Covenant (41 page)

AMERICAN EVANGELICAL ASSOCIATION
NEW COVENANT CHURCH, WASHINGTON DC

L
ucas Tyrell had never failed to be impressed by the fabulous scale of the monuments erected by the faithful.

“It is more blessed to give than to receive,” he murmured as he tossed a handful of biscuits into the backseat of the car, Bailey crunching them noisily.

“What?” Lopez asked from beside him.

“The church,” Tyrell gestured. “How’d you suppose it got so wealthy if it really was giving and not receiving?”

The New Covenant Church dominated an entire corner of the block, a broad white building with narrow smoked windows shaped like medieval stained glass. The central portico was a vast triangular affair of steel and more glass, the central panels mirror-finished in the shape of a huge crucifix that reflected the early-morning sun’s rays.

“We shouldn’t be here, Tyrell,” Lopez said.

“Guess this is how much it costs to have God on your side,” Tyrell continued as they walked toward the vast portico. “Lucky
He
takes dollars.”

“Tyrell,” Lopez muttered sternly.

“It’s your call,” Tyrell said with a hefty sigh. “I’m not quite ready to put this case aside. Are you in or not?”

Before Lopez could reply, her cell phone buzzed in her jacket pocket. She pulled it out, listening intently for a few moments before ringing off.

“What is it?” Tyrell asked.

“We just got the files on Daniel Neville,” Lopez said, switching to her PDA and opening an e-mail. “Claretta Neville came up clean, no criminal record or history of any kind with the police except in connection with Daniel’s gang activities. Turns out that her African heritage is Ethiopian.”

“As would be Daniel’s,” Tyrell said thoughtfully. “Aren’t there tribes in Ethiopia who are said to be the descendants of Israel, lost tribes or something?”

“Maybe, I saw something on TV about that once.” Lopez nodded. “Michael Shaw, the hospital orderly, is also clean, nothing but a couple of parking violations. Casey Jeffs is …”

Lopez broke off for a moment as she read.

“Is what?” Tyrell asked.

“Is of interest. He’s been an employee of the institute for the past sixteen years. However, prior to that he was a patient, long-term psychosis. His name flagged up in relation to a homicide charge from back in 1984.”

“You’re kidding? He killed someone?”

“Went to trial.” Lopez nodded as she read. “A late witness testimony caused the case to collapse amid accusations of fraud and Casey was acquitted. The full file’s at the station.”

Tyrell rubbed his chin with one hand. “What about DNA from Daniel Neville’s room?”

“Dozens of them,” Lopez said. “It’ll take weeks to obtain profiles, and we haven’t got a suspect in custody to match them against. Besides, we know that Casey was nowhere near Daniel when he died.”

Tyrell let out a long sigh. “Powell will piss all over it. What else do we know about him?”

“Orphaned young. Mother was a hooker working San Antonio, died back in 1984 from a heroin overdose …” Tyrell frowned and looked at the pixelated image on Lopez’s PDA. A straggly haired blond woman, her features creased with the passing of the years. “Casey was arrested for killing her; attorneys filed for manslaughter charges and got a prosecution. He got taken in by the institute for treatment after the trial collapsed.”

“Who was the benefactor for his treatment?”

“It doesn’t say,” Lopez replied. “He’s been in and out of private rehabilitation clinics ever since. Doesn’t make any sense though. He’s never held full-time employment except at the institute, so where’d the money come from?”

“The father?” Tyrell guessed as he opened the door to the church foyer.

“Father’s unknown, according to this.”

Tyrell led the way to a broad reception desk overlooked by a brightly painted mural of a crucifix atop a hill, the sun casting beams of light upon it and the sky emblazoned with three inspirational words:

Rehabilitate. Rejuvenate. Rejoice.

Resurrect,
Tyrell thought, but didn’t say.

The receptionist in the entrance foyer was a petite, slim, and bespectacled woman in her forties who seemed perturbed by the presence of two police detectives and their need to speak to Kelvin Patterson himself.

“I’m afraid the pastor is preparing for tonight’s presidential rally,” she said politely, “but I can arrange an interview for tomorrow if that’s convenient?”

Tyrell smiled tightly.

“It’s not. We need to speak to Mr. Patterson urgently, regarding the death of a patient.”

The receptionist frowned and turned away without another word, moving across to a phone and dialing a number. Tyrell watched her body language become defensive as she spoke. Finally, she set the phone down.

“If you’ll follow me this way, please.”

She led them through a myriad of corridors, many of them bearing vast canvases on the walls depicting biblical scenes. Tyrell struggled to remember his Sunday schooling as he noted images of the crucifixion, of the Garden of Eden, and what he guessed might have been the destruction of Babylon. Or was it Babel?

“Mr. Patterson is a very busy man, you know,” the receptionist said over her shoulder.

“As am I,” Tyrell replied.

“He has an immensely important rally tonight with a presidential candidate.”

Tyrell felt a squirm of irritation. Lopez hurriedly spoke beside him.

“Which candidate?”

“Senator Isaiah Black, Texas.”

Tyrell looked across at Lopez, who raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t Kelvin Patterson the man who said New Orleans was destroyed by God because it hosted a Gay Pride rally?” Tyrell inquired.

The receptionist raised her chin as she walked, not looking back at him. “Who is to say that He didn’t?”

Tyrell chose not to reply.

They reached a large set of ornate double doors at the end of a long corridor that seemed to orbit the church’s main hall to their left. The receptionist knocked briskly on the doors before opening them and calling into the room.

“Pastor? The two police officers are here to see you.”

There was a muffled response, and then the receptionist backed out of the doorway and gestured for Tyrell to enter.

T
he expansive office, dominated by a huge chrome crucifix on one wall and by towering windows on the other, seemed to make Kelvin Patterson more diminutive than he actually was. He turned and smiled regally as the receptionist closed the door behind Tyrell and Lopez.

“Detectives,” he greeted them.

Patterson was wearing an expensive silk shirt and dark trousers, and a navy blazer hung from a chair nearby.

“I understand you have a big night ahead, Pastor,” Tyrell said.

“It is a big night for America,” Patterson replied. “Much hangs on how the crowd views us tonight.”
Us,
Tyrell thought quietly as they followed him across to his broad mahogany desk, complete with bronze eagle and the Stars and Stripes. “What can I do for you?”

“The Evangelical Institute,” Tyrell said. “You own it?”

“It is owned by the alliance.”

“And it is used as a rehabilitation site for drug addicts.”

“The hospital provides a place for the poor to gain access to free health care, food, and accommodation,” Patterson said as he picked up his tie. “Only a small part of the hospital is dedicated to long-term patients.”

Tyrell nodded. “Your staff there, how are they recruited?”

Patterson tucked his tie under his collar and began tying the knot.

“We advertise for volunteers. Why do you ask?”

Tyrell ignored the question.

“What background checks do you have in place when recruiting them?”

“All of our procedures follow recruitment laws,” Patterson replied without elaboration.

Lopez sensed her moment instinctively when Tyrell let a silence hang in the room.

“Do you have records of all members of staff?”

Patterson began fastening his cuff links. “The hospital’s records are very thorough.”

Tyrell spoke quickly, giving Patterson no room for thought.

“Where do the funds come from to finance the hospital itself?”

“From our congregation. We have almost thirty million members across the United States.”

“It is more blessed to give than to receive,” Tyrell ventured.

Patterson appeared surprised, and smiled. “It is indeed.”

There was a long pause when neither Tyrell nor Lopez said anything, simply looked around the sumptuous office.

“I don’t mean to pry, Officers, but what are these questions referring to?” Patterson asked. “Has a member of my staff committed a crime?”

“No,” Tyrell said, “a member of your staff has not committed a crime.”

Another long pause. Patterson appeared bemused. “What then?”

“There was a patient in your hospital by the name of Daniel Neville,” Tyrell said.

“There are so many,” Patterson said. “I have no knowledge of individual patients.”

“You weren’t informed of the circumstances surrounding his death?” Lopez asked in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” Patterson said, “but the AEA manages dozens of charitable organizations. I was informed that a death had occurred, and that a police officer was present at the scene.”

“Daniel Neville,” Lopez continued smoothly, “claimed that he was taken to a laboratory where tests were conducted on him and other patients.”

Patterson’s smile did not slip as he reached out for his jacket.

“One does not end up in a drug rehabilitation center for no reason. Many of our younger patients have issues facing up to their addiction, and construct fantasies to justify it.”

“So there were no experiments conducted on institute patients?” Tyrell asked.

Patterson frowned as he slipped into his jacket.

“None that I know of.”

“We need to be certain,” Tyrell said, and let the bombshell drop. “It would help us to understand what happened to the bodies we found yesterday morning.”

Patterson froze in motion. “Bodies?”

Lopez produced a series of photographs of the dead men they had discovered and handed them to Patterson. The pastor stared down at the images in his hand as though he were handling poisonous insects.

“Poor souls,” he said finally.

“All three of these men were found with high levels of crack cocaine in their blood, indicative of overdose. The problem is that one died from hypothermia induced by a medical procedure, and the drugs were administered after death, not before.”

Patterson did not look up from the photographs for a moment, leafing through them.

“What are you suggesting?” he asked, still without looking up.

“You have carried out experimental procedures into consciousness at the institute, is that correct, Pastor?” Lopez asked.

Patterson stared at her for a long beat, caught up in the tangle of unexpected questions.

“Yes, we have a history of such work.”

“We consider this to be a homicide investigation,” Lopez said. “Daniel Neville provided enough information for us to follow leads connecting his experiences with the fate suffered by these three men, and those leads have led us here.”

Patterson’s eyes widened. “Here?”

Tyrell took the photographs from the pastor.

“We believe that these men died while undergoing a medical procedure administered by one of your staff.”

“Which one?” Patterson gaped in astonishment.

Tyrell handed him another printed image. “Do you know this man?”

The pastor looked down at the image and shook his head.

“No. He is a member of my staff?”

“We believe he was,” Lopez said. “His name is Damon Sheviz.”

“I understand that your alliance has been heavily involved in experiments involving human volunteers,” Tyrell said.

Patterson slowed his button fastening, leveling a calm gaze at Tyrell.

“It is my opinion that churches around the world have been too long hoarding their finances and trying to force their followers to believe in the unbelievable, to have faith in emptiness. There can be no knowledge without study.”

“How are these experiments conducted?” Lopez chimed in.

“We use non-invasive means,” Patterson said. “Hypnotherapy, meditation, the study of near-death experiences in cardiac-arrest patients,” Patterson replied warily. “Where are you going with this?”

Tyrell took the plunge.

“We believe that Damon Sheviz is harvesting live victims to conduct illegal experiments involving the genetic creation of a chimera between a human and an unknown species.”

Patterson’s eyes flickered.

“That’s …” he began. “That’s ridiculous. Such procedures do not even exist.”

“Actually, they do,” Tyrell went on. “We have gathered detailed files on this man, and we have people working on finding out where he is obtaining the equipment necessary to conduct these experiments.”

“But he wouldn’t be able to do things like that without other staff members knowing about it and stopping him,” Patterson said.

“I didn’t say that the procedures were conducted
here,
” Tyrell said, and then decided to take a chance. “We also need to know about Casey Jeffs.”