Harper Ross Legal Thrillers vol. 1-3

by Rachel Sinclair

  Rina was looking around. “These houses are cute,” she said. “Where is the place that we’re going to go?”

  I pointed to a large building to the West that with a vaulted roof and a cross on top. “That would be the temple, I would imagine.”

  I parked in the parking lot, and I felt a bit nervous. I didn’t know what was going to be preached in there. I wondered if Rina was prepared. “Rina, now, I don’t want you to think that this church is going to be anything like what a Christian church is. Most Christian Churches are places of love and forgiveness and about being the best people we can be. I have a feeling that you’re not going to be hearing about any of that in this place.”

  To say the least.

  We walked through the doors of the temple, and were greeted by two older ladies who handed us a flier. They smiled and nodded and shook our hands. “Are you here as a guest?”one of the ladies asked us.

  “We are.”

  “Right this way,” she said, opening the enormous wooden door.

  We walked through and I noted that there wasn’t much about the interior of this church that looked out of place, except for the fact that there was noticeably no paintings on the walls. I was always used to seeing portraits on the walls of churches – pictures of Jesus. Some churches had pictures of Jesus that were just like busts – just his head and shoulders. Others had the whole Stations of the Cross depicted. Still others had paintings of Jesus as a baby. This place, however, didn’t have any of that.

  “That’s a clue,” I whispered to Rina. “I have a funny feeling that this isn’t a Christian Church at all. After all, I don’t think that Jesus ever had a word to say about homosexuality, he certainly wasn’t in favor of slavery, and I doubt he wanted women to be completely subservient. These are all big tenets of this church.”

  No, I had a feeling that this church was about to go Old Testament on us.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  It wasn’t long before the Reverend Scott made his appearance. He was tall, very tall, probably around 6’6”. Yet he seemed like he probably didn’t weigh much more than 150 pounds. He looked like a stretched-out rubber doll. I once had a doll named “Stretch Armstrong,” that was short and fat and could stretch out to be really long and really thin. Reverend Scott looked like that. He had a large bald spot on the top of his head, although on the sides of his head he had thick dark hair growing. He was dressed in street clothes – a button-down blue shirt and blue jeans, with cowboy boots. And, even though he was indoors, he was wearing dark sunglasses. I wondered what he was hiding.

  One thing was for sure – he didn’t look like any priests or reverends that I had ever seen.

  Well, maybe Jim Jones. That was actually the person that he reminded me of – a very tall and very skinny Jim Jones, who was the infamous doomsday cult leader of The Peoples Temple. He became infamous in the late 1970s because of the Guyana Tragedy, where almost a thousand of his followers, and Jim Jones himself, killed themselves and murdered hundreds of children.

  After everyone took their seat, the Reverend Scott stood there for several minutes. He just looked out into the crowd. He stood very still, his bony hands clasped in front of him, his expression impassive and just scanning every face of his followers. I looked around and saw that everyone was staring back at him in rapt attention. They almost looked like they were in trances.

  I furrowed my brows, wondering what was going on.

  This went on for several minutes. The room was so silent, you could have heard a pin drop. Not one person was speaking. Nobody was looking around. Everyone, and I mean everyone, had their eyes trained towards the tall skinny man in the blue jeans and cowboy boots.

  And then he started to speak.

  His voice was sonorous and deep. His tones were clear. Yet he spoke extremely softly.

  “Welcome,” he said, as he paced back and forth across the floor. “To all my acolytes and guests.”

  Acolytes…an interesting thing that he called his followers. I had never heard that term used in a religious context before.

  “I would like to begin by telling you a story. A very important story. This is a story about a pervert and an innocent young boy.” He raised his fingers to the ceiling and then pointed at every person in the front row. “The pervert’s name is Sam.” He raised his voice and his head started shaking as his pacing grew more and more frantic. “I want you to remember that name, Sam. Say it with me!”

  At that, everyone in the audience said the word “Sam.”

  “That’s right, Sam! Sam is a disgusting pervert who corrupted, CORRUPTED, an innocent young boy named Jake.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “An innocent boy named Jake,” he said in a voice that was just above a whisper.

  Everyone whispered the name Jake.

  “You see, Jake is only 10 years old. 10 years old. And this man, Sam, took Jake’s innocence last week.”

  Everybody gasped as Reverend Scott paused and let that last phrase sink in. He was back to his staring mode, his sunglassed eyes scanning the crowd darkly.

  Reverend Scott shook his head. “Took his innocence. Stole it as easily and with as little regard as somebody might shoplift a strawberry from the corner market.”

  Everybody started to shake their head. A few people had tears in their eyes.

  Then the Reverend brought out a picture. “Here is a picture of Jake,” he said, and then there was a screen that was filled with the picture of the young boy.

  I had to admit, Jake was a beautiful young boy. Blonde curly hair, big blue eyes, a tiny little nose and rosebud lips. He had the creamy skin of a boy who rarely saw the sun without wearing a good sunscreen, and his white skin contrasted with the red of his lips. He was wearing some kind of Superman pajamas and he was smiling big, his two front teeth conspicuously missing.

  The tears of the followers started in earnest.

  “You might think that this Sam is just a sick person. Born a pervert.” He shook his head and rapidly paced back and forth across the floor. “You might think that he’s simply a monster, an outlier, something that is rare. But he’s not.”

  He shook his head and paced some more. “He’s not. He’s a pervert and a sodomite and he is nothing but a product of the sodomite lifestyle. He’s not unusual – he’s typical of somebody who’s in the sodomite lifestyle! This is who they are! Every sodomite, every man who lies with another man, every woman who lies with another woman, every queer who thinks that they’re a man born in a woman’s body or a woman born in a man’s body – this is who they are. They are products of Satan, every last one of them. Products of Satan. Some of them are Satan himself, in a clever disguise.”

  Once again, his voice got quiet. “This is who they are.”

  I bit my lower lip and clenched my fist. This guy was making me want to get up and strangle him with my bare hands. I looked over at Rina, who was staring at the man in disbelief. She looked up at me, a question in her eyes. I shrugged at her helplessly and then trained my eyes back on the Reverend, who was now pacing back and forth like a jungle cat trapped in a small cage.

  He put his hands in front of him and clenched and unclenched his fists. “Leviticus 20:13 states that men who lie with other men shall be put to death. Shall be put to death. Not may be put to death. Not some are put to death and others are spared. No, Leviticus is clear – the perverts are not to live. They are not to live. You see, the ancient peoples knew something that this society seems to have forgotten – if you let the perverts live, then they will take over society. They already have!”

  Everybody started to shake their head rapidly, as if everyone started to become agitated all at once.

  “They already have. They’re out there, literally parading around. In fact, just next weekend, they’re having a pervert parade. A pervert parade. They’re going to be flaunting their asses in little pink tutus on the streets, throwing their disgusting body and soul into your face. And they can be married. Imagine, they’re getting married, just like you an
d me. Married. Taking our most sacred ritual, the very bedrock of this society, and perverting it. Sullying it. Your marriage means nothing now. NOTHING!” He was now shouting, his face red, his long body coiled, his breathing coming faster and faster.

  Everyone’s head started to shake faster and faster, and one guy stood up. “Those perverts can’t get away with it. They can’t destroy us from within like this. They can’t!”

  The Reverend’s head just nodded. “Right. You’re right! We don’t have the death penalty for the queers, but The Bible calls for it. It calls for it!”

  Then he stood up there and clasped his hands in front of him.

  I narrowed my eyes, the wheels turning in my head. I tried to quell my fury at this guy and what he was doing, and simply turned on the analytical part of my brain. I couldn’t let my emotions cloud my judgment on what this guy was up to. One thing was for sure, he had a charisma about him, much like Adolph Hitler and others who I studied who got masses of people to follow them. Evil men were able to get a huge following because they knew how to mesmerize people. Almost hypnotize them.

  As for Rina, she was sitting next to me, looking more and more horrified by the second. “Aunt Harper,” she whispered. “What is happening?”

  I just shook my head, as the Reverend rapidly changed the subject. His next subject was apparently women. He used the same tactic as before – bringing in individual case studies to illustrate his point. In this case, he started talking about a woman who emasculated a man, so that the man committed suicide because he was so humiliated. He then thundered about how this story illustrated why women needed to let their men control them completely.

  “And remember, a woman cannot own property! When she owns property, she becomes uncontrollable! She must not become uncontrollable, because when she does, her man literally loses his balls!”

  By the time the “service” was over, I felt as if I needed a shower. A hot shower.

  Everybody stood up to leave, and Rina and I did the same.

  As I turned to leave, I felt a cold hand on my shoulder.

  I slowly turned around. I somehow knew just who was summoning me, and I felt chilled.

  I looked up at the Reverend John’s face, and saw that he was no longer wearing the sunglasses. I looked into this penetrating eyes and I felt an unmistakable shudder. Like I was in the presence of pure, unadulterated evil.

  His eyes were pale, so pale that the irises might appear white to somebody who was looking at him from a slight distance. I guessed that was why he wore his sunglasses – he probably knew that his odd eyes freaked people out.

  I swallowed hard, wanting to get the hell out of there. This guy was skeeving me out like I had never been skeeved out before. “Can I help you?”

  He narrowed those pale eyes and nodded his head. “I know who you are. And I’m watching you.”

  At that, he simply turned on his heels and walked away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  When I drove home from that…place…I felt chilled, even though it was 90 degrees outside and sunny. “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” I said to Rina.

  “I’m not. That was rad.” Rina nodded her head approvingly. “It’s not every day you get to see a cult in person.”

  She had a point. Plus, she was going to experience freaky people in her life. Might as well expose her early. “I just don’t want you to think that people act like that and talk like that in today’s world. I mean, obviously, some people act and talk like that, but I don’t see that as being the norm.”

  “I know, Aunt Harper.” She smiled. “I got gay friends and trans friends. Nobody cares.”

  I tousled her hair. “Ah, youth. You guys got this. You’re going to be the compassionate future. It gives me hope, which is what I desperately need right now. Hope. Maybe the arc of time really does bend towards justice eventually.”

  THAT NIGHT, I finally decided to get into Connie Morrison’s computer. I had been so distracted by the car accident and the cryptic note, combined with going to the “church” that morning, so I didn’t really have time to get into the computer.

  I booted it up and got right into the e-mail. I immediately zeroed in on the email chain that was between Connie and Louisa Garrison.

  I did a search at the top of the page, so that I could find out when the earliest email was. To my surprise, the emails between the two women went back three years. I decided that I would start reading the chain from the very beginning, up to the current date, even though there seemed to be hundreds of emails between the two.

  KITTYDARLING@YAHOO.COM

  To conniemorrison@gmail.com

  June 17, 2013

  HEY THERE YOU! I really enjoyed meeting you today. I’m really excited that you’re looking for answers for your son, and I know how much you love him. I know how worried you are that he won’t be with you in the afterlife, and you’re right to worry. I hope that you will visit me at my church. We have answers for you. You’re not alone.

  CONNIEMORRISON@GMAIL.COM

  Kittydarling@yahoo.com

  June 17, 2013

  THANK the lord I met you today. I don’t want you to think that I do that kind of thing all the time, though. I don’t meet people on Craigslist all the time, and I’m really embarrassed. I think that we can have a friendship, although I have to admit, you certainly do know how to use your tongue. My god…I’m blushing now. I can’t wait to see you again.

  I NODDED MY HEAD. I had the feeling that there was something going on between these two. So that was how Connie found that cult. She found Louisa Garrison on Craigslist. It sounded like it was one of those hookups that happens under the Casual Encounters section.

  I got out a yellow pad of paper and jotted down some notes on what I was reading. I knew that Louisa Garrison was going to be an indispensable witness. I didn’t know how much.

  I kept reading the email exchange between the two. They emailed each other back and forth several times a day. It started out friendly and flirty, and, for some odd reason, for the first year or so, it looked as if Connie was resisting going to Louisa’s church.

  For instance, there was an e-mail from Connie to Louisa, about six months in, where Louisa was angry that Connie hadn’t yet come to the church:

  KITTYDARLING@YAHOO.COM

  Conniemorrison@gmail.com

  December 24, 2013

  CHRISTMAS EVE IS HERE, and I can’t believe that you STILL won’t come to my church. You need to find out our message, and I’m telling you, we have answers for your life and your sick son. I think that I’m going to have to re-think our relationship. I love you. I love being with you. I think about you all the time. Constantly. But you don’t seem to want to share my life with me, and that hurts like nothing you could ever imagine.

  Please reconsider your decision not to come with me to our Christmas Eve service. If you don’t, then I’m sorry, I just can’t be with you.

  CONNIEMORRISON@GMAIL.COM

  Kittydarling@yahoo.com

  December 24, 2013

  OKAY, okay, I’ll come with you. See you tonight.

  I WONDERED why Connie didn’t want to go to the church with Louisa. I knew that I would soon find the answers to that question, when I read through more of the e-mails. There wasn’t anything in the emails that came before the Christmas Eve ones that gave me that answer.

  I kept on reading the emails, looking for some indication on when Connie became radicalized and why. I soon came across it:

  KITTYDARLING@YAHOO.COM

  Conniemorrison@gmail.com

  October 19, 2014

  I KNOW that you know that I’m right that your son needs help. As you know, as the Reverend John has told you, your son is going to Hell. If he stays the way that he is, he is in violation of nature and of God’s law. God made us perfect, in His image, and your son needs to make sure that he doesn’t do anything to go against that. He is also wicked because he is lying with other men, and you know what Leviticus says about that. You nee
d to make sure that your son changes his ways, and that Rainbow International clinic is just the place for him. Please reconsider. I know that you don’t really have the money for this place, but I’ll lend you the money. Please. Your son’s afterlife depends on it.

  Conniemorrison@gmail.com

  Kittydarling@yahoo.com

  October 19, 2014

  I’LL THINK ABOUT IT.

  I TOOK a breath as I realized that this was actually the last email between the two women. I had no idea what happened after that.

  Obviously, Connie did decide to send Heather to that clinic. Why was she acting like she didn’t want to do it? Like she didn’t want to go to the church at all? And why did the two women quit e-mailing one another?

  It seemed like every time I felt like I was getting closer to the truth, something happened that made it all seem so far away. Again.

  There was something that I wasn’t seeing. I didn’t know what it might be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The next day, I went to work, after dropping off Rina and Abby at their new private school. I also went to the body shop to get my car worked on. I didn’t know that John Robinson was behind it, although I suspected that he was. The only problem was, his handwriting in my file didn’t match the handwriting on the note that was on the car. No matter, I knew that it had to be him. As if I didn’t have enough problems in my life, without a psychotic murderer who was harassing me.

  “Hey,” I said to Pearl. “How are things going with the investigation?”

  “Good,” she said. “I tracked down the guy who’s investigating all the gay kids being killed. And I just got the order from the court that Heather was indicted by the Grand Jury.” She handed me the order. “I guess the case really begins now, huh?”

  “I guess so. Now, tell me about that Detective. Can I talk to him?”

  “Sure. Do you think that what he’s going to have to say is going to be relevant?”

  “I do. I think. We’ll see.” I started to feel like I was being unusually flighty and non-committal. “I’ll talk to him, anyhow.”