The Lord Is My Shepherd (10 page)

Cindy hunched over her keyboard at work. She was beyond caring if anyone caught her surfing the Web when she should be working. She typed in the name “Ryan Bellig” in the search box on Google and held her breath, expecting thousands of entries to come up. A second later the search came back with just under a hundred hits, most of them with highlighted words like “tragedy,” “violent death,” and “latest in a string of grisly murders.” She clicked on the latter one and followed the link to a newspaper article that was three years old.

On the left hand side she saw a picture of a man in a dark suit, a tear rolling down his cheek. She stopped and stared. It was the man from the sanctuary floor, when he was still alive. His eyes were filled with pain but so wondrously alive. Her eyes dropped to the caption beneath the photograph:
Ryan Bellig at the funeral of his wife and daughter, the latest victims of the Passion Week Killer.

Passion Week Killer!
She was staring so intently that she didn't see Danielle walk up to her desk until the other woman put a hand on her shoulder. Cindy jumped.
It's not good to zone out like that; it's not safe.

“Are you okay?” Danielle asked in the voice she usually reserved for the children.

Cindy started to say she was fine, but stopped. It wasn't true, and she was in no mood to pretend. “Actually, I'm not okay at all.”

Danielle's eyes widened. “I know this has been a trying time for us all.”

“More for me than for most,” Cindy said.

Danielle patted her shoulder, her watery blue eyes perplexed. “Maybe you should consider speaking with someone to help you feel better.”

“What will help is to catch this psychopath,” Cindy said, through gritted teeth. “Then maybe I can sleep at home without people trying to break in.”

“Someone broke into your house?” Danielle looked shocked.

“Yes.”

“But why?”

Cindy was about to tell her about the cross but stopped short. If Harold wasn't the killer, then she didn't want to alert the killer to the fact that she knew what he was looking for. One thing was for certain at First Shepherd. If you wanted the whole church to know something, the fastest way was to tell Danielle.

“I don't know, but there have been more murders,” Cindy said. At least that wasn't confidential.

“How terrible!”

“Yes,” Cindy said, relieved that someone else was giving it the weight it deserved.

“I really do think you should see someone.”

“I don't need to talk to a shrink or a pastor or a therapist because I've seen people killed,” Cindy growled.
Seen people killed.
She took a deep breath. But she hadn't seen anyone killed, not in a long, long time. She had just seen the bodies.
Big difference. Easy there. I'm not fifteen, and Danielle's not my mother.

“I'll manage,” Cindy forced out and somehow managed a small smile. She had been crazy to think she could tell someone how she really felt. “Is there something I can help you with, Danielle?”

The children's minister brightened and handed her a piece of paper. “Here's what the kids are doing for Easter services.”

Cindy took the paper and felt rage building inside her. “Geanie is the one who needs this, not me.”

“I figured you could just give it to Geanie for me.”

Cindy thought about shoving it back in her face. Danielle had come through the back door and had walked right past Geanie's desk in order to get to Cindy. It was no secret that the two disliked each other. Geanie usually managed to stay professional, but Danielle wouldn't even acknowledge Geanie's presence in the room, let alone talk to her. Cindy turned pointedly and stared at Geanie who just rolled her eyes and shrugged.

“Sure, I can give it to her,” Cindy said, stifling the urge to turn the piece of paper into an airplane.

“Thanks, dear, and you make sure and see someone about those problems of yours.”

Danielle turned and sailed out of the office, head held high and humming to herself.

“Would you like to bring it to me, or shall I come to you?” Geanie asked.

“Tell you what,” Cindy said. She crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it at Geanie's head.

The other girl caught it and laughed. “Nice one.”

Cindy shared a brief smile with her before returning to the computer, eager to know more about the Passion Week Killer.

M
ARK WALKED INTO THE CHURCH AT FIRST SHEPHERD AND MADE A BEE- line for Cindy's desk. She stared intently at her computer screen and didn't seem to notice when he stopped in front of her. He waited a moment and then cleared his throat.

“I'm surprised to see you here.”

She jumped and turned to look at him with startled eyes. “Detective! Sorry, just lost in thought.”

“So I noticed.”

“I couldn't stay home, not with so much to do here and everything how it is there.”

He shrugged. He didn't really care what her motivation was.

“What can I do for you?” she asked.

“Yesterday I asked your pastor to pull together a list of all the church's Shepherds for me. I'm here to pick it up. I also need to ask him a few questions.”

She raised one eyebrow and picked up the phone. “Roy, Detective Walters is here to see you. He also wants to know if you have the Shepherd list available for him. Okay, I'll send him in.”

She hung up the phone. “I'll have a list with names and addresses ready for you by the time you're done with your meeting.”

“Thanks. I assume that means he didn't have it ready?”

She rolled her eyes. “I assume the fact that you need it means Harold's not the killer?”

“We can't rule anyone out for sure at this point, but I'm fairly certain it's not him.”

She slumped. “I'm relieved and also really frightened now.”

“I think that's a pretty normal response. So, where I can find the pastor?”

“Roy's office is right over there. Go on in,” she said, pointing to a door in the far wall.

A moment later he walked into the head pastor's office. It was a cozy room lined with bookshelves. A black leather sofa sat against one wall. Mark chose one of the matching chairs in front of Roy's desk. He guessed the pastor to be about sixty, with tanned skin and close-cropped grey hair. Probably a golfer. The pastor's smile revealed bright, white teeth. A bleach job.

“Good to see you again,” Roy said, extending his hand.

Mark shook it. “Most people feel they can go a lifetime without seeing me again.”

Roy looked confused for a moment and then the smile returned to his face. “Sorry, habit. So, what can I do for you? You wanted a list of the Shepherds, right? I'll see what I can do about getting that to you.”

“Don't worry about it,” Mark said.

“Okay.”

“I'd like to ask you a few questions, though.”

“Go ahead.”

“Is there any event in the Bible during Easter week that could be symbolized by the presence of the dead man in your sanctuary?”

“For starters, it wasn't called Easter week back then, of course.”

Mark wondered if hitting a pastor would buy him a ticket on the express train to hell. He forced a smile. “Of course not, but you get my meaning.”

“Well, I just want to be precise.”

“I'm looking for something a little less precise and a little more symbolic.”

“Dangerous ground to traverse, indeed,” Roy said, forming his fingers into a steeple. “Take the whole 'eye for an eye' debate. Is it literal; is it figurative? The problems that can be had, the headaches, over a lack of precision.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very serious.” Roy met his eyes.

Mark cleared his throat. “Okay, then, could you tell me what the next event in Easter week is, traditionally, as we understand it, not necessarily in actuality.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Roy said.

Mark stared at him. Could the pastor really be that dense? Or was he just one of those guys who never liked to be nailed down and so never made any clear statements? He had dealt with that type before, and he didn't have the time or patience to deal with Roy. He stood abruptly. “Thanks for your time, pastor.”

“Anytime. Glad to help.” Roy smiled with those bleached-white teeth.

The detective resisted the urge to slam the door behind him. Back in the main office Cindy held a paper aloft without even turning around to see him.

“That was fast.” Mark moved to take it from her.

“You want something done around a church, you just have to know the right people to ask,” she said with a smile.

“So, this is all the Shepherds?”

“Yes. Although it's still hard to think it could be one of them.”

“The one thing I've learned as a police officer is that nobody really knows anybody else.”

“That's depressing.”

“That's the truth.”

He looked up from the list and studied her for a moment. “How much do you know about the Bible?” he asked.

She laughed and gestured to her surroundings. “What do you think?”

“I think you avoided the question.”

“Okay, fair enough. I'd say I have an average level of knowledge given my position and background.”

“I'll pretend for a moment that your answer is more real than your last one,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“Can I ask you a couple of questions?”

“Sure.”

He glanced around. Another woman sat at a desk a few feet away, one fist twisted in her hair and the other propping up her chin while she read. Somebody else was using the copier behind the partition. “Can we talk somewhere a little more private?”

Cindy nodded and stood. “Geanie, I'll be back in a few.”

“Okay,” the other woman said, without looking up from what she was reading on her desk.

They headed for the front door, but before they got there, it swung open and Harold stepped inside. The older gentleman nodded to Mark before turning to Cindy.

“Cindy, I've got a problem.”

“What is it, Harold?”

“I'm here to set up for tomorrow's prayer service, and I realized my key to the sanctuary is missing.”

“Missing?” Mark and Cindy asked at the same time.

“Yes.” Harold held up his key ring. “I always keep it here next to my house key, and it's gone. I don't know what could have happened to it.”

“When did you use it last?” Mark asked.

“The Sunday before last. I opened the sanctuary in the morning.”

“But not two days ago?” Mark pressed.

“No, pastor beat me here. The alarm didn't go off, and I overslept.”

“I'll open the sanctuary for you,” Cindy said, returning to her desk for her keys.

The three of them walked through the narthex, and Cindy unlocked the sanctuary. She hesitated for a moment before stepping inside to turn on the lights.

“Thanks,” Harold said.

“Mr. Grey, are you going to be here a while? I'd like to talk with you about your missing key,” Mark said.

“Sure, I'll be here for at least an hour or so.”

“Great.”

He turned back to Cindy. “Where can we talk?”

She led him to another part of the building, unlocked another door, and ushered him into a Sunday school room. She grimaced in apology as he eyed the tiny plastic chairs. She perched on one, and he followed suit.

“Is there any possible religious symbolism for the guy you found in the church?” he asked.

“You mean like the Palm Sunday murder and the money changer thing?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

“I haven't been able to come up with anything, and I've really tried.”

He stared hard at her.

She crossed her arms. “Look, it's impossible to think of anything else when I know there's a killer running around loose.”

He sighed. “I can understand that.”

“I did find something, though, that might connect it all.”

“What?” He leaned forward and tried not to feel ridiculous sitting in a kindergartner's chair.

“Ryan Bellig was from Raleigh, North Carolina.”

“Yeah, and?”

“His wife and daughter were killed a couple of years ago.”

“I know that.”

“Did you hear they were killed by the Passion Week Killer, a serial killer who was never caught and who was killing his victims in imitation of events of Easter week?”

“Are you kidding me?”

She sat back, looking satisfied. “No.”

“And just how did you come by your information?”

“I Googled his name and the old news articles came up.”

Mark swore, and she colored slightly. He lurched out of his seat.

“Where are you going?”

“To call my partner and tell him to get in touch with Raleigh police. Then I'll talk to Harold about his missing key.”

“Ask him if he saw it after Saturday afternoon.”

“And why is that?”

“Last Saturday there was a Shepherds meeting here at the church. If a Shepherd really did kill Ryan on Sunday, then he probably stole the key from Harold on Saturday.”

After the detective left, Cindy barely got any work done. After a dozen crises over rooms, Easter preparations, and misplacing the master-calendar binder twice, Geanie took over. Depressed, Cindy trudged out to the parking lot and climbed into her car.

She glanced with longing at Jeremiah's Mustang in the neighboring parking lot but knew he was busy with cleaning the Synagogue in preparation for Passover. She thought about offering to help, but from the number of cars in the parking lot it looked like he had all the help he could use. Besides, the last thing anyone needed was a Gentile girl asking questions, messing things up, and generally making everyone feel uncomfortable.