3 Gates of the Dead (The 3 Gates of the Dead Series)

by Ryan, Jonathan

  “Is that the only reason?” She looked at me with her arms folded across her chest.

  “I … well, I hadn’t really studied on it, so I really didn’t know.”

  That’s it, Aidan, give a half-baked explanation to a detective.

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s true. And besides, it’s not a topic ministers in my denomination easily discuss.”

  “I think there’s something more. I saw a look of panic on your face, way out of proportion than just fearing breaking a minister’s taboo or something stupid like that.”

  “Do you believe in the law, Jennifer?”

  “I … what kind of question is that?”

  “Do you believe in the law, right and wrong? You’re a cop. That is what you try to do, right? Protect people and obey the law?”

  She scrunched her face. “Well, I guess I wouldn’t put it in such amateur terms, but essentially, yeah, that’s why I became a police officer.”

  “What if you didn’t? Would you still be a cop?”

  “Truthfully, probably not. Wouldn’t be any point would there?” She paused. “Why are you asking me this?”

  “I don’t believe in God. I am a minister who doesn’t believe in God or the supernatural. That is why I didn’t want to answer their questions.”

  Jennifer stared at me, her eyes wide. She probably thought I was a horrible person with no integrity. That would be the end of it. I looked back up, and her face was unreadable.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. My boss knows, and he told me to think about it. But I already have. I just have to figure out what to do. There aren’t a lot of other job options with a Masters of Divinity degree.”

  She nodded, and I noticed she kept clenching her fist as if she were fighting for control.

  “I’ll keep you updated on the investigation. If there’s anything else, contact me.” She turned and left.

  I sat on the couch, a bit mystified by her abrupt departure. The pictures on my computer screen were evidence that Amanda tried to tell me something. What though?

  Amanda’s words echoed in my head: I have found someone else.

  That was it! I had to find this “someone else.” Whoever she had been dating had to be the key. Maybe someone at the church where she worked would have some information. Jennifer probably already asked there, but I might notice something she hadn’t.

  I paused as Zoe’s words and Amanda’s letter came back to me: talk to Father Neal. I sighed. Maybe I could do both in one day.

  Bishop got up on the couch and stretched out.

  “Tired, you big bag of fleas?”

  He looked at me with his liquid eyes as I patted his rump. “Goodnight, Bishop. I’m going to watch some TV.”

  The high-pitched, scratchy voice of Eric Cartman filled my living room as I tried to forget everything I’d seen and heard over the past few days. None of it made any sense as I tried to sort through the jumbled puzzle pieces in my head.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I woke up the next morning and called the church as I made breakfast.

  “Sherry, this is Pastor Aidan. I’ve had an emergency come up. I’m going to need you to clear my schedule. Please tell the children’s ministry team that I’m sorry. This can’t wait.”

  I could almost hear her mind whirring as to what emergency it could possibly be and when she would be able gossip about it.

  “Of course. Is there any message you want me to pass on to Pastor Mike?”

  “No, just tell him I’ll call him later.” I had just given her something to talk about for the rest of the morning with her friends.

  “No problem, sir.”

  “Thanks, Sherry, you’re the best. Have a good morning.”

  I hung up the phone and took a bite out of my chocolate muffin. With a few clicks, I pulled up the website for Fields of the Lord Church, Amanda’s former place of employment, on the east side of the city. I wrote down the directions, put Bishop in his crate, and made for the door.

  As I got in the car, I remembered Jen already questioned most of the Fields of the Lord Staff. Still, I couldn’t just sit around and wallow in my misery over Amanda or the hypocrisy of my life. I had to do something other than look for jobs.

  I also wanted to see people’s reactions when I started asking questions. My suspicion that Amanda’s man had been a married pastor had never gone away, and I had to lay that to rest.

  Still, I figured it probably wouldn’t hurt to tell Jennifer what my plans were. It’s not like she could really stop me, short of arresting me. I dialed her number.

  “This is … Detective Brown,” she said, in quick breaths.

  “Jennifer? It’s Aidan. Are you okay?”

  “Running laps. Morning exercise, gotta keep in shape.”

  “Right. I have a question,” I said as I started up my car.

  “Shoot.”

  “Did you send someone over to Fields of the Lord church?”

  “Yeah, we did.” She paused. “I think Jeremy went there and asked around. Why?”

  “Did you turn anything up?”

  “No, other than shocked church people. Again, why do you ask?”

  I chewed on my frozen lip.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe you guys missed something.”

  “Jeremy is very thorough. There’s probably nothing else there,” Jennifer said as she caught her breath.

  “Well, I’m just going to the church today.”

  She paused and then spoke in a low, authoritative voice, “Aidan, you aren’t trying to be a cop, are you?”

  “No, of course not. Just, um, a pastor’s conference.”

  I could almost feel her disbelief oozing through the phone and into my ear. “Is that right? You aren’t a very good liar.”

  “How do you know?” I said, smiling a little.

  “Trust me. You aren’t. And I’m totally serious. You were just a suspect in this case, and if you ask the wrong questions to get people upset, it could…”

  “I know, put me back in the suspect column. I’ll be careful.”

  “What are you going to do after that?”

  “Not sure, why?” I hadn’t told her about Father Neal yet, and I had no desire to tell her how I even heard about him.

  “Thought maybe we could have lunch, talk about your faith thing,” she said. “I’m sorry I left so quickly after that. I felt bad, so I thought I would give us a chance to talk.”

  “Uh, sure,” I stammered. “Well, I have a lunch appointment … can we do dinner?”

  “Of course, no problem. Want to go somewhere in the Short North?”

  “Sure, Northstar Café, around sixish?”

  “Excellent, that is right down the street from my condo,” Jennifer said.

  “Great, I’ll meet you at your place then.”

  My head whirled with thoughts of the lady detective as I drove down I-71 to Fields of the Lord Church. I didn’t need to look it up on my GPS as I’d seen the huge church building from the highway. Pulling into the parking lot, I felt like an ant staring up at a house. The rumor around town was that this church could be seen from space on a clear night because of all the lights around the outside. I doubted that story, but the electric bill had to be a bitch.

  The design of the building made me wonder if George and Elroy Jetson would come zooming past the “tower of prayer.” The building supposedly held five thousand people and reached capacity for each of their three services. The sheriff had to assign a deputy to direct traffic into the vast parking lots, which were now empty as I drove into the complex.

  The CEO of this corporation, or rather, pastor of the church, Daniel Mueller, had become a young, rising star in the evangelical world. The man had it all, beautiful ex-model wife, three adorable kids, a book deal and growing political power. All in all, he was the perfect American evangelical minister.

  I gripped the steering wheel as I started to have second thoughts. I su
ddenly realized they weren’t just going to let me come in and start asking questions. Still, I’d traveled this far and might as well play the whole hand. The car shuttered to a stop, I turned it off and went inside.

  The demon of ugliness had been cast out of Fields of the Lord and cast into the pigs of lesser churches. Everything had a place. Real plants were positioned in the corners and tasteful, if bland, inspirational paintings decorated the walls. The ceiling rose above me, revealing the cold, blue sky through spotless glass panels.

  Under these glass panels sat one of the most beautiful soccer moms I’d ever seen. Her short, dark hair slightly bobbed at the neck, and her make-up was applied to perfection. No part of her red business suit was out of place. She seemed like a piece of art placed among the rest of the meticulous lobby.

  She gave me a pleasant, if somewhat cold, smile. If I didn’t charm her, I wouldn’t be visiting the broom closet, much less talking to the pastor of the church. I thought about the scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail where the knights met the bridge-keeper who asked them three questions. I wondered what pit I would be cast into if I answered her questions wrong.

  “Hello, my name is Pastor Aidan Schaeffer, and I would like to speak with Pastor Mueller.”

  She gave me a tight lipped smile. “I’m sorry, Pastor Schaeffer, do you have an appointment?”

  “No, um, Jessica,” I said, glancing at her name tag. “But I have some urgent business to discuss.”

  The smile disappeared. I guessed she’d dealt with my type before and wouldn’t let me in to save her life. “I’m sorry, Pastor Schaeffer, but Pastor Mueller is a very busy man. The way to see him is by calling his personal secretary and making an appointment.”

  I tried a bluff. “Yes, of course, Jessica, I understand. But I have not been able to get a hold of his personal secretary in the past few days.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, she is on vacation at the moment. I am sure if you try back next week.”

  This was going nowhere. I wouldn’t get in, and I had been stupid to even try.

  “Well, okay, thank you, Jessica. Maybe I will try that.”

  A voice came from down the hall. A tall blonde GQ-looking model appeared, talking on a cell phone.

  “Please tell Reverend Graham I am praying for him and that he should get some rest.”

  I knew I had one chance. With Jessica squealing in protest, I walked right up to him.

  “Pastor Mueller? I am Pastor Aidan Schaeffer, from Knox Presbyterian Church. I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time.”

  He looked at me with a “TV” smile. “Pastor Schaeffer, it’s good to meet you.”

  Jessica caught up with us and grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry, Pastor Mueller, he didn’t have my permission to do this. I was just telling him he should leave.”

  “It’s okay, Jessica, I love speaking to fellow pastors.”

  She threw me a look of church-lady disgust as she went back to her desk.

  “What can I do for you, Pastor Schaeffer? I hope you don’t feel rushed, but I have a phone conference in about fifteen minutes.”

  “I want to talk to you about Amanda.”

  His chiseled face slackened into a look of surprise before he could control it.

  “Amanda? There are a lot of Amandas at our church, Pastor Schaeffer. Is she a former member of your church that has started coming to ours?”

  “No, I am talking about Amanda McDougal, your head of communications, who was recently murdered.”

  Once again, an uncontrolled look crossed his face, a look that reminded me of Bishop when he had been caught taking a dump on the rug.

  “Oh, yes. Forgive me, Pastor Schaeffer. I talked to the police about Amanda. Sad situation, but I really don’t have much more to say.”

  “I’m sure, Pastor Mueller, and I’m not really here for that. Amanda was, well, my ex-fiancée.”

  Pastor Mueller smiled and chuckled. “Oh, you are that Aidan! The Calvinist! I would say that God predestined you to be here today.”

  I hated that stupid joke. Calvinists had to hear it all the time because we believed in God’s sovereignty. Even though I didn’t believe anymore, the comment still made me want to scream. But I wanted to keep him happy, so I laughed. “Yes, right. Anyway, I just want to find out about Amanda’s last days before she was murdered. I thought maybe you could give me some clues.”

  “Ah, a man still in love, eh?” Pastor Mueller gave me a guy-to-guy pat on the shoulder with a somber expression on his face. He probably never realized how close he came to losing a hand or getting punched in the face.

  “I guess you could say that. I just want to see her killer brought to justice.” I winced as I said it. I sounded like a bad TV show.

  He nodded his head but avoided looking me in the eyes. Instead, he stared just off to the right of my shoulder. “I really can’t tell you much. Amanda was a great worker and helped me tremendously. We are devastated by her death.”

  Really? You sure don’t look like it.

  “But I don’t have anything else to say. Amanda seemed perfectly normal. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “What about the pastor she was dating here, have you talked to him?”

  His jaw clenched. “Pastor Schaeffer, I don’t get into personal matters like that unless they are sins. If some of my staff are dating, I don’t go out of my way to find out unless it becomes a problem.”

  I had a hard time believing anything went on in this church without this jackass knowing every detail.

  “Besides,” he continued. “I wouldn’t want a member of my staff exposed to any, ah, unfounded accusations by the wrong sources.”

  “Did you tell the cops that?”

  “My conversation with the police is confidential.” Even as he shot me down, he kept that smile on his face. He’d begun to edge his way toward his office.

  “Of course. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

  “Not at all. It’s good you have such a drive for justice. I hope the police find her killer.”

  “Yes, of course. I feel the same.”

  I began to walk away and then turned around quickly. “Did you ask Amanda to take pictures of some woods, say for a church bulletin or brochure?”

  He laughed. “I don’t give that sort of assignment. If Amanda had some pictures in her possession, she may have been taking them for a project. She was in charge of all that. I let her do that work without questions. As you know, she was very good at it.”

  “Yes, well, I will let you get back to work. I have to go work on my sermon on Moses and Mt. Nebo.”

  Pastor Mueller’s jaw clenched, and his eyes bulged. “What did you say?”

  “I am doing a sermon on Moses looking at the Promised Land from Mt. Nebo. Just the next sermon in Numbers you know.”

  His eyes looked me up and down. Then, he smiled. “Yes, of course, very sad passage,” he said, his voice lowered. “I hope it goes well. Have a good day, Pastor Schaeffer.”

  I walked out of the foyer and smiled at Jessica. She didn’t smile back. Instead, she brushed her hair over her ear. The light caught on a huge diamond ring on her left hand.

  Well, someone must love her, or that’s a huge apology gift.

  I slowly got into my car and looked up at the church building. Did I just imagine his reaction of anger? Was I letting my feelings dictate my response? I hated mega-churches, even when I still believed in God. They represented everything that’s wrong with American Christianity, from their bloated buildings to their bloated budgets and bloated searches for political power. Amanda and I fought about it all the time when she took the job. She said I was just jealous of their success.

  I looked at my phone and punched in the address for St. Patrick’s Episcopal Church. To my surprise, the church was pretty close to my house. I’d never noticed it before.

  From a mega-church superstar to an Anglican priest. Quite an ecumenical day.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I
pulled up to St. Patrick’s Episcopal Church just before noon. My body ached, and I felt weak. I rested my head on the steering wheel. The contrast between Fields of the Lord Church and St Patrick’s jarred me. The stone building seemed to flow out of the Ohio turf. The whole of St. Patrick’s could have fit neatly in Fields of the Lord’s reception area. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling of some hidden power. I felt nothing but loathing at Fields of the Lord Church. Here, as I stood before the small stone church, the whole atmosphere seemed to pulsate with a hidden secret. The air shimmered, and light danced on the building as if it were alive.

  I went inside and found another secretary. This one, an older lady with gray hair and reading glasses, seemed more pleasant even as she glared at a computer screen.

  “Cursed computers, minions of the Devil, all of them,” she mumbled.

  “Hello, ma’am, is Father Neal in?” I asked.

  She jumped and then she smiled.

  “Yes, just a minute, honey, I am trying to figure out this new email program.”

  “Um, do you mind if I help? I am pretty good with computers.”

  “Oh, you are sweet. Thank you.” She backed up from the screen, and I showed her how to press the “send” button. She smiled. “Thank you! You are a peach. Now, let me take you back to Father Neal’s office. He has gone into the sanctuary for prayer and will be right back. Would you like any tea or coffee, dear?”

  “Thanks. Tea would be great, uh…”

  “Mrs. Ryder, honey, but you can call me Sue.”

  “Thank you, Sue.”

  She walked down the hall to the rectory kitchen, leading me to Father Neal’s office.

  I sat down in a wingback leather chair and waited. The air in Father Neal’s office hit me like the air of a mountain I’d climbed in New Mexico. I’d expected it to smell old and musty. I breathed deep and sighed. I relaxed, my mind stopped buzzing, and my eyelids began to droop. My whole body felt like Jell-O as if I’d inhaled laughing gas at the dentist.

  I snapped awake.

  Stupid! You can’t fall asleep here!

  I tried to stand, but my legs felt too heavy. I stayed in the chair as I looked around at Father Neal’s office.