Everyone Was Left Behind

by Steve Armstrong

  “Us unbelievers are pretty much the same as believers, just on the opposite spectrum of things. You have your people who object to Christianity—or any religion—on the grounds of reason or they object based on some sort of negative experience. Throw in a few variations on those themes like—if the people started out as believers or cynics—but that’s about it. The rest is just details.”

  “So which one are you?” asked the woman.

  “I’m kind of a hybrid variation, but I’m more about the cold, hard facts.”

  Julia nodded, then took stock of the detective’s empty plate. “Would you like some more pasta?”

  “Oh no, I’m full. It was very delicious. I’m sorry I’m done so soon—fast eater, I guess.” Seitzer stood up. “This was fun. We should do it again sometime. Thanks for dinner. See you tomorrow, Harrison.”

  He left the room without giving Julia the chance to offer him dessert. The detective didn’t feel like dancing around a variety of irrelevant subjects for the remainder of the evening but didn’t wish to say anything substantial about himself either. If his leaving was too abrupt, he’d send flowers to Julia to atone for his brusqueness.

  A few minutes later, Seitzer reentered his world of solitude that had become increasingly normal over the last few years. Soon, he fell asleep watching TV, another day finished.

  Chapter Thirteen

  On Monday morning, Harrison and Seitzer made the hour drive to Community Bible Church in Lincoln, New York. Lincoln, a reasonably sized town halfway between Albany and Woodside, was the former home of the Wilcox’s before he moved his family to Holy Spirit Tabernacle.

  The narrow white steeple of the church came into view as they rounded a curve in the road. Reverend Peter Wesley, who pastored the congregation, met them at the door.

  “Welcome,” Pastor Wesley said, a congenial yet reserved expression on his face. He wore glasses and his hair was thinning. “I was really saddened to hear about Graham. It’s such a tragedy,” he said after he shook hands with the detectives.

  Wesley led them into his office, a room lined with shelves of books on every available wall space. “Please have a seat, gentlemen.”

  Harrison obliged, but Seitzer opted to peruse the books instead.

  “Have you read all of these?” Seitzer asked, pulling out a particularly thick tome on theology. He ran his fingers over the textured and aged cover.

  Pastor Wesley smiled. “Most of them, I have.”

  “That’s very impressive.” Seitzer flipped through its dusty pages. “But you haven’t read this one lately.”

  “No, not for a while. That’s one of my older books. In fact, I got it while I was in seminary.” Seitzer placed the book back in its former location on the shelf. “So Detective, I’m assuming you didn’t come here to talk theology, although I’m perfectly willing to.”

  “No, that’s okay. If I have any theological questions, I’ll just ask Harrison here. He’s a believer.” Seitzer gestured toward his partner.

  “Are you?” the reverend asked.

  Harrison nodded.

  “That’s wonderful. I’ve met a lot of brothers of the faith in the police force over the years. And sisters, too.”

  Seitzer settled down and sat in the chair next to Harrison. “What can you tell us about Graham Wilcox?”

  Pastor Wesley leaned back in his tall leather chair and stroked his chin. “That depends—are you asking me about Graham Wilcox before the vision or Graham Wilcox after the vision? Because those are two different people.”

  “What vision?” Harrison asked.

  “The vision that started all of this. The vision that led Graham to believe he knew the exact date of Jesus’ return.”

  “When did he have that vision?” Seitzer asked.

  “A little over a year ago.”

  “What was the vision about?”

  “It’s hard for me to put into words, just because it was so involved. Graham couldn’t even speak to me about it for a few days—he was too disturbed. But it had to do with demons. In his vision, he saw demons everywhere. Schools, hospitals, corporations, government offices—they were crawling all over the world and influencing people like puppets.”

  “What do demons have to do with Jesus coming back?” Seitzer asked.

  “Well, that was never completely clear to me. As Graham explained it, he thought there was a rise in demonic activity when Jesus first came into the world. He thought demons were rarely spoken of in the Old Testament of the Bible because they didn’t become active in possessing people until Jesus became incarnate. So because of the influx of demons Graham saw in his vision, he concluded that Jesus’ return was imminent.”

  “How did he arrive at a specific date for that?” queried Harrison.

  “The usual kind of numerological argument people use to make these kinds of predictions,” the reverend said, swiveling his chair so he could gaze out the window. “I don’t even remember the particulars. Something about the book of Daniel and some other prophetic literature. Graham saw what he wanted to see. But he didn’t really complete that part until he had left us and gone to Woodside.”

  “So you never took his prediction seriously?” Seitzer asked.

  Pastor Wesley waved his hand. “No. People have been making these prophecies for years. None of them is ever right.”

  Harrison leaned forward in his chair. “You said Graham Wilcox changed—in what ways?”

  “Before Graham had that vision, or dream, or whatever it was, the most common complaint about him was that he was boring. People wanted to see more passion out of him, or more charisma. But that just wasn’t who he was. Graham was steady, kind, committed. You always knew that he’d be there when you needed him. But after he had that vision, it was like a shadow fell over him. He became moody and unstable. I truly feared for him.”

  “Why did he leave Community Bible Church?” Harrison asked.

  “We made him take a sabbatical. It was only meant to be temporary. We even offered to pay him. We just wanted him to get the counseling that he needed and thought he’d get better faster if he wasn’t burdened by the demands of ministry.”

  “Did he believe that he needed help?” Harrison asked.

  “I don’t think he ever saw the problem. In his eyes, we were trying to silence him. He never said so, but I always wondered if he thought we were under the influence of demons, too.”

  “How was it that he came to Woodside?” Seitzer asked.

  “I think he posted some messages online and people from the other church, Holy Spirit Tabernacle, saw them. They invited him to come and speak to their gathering. I guess they must have liked him because they kept asking him back. Eventually, they decided to call him as their pastor.”

  “Did you know anything about Holy Spirit Tabernacle?” Seitzer asked.

  “Not much. All I know about any of this, I received secondhand from Elizabeth. She and my wife kept in contact. What I do know is that they were the kind of church that was ready to believe Satan was hiding behind every bush and unfortunate circumstance. Their grasp on reality seemed to be a little tenuous.”

  Seitzer smirked, a reaction he intended not to be seen. The reverend did see it, though. “Something amusing, Detective?” Harrison stared at him, too.

  “No. I was just thinking about what you said—it’s nothing. Since you brought up Elizabeth Wilcox, can you tell me what their marriage was like?”

  “Elizabeth did an admirable job of standing by him. She and the kids had a front row seat for his breakdown. I know she confided to my wife a time or two that she worried Graham might become violent.”

  “Really?” Seitzer asked. “She didn’t mention that to us.”

  “I don’t know how realistic she considered that possibility. It was more just a testament to the idea that Graham had become erratic and unpredictable.”

  “Do you know anyone who had a personal vendetta against Graham—maybe someone he angered after he had his breakdown?” Harrison aske
d.

  Pastor Wesley frowned. “I can’t think of anyone. He didn’t really offend anyone here. If he said or did anything inappropriate after his vision, I think we all realized why. People knew what kind of human being Graham was under normal circumstances.”

  “Anything else you can think of?” Seitzer asked. “Something that might be helpful to the case?”

  “Hmm. I guess the only thing I can think of is … are you sure this wasn’t a suicide?”

  That thought had not occurred to Seitzer. But as soon the reverend mentioned it, the detective dismissed the theory. “No. That doesn’t fit the circumstances.”

  “Well, that was the first thing I thought when I heard Graham was dead—that he committed suicide.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He exhibited so many of the risk factors for suicide—change in personality, change in moods, paranoia. Especially since he died right after his prediction failed. I guess it just didn’t seem possible that he could’ve been murdered.”

  Seitzer contemplated the scenario a bit further. “Unless Graham Wilcox figured out an elaborate scenario to conceal his suicide, I can assure you that someone else pulled the trigger.”

  Harrison and Seitzer thanked the reverend for his time and departed.

  “Someone could’ve taken the gun,” Harrison said as they walked to the car.

  “What?” Seitzer had been lost in his own thoughts and only partially heard his partner’s idea.

  “Someone else could’ve stumbled upon Graham Wilcox’s body and removed the gun.”

  “Why would someone do that?”

  “Maybe someone wanted to cover up the suicide because they thought it was a bad optic for the church.”

  “Wouldn’t murder be worse?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Unless it was his wife who found him and she has a life insurance policy on him that would be endangered by him committing suicide.”

  “You really want to put Elizabeth Wilcox at the murder scene, don’t you?”

  “No. Not really. But you have to admit she had the best access.”

  “Too many people had access. That’s our problem.”

  The detectives boarded Seitzer’s car. As they drove, Harrison studied his partner’s expression.

  “Why’d you smile back there when Wesley was talking?”

  It took Seitzer a moment to remember an otherwise insignificant part of his interaction with the pastor. “Because Wesley somehow thinks he’s a bastion of reason and that Holy Spirit Tabernacle is only one step up from an insane asylum. If anything, Holy Spirit Tabernacle is more reasonable than Pastor Wesley’s church.”

  Harrison looked puzzled. “But you think Holy Spirit Tabernacle is crazy.”

  “That’s right, I do. But at least they’re consistently crazy people. If you’re going to believe in this supernatural being who unleashes all these incredible miracles, you might as well double down and think demons are all over the place too. Pastor Wesley and his ilk think they can have a foot on both sides of the reason and faith fence and I just don’t think that’s possible.”

  “So that must mean you don’t think there’s any reasonable way to be religious or believe in God,” Harrison said.

  “You are correct, sir,” Seitzer said. “Now, no more talk about theology—I’ve already hit my limit for the week, and the week’s just started.”

  As requested, Harrison said nothing further. Maybe he too was tired of discussing the topic of religion with Seitzer. But Seitzer suspected the subject would come up again and probably soon.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Seitzer and Harrison met the medical examiner early Monday afternoon on their way back from interviewing Reverend Wesley. Lindsey had finished her examination of Graham Wilcox’s body and was ready to bring the detectives up to speed with what she learned.

  “Gunshot wound to the head,” she said, sitting behind her desk at the County Coroner’s Office. She seemed less tired than she had been Friday night but just as ornery.

  Seitzer stared at her. “Are we still doing that?” he asked. “Tell me you have more than that.”

  “Two gunshots to the head.” She held up the appropriate number of fingers.

  “He was shot twice?” Seitzer asked.

  “Yeah. Killer fired his or her first two shots from about ten feet away. The first hit Wilcox, which made him fall to the floor. The second must have been fired right after the first, but since Wilcox’s head dropped, missed and went into the wall behind him. For the next shot, the killer moved directly over Wilcox’s body and fired a final shot directly into his skull. No signs of struggle or other injuries.”

  “I guess the killer didn’t want to leave anything for chance,” Harrison said.

  “Contrary to popular belief, not all head shots instantly kill people,” Lindsey said. “The second shot might have been necessary to ensure immediate death.”

  Seitzer turned to Harrison. “Do you think Elizabeth Wilcox would’ve been able to do that—shoot her husband in cold blood twice and once at point blank range?”

  “Probably not.”

  “What kind of weapon?” Seitzer asked.

  “.357 magnum,” Lindsey replied, taking a drink from a plastic cup.

  “Is that all we need to know?” Seitzer asked.

  “That’s the gist of it. You can read the entire report, of course.” The medical examiner removed a folder from the drawer and dropped it in front of the detectives. “It’s a pretty straightforward case on my end. I’m guessing it’s a little more complicated on yours.”

  “Yeah, a little bit,” Seitzer replied. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and gave it a quick glance. “Chief Johnson just texted. He wants us to see him when we get back to the station.” Seitzer placed the phone back in his pocket. “Thanks a lot, Lindsey.” He picked up the report.

  “See you at the next murder or suspicious death.” Lindsey transitioned into some other project before the detectives even made it out the door.

  Back at the station, Seitzer and Harrison went directly to the Chief’s office. Chief Johnson was a lean, gray-haired man who bore a little resemblance to Clint Eastwood. Personality wise, he oscillated between serious and laid back. He seldom bothered Seitzer on cases and only checked in once in a while to receive progress updates. Johnson was content to stay in his office, sequestered away from the mundane daily duties of his underlings.

  “Come in guys, have a seat,” the Chief said with as close to a smile as he ever displayed.

  Harrison and Seitzer sat in two chairs in front of his desk.

  “How are things working out for you so far here, John?” he asked.

  “Fine, sir.”

  “Has Daniel been giving you a hard time?” The chief’s stoic face obscured if he intended this question as a legitimate inquiry or merely as a playful dig against Seitzer.

  Harrison gave Seitzer a look before answering. “No, Sir.”

  “Your family must be happy to have you back home.”

  “Yes, sir, they are.”

  “Good. So, do we have any leads? Witnesses? Evidence?”

  Seitzer shook his head. “We have someone who heard the gunshots, but that’s about it. Kelly and Glass canvassed the neighborhood on Saturday, asking if anyone else heard or saw something, but no one did. There’s not much in the way of physical evidence at the crime scene. We know a .357 was used. For a Pastor, Wilcox had a decent amount of people with a motive to kill him.” Seitzer ran through the litany of persons of interest for the chief.

  “Don’t forget about the man with the dragon tattoo,” Harrison said.

  “Dragon tattoo?” Chief Johnson asked, scrunching his forehead.

  Seitzer glared at Harrison. “Jim Thompson—one of the leaders from the church—said he saw a man wearing a hoodie who had a dragon tattoo in their church a few weeks ago. Said the man acted suspiciously. At this point, I haven’t found one person who’s been able to verify Thompson’s story, so the alleged man wit
h a dragon tattoo is more likely to be a paranoid delusion or intentional distraction than he is a real human being.”

  Chief Johnson nodded. “What do you plan to do next?”

  “We have to dive into Wilcox’s personal information: check his phone records, his laptop, any social media, videos he’s posted online, whatever else we have. We still need to interview some people from the church. Now that we know what the murder weapon was, we can see if anyone relevant to our investigation owns a gun,” Seitzer said.

  Chief Johnson slapped his legs and sat upright. “Sounds good guys. Why don’t you get after it.” The detectives rose to leave. “And it would be great if we could solve this quickly. It’s starting to attract some national attention. I don’t want Dateline or 48 Hours rolling in here.” That was one of the chief’s greatest fears for any case that took longer than usual to solve—even if it wasn’t a murder case. No crime show had ever shown interest in Woodside before, but like Felicia Monroe had already demonstrated, the media would be drawn to the Graham Wilcox murder.

  “We’ll make it as quick as we can,” Seitzer assured him.

  Before he could leave, the Chief called him back. “Are you doing okay, Dan?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  The Chief looked at his lead detective with concern. “How was your father’s funeral?”

  Harrison, now standing at the door, gazed at his partner. Seitzer dismissed them both. “It was okay. Good to have the family back together again.” He was pretty sure people expected other generic details in conversations like this one, but Seitzer had no interest in disclosing such things.

  The Chief nodded. “I’m glad. Stay strong, Dan.”

  “Thanks, Chief.” This time, he and Harrison made it completely out of the office.

  After lunch, Seitzer and Harrison settled down for the monotonous task of combing through the evidence on Graham Wilcox’s phone and laptop. Seitzer disliked this aspect of the job; he much preferred interviewing witnesses and suspects. Yet so many cases turned on seemingly minor details or needed validation from phone records and computer files. The elder detective opted to examine the phone and left his younger partner to check the computer.