Sick Man

by Paul Spencer

  Chapter 16 – Pillar of the Community

  We walked around the corner to Holman’s. It was early enough for the place to be mostly empty, so we grabbed a couple of seats at the bar. Jeremy saw us and came straight over.

  “Hi, Mick,” he said, then looked Tony up and down. “You’re the Hendricks martini guy, right? What was your name again?”

  “Tony.”

  “Welcome back, Tony. I’m not great at names, but I always remember a drink. Can I get you one?”

  “Yeah, but give me olives this time instead of a twist.”

  “You got it. Mick?”

  “The usual for me,” I said.

  “Coming right up.” Jeremy put a couple of glasses of water in front of us, then went off to make our drinks.

  Tony took a drink of his water. “You think it was smart to piss Buchanan off like that?”

  “Screw him.” I shook my head. “Ah, maybe not, but I wasn’t exactly thinking straight at the time. I’ll call him back. But first, I need something to calm my nerves.”

  As if on cue, Jeremy came back and gave us our drinks. “Are you doing okay, Mick?” he said. “You look pale.”

  “Rough day,” I said, and took a big gulp of my drink. The vodka burn felt good. “You see anyone unexpected in here lately? Anyone weird?”

  Jeremy spread his arms wide, giving us a good view of the extensive tattoos on his arms and neck. “This is Southeast Portland, Mick. All my customers are weird.”

  “You know what I mean. Someone unexpected. Maybe someone who was here a couple of nights ago, too, when I clocked Aaron.”

  Jeremy’s eyes widened. “Is this to do with Aaron getting killed? I thought you said you weren’t involved.”

  I decided not to tell Jeremy too much. I trusted the kid, but I didn’t want to take any chances. “I told you I didn’t kill him, and I didn’t. But the cops won’t leave me alone.” I drained the rest of my drink. “I’ll take another, please.”

  Jeremy looked thoughtful. “No, I haven’t seen anyone unusual lately. Let me get your drink, then I want to hear more about this.” He grabbed a fresh glass, threw some ice in, filled it almost to the top with vodka, topped it off with a splash of cranberry, and handed it to me.

  “There you go,” he said. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

  “Not much to tell, really. We’ve been asking some questions, trying to find out who killed Aaron. Turns out it might be related to that church we talked about. What were they called again?”

  “The Servants of Christ? Someone at the church is involved?”

  “Could be.”

  “But why would they want to kill Aaron?”

  “I think I’m starting to figure that out. Did you go there at all?”

  “Yes, I went to a couple of services.”

  “Did you meet a guy named Arnold Larsen?”

  “That name doesn’t ring a bell. But it must be ten years since I went there. I was still a teenager.”

  “How extreme are they? Do you think they could be violent?”

  “Most of the congregation was very subservient. But the Elders were scary. Especially the First Minister. He was terrifying.”

  “How so?”

  “He was just crazy intense. He had this deep voice, and his sermons were full of threats of damnation for the slightest thing. He was especially hard on kids. I talked to a guy after one of the services, and apparently if the First Minister caught you doing something wrong, he had all kinds of weird punishments. Even stuff that wasn’t your fault. The guy said that one time a kid got an abscess in his tooth, and the First Minister wouldn’t let his parents take him to the dentist. Something about God made it happen, and if they wanted it cured, they should pray to God to fix it. The poor kid was in agony for weeks until the tooth finally fell out. That’s why I didn’t join. All that extreme stuff, claiming it was God’s will. It wasn’t my God’s will, that’s for sure.”

  “Can you describe the First Minister?”

  “He was really tall. Maybe six four or six five, but skinny. His face looked like that painting. You know the one? I think it’s called ‘The Scream’.”

  Tony looked up from his martini. “Sounds like Larsen.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “it does.”

  “Did he kill Aaron?” Jeremy said.

  “I doubt it. But I’ve got a feeling he’s involved somehow.”

  “But why, Mick?”

  “That’s the bit we’re still working on.” I sighed. “Tony, you got any ideas?”

  “Yeah,” he said, and waved his empty glass. “I think I’m going to have another martini.”

  Jeremy made Tony another drink while I stared into mine. I didn’t tell Jeremy about the death threat for a reason, but I still needed to figure out what was going on. I had to be missing something. Larsen had plenty of reason to be mad at Aaron, and he had plenty of reasons to be mad at me. But there wasn’t any connection between Aaron and me. I knew from experience that Larsen was a very smart man. Despite what Jeremy said about him being cruel, killing Aaron and me to avenge unrelated past slights didn’t make sense. I needed more information, and I knew where to get it.

  “I think I know how we find out whether Larsen really is involved,” I said.

  Tony raised his eyebrows at me. “How?”

  “We go out there tomorrow and ask him.”

  Chapter 17 – Customer Service

  We finished our drinks and left, then went over to Sub Rosa for dinner. Over pasta and Chianti, we made our plan for the next day. Tony insisted that I stay at his place for the night, and I was too tired to argue, so after dinner we went by my apartment to pick up a few things. I called Buchanan back and gave him more information about our visit to Diane’s place. He still wasn’t happy, but he seemed to accept my version of events. Judging by the frustration in his voice, it didn’t sound like they were making much progress in the investigation.

  I went to bed around midnight, and I couldn’t get to sleep. I tried to relax and let go, but questions kept chasing themselves in my mind. Would Larsen really kill Aaron over some child porn case a couple of years ago? And what did he want with me? He had been furious when I blew his case, but that was years ago. Why come after me for it now? I stared at the ceiling for hours, but no answers came. I drifted off eventually and slept fitfully for an hour or two.

  The next morning, I did my best to shake off the cobwebs with a cold shower, hot coffee, and one of Tony’s trademark breakfast feasts. I managed to pull myself together enough to muster a reasonably convincing fake cough when I called my boss to tell him I wouldn’t be in again, then we cleared the breakfast things and headed down to the Servants of Christ church.

  I spent the drive brooding about seeing Larsen again. Even though I knew my downfall was my own fault, a part of me still blamed him. He epitomized everything I hated about practicing law. I knew better than most that everyone is innocent until proven guilty, that everyone has the right to an attorney and a fair trial. Great defense lawyers believe that in their souls, and they give their utmost for any client, no matter how heinous their crimes. But Larsen was a racist, homophobic piece of shit, and I wasn’t a big enough person to be able to put that aside. Just thinking about him made me angry enough to blow a gasket.

  When we arrived, the rain was coming down like it was being poured from a bucket. Tony parked as close to the front door as he could, and we ran inside. The lobby seemed more like an office than a church. It had green carpet, plastic plants, and a receptionist sat behind a large wooden desk by the corridor at the far end. The receptionist was a small woman with straight brown hair. Her plain white blouse had long sleeves, and was buttoned tight at the neck.

  “Can I help you, gentlemen?” she said, in a soft, high-pitched voice.

  “We need to speak to Arnold Larsen,” I said, as I marched past her desk. “Tell him Mick Wray is here.”

  “Wait! You can’t go down there!”

  She tried to grab my arm, but
I brushed her off and headed down the corridor, looking for Larsen. Doors lined each side, but none of the name plates were his. The receptionist stood up and shouted.

  “Elder Robbins! Help!”

  A door opened to my right, and a short, pudgy man in a brown suit came out.

  “What is it, Mary?” he said.

  “I need to see Arnold Larsen,” I said, my face so close to his I could smell the soap he scrubbed his chubby red cheeks with. “Now.”

  “You can’t just barge in here,” he said, backing off rapidly. “This is Church property. I could have you arrested!”

  “Try it. See what happens.”

  “Mary, call the police,” he said, backing off further.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  I knew that voice, and despite my anger, a chill ran down my spine. At the end of the corridor, a man stood in an open doorway, watching the commotion, a hint of a smile on his face.

  “Why don’t you step into my office, Mr. Wray?” Arnold Larsen said. “Bring your little friend. And you should join us, Elder Robbins. We shall need a witness to this conversation. I have a feeling Mr. Wray is going to accuse me of something.”

  Larsen turned and went back into his office without waiting to see if we would follow. We did, of course, and soon Tony, Elder Robbins, and I found ourselves standing in front of a large oak desk. Larsen sat behind the desk, his hands folded on top of a worn, leather-bound Bible. I couldn’t escape the feeling of being summoned to the principal’s office.

  “Please, sit,” Larsen said, gesturing at the chairs against the opposite wall of the office.

  “I’ll stand,” I said.

  “Suit yourself.” Larsen leaned forward. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Wray? And might I say, you look very well. The last time I saw you, I must admit I was worried about you.”

  I ignored the bait. “You know why we’re here.”

  “I can honestly say that I do not.”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit. I know about Aaron Jones and what happened here at the church. And I know you.”

  “Please don’t blaspheme on Church property, Mr. Wray. Yes, the Aaron Jones matter. I heard about his death, of course. And I heard that the police had spoken to you. They came to see me late yesterday, as I imagine you expected. I confess I shed no tears for that little pederast. But I’ll tell you what I told them. Neither I nor any other member of the Church was involved in any way.”

  “After what Aaron did here five years ago, do you expect me to believe that?”

  “Aaron Jones became dead to me and everyone else in this Church five years ago. He was excommunicated, and barred from having any contact with Church members, including his own family. Why would I want to kill him? He has already suffered the ultimate punishment. He was cast adrift and denied entrance to the Kingdom of God.”

  “What about me? You’re the only connection between me and Aaron.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Larsen said. He spread his hands, wide-eyed and innocent, but beside me I could feel Elder Robbins tense up.

  “Whoever killed Aaron also threatened me. You’re the only person with a motive to harm us both.”

  “Oh please, Mr. Wray. Do you honestly think you’re that important? Yes, I admit I was angry with you when you pulled that pathetic stunt at my trial. I know what you did, and I know why you did it. But to suggest that I would want to kill you for it is ludicrous. In case you weren’t aware, we at the Church have much larger concerns than an ex-lawyer with a drinking problem.” He picked up the Bible and tapped it on his desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”

  “Don’t think this is over,” I said, and turned to leave. Tony followed me, then stopped in the doorway.

  “Listen, asshole,” he said, “I know a lot of people who would love to play piñata with you. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from us.”

  He shut the door and followed me out. We were almost at the front door when Elder Robbins hurried up to us.

  “Mr. Wray,” he said, “wait.”

  He looked back over his shoulder at Larsen’s door, as if to make sure it was still closed, then handed me a business card. “Perhaps you could call me later? There are some things we should discuss.” I took the card, and Robbins walked quickly back to his office.

  Tony and I exchanged puzzled glances.

  “What was all that about?” he said.

  “I have no idea. I’m looking forward to finding out, though.” I looked at my watch. “Ready for some lunch?”

  “I’m always ready for lunch,” Tony replied.

  Chapter 18 – Strange Times

  Since we were down that way anyway, we went to Kenny’s Noodle House at 82nd and Powell. When we walked in the door, the rich, savory smells of Chinese cooking were overpowering. We found a table, and our server came over quickly. Tony ordered beef brisket and squid balls with lai fun noodles. That sounded a bit adventurous for me, so I got a bowl of the congee. The heavy rain outside made it feel like a good day for some rice porridge. The waitress took our orders and menus.

  “What did you make of that?” I said.

  “He’s lying,” Tony replied. “That smug prick is behind it all right.”

  “Yeah, I agree. I wonder what his chubby little sidekick wants to talk about.”

  “Whatever it is, he sure didn’t seem to want his boss to know about it.”

  “I know. Weird. I’ll call him later this afternoon. Thanks for what you said about using Larsen as a piñata.”

  “I meant it, man.”

  “I know.”

  Our food arrived. Two bowls of steaming goodness to ward off the winter misery. As usual, Tony dived straight in, a whirling dervish of chopsticks, noodles, and slurping sounds. I put some chili oil on my congee. The warm, smooth porridge and spicy oil combined well. I’d first tried congee on a business trip to Hong Kong, way back when I was a corporate law slave. While my colleagues were raving about all the exotic flavors they had discovered, I found that the warm rice porridge with just a hint of spice to be very comforting. When I got back from that trip, a friend told me about Kenny’s, and I’d been coming here ever since.

  As we ate, I thought about what Larsen had said. His comment about the church having bigger problems bothered me. I realized we hadn’t even done cursory research about the Servants of Christ. All we knew was what Jeremy had told us. I pulled out my phone and fired up the browser to see what I could find out.

  The first couple of links confirmed what we knew already. Servants of Christ was a small church based out of Oregon City. The church was founded in Oklahoma in the late 1800s, and they moved out here in the 1950s. Since its inception, the church was known for its strict interpretation of scripture, and for shunning those who disagreed with them. For a long time, only children of existing followers were admitted to worship services, though they had started taking outside members more recently.

  Then I found a link about a controversy surrounding the church’s use of faith healing. That led me to a newspaper article about two church members being convicted of manslaughter a year ago in connection with the death of their infant son. I could feel my eyes getting wider as I read. I put down my spoon. According to the article, their son had developed severe health problems shortly after being born. Instead of seeking emergency medical care, they prayed and anointed him with sacred oil. At trial, prosecutors claimed that the couple had ample time to seek medical attention. An expert witness testified that if they had done so, the child had a 99 percent chance of survival. The father said he didn’t call 911 because he was praying. His wife testified that she didn’t call for help because the church required her to defer to her husband.

  I thought about Ciaran, and all that we’d done to try to save him. The best doctors we could find. All those long nights in the children’s ward at OHSU, the surgeries, the drugs. We’d done everything in our power to keep our boy alive, and these people just prayed
to a nonexistent god and watched their child die. How could they do it? What kind of monster could convince them to do it?

  “What’s wrong?” Tony said, holding a squid ball with his chopsticks.

  I handed him my phone. He put his chopsticks down and read the story.

  “Oh shit,” he said. “Mick, I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I replied. “There are some fucked up people in this world.”

  He picked up his chopsticks, popped the squid ball into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. “Are there any more stories like that?”

  I tapped away at the screen for a while. “Looks like at least three convictions in the past few years. Manslaughter, negligent homicide, criminal mistreatment. All cases where the parents used faith healing instead of seeking medical care. The church argued religious freedom in each case, but juries aren’t buying it. No wonder Larsen said what he did about the church having bigger problems.”

  “Man, that’s some messed up shit. Letting your kid die because of your crazy beliefs.” Tony shook his head. “Sick.”

  “No kidding. This might be about something more than some kiddie porn.”

  “It could be. Were Aaron or Larsen mentioned in any of those articles?”

  “Not that I could see. But it makes me very curious to hear what Elder Robbins has to say for himself.”

  “Screw waiting. Call him now.”

  I took out the card Robbins had given me and dialed the number on it. Robbins answered on the second ring, his voice hushed, barely above a whisper.

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Mick Wray. You wanted to talk to me?”

  “Yes, but now is not a good time. Can you call me back after 6?”

  “Look, I know about the faith healing deaths.”

  There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, then a rustling of paper. “Can you meet me tomorrow evening?” Robbins said.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Come to the church at eight. Knock on the door. I’ll let you in.” He hung up.