by Tom Wallace
Dantzler spent a week trying to connect with Tommy Whitehouse. He phoned numerous times, and stopped by the duplex at least once a day. Tommy never responded to Dantzler’s calls, nor did he answer the door when Dantzler went by the place, even though on at least three of those visits, Dantzler was certain Tommy was inside. Only through Rachel’s efforts did Tommy reluctantly agree to meet Dantzler.
Pulling up in front of the duplex, Dantzler saw Tommy peering out from a front window. Based on what he had learned from Rachel, Dantzler wasn’t sure how much pertinent information he would get from Tommy. But he was sure of one thing. An hour from now, when he walked out of the duplex after meeting Tommy Whitehouse, he would be sad and depressed. Exactly the way he felt every time he walked out of Tommy Blake’s apartment.
When Tommy opened the door and stepped onto the small porch, Dantzler felt as if he were looking at the face of his uncle Tommy. The similarities were eerie, almost identical. Dantzler wondered if perhaps they were for all lost souls. The sad eyes ringed by dark circles, eyes that seemed to view everyone and everything with suspicion. The gaunt face and pale skin, the black hair sprinkled with gray, the body thin but still muscular. The aura of lost hope. And yet, Dantzler recognized something in Tommy Whitehouse that he always saw in his uncle-despite the damage inflicted by time and abuse, more than a hint of youthful beauty was still present. The golden boy was lost, but not completely vanished.
Tommy nodded and waved Dantzler in without speaking. He followed Dantzler into the den and sat in a leather chair. Dantzler awkwardly stood in the middle of the room for several moments before finally settling into a wicker chair across from Tommy.
Dantzler could tell Tommy had been drinking. There were no overt signs, no alcohol in sight, no smell, but Dantzler had enough experience dealing with his uncle to know almost instinctively when an alcoholic was covering up his drinking. Tommy Whitehouse had probably begun hitting the bottle early in the day. Or maybe he had been drinking all night. With alcoholics, so good at concealing their symptoms, it was often difficult to know when the first drink of the day was taken. Tommy was not yet drunk, but he was heading in that direction.
Tommy cleared his throat, said, “I remember you from when I was a kid. You were this big tennis hero, the court prince who won all those tournaments. You were one of my idols. You and Johnny Bench.”
“Johnny Bench, huh? That’s heavy-duty company you’re putting me in with. The guy was the best.”
“Yes, he was.” Tommy dug into his shirt pocket, pulled out a roll of Certs, and popped one into his mouth. “Baseball was my best sport, but I did play a lot of tennis, too. I was pretty good, in fact. Not like you, of course, but, you know, I could hold my own. I have a racket somewhere-Rachel probably has it stored at her farm-that Pancho Gonzalez autographed for me. He was in Cincinnati for a tournament and I got him to sign it. Did you ever meet him?”
“I hit with him once at a juniors tournament in Las Vegas when I was twelve. After I’d won a couple of early matches, I was on one of the practice courts when he showed up. He watched me hit for a few minutes, then asked if I would mind hitting with him. I couldn’t believe it. Pancho Gonzalez asking to hit with me. I’m thinking, okay, this has to be a dream. But it wasn’t… it was real. I hit with him for about an hour. One of the great moments in my life.”
“Did you win the tournament?”
“Runner-up. Lost seven-five in the third set. Skinny little left-hander named McEnroe beat me.”
“Bummer.”
“Did Rachel tell you why I wanted to speak with you?” Dantzler asked.
“Something to do with my father, right?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe he is innocent and I’m trying to uncover the truth.”
“Good luck.”
“Do you think he’s guilty?”
Tommy shrugged. “No, I don’t. But a ton of evidence says he is.”
“True,” Dantzler said, “But after looking into it-”
“Would you excuse me for a second?” Tommy said, standing. “I’m in desperate need of a drink of water.”
“Sure. I’m in no hurry.”
Tommy was gone less than two minutes before returning to his chair. He popped another Certs into his mouth, leaned back, and hands clasped behind his head. “What were you saying, Detective Dantzler?”
“When did you start drinking again?” Dantzler said.
“What makes you think I’m drinking? Didn’t Rachel tell you? I haven’t touched a drop in almost six months.”
“Cut the denial act, Tommy. You had a drink. I know you did.”
“I had water.”
“You had booze.”
“Okay, so I had a drink. So what? It’s not the end of the world. Anyway, I’ve got it under control now. I know when to stop.”
“You’re an alcoholic, Tommy. You should never start.”
“When did you become my AA counselor?”
“I’m not.”
“Then put the brakes on your stop drinking lecture and get back to being a detective. You want to know about Eli, ask about Eli.”
“All right. Let’s talk about the night of the murders. Where were you when they happened?”
“At home, in my room, watching TV.”
“How did you find out about it?”
“When the phone call came, I heard a lot of noise coming from downstairs. I went down to see what was going on. Mom told me something terrible had happened at the barn on Eli’s property. She said Eli was on his way to the scene. I didn’t find out about the two guys being killed until the next morning. I think Isaac came by the house and told me.”
“Did you know either of the two victims?”
“Never met either one.”
“Do you think Isaac knew them?”
“You’d have to ask him. But I rather doubt it.”
“Why do you say that?”
Tommy laughed. “Because Isaac only associated with the upper crust of society, if you get my drift. Those two guys were a few levels below his standard.”
“What’s your relationship with Isaac?”
“We have the same DNA.”
“You’re not close?”
“No, Detective Dantzler, we aren’t close.”
“Did you know Greg Spurlock or Angie Iler? They were the ones who discovered the bodies.”
“No. I didn’t know them.”
“What was your initial reaction when you heard your father was being charged with the crime?”
“I thought the cops were crazy.”
“Why did you think the cops were crazy?”
“There is no way Eli Whitehouse would tie up two total strangers, put a twenty-two caliber pistol to the back of each one’s head and systematically blow them away. That’s more than preposterous; it’s insane. And all that crap about drugs? Eli hated taking any type of medication, including prescription drugs. The notion he was involved in some kind of drug deal gone sour is off-the-charts preposterous. Nothing about that entire scenario added up. Nothing.”
“You’ve obviously given this a lot of thought,” Dantzler said. “Give me your version of a scenario that does make sense.”
“Someone murdered those two guys and then set my father up to take the fall.”
“I agree with you. But that leaves me with two obvious questions. First, who is that someone, and second, why did Eli take the fall without putting up a fight?”
“Hey, I’m just a drunk, remember? You’re the cop. You find the answers.”
“You knew the combination to the safe, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, we all did. So did Abe Basham, Eli’s attorney. And there may have been one or two others who knew, but I couldn’t swear to that.”
“Eli kept the gun in the safe, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“On the night of the murders, Eli swore the gun was in the safe. It wasn’t. How do you think it came to be missing?”
“Well, obviously, someone opened the safe and took it.”
“Who, other than family members and Abe Basham, could have taken the gun?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me about your relationship with Eli,” Dantzler said.
“He was a preacher. I was a cocky, headstrong fifteen-year-old kid. You do the math. We got along, but there were definitely moments when we clashed.”
“Sounds normal.” Dantzler noticed a lone photograph on the table next to Tommy’s chair. “Is that you and Eli?”
Tommy picked up the photo and stared at it for almost a minute. His eyes clouded over with tears. Finally, he placed the photo back on the table.
“Me and the old man,” he said. “Back in the day.”
“Rachel tells me you’ve not been to the prison once since Eli was incarcerated. Twenty-nine years without seeing your father. That’s a harsh sentence for both of you.”
“I don’t want to see my father behind prison bars. I’d prefer to remember him like this.” Tommy pointed to the photo of him and his father. “And for him to remember me like this. Before the nightmare began.”
“You do know he has terminal cancer?”
“Rachel told me.”
“I’m sure he would love to see you.”
“Then clear up this case before he dies, because that’s the only way I’ll see him. Free, not in a cold prison cell or a prison hospital.”
“Can you think of anyone who would want to do this to Eli?”
“No.”
“No enemies you can think of?”
“Eli didn’t have enemies, only followers.”
“I hate to tell you this, Tommy, but he had at least one enemy. This situation didn’t happen in a vacuum. Somebody made it happen.”
“Had to be an outsider.”
“You mean, not someone in Eli’s congregation?”
“No. I mean someone from outside of this area.”
“Why would a stranger want to set Eli up?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”
“Has anyone you’re familiar with died within the past three weeks? Maybe someone Eli knew? A friend of his from the old days, or a former member of his congregation?”
“Why are you asking me a question like that?”
“Because Eli told me the answer to this mystery could be found in the Herald’s obituary section. We’ve checked out the backgrounds of everyone who died within the time frame given to us by Eli and we’ve come up empty.”
“To be honest with you, I rarely read the newspaper anymore. Occasionally, I’ll look at the Sports Section, but that’s about it.”
Dantzler thought for a few moments, then said, “The last time I visited Eli, right before I left, he said something strange. He said, ‘think of Jesus’s empty tomb.’ Do you have any idea what he might have meant?”
“I don’t know. Could be he was telling you his prison cell-his tomb-will be empty after this nightmare ends.”
“You could be right.”
“You don’t sound convinced,” Tommy said.
“I think Eli was trying to direct me down a path leading to the truth. My problem is, I can’t seem to find that path.”
“My father is innocent, Detective Dantzler. That much you can be sure of.”
Dantzler stood, took a card from his coat pocket, and handed it to Tommy. “If you think of anything that might be helpful, call me at either of those numbers. Anytime, day or night.”
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell Rachel about the drinking,” Tommy said. “I’ve disappointed her enough times already.”
“She’s not concerned about you disappointing her,” Dantzler said, stepping outside. “Her only concern is that you keep disappointing yourself.”
“Yeah, well, maybe tomorrow will be the day,” Tommy said, lowering his eyes. “The day when an angel of the Lord opens the Seal and all answers are revealed, all tribulations are laid to rest, and all nightmares come to an end.”
“That’s a nice thought, Tommy. But until the angel shows up, you need to take better care of yourself. Stop drinking and get some help. You’re the only one who can end your nightmare.”
Those were words Dantzler had said a hundred times to his uncle Tommy. They hadn’t worked with him, and they wouldn’t work with Tommy Whitehouse. Both men were not only haunted and tragic, they were doomed.
*****
As Dantzler climbed into his Forester, he was unaware of the white Toyota Camry parked on the opposite side of the street a half-block away from Tommy Whitehouse’s duplex. Dantzler had no reason to notice the car or the man sitting low behind the steering wheel, his blue eyes partially covered by a black baseball cap. Had Dantzler seen the man, he would not have known him. The two had never met, never been in the presence of each other. In all likelihood, had Dantzler noticed the man, he would have tabbed him as one of the locals who lived in the neighborhood. Most likely a patient father waiting for his wife and kids to join him. He would have been wrong.
The man was a cold-blooded killer.
But Dantzler was not aware of this as he slowly drove away from Tommy’s duplex. His thoughts were elsewhere, trapped between the sadness he felt for Tommy Whitehouse and his frustration with Eli’s continuing silence. After turning left onto Redding Road, unable to shake his dark mood, he glanced up at his rear-view mirror.
Only one other car in sight.
A white Toyota Camry.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
For more than four hours, from five p.m. until a little past nine, Dantzler read the Bible. New Testament, the four gospels. But unlike his previous reading, when he concentrated solely on the section detailing the women discovering Jesus’s empty tomb, this time he did a complete reading of the four books. He did, however, make one slight swerve from standard procedure. Knowing most biblical scholars are in agreement that Mark’s account was the first gospel written, he began with that one. Next, he read Matthew and Luke, followed by John’s very late gospel, which scholars estimate may have been written more than a half-century after Jesus’s death.
Finished, he looked at the yellow legal pad on the table next to the Bible. It was blank, not a single notation. This came as no surprise. He hadn’t really expected to learn anything from this most recent reading that he didn’t already know, and he hadn’t. Think of Jesus’s empty tomb was as much a mystery to him now as it had been for those frightened women two-thousand years ago.
Nothing he found was going to move Eli’s case forward one inch.
Dantzler closed the Bible, went into the kitchen, and mixed a Pernod and orange juice. He took a couple of sips, thought about getting something to eat, maybe ordering Chinese, but decided it was too late for a big meal. Alcohol would have to suffice for now.
When he came back into the den, he was surprised to see Laurie standing by the door, a single key dangling from a silver ring. “You’re quieter than a damn cat burglar,” he said, sitting at the table.
“Have the guts of a cat burglar, too.”
“You keep sneaking in here like this and you’ll be dead as a cat burglar.”
“Do cat burglars have nine lives?”
“Keep this up and you’ll find out.”
She walked to the table, picked up his glass, and sniffed. “Yuck, that is disgusting. How can you stand to drink this nasty stuff?”
“How can you not?”
“Easy.” Laurie looked at the Bible resting on the table. “What’s with the Bible study?”
“I’m thinking of joining the ministry.”
“Bad idea.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“Doesn’t suit you. You were born to put bad guys away, not save bad guys’ souls.”
“I was born to play tennis.”
“And now look at you-a Bible-reading Homicide dick.” She sat, dropped the key into her purse, said, “Learn anything new?”
“Nothing that will help me solve Eli’s
mystery.”
“How inconsiderate of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John to leave the great Jack Dantzler dangling. To make his life more difficult.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
“Well, those guys had their own mystery to solve.” Laurie pulled the Bible closer to her and opened it. “Would you read the Bible if you didn’t think it might help you solve a case?”
“I never read the Bible. I study it. More than you might think.”
“Do you believe in God?”
“Eli asked me the same question.”
“And your response?”
“Said I believe in a Creator. A God beyond the God of the Bible.”
“Sounds rather impersonal,” Laurie said. “Do you believe God loves us?”
“I don’t see much evidence that he does.”
“The evidence was nailed to a cross.”
“Lots of people agree with you on that.”
“You don’t?”
Dantzler paused for a moment, and then said, “Look, I don’t doubt Jesus was crucified. And maybe Jesus honestly saw himself as the Messiah. I don’t know. But what I cannot believe is that God came down to Earth in human form and allowed himself to be murdered. To essentially commit suicide. That’s beyond my ability to comprehend. God is God, and if he truly is the Almighty, the died-on-the-cross scenario simply doesn’t work for me.”
“Jesus or God or… whomever-died for our sins,” Laurie said.
“That’s yet another bone of contention for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“The notion that a human being had to suffer and die-be murdered-to atone for the sin of eating an apple. To me, that’s a grotesque basis upon which to build a religion.”
Laurie shook her head. “I think it’s a lot more complex than that. I mean, Jesus died to atone for all of our sins. Not just Adam’s. Anyway, why are you harping on this? You probably don’t even believe the Garden of Eden story in the first place.”