Last Writes

by Lowe, Sheila

She turned to the handwriting samples with even more mixed feelings than before. It had become clear to her that her reports could potentially assist in causing harm to their authors. Claudia was accustomed to testifying in trials, both civil and criminal. Sometimes she worked for the defendant, sometimes for the person suing them. In every case she recognized the burden imposed upon her. It was the nature of trial testimony that someone invariably got hurt. But somehow, this was different. She faced the task before her with the responsibility weighing heavier than usual.

  Then it came to her that since she had the stunning good fortune to be working right in Rodney Powers’s office, there would be no better time to check out his files and look for clues to his whereabouts.

  Chapter 8

  Seating herself behind Rodney’s desk in the stifling office, Claudia got out her notepad and pen and prepared to make notes. Normally, she would have waited to read the contents of the handwriting sample until after she had first formed an opinion about the writer. This time, however, since her task was to look for signs of lying, she would need to know what had been written. This part of her job came under the heading of forensic statement analysis rather than handwriting analysis, and would ensure that she didn’t overlook anything important.

  She tipped the batch of papers out of the envelope. Ever-conscientious, she felt pressured to begin the work she was being paid for. But she also wanted to concentrate on the main task she had set herself: learn anything she could about Kylie Powers’s whereabouts.

  At this point, she had no way of knowing whether her presence and Kelly’s would advance that aim. Nor did she know whether she would uncover evidence that Harold Stedman was looking for against his members, but at the very least, it gave her a legitimate reason for being at the Ark.

  Using the manila envelope to fan herself, Claudia began her examination of the first handwriting sample. The handwriting was crammed full of strokes that should have been rounded but had been turned into angular forms; upper and lower loops squeezed tight, indicating an abnormally high state of tension. She looked for a name or other identifying information, but found none. Someone had redacted the personal information with a heavy felt pen. Handwriting could not conclusively reveal gender, but she made an educated guess that the author of the sample was probably male.

  The essay rambled on for two pages about how, after twenty-five years, the writer no longer felt fulfilled by the dental career he had chosen. He was ready to sell his practice, turn over all his material goods to the Temple, and devote the rest of his life in service to the Lord. The degree of tension in the handwriting disturbed Claudia. From what was written, there was no obvious reason to believe he had been anything less than truthful in his statement, but her experience told her he was withholding something.

  She made some notes, then set the sample aside and turned to the next one. Written in a simplified, super-efficient hand, there were no superfluous strokes to slow it down. The clarity and speed of the writing were hallmarks of a fast thinker who could be impatient with routine details, but who was an excellent problem solver when it came to complicated issues. Again, she could find no identifying information, and this sample contained no strong indicators either way for the writer’s gender. The person had written in a selfless way about the writing talents he or she might contribute to the Ark’s publications. No overt evidence of lies there.

  The small office felt confined, airless. Claudia yawned and stretched her arms above her head, beginning to feel oxygen deprived. She reached for the next sample.

  Written in block printing with bold, dark lines, the writing showed rapid rightward movement, revealing stamina and energy, a desire to get things moving. There was a masculine quality in the confident, strong strokes and the pressure was strong enough to leave slight indentations in the paper.

  Rodney Powers’s handwriting had been block printed, she remembered, but from her recollection, the handwriting in the note Erin had showed them had a different type of rhythm and flow from this one. Too bad Erin had snatched the note back so fast. She would have to remember to ask Kelly whether she’d been able to retrieve it.

  As she read through the essay, Claudia noticed a gap in the text that she thought might be significant: “My main reason for becoming part of the Temple of Brighter Light is the desire for greater spiritual guidance. I am deeply impressed by what I’ve learned . . .” The slightly wider space between “the” and “desire” indicated that the writer had taken a microsecond of extra thought—time to stop and think about what he or she was going to write, rather than letting it flow smoothly and naturally, which sometimes indicated a lie. Also, the personal pronoun I was slanted slightly to the left, while the balance of the writing slanted to the right. It was by no means conclusive, but Claudia made a note and set the sample to one side to look at again later.

  The next essay was written in a school-model style. Her educated guess was that the writer was more than likely female, someone who had grown up with many rules to follow; someone who needed to be told what to do and when to do it. Adults who stuck with copybook school-model writing virtually always identified themselves as having attended a religious school.

  What stood out in this sample was the way the spatial arrangement departed from the school model. The words and lines were jammed together, filling the paper from top to bottom and left to right. Symbolically, the writer had left no “breathing space” that would allow room for her to consider new ideas or to step back and look at an alternative perspective on an issue. She had written about leaving her abusive husband, and how she sought refuge in the Temple of Brighter Light. What about truthfulness? The degree of subjectivity that Claudia saw in the writing left her confident that this woman would create her own truth and would find it difficult to see anything outside of her carefully constructed image.

  The next sample she took from the pile was another printed one, but the style of printing was different from the earlier one she had examined. Here, the writer had used upper- and lowercase letters with a jumpy rhythm that indicated nervous energy. Jitterbug, Claudia thought. Comparing writing rhythm to dance rhythms sometimes helped her form a mental image of the writer’s demeanor.

  This was someone who would be easily bored by long periods of forced inaction. The handwriting slanted strongly uphill on the page, an indication that the writer was probably fighting depression. If the baseline slant had been less extreme the interpretation would have been somewhat different. It might have indicated an optimistic outlook. It was the extreme degree of the uphill movement that gave the clue that the writer was working too hard to raise his mood, trying to convince himself that if he could just keep on going one more day, things would have to get better, his problems would surely be solved.

  As she read through it, looking for signs of lying, Claudia realized that the sample was unlike the others in content. This was not an essay about why the writer wanted to join the Temple of Brighter Light. The subject dealt with the writer’s desire to grow into a leadership position in the group, to become part of the board of governors. He wrote passionately of a wish to see the earth cleansed of wickedness and returned to its natural state, and of his faith in the leadership of TBL to bring its congregants to a new earth after the old one was plowed under. He wrote about the chosen ones being removed to a place of protection until the earth was renewed.

  Engrossed in what she was reading, Claudia glanced up, startled when the door opened. She looked at the woman framed in the threshold, noting, even in her surprise, that unlike any of the other women she’d seen at the compound, who had all been dressed in simple shifts, this one wore workmanlike khaki cargo pants and a sleeveless white shirt that stood out against the deeply tanned skin. Her curly black hair was shorter than the other women’s, too. She appeared to be mid-thirties and looked like she worked out. Altogether, she was an interesting contrast in masculine/feminine.

  Claudia took in all this in an instant as the woman’s gaze swept Rodney Powers
’s desk. Before she could stop her, the woman snatched up one of the samples. “What are you doing with these papers?” she demanded.

  Claudia stood. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  The woman continued to glare at her with furious eyes. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Claudia Rose.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here at the invitation of Harold Stedman.” Claudia picked up the remaining samples from the desk and slid them back into the envelope. She closed the flap and held it firmly in her hand, a message that the woman was not going to have access to any more of the essays.

  “These are private and personal papers.” The woman’s voice was stiff with tension. “Now, I want to know who you are and what you’re doing with these documents. Why are you in this office?”

  Claudia reached across the desk and took the handwriting sample from her hand. Glancing at it she noted that it was the first sample she had examined. The one where she’d noticed a possible problem.

  “Is this your essay?” she asked, not really expecting an answer. She was surprised when she got one.

  “I’m sure you already know it is. Now I want to know why you’re reading it.”

  “I’m sorry; I’m not at liberty to discuss what I’m doing here. If you want to know anything about what I’m doing, you’ll need to ask Harold Stedman.”

  The woman bristled. “All visitors have to be cleared by me. That includes Brother Stedman’s visitors.”

  “And you are—?” Claudia asked, but she had remembered Erin’s warning.

  “I’m the chief of security here, that’s who. Let me see some identification, please.”

  Claudia fished her driver’s license from her purse and handed it over. What was the name Erin had mentioned? Lynn Ryder.

  Ryder glanced at the driver’s license and stepped back into the hallway. “Okay, Ms. Rose, I’ll need you to come with me.”

  With a shrug, Claudia followed her to a flight of stairs and up to the second-floor landing.

  Harold Stedman looked up from his desk as they appeared at his open door. “Ah, Sister Ryder.” His shirtsleeves were rolled up, shirt collar open, his only concession to the heat. “You’ve met Sister Rose, I see.”

  “What’s going on, Harold?” Even though she addressed Stedman by his first name, Lynn Ryder’s tone was respectful, less combative than it had been with Claudia. “You didn’t tell me you were expecting a visitor.”

  Harold Stedman’s expression remained placid. “As it happens, two visitors. It must have slipped my mind. I’ve invited Sister Rose here to help me with a project. She’s a handwriting expert and she’s brought along her friend, a spiritual seeker—Sister Brennan. They attended our rally last night in Burbank. I made a decision to invite them here today.”

  “A handwriting expert?” The unspoken question of why he needed a handwriting expert bounced around the space between them like a live grenade as Claudia watched the exchange with interest.

  Stedman gave the security chief one of his long looks, speculation in the deep-set eyes. “It’s a personal matter, Sister Ryder.”

  “Personal? But—”

  “Personal. Something you don’t need to be concerned about.”

  “Everything at the Ark concerns me, Brother Stedman. That’s what you’ve always told me. My job is to—”

  He spread his hands. “I’m making an exception in this case. Sister Rose will be working in Brother Powers’s office while she’s here.”

  “But Rod—”

  “Won’t be back for a few days yet. He won’t have any objection to her using the space while he’s away. Besides, when he and Sister Powers return, they’ll be busy preparing for little Kylie’s consecration. He won’t be needing his office for some time yet and we’ll be through with it long before then. As you know, Brother Treadwell is handling his work assignment for the time being.” Stedman gave Lynn Ryder a pointed look. “Was there anything else, sister?”

  From the corner of her eye, Claudia could see the angry set of Lynn’s chin. She gave a sharp shake of her head and spun on her heel, leaving Claudia to follow her.

  At the head of the stairs, Ryder handed back Claudia’s driver’s license and preceded her to the ground floor. “So, you’ve got clearance,” she said in a flat voice when they reached the bottom.

  “I expect he’s got his reasons for keeping you out of the loop,” said Claudia. Was the Ryder woman so agitated because she had lied in her essay, and now she was afraid she might be found out? It was unfortunate and understandable that she might take Stedman’s refusal to keep her apprised of the details of Claudia’s assignment as a personal affront.

  But Lynn Ryder’s next words gave the lie to that assumption. “Brother Stedman is our spiritual leader.” Her attitude was a little prim, considering her hard demeanor. “He knows what he’s doing.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot, the Lord speaks to him in visions.”

  “You sound skeptical, Sister Rose. Do you not believe that the Lord speaks directly to his servants on earth?”

  “It’s what you believe, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Lynn said. “Of course it is. That’s why I’m here.”

  “How long have you been at the Ark?” Claudia asked, remembering what Erin had said about her former work in the security field.

  “About two and a half years.”

  “You’ve really worked your way up. Mr. Stedman must have a lot of trust in you.”

  Lynn swung around to face her. “Look, with the understanding that I’m not going to be in on your little project here, whatever it is, can you just tell me what a handwriting expert does—in general terms?”

  “Of course.” That was an easy one. Claudia had answered this question a thousand times over her career. “There are two sides of my practice. One side involves authenticating questioned writing in cases of forgery. The other has to do with assessing personality characteristics from handwriting. Sometimes I work with human resource departments when they’re hiring new applicants, sometimes within the court system, such as in custody cases. Sometimes for people who are in a relationship and want to know how to get along with the other person better. Things like that.”

  Lynn Ryder fell silent and Claudia knew she was wondering why her essay was among the handwritings that Stedman had given her to analyze. Lynn had not directly challenged him on that, so Stedman was unaware that she knew Claudia had seen it.

  They continued along the hall to Rodney’s office. Claudia slipped back around the desk, putting a physical barrier between herself and the other woman. “By the way, it’s a couple of days off, but just to let you know, I’ll be going to Riverside Thursday evening. I’m scheduled to lecture at the university. I’ll be returning here afterward. Will there be any problem getting back inside the gate after ten?”

  Lynn shook her head. “No, there’s someone in the guardhouse twenty-four seven. I’ll let them know to expect you. Is your lecture on handwriting?”

  “Yes, I teach handwriting authentication there in the fall. They like me to give an introductory lecture during the summer to get new students interested. It was coincidental that I was scheduled there this week while I’m visiting here.”

  “Sounds interesting.” The security chief’s eyes shifted to the essay that she had admitted was hers, still in Claudia’s hand, but she didn’t mention it again. “Let’s talk more about it later.”

  She closed the door behind her and Claudia looked at her handwriting. The masculine-type block printing was logical in light of what Lynn Ryder did at the Ark. The job of security chief in a male-dominated culture like The Temple of Brighter Light would traditionally be a man’s job. She must have an amazing résumé to have been tasked with that responsibility.

  Claudia was more convinced than ever that the woman had not been completely honest when she wrote her essay to join the Temple of Brighter Light. Glancing through the sample again, she looked for the sentence that containe
d the point of hesitation. As a paid consultant at the Ark, Claudia knew that her duty was to report it to Harold Stedman. But realizing that if she did, it might lead to Lynn’s excommunication, she wanted to be extra careful before sharing that information.

  The red flag in Lynn’s handwriting was real, but that did not mean she was necessarily hiding anything that would be detrimental to the Ark. It could be that she was resisting making the kind of confession that had caused Karen Harrison to be persuaded to the podium at the rally the evening before. Surely Lynn deserved some privacy.

  It was an ethical dilemma that Claudia would eventually have to face, but for the moment, finding Kylie Powers took precedence. And there was the possibility that somehow, her knowledge of that hesitation in Lynn’s handwriting might prove to be an ace in the hole.

  With the door closed again and no windows to open nor a fan to stir the sauna-like air, the temptation to get up and take a walk outside was strong. But the time had come to tackle the file cabinet. She dabbed her forehead with a Kleenex, feeling a strong repugnance for prying into someone else’s private files. But it was exactly the kind of opportunity she and Kelly had come here for and she could not afford to be squeamish now about opening drawers that were not hers.

  She thought about Harold Stedman making the little girl lie on an altar. Even if it were only a ceremonial altar, the idea filled Claudia with outrage. She summoned a mental image of Kylie in the photo Erin had showed them. The memory of the sweet baby face with its plaintive eyes and button nose bolstered her resolve. Keeping that image planted firmly in her mind, she swiveled the chair around and reached for the bottom drawer.

  Manila files were categorized and placed in a series of green folders and neatly labeled with the names of various vendors. She recognized some familiar company names. As the Ark’s purchasing agent for goods and products not grown or made by members themselves, Rodney would have more contact with the outside world than perhaps anyone else in the compound. Might one of them be the person who was hiding him and Kylie?