by Tom Wallace
Being a man of God, Eli felt duty bound to say a prayer for Colt. After all, even the worst sinners are deserving of a few kind words directed at the Almighty. If Jesus was magnanimous enough to grant the thief on the cross entrance into Paradise, then the least Eli could do was pray for Colt Rogers. But this particular prayer would not be a lengthy one. Only a few words followed by a quick Amen. He would not take up much of the Almighty’s time advocating for Colt Rogers, a man he had little use for.
Eli now understood that Colt’s death was the reason why Jack Dantzler requested a second meeting. When Dantzler phoned Warden Curtis late yesterday afternoon, he had offered no particular reason for the meeting, other than the usual “to tie up a few loose ends.” He didn’t mention Colt’s murder, or if he did, Warden Curtis kept the news to himself. Either way, it didn’t matter. Eli had granted Dantzler’s request. Truth be told, he liked Dantzler, and would enjoy visiting with him again.
Sitting in his chair, the warm sun shining through the window, Eli felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy. He fought sleep as long as he could, wanting to be awake and alert for his chat with Dantzler, but by two-thirty, with fatigue closing in faster than he expected, Eli nodded off.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he was startled awake by the door opening and the shuffling of footsteps in his room. Looking up, clearing the sleep from his eyes, he saw two men standing in front of him. A smile crossed his lips.
“Well, well, Charlie Bolton,” Eli said. “A ghost from my long-ago past. This is quite the surprise.”
“Eli.”
“It’s been a long time, old friend.”
“That it has.”
“Lie to me, Charlie. Tell me I’m looking good for a man my age.”
“You look better than I expected.”
“For someone with a terminal illness, right?”
“Right.”
“Are you enjoying your retirement? Your ‘golden years’, as they say?”
“My knees ache constantly, and I would like to catch more fish. But all things considered, I have no complaints.”
“Lucky you.” Eli nodded at Dantzler. “Detective Bolton, are you aware that your young partner is a Gnostic?”
“No kidding. What’s a Gnostic?”
“Someone with heretical beliefs.”
“Huh. And all this time I had him pegged as a Democrat.”
Dantzler stepped in front of Charlie, cutting short their private chit-chat. This was not the time for small talk. He wanted to ask his questions, get his answers, and leave as quickly as possible. The prison infirmary, like all hospitals, smelled of sickness and death. It was a smell-and an environment-that made him uneasy. The sooner he could get out, the better. He certainly didn’t want to stick around listening to these two gabbing about the past.
“You get the news concerning Colt Rogers?” he said.
“Rachel called this morning to inform me of what had transpired. A harsh way to meet your Maker.” Eli grinned. “Excuse me, Detective Dantzler. Your ‘Creator’.”
“Any thoughts on who might have pulled the trigger?”
“Well, I didn’t do it, that much we all know.”
Dantzler reached in his coat pocket, took out a small tape recorder, and held it in front of Eli. “I’m taping this conversation, Eli, whether you like it or not. I want accuracy.”
“So be it, Detective. I am too weary to argue with you. Turn it on and let’s get started.”
“What was your relationship with Colt Rogers?” Dantzler asked.
“Relationship? I had no relationship with the man. None.”
“He was your attorney, wasn’t he?”
“Are you insane, Detective Dantzler? I would never have a man like Colt Rogers as my attorney.”
“That may come as a shock to Isaac and Rachel. They are both under the impression that he’s your attorney. According to them, Rogers has handled your affairs since Abe Basham died. Are they wrong?”
“Not wrong, just not aware of facts as they are. Let me assure you of one thing, Detective. Colt Rogers was a two-bit hustler, a con man, and in all probability an outright thief. Why would I dare have someone like that as my attorney?”
“You’re telling me he didn’t represent you after Abe died?”
“That’s precisely what I’m telling you.” Eli stroked his white beard while taking several deep breaths. “Colt knew from having talked with Abe that I have property and holdings worth a lot of money, somewhere in the neighborhood of seven million dollars, in fact. A neighborhood like that tends to attract a lot of flies. Well, when Abe died, Colt was on me quicker than a vulture swooping down to a rotting carcass. Came to me with all these grand ideas, elaborate plans to parlay the money-my money-into an even greater fortune. And, of course, he volunteered to be my partner, the guy on the outside making all the deals. He always brought a stack of papers for me to sign, including one granting him power of attorney, thus making him executor of my estate. ‘Please sign here, Eli,’ he said. ‘This deal will be worth millions.’ Now I have never claimed to be the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but I’m not dumb enough to ever sign anything that man stuck in front of me.”
“Okay, so who does handle your financial affairs?” Dantzler asked.
“My son-in-law.”
“Kirk Foster?”
“Your mouth to God’s ears, Detective. That is not public knowledge.”
“Given the fact that neither Rachel nor Isaac know, it’s not even private knowledge. Why the secrecy?”
“They will find out in due time.”
“Why Kirk?”
“Because I trust him. And because I know he will do the right thing when I’m gone. He loves Rachel very much, he’s friendly with Isaac, and he has been exceptionally kind to Thomas. He was the perfect choice and the logical choice.”
“Was Colt aware of this?”
“Don’t be absurd. If my own children don’t know, do you really think I would tell him?”
“Warden Curtis said Rogers visited on a regular basis. How often did he see you?”
“Oh, maybe once a month back in the early days. But as my health began to deteriorate, he came more frequently. He became more desperate for me to sign those papers he brought with him. He was very persistent. Criminals usually are.”
“Warden Curtis said Johnny Richards often accompanied Rogers when he came to see you. What’s his deal?”
“He’s an associate of Colt’s. I really don’t know him at all.”
“Define associate.”
“That would be a question for him. I can’t answer it for you.” Eli turned his attention to Charlie. “Ask your question, Detective Bolton. The one that has been gnawing at you for twenty-nine years.”
“Why did you lie about the gun being in your safe?” Charlie said without hesitation.
“I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. You knew whoever took the gun killed those two kids. You knew the identity of that person, and you lied to protect him.”
“Detective Bolton, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Cling to your belief, then, if you must. Just know that your belief, like that of the apostate, is far from God’s truth.”
Dantzler moved closer to the chair and looked down at the withered, dying old man. “Who murdered those two boys, Reverend? If you do know, tell me.”
Eli shrugged.
Dantzler knelt in front of Eli until they were at eye level. “Whose obituary am I looking for? Give me that name, at least.”
“We’ve danced this dance before, Detective. Nothing has changed. You’ll have to find it without my help.”
Dantzler stood. “If you are serious about having your name cleared, you might want to re-think your stance on this matter.”
“You have all you need. It’s right in front of you.”
“What I need is something concrete, not hints.”
“The light of truth al
ways prevails, Detective Dantzler. You’ll uncover it. Maybe not while I’m still around, but you’ll eventually find the answers.” Eli closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “Gentlemen, I think it best we end this conversation. I’ve suddenly grown very tired and feel the need to get some rest. I apologize, and I ask that you not judge me to be discourteous.”
Dantzler turned off the tape recorder, went to the door, and opened it. After waiting until Charlie was out of the room, Dantzler turned back toward Eli, who now appeared to be smaller and older than he did only moments earlier. He started to tell the old man goodbye, but didn’t. Instead, he just looked at Eli for several silent seconds.
Dantzler turned to leave, and was almost out the door when he heard Eli’s frail voice.
“Think of Jesus’s empty tomb.”
Dantzler wasn’t sure who Eli was speaking to.
*****
For the first hour on the ride back to Lexington, neither Dantzler nor Charlie spoke. Both men stared straight forward, lost in thought, reflecting on what the Reverend had told them and what he hadn’t told them. Each man also wondered what the other was thinking.
After a while Charlie closed his eyes and pretended to be sleeping. Dantzler wasn’t fooled; he was familiar with this ruse. Charlie was using sleep as a pretense, a reason for not engaging in conversation. He simply did not want to talk.
But it was Charlie who, a few minutes later, opened his eyes and broke the silence.
“I’m telling you, Jack, the man is a seer,” Charlie said. “He has special powers, exactly like those ancient prophets. Isaiah, Daniel, Ezekiel-he sees just like they did. How did he know the gun and safe question was the one that has been troubling me all these years? How could he have possibly known that?”
“It’s what he knows that he’s not telling that troubles me.”
“I knew back in ’eighty-two that he wasn’t being truthful about the gun being in the safe,” Charlie continued, now awake and fully alert. “But I never once challenged him on it, never brought it up. He knew before he opened the safe that the gun wasn’t in there. I should have pressed him harder, but I didn’t. That will always haunt me. It was not good detective work.”
“Don’t beat yourself up on that issue, Charlie. Questioning him about the gun wouldn’t have changed the outcome. Like you said, his fingerprints on the gun were powerfully persuasive evidence. Given those circumstances, I might not have asked the question, either.”
“Then you wouldn’t have been doing good detective work. I was suspicious, I should have asked. Simple as that.”
“You have to drop it, Charlie. What’s done is done. You can’t change the past.”
“Oh, really? Seems to me that’s precisely what you’re trying to do.”
Dantzler was happy to see the lights of Lexington on the horizon. Although he loved Charlie like a father, he was growing weary of hearing him whine about what he should or should not have done. It wasn’t constructive or enlightening. Whining didn’t help move an investigation forward.
It would be much different if Dan Matthews was in the car. Dantzler smiled at the thought. If Dan was sitting beside him, they wouldn’t dwell on past mistakes. There would certainly be no whining; Dan would slap a whiner. Instead, they would be tossing ideas and scenarios and possibilities back and forth like a tennis ball. They would challenge each other to come up with better ideas. They would be digging and digging until they reached the bottom of the case, where the answers are found.
“Are you doing any consoling tonight?” Dantzler asked, changing the subject.
“It’s too late for that. Besides, I’m in no mood to console anyone. I’m gonna have a couple of drinks, then I’m hitting the sack.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Dantzler said, adding, “although I’m sure Emily Danforth will be disappointed.”
“Yeah, well, she’ll get over it,” Charlie grumbled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Devon Fraley didn’t find out about Colt Rogers’s murder until early Sunday afternoon, the only day in the week she bought a newspaper. She made the purchase not for the news or entertainment, but to check the Lotto numbers. She spent five dollars every Saturday, always on Powerball, “the big one” as she liked to call it, hoping like millions of other dreamers to hit the once-in-a-lifetime jackpot. If she could only match those six numbers she wouldn’t have to scrounge around looking for full-time employment. She and her son, Mark, would be set for life.
She spent all day Saturday accompanying Mark’s fourth-grade class to Kings Island, an amusement park north of Cincinnati. It was the end-of-the-year school trip for all three fourth-grade classes, and it had been predictably chaotic. Keeping nearly one hundred wild and energetic kids in check at that place was no easy task. It took a battalion of eagle-eyed adults to manage it. No Child Left Behind took on real meaning in a situation like that. Blessedly, no child was left behind, lost, or injured. It had been a terrific day for everyone. She and Mark didn’t get back to Lexington until almost nine p.m. Both were so tired they immediately went to bed.
On Sunday morning, she asked Mark what he wanted for breakfast even though she knew what his answer would be-McDonald’s, of course. She would have a coronary if he chose some place other than Mickey D’s. She didn’t understand the fascination with the place-she rated the food only so-so-but try telling that to kids. To them it was a five-star restaurant.
After they finished eating, Mark asked if he could spend the afternoon with his cousin, Jordan, whose mother, Terri, was Devon’s older sister. Although Mark was almost two years younger than Jordan, the two boys had always been close. Mark was also extremely fond of Terri and her husband, Kevin, so much so in fact that Devon couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps her son saw in Terri’s stable family environment the very thing he sorely missed in his own home.
Mark had never known his father. Devon had only dated the man four or five times when she found out she was pregnant. It was on the night she broke the news to him that he informed her he was married, that he and his wife were separated but had now “worked things out” and were getting back together. Devon was devastated, but she held herself together, swore she wouldn’t ask the bastard for one red cent, and promised to raise her child by herself, regardless of how difficult the circumstances might be. And she had done exactly that, providing a loving home and a safe environment for Mark. It hadn’t been easy. There were many days when she wondered how she would make it financially, and an equal number of nights when she cried herself to sleep. Once or twice she had to borrow a few dollars from Terri, but for the most part she got by.
After dropping Mark off at Jordan’s, Devon drove to a convenient store and bought a paper. When she got back in the car, she immediately went to the page listing the Lotto results for Saturday’s drawing. Taking out her ticket, she began comparing numbers, her forefinger moving slowly across all five lines. One number in two different rows and that was it. Damn, she mumbled under her breath, what a bummer. Wadding the losing ticket up and tossing it into the empty seat next to her, she resigned herself to yet another week of accepting whatever crummy jobs the Pro-Temp Agency sent her way. It was better than nothing, she had to admit, but she simply had to find permanent employment.
Almost two hours later, while scanning the paper, she saw the article about Colt Rogers. She was stunned, couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Colt Rogers, dead? How could it be? What could possibly have happened?
The article was brief, six paragraphs wrapped around a mug shot of Rogers, and it didn’t offer much in the way of details. Devon read it three times, finally zeroing in on a quote from Captain Richard Bird.
We estimate that Mr. Rogers was killed sometime between 4:45 p.m. and 5:45 p.m.
Devon put together a timeline for Friday afternoon. Mr. Rogers gave her permission to leave at four-thirty, saying he was letting her go a half-hour early because she had done outstanding work. He did ask if she could swing by the Post Office and drop off the da
y’s mail. She had gathered up the stack of mail from the outgoing tray, thanked Mr. Rogers for the opportunity, adding that she would love to work for him in the future if at all possible, and walked out of the office at precisely four-thirty.
Between 4:45 p.m. and…
A wave of fear swept through Devon when she realized she had possibly missed the killer by a mere fifteen minutes. Had she stayed on the job until her actual quitting time-five p.m.-her name might have ended up in the newspaper article. There would have been two murder victims and she would have been one of them. The thought terrified her.
She phoned Terri and told her about Rogers’s death. She asked Terri if she should call the police and talk to them about it. Terri recommended holding off on that, arguing it wasn’t a good idea for Devon to get involved, especially since she really didn’t have any important information to offer. Besides, Terri said, if the police feel the need to speak with you, they’ll be in touch.
Devon really didn’t know anything worth telling. That had been her one and only time working for Mr. Rogers, and he had been out of the office for much of the day. The paralegal, a woman named Cheryl Likens, had been off all day as well. Devon spent most of the day alone in the office. She recalled that three of Mr. Rogers’s clients came by to pick up documents he had filled out. Two others came in asking to set up appointments with him, which Devon did. And there had been maybe a dozen phone calls, some from clients, still others wishing to speak with Mr. Rogers about him possibly representing them on certain legal matters. She had logged every caller’s name and message, and promised to give them to Mr. Rogers when he returned.