Clarke, holding Meghan’s hand, looked at Abbie. She smiled the kind of half smile that was appropriate for a funeral. It was enough for Clarke to know it was okay for him to stay with Meghan. The young couple moved toward the door on the left of the chapel.
The first two rows were reserved for the family. An older woman was playing “I Am a Child of God” on the organ. The chapel was almost completely empty. Melinda Smith was sitting near the front in the center row with a few of her kids. There were maybe two or three other families Abbie didn’t recognize sitting near the Smith family. Bishop Norton stood at the podium.
“Let’s begin with singing ‘We’re Not Ashamed to Own Our Lord.’”
Abbie opened the hymnbook. She wondered who had chosen this song. It wasn’t a common one. The choice about robes of righteousness struck her as poorly suited for a young woman’s funeral.
Bishop Norton then asked Sariah to give the opening prayer. It could have been a prayer at any Sacrament Meeting; she made no mention of Jess at all, only that she was grateful for the gospel and Heavenly Father’s plan. After the invocation, Bishop Norton welcomed everyone and introduced Jess’s oldest brother.
“As Elder Dallin Oaks has advised, the passing of life is not a trivial thing. A funeral service is a time to speak of important ideas,” Jess’s brother said. “Jess, who had one of the strongest testimonies of the Church of anyone I know, would agree.” The oldest brother went on, “I wish I could speak as eloquently as our Apostles, but I can’t, so I will paraphrase Elder Oaks: one of the most powerful ideas we have as members of the one true Church of Jesus Christ is that mortal life has a purpose and that mortal death is not the end but only a transition. Brigham Young taught us that the sole purpose of our existence here is for exaltation and restoration to the presence of our Heavenly Father. Not all problems are overcome in mortality. The work of salvation goes on beyond the veil of death, and we should not worry about incompleteness within the limits of mortality.” Jess’s brother paused for a moment and bowed his head. “I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”
No one else spoke. Bishop Norton stood up to instruct the congregation to sing “Ye Simple Souls Who Stray.” Then Bishop Norton asked Jessica’s dad to give the closing prayer; and the funeral was over.
Something seemed off to Abbie, but she knew she wasn’t a good judge of these things. She’d always felt Mormon funerals were a little off. She wanted to talk to Clarke. He’d have a better sense of whether Jessica’s funeral seemed normal, or as normal as it could under the circumstances. Abbie made her way across the nearly empty chapel to Meghan and Clarke.
“Meghan wants to go to the cemetery with the family,” Clarke said.
Abbie wondered how Jessica’s family would feel if they knew that the chief of the Pleasant View City Police Department believed she was a killer. Unless Clarke and Abbie found something to prove Jess wasn’t Smith’s murderer, by tomorrow at this time the official story would be that Jessica Grant had killed Smith and then killed herself.
Abbie felt tension spread from her stomach to her chest. She needed air. She walked outside and watched as the small group of people who loved Jess drove to the cemetery to say their final good-byes. Abbie tried to take deep breaths from her belly, hoping she could loosen the tightness in her body. As she focused on her breathing, she gained a little space to think. Was the person who had actually killed both Smith and Jess right there in front of her? Was that person angry about their relationship or with how that relationship affected the Church? Or was it something else entirely? Abbie inhaled fully, letting her stomach and then her chest expand. What had Bowen been looking for at her cabin? How did he fit in?
Abbie walked back into the church. The lunch was set up: a few bowls of Jell-O salad, funeral potatoes, ham, and some soft store-bought rolls occupied a long table draped with a white tablecloth. On a smaller table were trays of brownies, a plate of oatmeal-raisin cookies, and a large platter of chocolate-chip muffins.
The words at the cemetery must have been as perfunctory as the words in the chapel, because it wasn’t long before Clarke and Meghan were back. The three of them sat down at a table next to Melinda Smith, who was already eating from her plate heaped almost as high as Jim’s with potatoes.
“Such a beautiful day,” Meghan said to no one in particular as she picked at her food.
Melinda, who was sitting across the round table from Meghan, looked up from her plate, “Were you a friend of Jessica’s?”
“Yes, since forever … we were…” Before Meghan finished her sentence, Sariah sat down in the empty seat next to Melinda.
Melinda put down her fork, took Sariah’s hands in her own, and said, “I know you miss her now, but we’re so lucky to know we’ll all be together again with our Heavenly Father.”
Sariah looked into her friend’s eyes. “I know. I’m so grateful for the gospel and for a friend like you—”
Jessica’s father approached the table and interrupted the two women. “Your mom wants you.”
After Sariah left, it was just a matter of minutes before Melinda finished her plate and said good-bye. The room emptied quickly. Clarke offered to walk Meghan to her car before heading back to the station. Abbie watched the young couple walk out, then got up herself. She glanced at the table where they had been sitting. There was a small stack of programs on it. Abbie turned to pick up her own program when something caught her eye. There was a piece of folded pale-pink paper among the stack. Abbie’s heart skipped a beat. She grabbed the programs, pulled out the pink paper, and read:
The time has been in Israel under the law of God, the celestial law, or that which pertains to the celestial law, for it is one of the laws of that kingdom where our Father dwells, that if a man was found guilty of adultery, he must have his blood shed, and that is near at hand.
—Prophet Brigham Young, Journal of Discourses, v. 4, p. 219
THIRTY-SEVEN
Abbie dashed out of the church looking for Clarke. The parking lot was almost empty. Clarke’s squad car was gone. Abbie panicked when she couldn’t see her green Rover, but then her mind clicked into gear when she saw the navy Karmann Ghia parked in the back corner. She pulled out Flynn’s keys and headed to the car.
Driving on autopilot, Abbie’s mind flashed with images. They still had only circumstantial evidence, but if they were lucky, there would be some prints on this pink piece of paper. Pink? Where was the missing pink diamond ring? Why hadn’t she thought of it before? The likelihood that Smith had paid cash for such an extravagance was unlikely. If the ring existed, there had to be a credit card receipt. Did he and Melinda share credit card accounts? They probably had been sitting on Smith’s credit card statements since the day Abbie got the thumb drive from Zion Commerce, but they hadn’t thought to look through them to see what Smith had bought.
Clarke’s car was already at the station when Abbie parked Flynn’s car in her space. She sprinted inside.
“Find the receipt for the ring,” Abbie said. “There has to be a receipt for the pink diamond engagement ring.”
Clarke understood a receipt would be evidence. Not great evidence, but evidence that the ring existed. It would at least give them reason to ask more questions. It might lead them somewhere away from Jess being a killer. He started typing on his keyboard and then peered at his computer screen.
Abbie took the pink sheet of paper to the evidence room. Luckily, the officer who was in charge was actually at his desk.
“Check this for prints. You can rule mine out. See if there are any matches from any of the prints we took at the Smith and Grant scenes. I know we got prints for the family members.” Abbie expected the officer to balk, but instead he said, “Right away.” Be grateful for small blessings, she told herself.
Abbie closed the door to her office. She sat at her desk and took a few deep breaths, counting three on each inhalation and five on the exhalation. She was getting close, but she wasn’t there yet. She closed her ey
es and breathed. Before she got to her eighth cycle of breaths, Clarke knocked on her door. He didn’t wait for an answer.
“Smith and Melinda had a quite a few joint credit cards. Smith had four personal ones but didn’t seem to bother to hide anything from Melinda. There are expensive purchases from Neiman Marcus from last year, around the time they were in Costa Rica. Could’ve been for Melinda, but I bet if we check with Neiman Marcus, we’ll find out the sizes were zero or extra small.”
“Okay, that’s good, but not good enough,” Abbie responded.
“I know; I saved the best for last. There’s a charge for a ‘custom pink diamond ring’ from OC Tanner for $65,000 a few months ago on one of the joint cards. If Melinda checked their statements, she could have seen it.”
“Do you know how he paid off the balances?” Abbie asked.
“That’s where it gets even more interesting,” Clarke said, “The month with the ring was paid electronically from the bank account in Costa Rica. The Celestial Time Shares account.”
“Did he do that for other months?” Abbie asked.
“A few times,” Clarke said. “It’s not like I’ve had time to do an exhaustive search of the records, though. I have to say, it makes me wonder about Bowen.” Clarke lowered his voice when he said the General Authority’s name.
As if on cue, the officer who ran the prints walked into Abbie’s office and handed her the pink paper with the unnerving quote.
“Only two sets of prints on this: yours and Melinda Smith’s.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” Abbie said.
“What’s that?” Clarke asked. Abbie handed him the paper, now sealed in an evidence bag. He read it.
“It was folded among the programs on our table at lunch,” Abbie said.
“Is this quote legit? I’ve never heard anything like it. I mean, they didn’t teach us this stuff in missionary training.”
Abbie didn’t say anything. She opened her laptop to a website dedicated to The Journal of Discourses and turned the screen so Clarke could read it.
He said nothing for a few moments. “You know, it drives the guys here crazy that you know your scriptures and Mormon history better than they do. Nobody will take you on anymore.”
Abbie didn’t smile. She didn’t even feel any satisfaction. She actually would have liked it if the Church lived up to the hype, but she couldn’t pretend it did. She couldn’t pretend the dark parts weren’t there.
* * *
Clarke and Abbie spent the rest of the afternoon combing through evidence to find enough to prove to Henderson they were not dealing with a murder-suicide.
“We can’t rule out Bowen,” Clarke said. “Smith paid off well over three hundred thousand in credit card bills using that Celestial Time Shares account. Plus, there’s the beachfront villa. If we had more time and went through more of his financial records, I bet the number would be higher.”
Clarke was right. There was plenty of evidence Smith had been stealing from the Church. It didn’t take much of a leap to make a case that Smith had planned to pocket all the money he raised for Celestial Time Shares. There wasn’t any hint that Jessica had played any role in that. Having met her, Abbie didn’t think they would ever find any evidence that she had. Jessica had thought Smith was doing Heavenly Father’s work.
“Why would Bowen kill Jessica?” Abbie asked.
“Because she was in on the scheme? Her affair with Smith was an embarrassment to the Church? I don’t know. She knew who killed Smith?” Clarke said.
Abbie arched an eyebrow as she looked at Clarke.
“Okay, if you didn’t know Jess, any one of those things could be true, but knowing her, well, they’re pretty implausible theories. Although more plausible than the theory that she killed Smith and then herself,” Clarke said. “The receipt and the adultery quote are pieces of real evidence and they point to one person.”
As the light faded from the sky, Abbie knew they were out of time. You could set your clock by Henderson’s hours. He would be on his way home any minute.
“It’s now or never,” Abbie said.
Abbie and Clarke walked toward Henderson’s office as he was turning off his light.
“Is that my report?” He did not look happy.
“No,” Clarke said. “I think we have something better: what really happened.”
Henderson scowled but waved them into his office. Abbie shut the door behind her. Most of their colleagues had already left, but the evening shift officer was wandering somewhere around the station. Abbie didn’t want to give Henderson any more reason to be angry after he’d been so clear about discretion and the deadline for closing the case. Abbie let Clarke explain the fingerprints on the pink sheet of paper and the diamond ring on the joint credit card. Henderson pointed out that they didn’t have the report from the ME about Jessica being pregnant with Smith’s child, but acknowledged that they had enough for an arrest even without it.
“What about the fact that Smith used his Celestial Time Shares account for personal reasons?” Henderson couldn’t hide the tension in his voice as he asked the question.
“We don’t think the Celestial Time Shares angle explains why anyone would want to harm Jess … Jessica Grant. It doesn’t make sense,” Clarke said.
Henderson exhaled. “Okay. I’ll give you another day. Go ahead and do whatever you need to do, so long as this is all over by tomorrow afternoon.” Then he added, “Make the arrest in the morning. Nobody wants to be processing this tonight. It’s not like there’s a flight risk.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
It was after midnight and Abbie couldn’t keep her eyes closed. Every time she was on the verge of sleep, something woke her up. It was like having a mosquito with you in a dark room. When the buzzing faded, you would think you could fall asleep. Then the infernal noise would be right at your ear and you’d be wide awake again. Abbie had been repeating this cycle of wavering between almost-sleep and wakefulness for hours. She couldn’t figure out what the mosquito was. Everything seemed to fit. Henderson was on board. He’d given them an extra half-day. Melinda’s fingerprints were on a piece of paper stating that a man guilty of adultery must die. The quote itself was incriminating enough, but the fact that Melinda had used Jessica’s signature pink paper also demonstrated that she knew Jessica well. She could have written the suicide note.
Abbie tossed and turned until her alarm went off. She was glad they weren’t closing this case with Jessica as Smith’s killer, but as much as she wanted to believe the evidence pointed only to Melinda Smith, she didn’t. She should be anxious to get into the station this morning, but she found herself dawdling. She wasn’t really hungry, but she walked downstairs to Flynn’s perfect kitchen anyway. Margene had left a half-dozen freshly baked muffins on a cake plate beneath a clear glass dome. She looked at them but wasn’t even remotely tempted. That was when she realized what the mistake was. The assumption they had all made.
Abbie ran back upstairs. She hurried to pull on trousers, a T-shirt, and a blazer. She slipped her bare feet into a pair of loafers. She was about to wrap her husband’s old Patek Philippe watch around her wrist when she paused. She took a moment and looked at the watch; then she placed it back inside her jewelry case. Instead, she put on her own old stainless-steel Cartier Tank watch.
Abbie climbed into the Karmann Ghia and drove to the station at just over the speed limit.
Clarke was waiting outside by the squad car when Abbie pulled in.
“Do you mind if I drive?” she asked.
Clarke tossed her keys to the squad car.
Abbie didn’t need to rely on her GPS system or Clarke to get around Pleasant View anymore. She knew her way. She drove up a hill, passing several empty school buses returning from dropping off their young riders at the local schools. Traffic was already thinning after the morning rush. It was a beautiful spring morning. Lawns were green and flowers were in full bloom. The sky served as a clear blue backdrop for the white puffy clo
uds drifting across it.
“Taylor, I think you took a wrong turn. Take this next left and—”
“No, I know where I’m going.”
“This isn’t the way to Melinda’s.”
“No, it’s not. We got it wrong about Melinda. We got it all wrong.”
* * *
Abbie rang the doorbell. Sariah Morris answered. She looked as if she was in the middle of a workout: black yoga pants, formfitting top, and a healthy flush to her cheeks.
“Sister Morris, we’re here on official business,” Abbie began. “Are any of your children home?”
“Nope,” Sariah answered matter-of-factly. “I’ve got the entire place to myself. I pick up my youngest at three fifteen.”
“May we come in?” Abbie asked.
“Of course.” Sariah stepped back to let Abbie and Clarke inside. They walked into the sitting room.
“Can I get you some water? Diet Coke?” Sariah asked.
“No, thank you,” Abbie responded. “I think you know why we’re here.”
Sariah nodded. “Because of Steve … and Jess.”
“Yes. We can get a warrant to search your house, but perhaps you’d rather just tell us what happened,” Abbie said, then added, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?”
“I understand,” Sariah said. “I don’t need an attorney. I knew you’d be here sooner or later.” Abbie had expected Sariah to be calm, but even so, the woman’s serenity was disconcerting. Sariah walked over to a small wooden box sitting on a side table and opened it. “You probably want these.” She dropped two rings into Abbie’s hand: one was a thick man’s wedding band and the other was a woman’s engagement ring with an enormous princess-cut pink diamond surrounded by smaller white diamonds.
Blessed be the Wicked Page 24