The Lord Is My Shepherd (20 page)

W
HEN CINDY SLID INTO THE PASSENGER SEAT OF JEREMIAH'S CAR FOR the second time that day, she was more exhausted than she had been earlier.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Long day.”

“Long week.”

“That too.”

“I take it everyone heard the news?”

She nodded. “Yep. There was cake.”

“One of your members was arrested and you celebrated? Here I thought you'd all be busy seeing who could deny knowing him the fastest. First one to three times wins?”

“Is that a joke? You can't possibly be comparing Oliver to Jesus, can you?”

He shrugged. “Apparently, a very poor joke. I'm sorry. I've been told my sense of humor can be a bit—”

“Twisted? Warped?”

“I was going to say 'dark,' but those will do just as well,” he said with a smile.

“Ah.”

“Do you want to risk trying to get your car?”

“No, I'm not in the mood to risk anything else today,” she said. “It will be there tomorrow when the story's old news.”

“True enough. Although we could swing by later tonight and see if the coast is clear.”

“That would be awesome.”

“It's okay to cry, you know.”

She turned to look at him. “Why do you say that?”

“Because crying relieves tension, which is normal, especially when the situation is life threatening. And, you're pursing your lips. You tend to do that before you cry.”

“Oh, my gosh, it is so not okay that you know that about me.” She sounded horrified.

“Sorry.”

Suddenly she laughed. “You're the first person to ever notice that. Wow. I guess you have really seen me at my worst.”

“If this is your worst, then your best has to be spectacular.”

“Thank you.”

A few minutes later they pulled up in front of her house. Cindy sat in the car for a moment, just staring. “I guess I don't have to worry that someone is lurking inside.”

“No, it should be safe, at least from that particular threat.”

She cast him an uneasy look and wanted to say something sarcastic in response.

“Don't worry,” he reassured her. “I'll go in with you just in case.”

Together they approached the door. Her stomach twisted into knots, and Cindy tried in vain to quiet the pounding of her heart.
What's wrong with me? The police arrested Oliver.

She opened her door and breathed a sigh of relief when everything looked to be in its proper place. Jeremiah followed
her inside, walked to the back of the house, and quickly returned with a smile. “You're safe, no intruders.”

“I guess I am safe,” she said.

“You don't sound convinced.”

“I'm not.”

He cocked his head slightly. “Why?”

“I don't know, I just feel—” she paused, struggling to find a word that would describe it.

“Will you never feel safe here again because someone broke in once?” he asked.

“If I say yes will you think less of me?”

“No, of course not. Your home has been violated. That can take a long time to get over. Some people never do and eventually move someplace else.”

“I can't afford to move, so I guess I better get over it,” she said.

He stared intently at her. “That's not all of it.”

“It's nothing.”

“I can't help you if you won't tell me what the problem is.”

“Speaking as my rabbi?” she joked.

“As your friend,” he answered seriously.

“I think the real killer is still out there.”

His dark eyes somehow darkened even more, and she stared in fascination. “Tell me why you think so.” His voice thrummed with intensity.

She took a step back and wondered again if the real killer was staring her in the face. He reached out and grabbed her arms just above the elbows. Panic knifed through her, and she pulled backward. His grip only tightened.

“Cindy, tell me what you're thinking,” he commanded.

“I think he only killed the guy in the church,” she said, trying not to let the terror creep into her voice.

“Why do you think he didn't kill the others?”

“Because the murder of Ryan Bellig doesn't fit the rest of the pattern.”

“Probably because he didn't plan on killing him.”

“Yes, but given how thoughtful his murders have been, don't you think he would have found a way? I mean, he could have stashed the body somewhere and brought it out for one of his tableaus. Leaving him facedown like that was sloppy, not artistic. He could have just sat him up in a pew as a praying man and made more of a statement.”

“So, if we're looking at two different murderers, what does that mean?” Jeremiah pressed.

“That one of them is still out there, and unfortunately, it's the crazy one. I'm not safe.”

“If you're right, no one in this town is.”

He let go of her abruptly and sat down at the kitchen table. Cindy's knees were trembling, but she forced herself to calmly pull out a chair and take her own seat.

“Actually,” he said after a moment, “of everyone in town you're probably the safest. Since he's been performing for you it seems unlikely that he plans to kill you. At least not until this is over.”

“Thank you, that is so comforting,” she said sarcastically.

“Which brings us back to the original question of why he chose you in the first place.”

“What if he didn't?” Cindy asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What if the killer is performing for someone, but it's not me. Who could he be targeting?”

“Is there any commonality between the victims?” Jeremiah asked, tapping his fingers on the table.

Cindy got up, grabbed paper and pen, and sat back down at the table. “The guy on the donkey was Miguel Jesus Olivera,” she said, writing down his name. “Jason Schneider was the money changer. I don't know the names of the two from the salon.” She glanced up.

“Mary Gomez was washing the feet of William Ollie Carruthers.”

“How do you know that?”

“I asked.”

“So how do we figure out a connection between these people when we don't know any of them?” She sighed.

“Internet?”

“I guess.”

“Is it significant that Miguel's middle name is Jesus?” he asked.

“And he was playing the role of Jesus? It might be, but William was playing the role of Jesus as well, and he doesn't share a name with him.”

Jeremiah suddenly grew still. His eyes focused intently on the list.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I see something those two men do have in common.”

She looked down at the list. “Oh!”

“You see it?”

“Yes, both the men who were positioned as Jesus have as part of their name a variation on Oliver. Olivera and Ollie.”

“I think you found the killer's real audience.”

“He's doing this to get to Oliver,” she whispered. “Oliver isn't the killer; he's the target.”

Mark hung up with Cindy. The secretary and the rabbi seemed to have come to the same conclusion that he had. He rubbed his tired eyes and returned to the computer screen where a pattern was slowly emerging.

Both Miguel and Jason had been interviewed by Oliver in the past month. Miguel was a small businessman who was making news as having one of the only businesses in town that was expanding instead of shrinking. Jason had been the coach for a Little League team that had won its regional division.

As for the beauty salon, Oliver was one of Mary's special male customers who had early morning appointments. In fact, he had had one scheduled for that fateful morning. So, everyone was connected to him in some way. It stood to reason that the killer would continue to go after people who were somehow connected to Oliver.

Unfortunately, between his job as a reporter and his volunteer work with the church, that meant a lot of potential targets.

Paul appeared from the direction of the interrogation room where he had been taking his turn to get more information out of Oliver.

Exhausted, he sank down in the chair across from Mark.

“Anything?”

“He won't budge an inch. He still insists on taking responsibility for all the murders.”

“Did you explain to him that unless he helps us find out who's doing this that more people are going to die?”

“Yes. He swears that as long as he's in prison, though, there will be no more murders.”

“What is his damage?”

“I don't know, but apparently it's extensive.”

“Our hunch was right. All the victims were in some way connected to Oliver. Loosely connected, but connected,” Mark said.

“Wonderful. You think the killer's keeping a close eye on our boy in there?”

“I don't know, but he's certainly done his homework.”

“Just what I love, educated psychopaths. So what's the plan?” Paul asked.

“I figure we keep him another couple of hours, and then we cut him loose like we discussed.”

“Even if he hasn't talked?”

“Yeah. We can try until then, though.”

“Your turn. I need to sit down before I fall down.”

“You are sitting down,” Mark said.

“My point.”

Jeremiah almost wished he didn't know there was a killer still on the loose. They said ignorance was bliss, and someday he'd like to find out for himself if it was true. He sat impatiently in Cindy's living room while she changed.

She emerged looking refreshed, and they were soon on their way. They were quiet for the drive, and Jeremiah thought about the coming Seder.

It still seemed strange to him. In Israel, the Seder was only on the first night of Passover. In America Seder dinners were celebrated the first two nights. He could tell Cindy was nervous as they parked outside Marie's house. Jeremiah gave her a reassuring smile and led the way to the front door.

Marie opened the door before he could knock. Her arms were crossed, and she gazed at him disapprovingly before turning and glaring daggers at Cindy.

Jeremiah felt his temper start to slip. He took a deep breath and regained control quickly.

Marie stepped back, allowed them to enter, and closed the door. “I would have thought this little alliance would be over now that the killer has been arrested.”

“Didn't you hear?” Jeremiah asked. “Turns out it's the wrong man.”

Marie's eyes opened wide, and she lost some of her aggressive posturing. She grabbed Cindy's arm. “Poor dear, you must be just terrified. You come in and tell me all about it.”

Jeremiah barely restrained himself from smiling as he followed behind. They headed directly for the dining room where Marie introduced Cindy to her husband and three children. As Jeremiah took his seat, a feeling of peace washed over him. It was good to be celebrating Passover. It was even better to be a guest in the house instead of the rabbi presiding over everything.

Cindy was excited but also nervous. It didn't help that she could tell Marie did not approve of her presence. She just forced herself to keep smiling. She was tired, frightened, and completely unsure of herself. So, when she thought she might not be able to handle a rude hostess, she just pictured all the work Marie must have gone through to get her house ready to serve a Passover meal. It must have taken days' worth of effort. Cindy couldn't stop grinning.

That effort demanded some respect even if the woman annoyed Cindy. She had seriously thought about backing
out of the dinner once they figured out the police had the wrong man. It seemed wrong to celebrate when there was a killer on the loose who could strike anywhere at any time.