH HIM?” CINDY ASKED AS JEREMIAH WALKED INTO HER hospital room.
He shook his head.
“Then you're just in time to help me,” she said.
“Help you do what?”
“Give Oliver a piece of my mind.”
“Is that such a good idea?”
“I don't care. It's what needs to be done,” she said, perching on the edge of the bed. “Now hand me those crutches.”
He retrieved them for her and she pulled herself up, balancing precariously. Her foot throbbed and she felt like she could topple over, but she set her jaw and started on her way. Jeremiah walked quietly beside her.
When they reached Oliver's room Cindy braced herself and then walked in. The room was empty. She exchanged a puzzled glance with Jeremiah who turned and grabbed a nurse passing in the hallway.
“Where is Oliver, the patient who was in this room?”
“He checked out early this morning,” the woman said.
“He got to check out!” Cindy said, brandishing the crutch.
“Is your wife okay?” the nurse asked Jeremiah.
Cindy wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or hit the woman with her crutch. Fortunately, Jeremiah intervened. “It's been a long day, and she just wants to go home.”
Cindy walked out into the hall and saw her doctor at the far end. “You! Doctor!” she shouted.
He looked up startled.
“See, just fine with the crutches. Now check me out of here immediately!”
Jeremiah stared at her like she had gone crazy. Maybe she had, but she wasn't staying another hour. Not when there was a killer on the loose. Not when Oliver had managed to get out.
Half an hour later she sat in a wheelchair as Jeremiah pushed her out the exit.
“Where's your car?” she asked.
“At the park actually. Fortunately, yours is here.”
“Do I want to know?” she asked.
“Probably not.”
Soon, they backed out of a parking stall and drove away. She breathed a sigh of relief.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Not really. I think I'm about two seconds away from a complete breakdown.”
“I think you're entitled,” Jeremiah said.
“Not until this is over. Tell me what happened earlier.”
“I don't think you want to know.”
“Maybe not, but I need to know. It's important. I can't help if I don't know what I'm up against.”
“All you really need to do is go home,” Jeremiah said.
“No, not until it's all over.”
“Seriously, Cindy, I admire your courage, but what do you really think you can do that the police can't? You're a civilian with a broken foot and a deep seated fear of being unsafe.”
“I've also been more up close and personal with this guy than anyone else but Oliver,” she said. “And I know more about what he might do than anyone else.”
“I'm not going to ask you what makes you think that,” he said.
“Good. Now take me to Oliver's house.”
“Okay, you're going to have to direct me, I've never been there.”
“Neither have I,” she said. She pulled out her cell phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“Mark. He's been there. He can tell me what I need to know.”
She dialed the phone, and a moment later Mark answered. He sounded near his breaking point too.
“Mark, it's Cindy.”
“Please tell me you're safe at the hospital. I put Jeremiah into the cab back there to keep an eye on you.”
“He's here,” Cindy said, “but we're not exactly at the hospital.”
“Where are you, home? I'm not sure that's such a great idea right now.”
“Then it's a good thing I'm not home.”
“I'm not going to like this, am I?” he asked.
“Probably not. I need you to tell us how to get to Oliver's house. He checked himself out of the hospital this morning.”
“And you think Karl's headed there?”
“I have no idea, but I am. Just tell me where to go.”
Cindy handed the phone to Jeremiah who handed it back after getting directions. “Got it?” she asked him.
He nodded and turned left at the light.
“Thanks, Mark,” Cindy said. “I'll call you when I know something.”
“Forget that. I'm meeting you there. Paul can finish up here.”
Cindy hung up the phone. “Mark's meeting us there.”
“I'm not surprised,” Jeremiah said.
They pulled up outside Oliver's house in time to see him getting into his car.
“Block him in!” Cindy said.
“It's your car,” Jeremiah said. He pulled up behind the other car.
Oliver honked, but Cindy just got out of the car and limped on her crutches over to the driver's side window.
“Oliver, we need to talk.”
“I have nothing more to say to you or anyone,” he said, his jaw set.
“Yes you do.”
She heard another car pull up and assumed it was Mark. “You know, it seemed like everyone saw Abby's death as an accident. In fact, it looked like from those old newspaper articles like there wasn't really an intense investigation. In fact, no one was even talking about prosecuting Karl.”
“I don't want to talk about it!” Oliver shouted.
“I do. Tell me what happened next?” Mark asked quietly.
“A prayer vigil for Abby. Everyone got together to pray, remember, mourn. And then her roommate started to talk. It turned out she was suspicious. She had figured out that Abby was pregnant when she died. She thought someone might have killed Abby. She hadn't thought that Abby might have killed herself.
“But you couldn't risk her hitting on that idea,” Cindy said. “So you accused Karl of killing her. And suddenly what everyone thought was an accident turned into murder. You ruined Karl's life at that prayer vigil.”
“Stop, just stop!” Oliver begged her.
“No, I won't stop because it's time the truth was told. And you're going to tell the truth, tonight at the new prayer vigil.”
“No, you can't make me!” Oliver said.
“I might not be able to force you to do it,” she said, “but it's the right thing. The man who looked me in the eye and told me he understood pain would do the right thing. He would help dozens of people get closure and save dozens more from being killed. How many more times can you run from Karl? How many more times before he kills you? It's time to put an end to this. Help us catch Karl. All you have to do is go to that prayer vigil and tell people what really happened. Karl will come. He'll hear your confession, and we'll catch him. It's the right thing to do. It's the only thing to do. If you ever hope to be a true shepherd you'll act like one now.”
She could feel Jeremiah's hand in the small of her back. Beside her Mark stood, arms crossed.
“Cindy,” Mark said softly. “I get what you're trying to do, but we've already figured out that he's going to hit the Easter pageant at First Shepherd. It's the upper room. He's looking for a way to symbolically wipe out the early church.”
“No, it was the Easter pageant. But now it's changed. Now it's the prayer vigil.”
“How do you know?” Mark asked.
“Because the play is where Abby died, but the prayer vigil is where Oliver betrayed Ka
rl. It's the terrible irony. Oliver was the one voted most Christlike by his peers, and yet he was Judas. He gave the kiss of death and betrayed an innocent man to the authorities. It has to be the prayer vigil. We've come full circle. I'm right, aren't I, Oliver?”
Oliver nodded slowly. “Yes, you're right about everything.”
“Everything?”
“Yes. It's time to stop running. It's time to tell the truth and stop being Judas.”
She turned away so that Oliver wouldn't see the look on her face. She breathed deeply, trying to regain control of herself. She hadn't believed until that moment that he would do what she asked. She looked at Jeremiah and smiled weakly.
“Are you okay?” he mouthed.
She nodded her head.
Mark was amazed. He wasn't entirely sure what he had just witnessed, but he was grateful he had been there. His team was set to catch Karl at the Easter pageant, but Cindy had given him a viable alternative. It was still up to him to decide where to concentrate his forces. The church and the synagogue were next door to each other, and the events were back-to-back so he could overlap some of his coverage.
“Rabbi, I'll need some help from you prepping at the synagogue,” he said.
“Of course.” He glanced apprehensively at Cindy.
“I also need you to baby-sit her. I'll take care of Oliver.”
“Fair enough.”
“All right, let's go catch a killer.”
A few hours later Cindy sat with Jeremiah in his office at the synagogue. She was exhausted, and the painkillers had stopped working.
Mark had offered to take her home, to surround her with half a dozen officers and let her ride it all out in relative safety. She had refused. She knew she wouldn't feel any safer there. As much as this was all about Oliver, she couldn't deny that Karl had set his sights on her too.
She worried that Oliver would change his mind. She wanted to be there in case she needed to talk him into it again. And, as much as she didn't want to admit it, she had come this far and she needed to see it play out.
“The Easter pageant should almost be over,” she said, glancing at her watch.
“I'm sorry you missed it,” Jeremiah said.
“It's okay. I can see it next year.”
The Lord is My Shepherd Page 21