The heavy pickup barely rocked when the door opened and Hitch sat down. The interior smelled of cherry tobacco and was cool in tree’s shade.
“What do you need?”
The old man sucked at his empty pipe, studying the man opposite. His accent gave nothing away, but the old man suspected he’d spent time inside. Even after all these months, Hitch refused to discuss his past and the old man thought that best. Sometimes, the less known the better.
“I got a situation.”
“A problem?”
“Of sorts,” the old man allowed. “But it’s delicate.”
“How so?”
“I need to send a message to the po-lice. One of the officers is stirring things up.”
“How strong a message?”
“Permanent.” The old man shifted and looked in the amber eyes opposite. “And public.”
“Pain?”
“Up to you.”
“Souvenirs?”
“Just the usual.”
Hitch took in the name and details of his prey. “How soon?”
“Tonight.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“I know it, son. But I’ve got faith in you. You’ll find payment plus a bonus in the customary place in the morning.”
CHAPTER 30
CASS JUMPED WHEN MITCH tapped her shoulder. She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes, then smiled crookedly up at him and patted the open book on her desk. “This is some funky stuff.”
“Funky how?” he asked, pulling a chair up to her desk and flipping through the creamy pages covered with elaborate script and colorful scenes.
“It’s all sorts of religious stuff. I don’t think it’s the Bible, even though it sounds like it. Listen to this. It’s supposed to come from First Thessalonians: ‘For we believe that Jesus has died and risen again, and that through Jesus, God will bring with Him the True Believer and their beloved who have passed away. For this we declare to you on the Lord’s own authority—that the True Believers who are alive and continue on earth until the Coming of the Lord, shall certainly forestall those who in darkness would extinguish The Light. For the Lord Himself will come down from Heaven with a loud word of command, and with an archangel’s voice and the trumpet of God, and the dead in The Church will rise first and through Christ smite the darkness. Afterwards the True Believers who are alive and are still on earth will be caught up amid the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so The Church shall be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage one another with these words.’”
“Sounds like the Bible to me.”
She grimaced. “I need to talk to Deacon Cronus this morning. Maybe I can borrow a Bible from the church to compare it to.”
“You’d better get going, it’s nearly lunch time. I’ll go pick something up. Chubby’s all right?”
“Fine with me. See if Grey and Bernie can free up from whatever they’re into. I’d like to know what’s going on with those bones from the fire pit.” She closed the heavy volume on her desk. “Would it be all right if I showed this to Deacon Cronus? Ask him what he thinks?”
“I don’t see why not. I wouldn’t expect a preacher to be involved, would you?”
____________
DEACON CRONUS WAS SLOUCHED forward as far as his bulk would allow. A beefy hand supported his bearded face as he read the document on his desk. Framed photographs of his family dotted the credenza behind him, showing the Deacon as a proud husband and father of three boys and two girls. The photos showed the family’s progression from infant and toddler stages, with the Deacon’s wife looking particularly exhausted, through to the most current, which showed the oldest two boys as teenagers, the youngest girl as around seven years old. Other photographs dotted the walls, commemorating the various mission activities Deacon Cronus had organized. Cass spoke softly from the door.
“Good morning, Deacon. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
His head jerked upright and he forced a smile. “Hello Cass. What a beautiful morning God has made for us. It’s good to see you,” he answered in a voice crafted to hold a congregation’s attention, waving her toward a chair. His eyes snagged on the book folded in her arms. She sat and balanced it on her lap, out of his line of sight. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes, sir. Two things actually. I’d imagine that you’ve heard we found a skeleton last week.”
“God rest his soul.”
“He was an older man from Arkansas, named Humberto Gonzalez.”
“Humberto Gonzalez,” he repeated. “It’s familiar, but I can’t place him.”
“He was in the country illegally. Could he have attended one of your outreach services?”
“Perhaps,” Deacon Cronus shrugged and then his eyes, dark raisins in the doughy softness of his face, narrowed in thought. “There was one elderly man late last year. He came to several of the services but wouldn’t tell me his name.”
“Why not?”
“He was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Something he called diablo de luz.”
“A devil of light?”
Deacon Cronus nodded.
Her mind flew to Goober’s “anonymous” phone call Saturday night, reporting that a devil made of light had started a fire in the forest. Could it be coincidence that someone else had been afraid of a devil of light? “What do you think that meant?”
“I have no idea, but the man was terrified. He asked that I sprinkle him with holy water, and while that’s something more in line with what a Catholic priest would do, I collected some water from the infant baptismal and,” his hands fluttered, “sprinkled it over him while I prayed for his protection.”
“From a devil,” Cass stated.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Well, we’d appreciate if you’d ask your Mexican congregation about Humberto Gonzalez.” She snapped her fingers. “Although a missing person’s report hasn’t been filed, the sheriff up where Mr. Gonzalez lived believes that his son has gone missing as well.”
“How bizarre. I suppose it’s good that we have a name for the elderly man now, and know something about him. Do you have any suspects with regards to his death?”
“We don’t, which is why your help is so critical.”
Deacon Cronus nodded solemnly, chins multiplying with each downward movement. “I’ll mention both Humberto Gonzalez and his son and be in touch if I hear anything. There was a second matter you wanted to discuss?”
Cass lifted the heavy volume from her lap and balanced it on his desk, preparing to speak. Deacon Cronus shoved back from his desk and his mouth formed a comical ‘o’. Her gut contracted. Instinct told her to move slowly.
“I wanted to ask your opinion about this book,” she said, placing one hand on its cover.
“Wh –,” he cleared his throat, “where did you come across it?”
“It’s part of an ongoing investigation. Do you know it?”
“I, uh,” he said, dabbing at his damp forehead with a snowy handkerchief and squinting at the book’s title. “The Church of the True Believer? No, no I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”
The knot in her stomach twisted. “Deacon? Are you all right?”
He smiled weakly. “I had a tummy virus this weekend. Must not be over it.”
“Then I won’t keep you,” she replied, standing and balancing the heavy tome on one hip. His eyes stayed locked on her face. “No offense, Deacon, but you’re looking a bit peaked. You might want to see a doctor.”
With effort, he shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Really,” he answered. “I’m glad you stopped by. I’ll be in touch about Humberto Gonzalez.”
“Thank you. I’ll let myself out.”
She pulled his office door closed and waved good-bye through the window before walking slowly down the hall. Her boots clunked on the bright linoleum as she passed offices humming with life, and her mind gnawed over the Deacon’s reaction to the book she carried. He’d seen it before; s
he was sure of it. But why would he lie? Only if, she reasoned, he was involved in this group of men and their sexual activities. The thought of Deacon Cronus as a sexual being brought a hushed gasp of laughter to her lips. Cass tried to remember the various shapes of the men in the photographs from Lenny Scarborough’s house. One in particular had a sagging gut. But as she had with Mayor Rusted, Cass discounted Deacon Cronus as a candidate for that man, simply because his girth was too great. She shook the image from her mind. Short of asking him to expose himself, she had no way of knowing whether he was in any of the photos. Glancing at the book she carried, she remembered that she’d wanted a Bible for comparison. She’d stopped at a door labeled ‘Pastor’s Office’, and on impulse tapped lightly. After a moment, it opened and a fair-haired man smiled at her. “Good morning.”
“Uh, hello,” she said, startled at his youthful appearance. “I’m Detective Cass Elliot, with the sheriff’s office. Are you the pastor?”
“I am,” he smiled, pulling the door open. She shifted the book in her arms and shook his hand. “Luke Knightman. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I just wondered if I could borrow a Bible.”
“Of course, Detective Elliot,” he answered, gesturing to the low bookshelves lining one wall of his office. “What version do you want?”
“Call me Cass,” she answered. “Um, something modern? Without the thee’s and thou’s?”
He motioned her toward a chair and squatted next to the bookshelves. Vertical blinds moved gently with the breeze from a ceiling fan and late morning sunlight rippled across the blood red carpet. He reached for a fat volume and placed it on his desk. “Is there something specific you wanted?”
She hesitated, examining him across the desk. He wasn’t as young as she’d initially thought. His hair was thinning and laugh lines had started to carve themselves near his eyes and alongside his mouth. He exuded an air of ease with himself and his world. Of comfort and dependability. But if it was possible that Deacon Cronus was one of this secret group, then wasn’t it also possible that Pastor Luke Knightman could be, as well? He was trim and his hair fair. She thought that most of the men in the Scarborough photos would be a bit heavier than this man, and perhaps a little hairier in the abdomen and groin area than she judged Pastor Knightman would be. Suddenly, she found herself blinking hard against the laughter caught in her throat. There was absolutely no point in trying to guess whether any man was part of this group. He looked at her expectantly. What the heck, she told herself. In for a dime, in for a dollar. The knot in her stomach untangled itself. “Pastor Knightman, can I ask you to look at something? Confidentially?”
“Of course. But please call me Pastor Luke. Pastor Knightman is my father.”
She smiled and lifted the heavy book to his desk. “This is part of a murder investigation.”
“Oh,” he said. “How can I help?”
“It’s called The Church of the True Believer. Have you heard of it?”
Pastor Luke pursed his lips and shook his head. “Should I have?”
“I don’t know. It’s not part of the materials you’d normally use?”
“No. I don’t think I’ve come across it, even as a reference in a footnote.” He turned to his computer and typed. “I don’t see any references to it on the internet, either.”
She hesitated. “Is it something Deacon Cronus might have seen before?”
“I doubt it. Why?”
“I stopped to see him on my way in, and he reacted strangely to it.”
“Well, he had a stomach bug over the weekend, so maybe he still isn’t feeling well. I don’t know where he would’ve come across it.”
Cass nodded, still uncertain at the explanation. “I started to read it this morning and got confused. It reads like it’s a religious text, or maybe a set of instructions, but,” she blushed, “I don’t know the Bible very well, and I wanted to compare some passages.”
He chuckled and reached across the desk. “May I?”
Pastor Luke flipped through the pages, taking his time and stopping frequently to read. “I see why you’re confused.” He checked the publication date and quickly scanned the book’s opening paragraphs. Drawing a deep breath, he glanced again at the bookshelves, seeming to consider his words. “It’s very well done. Bottom line though, this book is the basis for a cult.”
“Cult?” She moved forward in her chair. “I tend to think of Waco or the Kool-Aid guy. Is that what you mean?”
“Cults are about control, simple as that. David Koresh isolated his followers from their families and other support networks, forcing them to rely on him alone and increasing their vulnerability. Jim Jones took his control to an extreme and demanded that his followers sacrifice themselves as a demonstration of their commitment. I’d need to study this more closely to understand what this group is trying to achieve. But from scanning it,” he fanned the pages, “it’s twisting the Bible for some purpose.”
“Have you heard of any cult activity around here?”
“No.” He flipped again to the publication page. “And given the length of time that has passed since this book was published in the ’twenties, you’d think word would’ve gotten out.”
“That’s one of the reasons this is so confusing. Can I show you one of the passages, and get your reaction to it?”
“Of course.” She found the page for him. He read through the paragraph and frowned. “It’s close to First Thessalonians Chapter 4, but it’s been doctored,” he said, reaching for the Bible. He turned translucent pages and read, eyes distant as he finished his comparison, then tapped The Church of the True Believer. “This passage is based on verses thirteen to eighteen. More restrictive as to those who will share in the rapture…”
She closed her eyes as she listened, opening them when he stopped mid-sentence. He was smiling shyly. “Members of the congregation do fall asleep during a sermon, but they’re usually much older than you.”
Cass grinned. “I’m sorry. Closing my eyes helps me concentrate,” she said, checking her watch. “This will sound a little forward, but do you have lunch plans?”
Pastor Luke’s smile widened and he scratched the back of his neck. “No, I don’t.”
“I should tell you that I have an ulterior motive. We’re a pretty ignorant bunch. I’d like to buy you lunch from Chubby’s if you’ll join me at the courthouse, and give my partners a lesson in cults. Does that sound like a fair trade?”
“Throw in a chocolate shake and you’ve got a deal.”
Cass reached for her phone. “Onion rings, fries, or both?”
CHAPTER 31
DEACON CRONUS SAT IN silence after Cass left his office, eyes closed as he hunched over the papers on his desk. This was dangerous. For those who don’t possess the wisdom to understand the message of The Church of the True Believer, misinterpretation is a possibility. He wondered if the book would have to be burned since a woman had soiled it. And now that it was in the possession of the police, how would they ever get it back?
He drew a long, shaky breath. Lenny Scarborough’s death, he fervently believed, was Satan clawing at The Church, trying to unravel the tightly knit group. If that happened… he shuddered at the thought of what would be lost. Deacon Cronus jerked upright when the phone vibrated against his hip. He snatched it from its holster and snapped it open.
“Did you know the Elliot woman has the book?” he demanded.
The old man was silent for a beat. “Not her, specifically, but yes, I knew the police had it.”
“What do we do now? A woman has… has handled it. The book is lost to us. It will have to be destroyed.”
“Slow down, Deacon. You sound upset.”
“I am. Lenny has jeopardized us all. And his book,” Deacon Cronus breathed heavily into the phone, “has to be retrieved and destroyed. How will we replace it?”
“Calm down, Deacon. Be mindful of your heart.”
Cronus grimaced. The old man was an expert at manipul
ation. “It’s too much, that’s all. Lenny’s death. His murder.” He ran a hand across his damp forehead. “Good Lord. We have his briefcase, but lost the book. The names in the book. This is a nightmare. Have you warned them?”
“Those who need to know, yes.”
“Are we safe? Shouldn’t we do something?”
Again the old man was silent. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. “You were chosen for a reason, you know that, don’t you Deacon? You have a powerful gift from the Lord, the ability to understand and translate His Word for those who have ears to hear, the True Believers. You alone are The Light of this generation.” He paused as the other man’s breathing slowed. “Your distress over these issues is why I’ve taken The Church’s operational burden on myself. To spare you the frustration of running The Church and its day-to-day activities. We need you focused on the Lord, not on these matters. And we need you now, more than ever before.”
Cronus held his breath and let the warmth of the old man’s praise seep into his bones. He bowed his head and spoke softly. “I understand. And I… I recognize and appreciate the weight that you carry on behalf of us all. Your strength continues to amaze me. You are a blessing.”
“I am only pleased to do the truth that I may come into The Light.” The old man drew a quick breath. “We need to move ahead quickly. With Lenny’s death, the Circle of Illumination cannot be closed. Have you given thought to the selection?”
“I um, well,” the Deacon blustered, “I have read through Acts Chapter 1 and reviewed the footnotes in the text. What are your thoughts?”
On the other end of the call, the old man smiled. “I’ll ask the others to come to the house tonight. You’ll need to spend some time considering an opening prayer and an invitation to The Brethren.”
“Your house? Is that wise?”
“The missus has no idea what we’re about, Deacon. She’ll be only too pleased to make cookies and brew coffee.”
“If you’re sure that there’s no risk now that the police have the text…”
“I’ll tell her that we’re gathering to mourn a respected man, and that’ll be the story that hits the grapevine.”
The Devil of Light Page 13