When It All Falls Down (11 page)

“He struck again,” Spider says with the news playing. There is another murder not three days from the first murder. Police still have not identified the first victim.

“It gets worse.” Spider places his tablet over an old pizza box and he has both a map and a pattern outlined in the shape of a triangle. “I observed the pattern. He's working this one controlled area; strangely, where he started was in the same area where people last saw your boy.” Spider points to a spot on the map. Spider has all but concluded that Tony Robinson has been murdered by the Husband Stalker.

“But we don't know for sure if my guy was murdered?”

“No, but we do know that the last time anyone ever saw your boy was around this area before he disappeared.” Spider has a sly grin on his face. He is intrigued by the fact that he can catch a modern-day psycho and I am dumbfounded by the fact that I might have to confess to the church that the first gentleman has been murdered.

There's a knock on the door and Spider springs to his feet. Spider opens the door and Paul is on the other side with a file under his arm, a pizza in one hand, and a six pack of beer in the other.

“What have I missed?”

“I figured out his patterns.” Spider takes the pizza and beer and sets the pizza on top of the table after I moved the map.

Spider dives right into the pizza and files. After a brief prayer I grab a slice of pizza and sort through my own notes on the case.

“You want one?” Paul asks while holding up a beer. Paul is surprised that Spider doesn't want a beer, but he is even more surprised that I don't want a beer either.

“Seriously?” Paul asks.

“Yeah, man, I'm just trying to keep my head clear,” I say.

“Okay, well, you're going to drive me back to the hotel.” Paul takes a swig of his beer and a bite of his pizza.

We could be three college buddies kicking back, talking about the good old days; instead we are locked into a case that will dramatically impact our lives. For Spider it will be a healthy bounty for catching a serial killer, and for Paul it means his long-elusive Pulitzer. For me I don't know what it means. All I know is that I need to focus on the facts as they pertain to the case and not get caught up in the pursuit of a serial killer.

“Here's what we got so far. There's a homeless man who says he saw a tall figure in a hooded sweatshirt dump the rolled-up carpet in a Dumpster before getting into a gray truck,” Paul says.

“That truck is probably gone by now. He's using different cars, which means we ought to look into any stolen cars lately.”

“Way ahead of you. I took a look into reported stolen cars and none of them match the truck that was stolen.”

“That means he either stole it a long time ago or he bought it a long time ago,” I say.

Paul points at me as if I am right on the money. Paul and Spider continue their conversation, and while I am intrigued by the whole serial killer situation, I have to work off of the facts. I know that it has been almost three weeks now since Pastor Robinson has seen her husband. It's been two weeks since any coworker has seen Tony and that is also the last time Sister Deborah has seen Tony as well. Spider checked family and all forms of transportation and it came up empty.

“What you got over there?” Paul asks.

I look up and see that Paul is very interested in what I am doing. “Nothing!”

“Don't ask me to share information and you're being stingy.”

Of course the whole case has thrown me for a loop.
Maybe a fresh set of eyes would help me.

“Listen, no matter what I say, this stays between us, you understand?”

I get head nods from both Spider and Paul. That will have to suffice.

“I was supposed to help this church find their pastor's husband who has gone missing, but now I think he might be a victim of the Husband Stalker.”

“So you got a church that paying you to pay me twenty grand?” Spider asks.

“I got a church that's paying me $150,000.”

Both Spider's and Paul's mouths drop. “Nic, you got to let me look into their financials,” Paul says.

“No one is to know. My business is based on secrets and service. The second word gets out that I can't be trusted, and then I'm as good as dead.”

“I'm not going to do a story, but at least let me get a look at their financials, because that might be the missing link to your case.”

I have forgotten all about the mystery surrounding who is paying me. Paul is right and I should let him do what he does best and look into the financial records.

“Okay, but promise me that as soon as you find something, you'll call me.”

“You got my word!” Paul says.

It feels good to have someone to trust in this game. I will need someone to trust before this is all over and right now Paul and Spider are the only two who I can trust.

It is Sunday and this marks almost two weeks since I first touched down in Sacramento. I am not any closer to finding Tony Robinson. His trail has turned cold and I fear for the worst. The only thing that I have gotten closer to is God. It is nice for a change to embrace a spiritual connection with my Lord and Savior that for so long has remained dormant.

Pastor Robinson and Minister Blackwell manage to convince me to preach the eleven o'clock service. Minster Blackwell says that the congregation is excited about my arrival and that has caused enough of a distraction to keep the talks about the first gentleman's absence to a minimum. However, this is more than a diversion for me; I can't put into words what I feel. At best I can describe my feeling as something sweet like nectar. My spirit is high and like the Prophet Nehemiah, I don't want to come down.

I approach the pulpit as I have done before, but this time there is no connection with my sermon. I plan to preach from the famous passage in Hebrews that Christians have dubbed the Hall of Fame passage. It is a passage that speaks of the heroes of faith and it is designed to inspire people to also become their own hero in faith. But that is not what God is telling me in my spirit. No matter how I try to review my notes, I feel my spirit tell me to pray. The request started off subtle, but now it has a firm lock on me to pray, and who am I to argue with the Holy Spirit?

“I had a sermon prepared, but I have to be obedient to the Holy Spirit and the Holy Spirit is leading me to pray.” I step down from the pulpit and stand in the front pew. “There's someone here who desperately needs prayer and with all of the saints praying I know that we can get both an answer and a breakthrough today. So come down to the altar right now for prayer.”

After a moment of awkwardness, a woman makes her way down the aisle. The navy blue business suit complements her pale yellow skin. I admire the woman's courage; no one wants to be the first unless there is something that the individual really needs. Minister Blackwell comes down and takes the microphone from me because no one else needs to know what we are praying about.

“What's going on, sister?” I say in her ear.

“I went to the doctor the other day and they found some black spots on my liver. I need prayer.”

I start to pray for this beautiful, strong woman and I lose control of my words and speech. I place my hands on her head and I feel her body sway. I hear her speaking in tongues and crying out to the Lord and I open my eyes and she has left. Another woman approaches. The girl couldn't be a day over nineteen. The girl has on a white tank top with a pair of jeans that are ripped in the front. To be blunt, I've met prostitutes who conceal more.

“What's going on, sister?” I say.

“I need prayer. I'm trying to get out of this abusive relationship before this girl kills me.” I went right into the prayer and I can hear her, like the woman before, cry and sob. I feel like the spirit of heaviness is being lifted from not only the girl, but from me as well. When I open my eyes this time, there is a line that wraps around the sanctuary. The Holy Spirit moves throughout Jubilee Temple and while physically I am exhausted spiritually I never felt stronger. One by one each individual comes up for prayer, and one by one they leave fulfilled. I have seen and experienced a lot of things in my walk with God; today's service is undoubtedly a first.

 

 

After service, some of the saints remain and continue to praise God and shout. I myself am still on a spiritual high, but I need Pastor Robinson to meet with me in her office. This case has not played out like how I would've expected it to play out. I am in the back of the office with Pastor Robinson doing some work. Pastor Robinson's attention is locked in to what is going on in the sanctuary. Every whoop and holler causes her to peek her head up to see.
What is going on?
For a second I think she has X-ray vision and can see through the walls of her office. Today's service can't even be put into words. Even with the service being over for at least a half an hour now, there are still people in the sanctuary being delivered from whatever yoke that was tied around their necks and the church still feels vibrant.

I hate my ability to read people because it takes away the freedom to be naïve, the freedom to take someone at their word. I called the meeting to see if there is any other information Pastor Robinson could lend to help me find her husband. I abandoned the wild goose chase that her husband has been savagely murdered. The whole idea of her husband being murdered leaves something to be desired. I have to focus on reality and reality is that Tony Robinson has disappeared and he needs to be found.

“So when did you change?” Pastor Robinson asks.

“Change what?”

Pastor Robinson sits back in her chair with a smile that can only be interpreted as sarcastic. “Obviously judging by today you have the anointing. You must've stood in my position at one point in time and you're a long ways from being the minister you originally set out to be. So what changed?”

“How much time do you have?” I reply.

We both share a laugh and that is a rare moment for the two of us.

“I was helping this one church out of Memphis. Some of the prominent members of the church were real suspicious about the pastor and how the church funds were being spent. So I went and, my goodness, this man could speak.” I shake my head as I reflect. “He could talk you right out of your wallet. I checked the church financial records and nothing. He was squeaky clean. So I had a private investigator who was a friend of mine check his personal financial records and sure enough it turns out that the pastor was a scam artist and that he had ripped off more than half of his members.” I shrug my shoulder as if there was no need to go further.

“How?” Pastor Robinson asks.

“The pastor would travel to different places and preach about stepping out on faith. He would ask ten people to step out on faith and when they did, he would reward them a hundred dollar bill. The church would run and shout and act up.” I do a gesture with my hands to try to liven up the mood but to no avail. Pastor Robinson is not amused. “Anyway he would ask the same people he gave a hundred dollars to step out on faith and give him back ten dollars. Tithe!”

“And would they do it?” Pastor Robinson asks.

“Yes, they would, but most of the members didn't have ten dollars on them, so they would write a check. The pastor would then take the check and give it to his crew and they would hack into the member's account and drain it.”

My story finally sparks a dropped jaw from Pastor Robinson. “How come they didn't know?”

“Because the pastor's crew had set up so many firewalls and dummy accounts and businesses that the information was never recovered. But this is the most disturbing part: because no one wanted to believe that a man of God was capable of doing something like that.”

“So why continue to work in ministry?”

I don't know how to answer that question. What am I to say? Because I get paid handsomely or because part of me still believes that I can change the world? “I'm too old to go and play for the Lakers.”

Pastor Robinson gives me another smirk and it is good to see her attempt to smile. “So what do you need from me?”

“We went through the normal channels and could not find your husband.”

“I thought you would've found him by now!” Pastor Robinson stops reading her Bible.

“So did I, which is why I think something might've happened to him.”

Pastor Robinson's whole countenance changes. My only criticism of Pastor Robinson is her lack of emotions. Pastor Robinson shows true concern for her husband. “Are you telling me that you think my husband might've been butchered?”

“Listen, I understand your concern for your husband. We're going to find him.” I pivot around the desk and kneel down before Pastor Robinson, who is sobbing in her seat.

“Listen, I need you to think really hard. Your husband must've gone back to his roots or something. Was there any relationship prior to you?”

“Before me, my husband was not the relationship type. He had a series of flavors of the month before he finally settled down with me.”

I know that Pastor Robinson is sincere in what she says, but I also know that she is sincerely wrong. No man goes from being a playboy to settling down and getting married without there being at least one woman who introduces the idea that even a playboy can settle down.

“You know that there is a serial killer on the loose,” Pastor Robinson says.

I am surprised that Pastor Robinson is able to tear herself away from her Bible long enough to be aware of anything current.

“Don't worry about it. Your husband is okay,” I say as I stand up and head toward the door. “I'm going to go check on what's going on outside.”

I exit the office and I make my way down the hall. I stand just outside of the sanctuary and observe the people in the sanctuary who are still praying. It is a nice day, which is a nice change for November, when things have been very gloomy.

Victory caught my peripheral vision with both her smile and her form-fitting white-blazer-with-gold-trim business suit. “Do you always have to look so serious?”

“That's my signature look.”

“So where does the mighty Minister Dungy eat? I hope you don't take me as being forward.”

I remember Victory's offer earlier in the week to come over to her house for dinner. I wonder if it is too late to accept the invitation.

“I prefer forward, and to answer your question, I usually have my food served to me through a drive-thru window.”

“Aw, that's sinful. Well like I said before, my family and I get together after church every Sunday for dinner. You are invited.”

“Thanks, but I don't play well with others.”

“That's fine, because my family and I don't play fair.”

I laugh and enjoy Victory's sharp wit. She has a glow that I find appealing.

“Okay, well, is there anything that you want me to bring?”

She flashes me a smile that conveys more than what she says. “No, we're good; we break bread at six
P.M.
”

“See you then.”

 

 

I arrive at Victory's address. She lives in a traditional suburban two-story home in the corner of a cul-de-sac. I ring the doorbell and moments later Victory opens the door with an apron on.

“God bless you, Minister Dungy,” Victory says with a smile.

“Good evening, and God bless, and I hope that this isn't interpreted as being forward or inappropriate.” I reveal a bottle of wine.

“Not at all. I enjoy a good glass of Moscato every now and again.” Victory takes the bottle of wine and opens the door wide enough for me to enter.

I enter the home and hear salsa music. “Don't mind us. We like to have fun. Let me introduce you to my family.”

Victory takes me around her house and introduces me to her two brothers, and her Auntie Rose. I even meet Victory's parents by way of a huge portrait that hangs above the fireplace. Both of Victory's parents died within five years of each other. Her father, Jim Morgan, died from congestive heart failure and her mother, Tiffany Morgan, died of a broken heart, Victory says.

I see people salsa dancing as I follow Victory to the kitchen. A little five-feet-five-inches-tall spitfire of a girl stands in my way and prevents me from moving.

“You have to dance with me first.”

My mother used to teach dance and I have not forgotten all that she taught. I start to salsa with the girl. This is a vibrant group of people. I expect to hear Mahalia Jackson and see a ten-pound Bible. I salsa my way into the kitchen and leave the girl spinning.

“Nice. A minister who can dance, preach, and pick a good Moscato,” Victory says.

“I became all things to all men so that I might win some.”

Victory is in the process of mashing up potatoes. I can smell the garlic. “I've never seen anything like that today. What God did through you was amazing.”

“Yes, it was, which is good because I'm not really a Sunday kind of preacher.”

“Well, I enjoy your sermons. So where are you from, Minister Dungy? It's like you appeared out of nowhere like a ghost.”

And like a ghost I shall leave.
There is no room in my world for a relationship or marriage. “I stay on the road so much that I don't really have a home.”

“And how does that sit with Mrs. Dungy?”

I chuckle because she couldn't be any more blatant, but she has charm.

“I wouldn't dare put a woman through my schedule. I already have a hard enough time keeping up with my schedule.”

I can tell that Victory is disappointed by my statement, but I would rather she be disappointed than heartbroken.

“A man should have a good home to go to. It's not good for a man to be alone.”

“I find satisfaction in how many men I get back to their homes.”

All of a sudden a Nerf ball hits Victory on the shoulder, followed by a procession of laughter. Victory puts down the mashed potatoes and grabs the ball.

“And you wonder why you didn't play Division I baseball.” Victory throws the Nerf ball and hits a man squared in the head. There is another procession of laughter.

“Pretty good,” the guy says as he picks up the Nerf ball.

Victory resumes her duties of preparing the meal. “I'm sorry. My brother is . . . stupid!”

“No apologies necessary. You played sports?” I ask.

“Softball in high school and college. I played at Arizona State.”