by CJ Lyons
“Stop!” Leah pointed. “That’s Beth. I’m sure of it.”
Ramsey froze on the film on the image of a woman in scrubs who had a surgical cap covering her hair and a mask over her face, head ducked low as if she knew a camera was there. But her shoes were wrong. She wasn’t wearing the clogs or thick sneakers with extra support that the medical staff wore. This woman was wearing open-toed sandals.
It was Beth. She’d exited two minutes before Matthew appeared carrying the bag.
“He sent her ahead while he carried the baby out hidden in the bag,” Luka said. Matthew Harper had orchestrated Beth’s escape.
“Why would a minister take Beth’s baby?” Leah asked. “They had to be working together.”
How did Beth know Matthew? Luka wondered. Who was she running from that she had to go to such extreme measures, sneaking out, hiding her baby?
“Give me the elevator lobby,” he told Ramsey. “Follow Matthew Harper as he exits.”
Ramsey looked surprised but did as he was told, squinting at the time stamp and pulling up the other cameras. They watched as Matthew left the elevator and crossed the lobby, exiting out the door that led to the visitor’s parking garage.
“Wait, keep rolling,” Luka ordered. A few minutes later, the woman wearing the sandals emerged from the elevator. She must have stopped somewhere after leaving the OB floor because she now carried a plastic bag and held a Mylar balloon so that it hid her face. She followed Matthew’s path although her pace was rushed, her stride urgent. “Okay, the garage, let’s see him leave.”
Ramsey switched cameras. “We don’t charge ministers; his ID badge lets him in and out of any of the parking garages, even the paid ones.”
A white SUV with the Holy Redeemer logo on it pulled up to the automated exit lane. Ramsey froze the image. Matthew leaned out the driver’s window, swiping a key card. But no one else was visible in the SUV. The rear windows were tinted dark. Beth appeared nowhere else on the video; she had to have been in the vehicle, but Luka couldn’t swear to it.
Which meant there wasn’t enough for a warrant. But definitely enough for a serious conversation.
“Luka,” Leah breathed. “They have to be in the car, with Reverend Harper. Where would he take them? Who are they running from?”
But Luka had an even greater question: What were the odds that Matthew Harper would be the last person to speak to both Spencer Standish before his death and their missing mother? A woman on the run and a man killed before he could run. That couldn’t be a coincidence.
“I’m not sure,” he told Leah. “But I’ll find out.”
He thought about calling Harper, then decided against putting her in the middle of a tug of war between him and her father. But he needed to know how and why Matthew knew Beth. And exactly how Beth was connected to Spencer Standish’s murder.
Thirty-Two
When Harper arrived back at the police department, the uniformed officers had Darius booked and waiting for her in an interview room.
She glanced through his possessions that they’d confiscated: the knife, a wallet, a belt, several cheap rings, and the chain that seemed much too delicate for a guy like him, a thin gold rope with a lily dangling from it. Exactly like one she’d seen Lily Nolan wear in her mugshots and when Harper had arrested her last year.
She called Sanchez in the cyber squad. “I had Miller bring in two phones found on a suspect. Did you get anything from them?”
“You mean the phones signed in twenty minutes ago that are at the bottom of a list that includes three full computer hard drives, six other phones, and—”
“I get it, I get it. You’re busy. But I really need to know what’s on those phones.”
“Hang on. If I can get anything off them quickly—” The rustling noises of plastic evidence bags came over the line. “Warrants came through, so that’s no problem. Let’s see. The first one, the burner, has no encryption, no security, easy enough. Hmm… only two people on the contact list, a guy named Darius and someone named Lily.”
Bingo. “Send me the call logs. How about texts? Can you send me those?”
“Yeah, sure. It’ll take a few minutes. It won’t be all of them, only the conversations she saved.”
“Whatever you have. And GPS? Can we trace where that phone’s been?”
“We can. But that’s going to take longer.”
She bounced on her toes in frustration. So close to nailing Lily’s killer. “How long?”
“I’ll have it for you by tomorrow. Soonest I can do,” he said before she could protest.
“Okay. What about the other phone? The one with the pink glitter?”
“Can’t get anything on that one until I recharge it—even then it might be encrypted or have security I can’t get through.”
“No such thing.”
“Flattery won’t change the facts. Give me until tomorrow and I can let you know if we can get anything from it.”
“Okay. Thanks. But you’re sending the text chats now, right?”
“Already done.”
“I owe you one, Sanchez.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be collecting.”
She hung up and logged into the secure cloud server that hosted the case management system for the department. Sanchez was true to his word; waiting for her were the text strings from Macy’s phone along with her call logs. Almost all the calls were between Macy and Darius, except for a forty-two-minute call last week to Lily—which meant that now that Harper had Lily’s phone number, she could get a warrant for all of Lily’s data from her phone carrier. It would take a few days, though, and she couldn’t wait. There were no saved text messages to or from Lily, which left her with very little ammunition.
Hopefully, though, it would be enough to get the answers she needed from Darius. Harper gathered her props, heaved in a breath, and entered the interview room.
“Hey again, Darius. Ready to talk?” The kid was only eighteen, a year younger than Macy, with no real record beyond some petty larceny. And given that he’d already refused a lawyer, telling Miller that he wanted everything recorded for the lawsuit he intended to bring against the department, Harper suspected he’d learned most of what he knew about being a criminal from video games and TV.
“Is she all right? Just tell me, is Macy gonna live?” Darius demanded before she got the door shut behind her.
“The doctors are working on her now. But they said she was stable.”
He leaned back in his chair, breath whistling from him. He blinked and his expression morphed from worried to cunning. “Good. Then she can sue your asses, too. Assault, false arrest—”
“False arrest?” Harper swallowed her laughter. “You had a knife to her throat.”
“Only cuz you all forced me to defend myself best I could. Yeah, add that one—excessive force. And, and police brutality. I’m gonna own your ass, my lawyer gets done with you all.”
“If you’re not in prison doing life for murder.” Harper decided on a shock approach rather than something more subtle.
“Murder? What the hell you talking about?”
“When we booked you, I saw that chain of yours.”
“What? My peace lily? It’s cuz I’m a lover, not a fighter. My girl gave me that.”
“Your girl? As in, Lily Nolan? I saw her wearing that same necklace last time I arrested her.” She slid a photo of Lily’s body, the most gruesome one she could find in the assortment from the coroner, and left it face down on the table before him.
“What’s that?”
“Take a look and see. Nothing a tough guy like you can’t handle.”
He gave her a sidelong glance but then curiosity got the better of him and he flipped the photo over. “Nah-uh.” He recoiled, pushing himself as far away from the table as the chair allowed. “You ain’t pinning that bitch on me. Never saw her in my life.”
“That bitch was a girl. She had her whole life in front of her. Why’d you do it, Darius? Was it because she tr
ied to get clean? Was she going to steal Macy from you, get her into rehab and off the streets as well?”
He shook his head violently. “I’m telling you, I ain’t have nothing to do with her.” His gaze fixed on the photo again. He tapped his finger over the time stamp. “She died Sunday morning?” He slid a glance up to meet her eyes, mocking her. “You cops are all so stupid. Know where I was since Friday night? All weekend, until yesterday afternoon?” He slammed his palm down on the table, Lily’s photo flying off the edge and onto the floor. “I was locked up. Check your records. Your own jail is my alibi. You ain’t got nothing on me.”
Harper hid her smile. Darius was wrong. She had him exactly where she wanted him: excited and talking.
Thirty-Three
Despite his misgivings, as he drove up the mountain to Holy Redeemer, Luka called the district attorney’s office and laid out his concerns along with what little evidence he had. The ADA practically convulsed with laughter. “You want us to try for a warrant on a minister and a church? A sanctuary? Based on what?” she’d asked. “There’s no law against carrying a diaper bag out of a hospital or giving a mother and her baby a ride. Not that you even have evidence proving that he did that.”
Luka hung up, more frustrated than ever. His leg throbbed and itched simultaneously, not to mention the brace and wrappings over the wound were hot and sweaty, and the damn crutches… He took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts, and turned onto the drive that led to Matthew Harper’s church. Harper’s father, one more addition to his list of aggravations and complications. Nothing about this case was easy—either case, Beth’s disappearance or Spencer Standish’s murder.
And yet, one man of God stood at the intersection of both. Luka always warned the others on his squad against the fallacy of connecting unrelated cases together—it was a human tendency; the mind was tempted to create order out of chaos. But in Luka’s experience, all too often chaos ruled, and trying to force facts to fit an orderly theory led to wasted time chasing false conclusions.
But he couldn’t deny the evidence here. Matthew Harper was the last person to speak to Spencer; that was a fact. And his presence on Beth’s ward at the same time she walked away was too much of a coincidence to ignore, even if he had no physical proof that Matthew had helped Beth leave. There simply was no other answer that made any sense.
He drove past the church and its empty parking lot, then arrived at the house. It looked like a typical minister’s house—white-framed, dwarfed by the church beside it, yet also mirroring the church’s architectural lines. Despite the lack of rain, the exterior was spotless, placidly basking in the afternoon sun. And none of it felt like Harper—at least not the Harper he knew, the guarded, ambitious, highly energetic woman who’d climbed the ranks of the police force. The last adjective he’d ever associate with Harper was “placid.”
He fumbled his way up the porch steps—he’d been tempted to leave the crutches in the car, but had decided that perhaps they might give him an edge, appeal to the minister’s sympathy. He rang the bell and within seconds it was opened by a woman in her fifties wearing a sky-blue dress and an apron embellished with matching blue birds.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Detective Sergeant Luka Jericho.” He held his credentials up for her to scrutinize. “I was hoping to find the reverend. Is he home?”
“Matthew is over at the church with my son. I’m Rachel, his wife. Come inside, please.” She led the way into the foyer, which opened onto a large, formal dining room to the left and a living area to the right, as well as a hallway that continued to the rear of the house and a staircase leading up. “Wait here a second. Let me turn the stove off and I’ll take you over, Sergeant Jericho.” Rachel disappeared into the rear of the house, leaving Luka to be entertained by the wall filled with family photos: Matthew and Rachel stood alone in the first one, then two little boys stood with them, then three boys in another and in the furthest frames Harper finally made an appearance, first as an infant then as a little girl dressed in ribbons and laces. Luka smiled. The image was so very different from the Harper he knew, who even after her promotion to detective still wore Doc Martens beneath her dress slacks.
Rachel returned less than a minute later and held the front door open as he maneuvered his crutches over the threshold. “Luka Jericho? You’re Naomi’s boss,” she said as they strolled down the drive to the church. “She’s always talking about you, was so excited to join your team.”
“She’s a fine addition,” Luka replied, trying to toe the line between polite conversation and professionalism. After all, he was here to discover what her husband had to do with one man’s murder and a woman’s disappearance.
When they reached the church, Rachel once again held open the tall, heavy door. Luka nodded his thanks and stopped inside, uncertain of which direction to go.
“They’re in the office, behind the sanctuary,” she told him, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors, the sound echoing up to the beamed roof above. “The original Holy Redeemer was founded by Josiah Harper in 1679—two years before William Penn received his charter from King Charles to form Penn’s Woods. Back then it was a single-room log cabin, but each generation added to it until we now have this.” She waved her hands at shoulder height, a tour guide gesturing. “We still use remnants of that original building for storage—Naomi and her brothers loved to play in there when they were kids.”
Luka glanced around, hoping he appeared appreciative of her history lesson, when actually he was growing impatient. Was she mentioning her daughter as psychological leverage? And why had she brought him in through the main church when he’d seen a door at the rear when he’d driven past the parking lot? All this was meant to remind him to take care and tread lightly.
“And your addition?” he asked as she led him past the altar to a door hidden by heavy velvet drapes.
“You mean Matthew’s. He and the boys have brought Holy Redeemer into the twenty-first century by spreading the gospel via modern technology. We now have congregants all around the world, an expansion that Josiah Harper could never even have dreamed of.” She stopped halfway down a narrow hallway and knocked on a heavy oak door, then opened it without waiting for an answer. “Matthew? Sorry to interrupt, but Sergeant Jericho is here to speak with you.”
She stood aside to allow Luka to enter the office. Matthew sat behind a desk that could only be described as regal, and despite sitting down he seemed to tower over the younger man who stood before him as if a supplicant. John, the youngest son. Luka recognized him from the family photos.
“Sergeant Jericho.” Matthew managed to sound both surprised and dismissive simultaneously. “I wasn’t expecting you. You know I can’t discuss anything regarding Spencer Standish or his wife—”
“This is about another matter,” Luka answered, mirroring Matthew’s formal tone. He glanced at Rachel and John.
Matthew took the cue. “John, Rachel, please excuse us.”
John took a step forward. “Father, you might need a witness.”
Matthew pursed his lips in consideration. “If I do, I’ll call you. Now please, leave us.”
Reluctantly, John and Rachel left, closing the door behind them. Matthew sat in silence, polishing his glasses, waiting Luka out. Using one of Luka’s favorite interview techniques against him. Without legal standing or probable cause for a warrant, this might get dicey, Luka realized. But Matthew was an attorney as well as a minister and he understood that even before Luka said anything. Suddenly the silence between the two men was more than a conversational gambit, it was a power struggle.
Luka’s frustration simmered, threatening to boil over. He’d allowed Matthew to win the upper hand yesterday—he’d had no choice given the legalities—but now he was dealing with a missing mother and child and he wasn’t about to cede the field of battle to Matthew.
“Sir—” Luka began.
“Reverend Harper,” Matthew cut him off.
Lu
ka ignored the other man’s title. “I believe you accompanied a young woman and her newborn son from Good Samaritan Medical Center earlier today. I’d like to see them, ensure that they are safe. The physicians at Good Samaritan tell me that the infant may be at risk and requires further monitoring. If you could take me to them now…”
He stopped, waiting for Matthew to respond. The older man closed the open Bible on his desk with a heavy thud and stood. “You ‘believe’? Meaning you have no proof of my involvement.”
Interesting way to phrase it, Luka thought. Definitely not a denial, more like a sidestep. “If you won’t take me to them. I’d like to search the premises,” Luka continued. “And access the GPS on your vehicle.”
“On what grounds? You have no warrant. Otherwise you would have led with that.”
“Exigent circumstances,” Luka bluffed. “A child’s life is at risk.”
Matthew stared at Luka, searching. Luka kept his face neutral, trying to not allow his anger to show. But Matthew squinted his eyes and gave a small shake of his head. “If you truly think you have exigent circumstances, you would have called for a search warrant on your way here, so clearly you don’t have enough probable cause to act on any suspicions you may harbor. Not to mention, the church grounds are considered a sanctuary. I’d be happy to call a judge right now, if you’d like to obtain a ruling.”
Luka could handle outmaneuvering a lawyer or a minister, but the combination of the two? “I’m not leaving without seeing them.” He was certain that Matthew knew where Beth and her baby were.
“Then you’re guilty of trespassing,” Matthew snapped. He calmed down and relented. “However, given that my daughter holds you in high esteem, I’ll forgive your transgression. Perhaps what you need, Sergeant, is less evidence from your own eyes, but more faith in the Good Lord and those He has chosen to do his work. There is a higher law that I obey, higher than man’s.”
Luka had been almost ready to back off, find another course of action. But Matthew’s tone of smug superiority, his certainty that he knew better than anyone else, rankled so deeply that Luka gave in to his anger.