The Lord Is My Shepherd (13 page)

She gasped and then allowed herself to be pulled along to his car. She slid into the front seat and didn't bother asking where they were going as she took in what he'd said. It seemed preposterous, but even she couldn't deny the string of coincidences.

Mark started the car and drove off.

“Why me?” she asked after a minute.

“I don't know. Something about you has caught his attention, though, I'm sure of it.”

“Who is he?”

“We don't know yet, but we're trying to find him as fast as we can.”

“How do I know you're not the killer?”

“You don't,” he said, glancing at her. “For that matter, you don't know the rabbi isn't either.”

“Jeremiah?”

“Yes, Jeremiah. There are a few things about him that just don't add up.”

“Like what?” she asked.

He didn't say anything.

“He's a kind man, a rabbi. How could you think that of him?” she asked.

“I'm a cop, how can you think it of me?”

“You're more accustomed to violence.”

“He grew up in Israel.”

“You're familiar with weapons.”

“He served in the Israeli military. All citizens do over there.”

“That doesn't make him a killer.”

“It doesn't make him a boy scout, either.”

“What about the Shepherds?” Cindy asked.

“We're fast running out of suspects in that area.”

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“Somewhere safe while we figure this out.”

“But I still don't understand. Why me? Why pick some random church secretary to torment?”

He glanced at her. “Maybe something about you set him off. Maybe you remind him of someone. Or maybe it's not random at all.”

“But I've never done anything to anybody.” Fear nearly choked her.

“Okay, then let's think. If no one has a beef with you, what about with your family?”

“My brother's a travel show host for the Escape Channel. He kayaks, bungee jumps, that sort of thing.”

“Kyle Preston? Kyle Preston's your brother?”

“I see you've heard of him.” She gritted her teeth.

“I'm a huge fan. Could you get me his autograph?”

“Can we please not talk about my brother!”

“Okay, okay.” Mark took a deep breath. “What about your parents, what do they do?”

“My mom runs the household, and my dad's an engineer. He's currently helping build infrastructure in Iraq.”

Mark nearly crashed the car. After he regained control he glanced at her. “Are you kidding me? This could be some nut-job terrorist taking revenge on daddy?”

Cindy took a deep breath. “A nut-job terrorist wouldn't bother with the Christian symbolism and wouldn't have done a practice run in Raleigh.”

“You're right, sorry.”

“None of this makes sense.” She slammed her fist into the seat.

“Not everything in life makes sense.”

“I'm not okay with that.”

“I don't care if you're okay with that, it's the truth,” he said. “If it helps I'm sure this all makes perfect sense to this guy.”

“If it even is a guy,” Cindy said in frustration. She turned to look out the window. Somewhere out there a killer waited, watched.
Can he see me now?

They drove for a minute in silence. The more time Cindy spent alone inside her own head, though, the more terrified she became. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.

“What happened back at the salon?”

“Two people were found dead. There was a man sitting in one of the chairs and a woman washing his feet.”

She shuddered and felt sick inside. “He's making a mockery of Easter.”

“Strange as this might sound, I'm not sure that's true. If he were mocking it, I would think there would be some perversion, or, at least, inversion of the events. Like the man would have been washing the woman's feet, or something like that.”

“I guess.”

She found herself staring hard at the cars that drove past. “I didn't see any murders connected with the Passion Week Killer that went beyond Wednesday,” she said. “Is it possible this is as far as he goes?”

“Possible, but we can't afford to take that chance, especially before we have any real knowledge about the crime pattern in Raleigh and what or who might have triggered an end.”

“You mean was he performing there for somebody?” she asked.

“That's one of the things we're hoping to find out.”

“Is it possible that Raleigh wasn't the first time?”

He shook his head. “No word on that yet. We're still trying to get hold of the lead detective from back then, and hopefully, she can shed some light on things.”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, wishing answers would come faster. “This all looks so much simpler on Scooby Doo.”

“My wife loves that show. Are you a Freddie girl or a Shaggy girl?”

“Freddie. Definitely Freddie.”

“My wife likes Shaggy. She has a thing for the lost puppy look.”

“It explains a lot.”

“Was that a crack?”

“Sorry,” Cindy said, opening her eyes. “Reflex.”

Mark smiled. “It's cool. Let me guess, Kyle was a pain to have as a brother.”

“Good guess,” Cindy said, laughing despite herself. “So, what now?”

“Is there anything significant between the feet washing and the Last Supper?” he asked.

“No, I don't think so. I mean, some preaching, maybe some miracles, but nothing that stands out.”

“I didn't think so, either.”

“We should talk to Gus, the music minister. He's spent the last couple of years working on the play they're performing. They did it last year as well. It's really quite good. He did tons of research—wanted his Easter pageant to be the best retelling ever.”

“One civilian in the middle of this is more than I can handle,” Mark said. “Every instinct I have says to keep you as far out of this as possible.”

“A little hard when the killer keeps insisting on dragging me into it.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What do you think this is all building toward?” Cindy asked.

“I don't know. That's what scares me,” he admitted.

“Imagine how I feel.”

“I'm trying not to. If I have to imagine how anyone is thinking or feeling I'd rather it was the killer so I have a chance of catching this psycho.”

She glanced around and recognized the neighborhood they were driving through. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Nowhere at the moment, just driving, why?”

“One of the Shepherds, Joseph, lives up here. Have you interviewed him yet?”

“No, but he's on my list for this afternoon.”

“He lives up there.” Cindy pointed to the top of the hill. “He has a really old mansion and all this land. He often hosts picnics for the church in his backyard.”

She saw Mark check his watch. “Mind if we pay him a little visit right now?”

“No.”

A minute later they parked in the roundabout in front of Joseph's door. Mark made Cindy stay in the car, and she was glad to do so. She didn't believe for a minute that Joseph could be the killer, but she'd rather err on the side of caution.

She watched through the windshield as Joseph came to the door. After a minute the two men disappeared inside. They were gone long enough that she started to worry. Just when she was eyeing the police radio, though, they reappeared.

“Not him,” Mark said as he got back into the car.

“At least you can cross him off your list,” Cindy said.

“Yeah, him and his dogs.”

“He shows dogs.”

“You think? I saw enough trophies on the mantel to choke a horse.”

“Rumor has it he buried a couple of his dogs in the old family cemetery behind the house.”

“More power to him. Some guys race cars, and apparently, some show dogs. All I care is that he has an alibi that checks out and still has his Shepherd's cross.”

J
EREMIAH WENT FOR A WALK TO GET SOME AIR. A LONG NIGHT stretched before him. Volunteers were already hard at work in the kitchen preparing for the Seder. He glanced into the neighboring parking lot but didn't see Cindy's car. He couldn't help but wonder how she had fared the night before. He had thought about calling when he left the synagogue but decided against it in case she was actually asleep.

A car pulled into the church parking lot, but it wasn't hers. He continued to walk, breathing in deeply. A minute later he heard her voice, and he turned to see her getting out of the car. Mark exited the driver's side, and Jeremiah was instantly alert. Why was she in the detective's car, and what were they doing at the church?

He took a step forward.
Not your problem. Be glad she's turning to the proper authorities for help. You don't need to get involved.

But he was involved, as much as he hated to admit it. He cut through the hedge and arrived next to her. “Is everything okay?”

She turned frightened eyes on him and for a moment he could swear that she looked like she was afraid of him.
He took a step back, and she blinked. The look faded. He glanced toward Mark and was surprised to note that the detective had a hand on his gun.

Jeremiah raised his hands shoulder high and took another step back. “What's happening here?”

“Two more people were killed,” Cindy said.

After another glance at the detective, Jeremiah slowly lowered his hands to his sides. “And you were there?”

“After the fact,” Mark said.

“He thinks someone is doing this for my benefit,” Cindy said, tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

Jeremiah shook his head. It made no sense. Who would want to torment a woman like Cindy?

“What's the plan?” he asked Mark.

“The plan is to let the professionals handle it. I can't babysit you and her both, so do me a favor and stay out of it.”

Do as he says. This isn't your fight. Not your friend, not your responsibility.
He turned to Cindy “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to take care of a couple of things.” She dropped her glance and scurried toward the office.

“This is how you baby-sit?” Jeremiah said.

Mark glared at him before hurrying after her. Jeremiah couldn't help himself; he followed too. He had no idea what had happened earlier, but from their actions, it couldn't have been good.

They were almost at the office when a man exited, heading away from them.

“Oliver!” Cindy called.

The man turned toward her, his body language guarded. “Hey, Cindy.”

She walked toward him. “Thank you again for dinner last night.”

“You were okay going home then?” Oliver asked.

Jeremiah eyed him with suspicion.

“Yes, thank you,” Cindy said, all smiles.

Mark cocked his head to the side, also sizing up Oliver. “Oliver Johnson?”

“Yes.”

“You're a Shepherd here at the church?”

Oliver nodded. “Can I help you?”

“I'm sorry,” Cindy apologized. “Oliver, this is Detective Mark Walters. He's investigating the murder. Oliver is a reporter,” she explained. “And this is Rabbi Jeremiah Silverman from next door.”

“Detective, Rabbi,” Oliver said, nodding to each of them.

“Mr. Johnson, where were you Sunday evening?”

“Doing visitation at the hospital.”

“That's right!” Cindy exclaimed. “I saw you there.”

Oliver smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

“And are you wearing your Shepherd's cross?” Mark asked.

“No, I usually keep it in my dresser at home.” Oliver's eyes blinked rapidly.

Liar,
Jeremiah thought. It took all of his will power not to call him on it. The reporter hadn't lied about visiting the hospital though.

“I'm going to want to see it,” Mark said.

“Okay, do you mind if I ask why?”

“It's just part of the investigation. I'll be in touch a little later.”

“Let me give you my card,” Oliver volunteered, reaching for his wallet.

“I've got your contact information,” Mark said.

“I'll take a card,” Jeremiah said, striving to make his tone friendly. He pulled one of his own out of his wallet, one of the ones without any of his personal information, and exchanged with the reporter, noting the softness of the other's hands.
He's never worked with his hands; he's used to making a living with his mind, thinking on his feet.

“Since we're being so formal, I'm not sure I have your number, Cindy,” Oliver said.

Cindy flushed to her roots. “I'm in the church directory.”

Odd time to flirt with her
, Jeremiah thought.

Oliver grinned at her.

“I almost forgot to tell you,” Cindy said. “Your friend stopped by the office earlier. Said he mixed up the time he was supposed to meet you.”

“Did he leave his name?” Oliver asked.

“Karl. He said to tell you he'd catch you later.”

All the color drained from Oliver's face. “Thank you,” he murmured and then turned and walked away quickly.

Jeremiah shook his head. “That was—”

“—interesting.” Mark completed his thought.

Cindy turned to look at them. “What?”

“What happened last night?” Mark asked.

“We bumped into each other downtown and ended up having dinner together at Rigatoni's.”

“A date?” Mark pushed.

“No, we just had dinner. We talked.”

Mark's phone rang and he answered it. “Yeah, yeah, on my way.”

“One of the Shepherds, Jack Randolph, is on the run. I've got to go.” He headed for the parking lot.

“What about baby-sitting?” Jeremiah called after him.

“Looks like you just got yourself another job, Samaritan!”

Jeremiah bit his tongue and turned to Cindy. “You know Jack Randolph?”

“Not very well. He's a professor, I think. No family that I know of.”

“Well, hopefully, this is the end of it. Now, what do you need to do here? I'd feel better if we got you somewhere safer.”

“I'll just be five minutes. How about I meet you at your car?”

He didn't like it, but he grudgingly agreed.