Soul of a Killer, page 13
“Because it was murder.”
I looked at her as if to say, “And?”
“You and Koby are involved in murder.”
I frowned.
“Have you figured out who done it yet?”
“No,” Koby said. “But we’re working on it.”
“I knew it.” Izzy was beaming. “I bet there are a lot of suspects. That man was trouble.”
“Did you know him?” I asked.
“Everybody knew about him,” she said and looked at me, perplexed. “You don’t remember hearing about him on the news?” She put her hands on her lips. “They called him Pastor Socks because he always took off his shoes and walked around in his socks.”
Koby and I looked at each other. Him taking off his shoes then was a well-known fact.
“I don’t watch the news,” I said. “I don’t even own a television.”
Izzy gave me another look. “No TV?” It seemed to be mixed with pity, disbelief and another one from my childhood—a look that called me a nerd. “I am so undone.” She held up her hand, palm out, into my face. “Don’t even tell me any more.” She turned and looked at Koby. “Did you hear about him?”
“Not that I can remember.” I knew he hadn’t, because he didn’t mention it the day we’d visited Grace Spirit Revival. “Because what happened?”
“He started that big megachurch. What was the name of it . . .” She sucked her tongue and snapped her fingers.
“Abundant Faith Tabernacle,” I said.
“That’s it,” she said and looked at me out the corner of her eye. “Then boom!” She made a gesture with her two hands like something had exploded. “He got arrested and come to find out that he had not only stolen money from his accounting firm or hedge firm, or whatever it was”—she was all into the story, drawing the words out—“but he stole from the people in the church.”
“Wow,” I said. Surprised he’d done all of that and still was lurking around a church.
“He must’ve been a good preacher, though,” she said, “because no one could take his place.”
“What do you mean?” Koby asked.
“You know how you usually have an assistant pastor who takes over the church?” We nodded. “Well, instead, it splintered. Everybody left and started their own church. It was like four or five churches that started with the members of Abundant . . . whatever the name was.”
“Abundant Faith Tabernacle,” I said, but my mind was far away in thought. How were we ever going to solve this murder? Thousands of people could have been upset enough with him to kill him.
“He got like ninety years or something,” Izzy said. “Definitely the only way he was coming out was on a gurney. And then, boom!” She did that hand explosion gesture again, and this time, it startled me. “He was out of prison!” She shook her head. “People were mad.”
“We heard he got out on a technicality.”
She shrugged. “Something about some bad fruit.”
“Bad fruit?” I crunched up my face.
“Something in the Constitution about bad fruit.”
“Ohhh,” Koby said. “Fruit of the poisonous tree.”
Then it clicked with me, too. “A Fourth Amendment violation.”
“Right.” She pointed a finger at me. “They didn’t get evidence in the right way or something.” She drew in a breath. “So they had to let him go. But”—she raised her eyebrows—“someone gave him a life sentence anyway.”
Chapter Twenty
IT WAS A beautiful and sunny Sunday morning and we were at the Everlasting Missionary Baptist Church without Mama Zola. She had dug her heels in deep yesterday, moving in Pete to stay with her. Looked like she wasn’t ever going to be welcomed back through these double doors, which worried me.
Mama Zola didn’t like change. She’d lived in the same house for more than thirty years. And when she found Everlasting Missionary Baptist Church, she’d said she couldn’t feel more at home.
She’d shopped for Pete’s room and was making a big deal over it. She hadn’t wanted a big place when she and Koby decided to move her here. So Koby found her the first-floor unit of a two-family house. There was an older gentleman who had lived on the second floor for years, so the landlord told them. Mama Zola got permission to plant flowers in the yard and paint the inside in whatever color she pleased. She had picked warm tones and made the house feel cozy. And the second bedroom—the one that Pete was now going to occupy—was going to be her second closet.
She was going to repaint it in “a more manly color,” she had said.
“All colors are for everyone,” Koby had told her. “I’m sure he’ll be happy with the walls and the roof over his head. “But are you okay?”
“I don’t need all those clothes and things anyway,” Mama Zola had said about giving up her extra bedroom. “Not when Pete is sleeping outdoors.”
But I think her fussing over everything was to cover up how she was really feeling. I knew she was sad about not being able to go back to Everlasting Missionary Baptist Church if she helped Pete. And of course, she was going to do that. It was in her nature to help. She had taken in more foster kids probably than anyone in the city of Seattle. She’d asked me several times since that day, what exactly did Pastor Lee say. I hoped when all of this murder business was over, she might be able to go back.
Mama Zola had left her apartment in Seattle so she could come work at Books & Biscuits. She lived too far, and was too old, to make the trek back and forth in her car every day with the crazy traffic that was Seattle. Or at least those were Koby’s thought on the matter.
Just like a child taking care of his mom. Whether they were related by blood or not.
So Koby had found her a first-floor unit of a two-story house, with two bedrooms, living and dining rooms and an eat-in kitchen halfway between our shop and his houseboat. She had beamed for days. And shopped for days. She wanted to outfit her new place with all new things. Koby put her things in storage just in case she had a change of mind and wanted some of them later on.
And now she was going to have a roommate.
At least until all this murder mess blew over.
My mother totally surprised me. I couldn’t believe she was on board in having a malefactor—as she liked to call them—around. But she seemed almost giddy, even taking off the day to help Mama Zola get things ready for Pete.
And it was because of Pete that we were once again at church. The only day Books & Biscuits was closed and yet we were still on the job.
At least, according to Koby, that’s what our snooping was. He’d said, “Let’s get to work.” He emphasized that we needed to find, as Izzy put it, who gave Austin James the time which basically amounted to a life sentence the courts hadn’t been able to uphold.
“Can I help you?” It was Rocko, the parking lot attendant slash security guard for the church. He’d stepped out of his booth when he saw us pull up and stretched out both of his arms and waved them as if he were flagging down a plane flying overhead.
“We’re going to church,” Koby said.
Rocko peeked into the car and surveilled our outfits.
“Aren’t you banned from this church?”
That made me nervous. Were we not allowed in the church? Not even in the parking lot? What had we done? I scratched my head and remembered how we’d snooped through his booth the day of the murder. And how we’d called the Grace Spirit Revival.
Koby looked like he did any other day. Jeans. Boat shoes. At least he wore a button-down shirt. But I put on a dress. Empire style. Sweetheart neckline. Bolero jacket. It was dark beige and fit clingier than anything I was used to wearing. I even wore my hair down and put on dangly hoop earrings.
But I didn’t know how fresh or churchy I’d look by the time we actually did attend service. Koby had gotten us there extra early so we could surveil the outside of the building.
“Are we going to walk the entire perimeter?” I asked and looked down at my feet. I wasn’t ever in the habit of wearing heels, but these were a nicer pair of shoes than what I’d wear to work. I scanned the ground where I stood, then into the distance as it wound around the building. Gravel. Dirt. Some concrete, a little grass but not enough to allay my fears of ruining my shoes. “What exactly are we looking for?”
“Camera. Points of entry. Footprints.”
“Footprints? What in the world would we do with a footprint we’d find?”
“We’ll determine that once we find one.”
I could only hope we didn’t. I could see us in Koby’s kitchen trying to make plaster of Paris from flour and water or something, to pour in the imprint to make a mold.
I’d had enough of flour.
Reflexively, I brushed a hand down my cheek.
“Look.” Koby pointed above the first door we passed. “No camera.”
I noted it, for what reason I wasn’t sure, and we moved on.
“Here’s another door,” Koby said and tried to pull it open. “No camera.”
“Yep. And nothing to see.” I looked around. A small concrete pad held a couple of small dumpsters. I figured we must be near the kitchen because it was where they’d put trash and I saw no other reason to have a door there. Beyond there was grass and woods. I tried the door handle. “And locked.”
“You need a key for this one.” He stood back and looked at it. “Probably easy to get into.”
I widened my eyes. That was a thought that wouldn’t ever cross my mind. I looked back from where we’d come. I was glad he hadn’t tried that at the last door and, fingers crossed, he wouldn’t try anything more with the next one we happened upon.
“Why would they do that?” he asked as he kept walking. “Have a camera only at one door.”
“We haven’t checked all the doors yet.”
“And then the one they do have doesn’t even work.”
I didn’t think he’d heard what I said. We were in the back of the building and there seemed to be a door at every corner. I was expecting at least three more.
After another door, we came out on the other side. The door opened to a parking lot.
“That has a code to it,” I said, noticing the numbers on the keypad.
“And it’s the one with a camera.” He stood and looked at it for a long while. “I wonder will it show me on it.”
“Why wouldn’t it?” I asked.
He hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know. I mean that video we saw in the lawyer’s office was so . . . different.”
“How?”
“It only showed each person once. Didn’t they go in and come out?”
“Maybe they just shared the video where people were going in. Didn’t need to show the other part.”
“No.” He scratched his head. “That doesn’t make sense.” He turned and looked at me. “Wouldn’t they want to know how long he was in there? If he had time to commit a murder.”
I hunched my shoulders. “Maybe he didn’t come back out that way,” I said. “None of them did.”
“I hope we can find that deacon,” Koby said. “See if we can’t get some answers.”
* * *
* * *
HIS NAME WAS Deacon Brown. At least that was what the nameplate he had pinned on him read. Standing next to a table by one of the entry ways to the sanctuary, there were about ten paperback books on display. They were written by one Moses Brown. I hadn’t ever heard of the author or the title. Next to the books were programs for today’s service and hand fans. He had a few of each in his hands to pass out as people entered the chapel.
Not that there was anyone else there.
We were the first to arrive, seeing we’d come so early for our reconnaissance mission. I didn’t know what Koby gleaned from it, but I learned that security on the building was inconsistent and whoever designed the church liked doors—there were so many of them.
It was a good thing that no one was around because Koby had a few questions for Deacon Brown.
Deacon Brown had dark skin and curly salt-and-pepper hair. He wore it cut low and his mustache was neatly trimmed. Medium height and build, he had on a deep red jacket, black pants and shirt and a tie that had diamond shapes in red, white, and black. He looked as if he was going onstage with a sixties R & B group.
“Good morning. Welcome,” Deacon Brown said to us as we walked in. “Sunday school will be ending in about ten minutes. Then you can go in for church service.”
I smiled. Nervous about what my brother was going to say and whether it would get us kicked out of the church before service even started. I’d seen the pastor’s car in the parking lot. I’d remembered it from when we followed it the day of the murder. We’d just finished our perimeter search for doors when I spotted it. I didn’t want the deacon to sic the pastor on us.
“Good morning,” Koby said. “We were wondering if we could speak with you.”
I hated it when he included me in his machinations.
The deacon placed a hand on his chest. “Me?”
“Yes.” Koby nodded. “About what happened here Thursday.”
“I didn’t hear you.” He took a step closer to us and turned an ear.
“We wanted to find out what happened here Thursday.” Koby leaned in and spoke a little louder.
“Oh.” Deacon Brown gave a small smile. “I don’t know a thing about it.” He squinted his eyes at us. “You mean Mr. James dying?”
“Yes,” Koby said and nodded. I guessed just in case the deacon hadn’t heard him.
“You were on the video,” Koby said.
“The video?”
“Yes.” Koby raised his voice a little louder. “You. Were. On. It.”
“So I heard.”
“We were thinking maybe you left the door open and that’s how the killer got in?”
He shook his head. He’d heard us that time. “That door locks on its own.”
That made sense. We’d seen that it had a punched code on it. I knew that was the one he’d gone in because it had been the only one with a camera perched above it.
“So how did the other people get in behind you?”
“Who did what?”
“Other people came in behind you. Got into the building.”
He shook his head again. “No one got in behind me.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I went into an office that’s right by the door. I would have seen them.”
Oh no, I thought. Were we going to have to add Deacon Brown to our list of suspects?
“The video shows—”
“I don’t care what that video shows,” Deacon Brown said, no need for Koby to repeat it. “No one else got in here. And what nobody seems to understand is that camera hardly ever works. Got some kind of short in it, what you might call a glitch or something.”
“Did you tell the police that?”
“What police?”
“The ones investigating Mr. James’ death.”
“No one’s asked me anything.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. Although I hadn’t been part of the conversation as yet, I had been following along.
“You say you don’t understand?”
“Yes. How did those people get on the camera if they didn’t come in?”
“Those other people could have come to the door, it captured their image and then shut off.”
“Oh,” I said and realized just what had been on the film we’d seen. “It doesn’t show them going in.”
“Say what?” The deacon looked at me and furrowed his brow.
“The other two people. It only shows them coming to the door.”
“Right. Because they couldn’t have gotten in. Not without the code and not without me seeing them.”
“What time did you come in?” Koby asked.
“About ten o’clock.”
Koby looked at me. We both looked at him.
“In the morning?” I asked.
“Sure wasn’t ten o’clock at night.”
Well, that conversation didn’t help and I told Koby that after we left speaking with Deacon Brown. We had to stand off in one corner of the lobby because Sunday school was still going on and we couldn’t interrupt it by going into the sanctuary.
“That didn’t help.”
“It helped me.”
“It did?”
“Yeah because all this time I was thinking that showed Pete going into the building, but it didn’t.”
“It only showed him going to the door.”
“Right. And the same thing with the other woman. The one in the hat.”
“So why did they go to the door?”
“Good question.”
“Pete has the answer,” I said. “But he isn’t sharing.”
“I think he’s kind of traumatized. He acts like nothing has happened. Like he isn’t in any trouble and everything is the same as it always is.”
“Maybe he should talk to my mother,” I said.
“Might be a good idea.” Koby dug his hands down into his pants pocket. “But I’ll talk to him again anyway. Something or someone made two people go to the door.”
“And why hasn’t that police officer talked to the deacon?” I asked. “I knew when I talked to him yesterday that he didn’t care about doing anything but pinning it on Pete.”
“Wait.” Koby narrowed his eyes at me. “You talked to who yesterday?”
“Acting Chief Ross.”
“You did not tell me that.”
“Oh,” I said and flinched. “I meant to.”
“Keaton.” His palm went up to his forehead. “Really.” Then he held that hand out to me.
“He had me so frustrated,” I said in explanation. “I saw him when I went over to the Second Street Market.”
