Wounds (17 page)

Ellis was glad he wasn't officiating. During his career he had been asked to perform a simple graveside or a small memorial service, but he had never been able to do so. He admired the pastors who did this work week in and week out. He had no idea how they did it. Just attending a funeral made his spine quiver.

He waited behind the closed door of his office where he hid from the incoming crowds. From his dark space he could hear voices as people walked past his door; he could hear the solemn tones of their conversation. For a few moments, he listened to what sounded like a young woman weeping and someone—a male friend—comforting her. Then he heard the familiar cadence of prayer. He couldn't make out the words, but the emotion was clear enough.

Five minutes before the service was to start, Ellis rose, slipped into his black suit coat, smoothed his dark blue tie, and buttoned the jacket. Then he straightened his spine and took a deep breath.

As a rule he walked with his gaze down and set a couple of yards ahead of him, but as he stepped from his office and into the darkening evening, headlights caught his attention. The lights went off, the driver's door opened, and Detective Carmen Rainmondi stepped into view. She waved, and for some reason he thought that an odd thing to do. Nonetheless, he waved back.

If it had been possible he would have ignored her, pretended not to have seen her arrive, but their gazes had crossed and he felt obligated to wait for the woman. It was the polite thing to do, the right thing to do. It just wasn't something he
wanted
to do. He gave a smile despite the situation.

“Evening, Detective.” Ellis held out his hand to offer a polite shake. “Don't take this the wrong way, but I didn't expect to see you here.”

“I hope I'm not intruding.” Her tone was even, friendly. “I want those who knew young Mr. Lindsey to know he is still in the forefront of our minds, that we are still working the case.”

Ellis motioned toward the open doors of the chapel and started that direction with a slow, even pace. “You're planning to say that publicly?”

Carmen shook her head. “Of course not. I have no plans to bother anyone.”

A sense of relief ran through Ellis. He was just beginning to enjoy it when the detective added, “Except you of course.”

Ellis's stride shortened, but Detective Rainmondi kept hers even and straight. She reminded Ellis of a battleship plowing through rough seas.

“Me?”

“Yes, sir. I want to ask you about my sister.”

Ellis's heart tumbled and for moment he thought it would stop beating. His lungs ceased to draw breath. He had to take two long strides to catch up with the female detective. Questions rattled in his mind:
What makes you think I know your sister? Why do you bring her up now?
But he kept his mouth shut and did his best to act as if she'd begun a discussion of the weather.

Ellis was “a back-pew Baptist.” He was most comfortable sitting in the rear of any building. From the rear pew he could see everything. Like an Old West gunslinger, he preferred to have a wall at his back. He slipped onto the rearmost pew on the west side of the chapel and was surprised when Carmen Rainmondi joined him. He smiled, indicating his pleasure—pleasure he felt, so long as they avoided one particular topic.

Try as he might he could not keep his eyes from stealing glances at the woman who sat to his left. She gave no indication of what she was thinking or feeling. She set her purse between them, as if erecting a wall. She unbuttoned the single button of her dark gray women's business coat and pushed back in the pew.

Ellis forced his gaze forward to the large oak pulpit that sat center of the raised dais. Affixed to the front of the pulpit was a simple wood cross, the enduring symbol of Christianity.

The chapel was not large when compared to the worship centers of mega-churches. In the latter, thousands could gather to sing God's praises and listen to the sermon. The chapel seated five hundred, which was more than necessary for the weekly chapel service. The Board of Directors for the seminary had elected to build a larger facility than needed so it could be used as an outreach for the community, and for situations such as this.

Tonight, the chapel was nearly full. Students interrupted their weeklong Easter break to return to campus and offer their support to the family and to seek a measure of personal healing. Ellis knew that some were Doug's friends, a few were little more than classmates, and some didn't know him at all. The latter came to lend their strength and prayers to those hurting most.

There were still a few moments before the service would start, and Ellis struggled to find a line of conversation that did not lead back to Carmen's sister, Shelley.

“Do you . . .” Ellis coughed, as if the words had stuck in his throat. He tried again. “Do you attend many church services?”

“Can't say that I do, Professor. My family is Catholic, but we almost never went to Mass. Oh, we went on the occasional Easter, or if we knew someone whose baby was being baptized, but that's pretty much it. I guess we are Catholic in name only.”

“I see.”

She eyed him for a moment. “I imagine you think I'm some sort of heathen.”

“That may be going a little too far. I wouldn't have used the word
heathen
.”

“Oh, really?” She hiked an eyebrow. “What term would you use?”

Ellis would've felt a little more comfortable if she had uttered those words with a smile. The detective didn't seem to smile often. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way.”

“How did you mean it?”

Ellis scratched the back of his head as if doing so would push ideas to the front of his mind. “I prefer the term
unchurched.
It's less offensive.” He scratched the back of his head again. He was trying to make headway, but everything he said seemed to make the path of conversation all the more slippery.

She kept her eyes on him, as if every insecurity, fear, and regret were scrolling across his face. Thankfully, Dr. Adam Bridger stepped to the pulpit.

“On behalf of the family of Doug Lindsey and on behalf of our seminary family, I wish to thank each of you for coming tonight to do the difficult work of grieving. It is no easy thing that we do today, but few things are as important. One week ago our world was shaken by the news of the death of one of our own. The nature of that death, the suddenness, the brutality of it, has branded our minds, our hearts, and our souls.”

The sound of sniffling filled the open space, traveling from the front row where the family sat to the back where Ellis hid. He knew that it would only get worse, and for a few moments his mind put aside his own worries and centered on the family that had been so damaged by an unimaginable cruelty.

“Most of us,” Bridger continued, “have been in services similar to this. Perhaps the nature of death was different; perhaps the passing was expected. No matter how many times we have faced the mortality of those around us and of ourselves, we never get used to it. That is how it should be. The theologians remind us that death is unnatural; experience teaches us that no one gets out of this life alive.”

Dr. Bridger's tone was steady and strong, and Ellis could feel a measure of comfort from the cadence and content of his words. Bridger was a master communicator, and it was his sincerity that gave his words enduring power and the ability to touch minds and hearts. Ellis was glad to know a man of such high caliber.

Ellis glanced at Carmen. Her eyes were fixed on the front of the chapel. She showed no emotion but seemed to be listening.

“We have come to knit our hearts together for the noble, the dignified, the important work of mourning the loss of family and friend. We also gather to stand with the Lindsey family. Our weakness becomes strength when we stand together.” Bridger looked to the front pew. “No words that I utter tonight can remove your hurt or dampen your pain.”

Quiet sobs joined the sniffling. Bridger stood straight and appeared strong, something Ellis knew he did to help others through the weakest moments of their lives.

Bridger continued. “The pain you feel—the pain we all feel—is the price and the proof of love. If Doug had not been loved and loved deeply, then this building would be empty. Our tears are our way of expressing our love. Nonetheless, we have gathered as Christians, and that makes dealing with the pain possible. We rejoice that Doug's faith in Christ has assured him a place in heaven, a place paid for by the death and resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. He is in a world of great glory now, a place where tears do not fall, a place where pain cannot be felt. However, we are not so simpleminded as to think that Doug's entrance into heaven has not left many hurting and empty. Tonight, we will call upon God's Word to help us face the future, but first let us stand and pray.”

As the congregation stood, Ellis saw a choir assemble behind Dr. Bridger. It was going to be a difficult night, but a meaningful one.

After the prayer, the congregation sat again and directed their attention to the front of the chapel. The congregation joined the choir and sang “It Is Well with My Soul.”

Ellis could only lose himself in the service for a few moments at a time, knowing that at the end of the memorial the woman sitting next to him might ask questions he'd spent years not answering. His stomach filled with acid, and he could imagine that it was consuming his internal organs. A bit of lung. A slice of liver . . .

Slowly but surely, Ellis felt as if he were dissolving from the inside out.

19

I
t had been Ellis's plan to exit the chapel and quietly make his way back to his office while the mourners visited and made their way to their cars for the sad journeys home.

Carmen changed that.

“Don't take off, Professor. A few minutes of your time, please.” Somehow she had made the statement sound like a request, but Ellis considered it an order. She waited as friends and family gathered around Lindsey's parents.

When the crowd thinned, Carmen moved forward and Ellis watched as she bent to speak to the still-seated Lindsey family.

He tried to make the best possible use of the time by formulating reasons he couldn't stay and talk. He could tell her that he only had a few moments before making his way to the graveside service—the service he hadn't planned to attend. Maybe he should ask her back to his office, but the thought of being alone with her in a confined space unnerved him. Perhaps they should meet someplace public, where she would be required to keep a professional decorum. But where? A coffee shop? A restaurant?

Maybe if they went nowhere—avoided the office and eateries, and just stood in the night as the seminary campus became more empty—the meeting might be shortened.

Ellis had no idea what to do. His instinct begged to walk into the parking lot, enter his car, and drive home, but then he'd look all the more guilty. Besides, the detective knew where he lived and even where he kept his boat. There was nothing for him to do but stand and endure.

Carmen returned down the center aisle of the chapel, walking with a confidence and assuredness that Ellis had seldom seen in others.

And had never seen in himself.

“Ready?”

He nodded. “You have a question for me?” Maybe if he stood his ground in the chapel, he could keep the questions to a minimum.

“Yes. May we use your office?”

Doom.

“Sure.” He tried to sound sure of himself but was pretty sure it failed. If insecurity were a crime, Ellis would've been arrested decades ago.

“Are you going to the graveside service?” Carmen followed one step behind and to his left as they moved from the chapel.

Say yes!
“I hadn't planned to. You?”

“No. That would be overkill.” She grimaced. “Sorry. That was a poor choice of words.”

“If that's the biggest mistake you make in life, you're doing well.”

They walked along the sidewalk that fronted the chapel and past the doors that led to classrooms. Ellis's office was only twenty yards from the administration building. The air was cool and carried a tad more humidity than was normal. The coolness seeped into the marrow of Ellis's bones.

Ellis put the key into the lock on his office door and gave it a quick turn. It swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. He flicked on the overhead lights and waited for the detective to enter. He closed the door after her and eyed the chair she had sat in when the two first met a week ago.

Ellis hesitated for a moment as he tried to decide whether to sit behind his desk or in the other guest chair. Sitting behind his desk might lend him a degree of dignity and the slight advantage of being on his own turf. Somehow he didn't think that would affect Carmen. Sitting in the second guest chair might make him look a little more friendly and comfortable. He unbuttoned his suit coat but left it on. He turned her chair ninety degrees from the desk and then did the same with his. He sat, crossed his legs, folded his hands, and tried to look relaxed.

Carmen set her purse on the floor and smoothed her jacket; then she looked up and drilled her gaze into his eyes. “I just learned that we went to the same high school together. I don't recall meeting you. Did you go to Madison High School on Doliva Street?”

The question welded him to his seat.
Calm. It's just a question. Just a twisting, rending, set-your-mind-blazing question.

“I did. I don't recall meeting you either. What year did you graduate?”

“Maybe you knew my sister? Shelley?”

She'd sidestepped his question and asked one of her own. Was this an interview technique? A way of throwing him off balance?

It was working.

Ellis was beginning to feel paranoid. He paused before answering. Tried to look as though he were thinking hard, searching his memory. “Shelley Rainmondi. I knew of her. We shared a few classes, but that was it. We traveled in different circles.”
Not that I had much of a circle.