Lie Down in Green Pastures

  "And they cleared out a little more than they bargained for," Mark said.

  "Exactly."

  "Sounds like an accident."

  "Yeah, but the captain wants us to check it out anyway."

  "Why not? I've already been to one accident today," Mark said with a sigh. "So, exactly what homicides were you referencing when I called?"

  Paul shrugged. "We've still got a couple older cases to work, like that art dealer from a few months back."

  "Or the Iranian student from last year. I know. Trust me, I don't forget a victim," Mark said.

  "Hopefully Kelly isn't one of them, just a poor slob who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  Like Jeremiah this morning.

  They reached the burn line and were waved through by fire- fighters. A minute later they were pulling up a few hundred feet away from the scene of the accident.

  Randall Kelly, or rather, what was left of him, was still handcuffed to a charred tree, half of which was little more than embers and ash. The flesh had been burned offthe majority of the body with part of the face and arms more intact than the rest.

  "Terrible way to die," Paul said.

  "You're preaching to the choir," Mark said. "I'd rather be shot any day."

  "Can you imagine seeing it coming and not being able to escape?"

  "Makes you wonder what he did with the key, why he couldn't free himself."

  "Maybe he dropped it? Swallowed it?" Paul said.

  "Maybe, or maybe someone was supposed to come over today and let him go, friend or family member maybe."

  The fire chief was standing at a respectful distance and Mark finally turned away to engage him, catching sight of the coroner arriving on scene out of the corner of his eye.

  Mark had met the chief half a dozen times but he introduced himself anyway.

  Jim shook his head. "One of these days we'll have to have a barbeque or something, meet under happier circumstances."

  "Looks like we've already got something of a barbeque here," Mark said before he could stop himself.

  "I trust you know that wasn't funny."

  "Sorry," Mark said, wincing. Usually people apologized to him, not the other way around. "Tell me what happened."

  "We were doing a controlled burn before the dry season, trying to get rid of a lot of dead leaves, branches, and trees.We're going to be heading into summer with too much dead undergrowth. Better to burn it now than to risk a fire breaking out and burning out of control later."

  "I assume you filed all the necessary paperwork, got permits, everything?"

  "Of course. We advertised, even posted signs warning people to stay away."

  "When did you realize someone ignored those warnings?"

  "Helicopter pilot who was keeping an eye on the burn from up above spotted the car about a quarter of a mile off. We doused the fire as fast as we could, but it was too little, too late. It took us an hour to find him. We were hoping someone had just left the car, but then, well, I smelled burned hair and a minute later I found him. That's when we made the call to you boys."

  "How did you know who he was?"

  "The registration in his car. It made sense, too. He raised such a stink a couple years back when we were going to do the burn. He even managed to get a temporary restraining order, called for environmental impact studies, blah, blah."

  "What happened?"

  "While everyone was busy messing around some idiot set offa fire with a cigarette butt. Fire wiped out more than a dozen houses."

  "I remember that," Mark said.

  "Yeah, well, we hadn't heard much from Mr. Kelly since then. Figured he'd learned his lesson, just sorry others had to pay his tuition."

  "More often than not that's what happens," Mark said. "So, I guess he forgot it and headed out here to try and do the same thing all over again."

  The fire chief stroked his chin and stared toward the body."I'm not entirely convinced that's true."

  "What makes you think that?" Mark asked sharply.

  "You ever seen a rat caught in a trap?"

  "Can't say as I have."

  "They get desperate enough they'll gnaw their own leg off to get free."

  "Randall Kelly wasn't a rat," Mark noted.

  "No, but he was in a trap same enough. What would you do to save your life?"

  Mark turned and looked at the skeleton. "You mean would I gnaw my own hand off?"

  "No need. All you'd have to do is dislocate or break one of your thumbs."

  "Spend much time running from the police when you were a kid?" Mark joked even as he stared at the body. Jim was right.All Randall would have needed to do to escape was free one hand. If he had struggled hard enough he could have broken his thumb even if he didn't mean to.

  "Why weren't you struggling, Randall?" he whispered.

  True to her word Geanie returned just before lunch, freeing Cindy up to head to her meeting at O'Connell's Pub. She arrived a couple of minutes early and settled into a booth.The pub was authentic Irish, at least as far as one could get in California. She had always liked the food and every once in a while she would come in and watch people talking and playing darts. She didn't participate even though she was a pretty good dart thrower. Cindy was always too shy to get up in front of people and perform like that.

  "One day," she promised herself under her breath as she stared longingly at the dart board. Of course, it looked much different than the one she had on the back of her bedroom door at home. This one didn't have a picture of her brother on it. I wonder if I can even hit a board without using his face as a target? she thought, smiling to herself.

  "I hope I didn't keep you waiting," Gary O'Connell said as he slid into the booth and took up position across from her.The real estate agent was in his late thirties with light brown hair, hazel eyes, and the world's cheesiest smile. She always wondered who had the wider, whiter smiles—movie stars or real estate agents.

  They shook hands. They had met once before, at the office of the lawyer who had handled the estate of Marge Johnson, a church member who had died the year before and left her possessions to various church staffand members. To Cindy she had left a house.

  While Cindy appreciated the gesture enormously, the house was too large for her needs and she was afraid of what the upkeep costs were going to be. Gary O'Connell had been the Realtor recommended to her.

  "How are you doing today, Cindy?"

  "Not bad, you?"

  "I'm still in business so I can't complain. At least not too loudly," he joked.

  She smiled. "I've been meaning to ask you. Any relation to the pub here?"

  He nodded. "My brother Chris owns this place."

  "Well, tell your brother I'm a fan of his corned beef sandwiches."

  "Let me guess. You have them once a year."

  "More like once a month," she said with a smile. "I told you, I'm a fan."

  "I will be sure to pass that along."

  "Thanks."

  He gave her that cheesy smile again, then pulled a folder out of his leather satchel. "So, Cindy, let's get started. I've brought some paperwork for you to sign and we'll talk about the process and what you can expect from it and from me."

  "Thanks, I really appreciate it," she said, taking the papers."I've never sold a house before. I've never even owned a house before."

  "I'll do everything I can to make the whole thing as painless as possible."

  "What do you think the chances of even selling it right now are?"

  "I'll be honest with you, not great. Still, we'll do all that we can."

  "It must be a difficult time to be a real estate agent," she said as she started skimming the papers.

  "What can I say? It's a killer market. Last agent standing and all that."

  "Well, good luck," she said, glancing up.

  "To both of us," he smiled.

  The waiter came over and Cindy ordered a corned beef sandwich.

  "The usual," Gary said, relinquishing his menu.

/>   "That must be nice," she said as the waiter walked away.

  "What?"

  "To go somewhere often enough they know you and know what you want to eat."

  "But on the other hand, it really throws people offif you're in the mood to mix it up a little and order something else."

  They spent the next forty-five minutes talking and eating.Cindy listened as Gary outlined his plan for selling the house.

  "How long have you been in real estate?" she asked when he took a breather.

  "Fifteen years. I've mostly done commercial, but the last year and a half I've been forced to branch out and now I do residential as well."

  "One-stop shopping."

  "That's me. Hurry, hurry, hurry, step right up and satisfy all your real estate needs," he said, mimicking a midway barker.

  She couldn't help but laugh. When they were finally finished she made her way back to the church feeling optimistic about her chances of selling the house.

  Geanie was clearly relieved to see her and Cindy soon discovered that word of the accident had spread and she spent the rest of the afternoon fielding calls. Several times she wondered how much worse it was next door where Jeremiah's secretary, Marie, was probably having to explain to every member of the synagogue just what had happened to their rabbi. She felt sorry for them both.

  By the time Cindy left work she was exhausted. When she got home, she walked into the kitchen, grabbed a marker from a drawer, and put a big red X over the day on the calendar.She then flipped ahead to May. Eleven weeks remained on her countdown to her Hawaii trip that she had planned for Memorial Day weekend. Eleven weeks to paradise. Eleven weeks to vacation. Eleven weeks to lose those last few pounds so she could wear a bikini.

  She sighed. The bikini was probably a pipe dream. Still, she forced herself to make a salad for dinner instead of eating her leftover pizza from the night before. Once finished, she found herself fidgeting, not really sure what to do with the rest of her evening. She was too tired to work on a project and too amped up to watch television.

  She finally opted to call Jeremiah and check in on him.

  "Hello?" he answered, sounding a little groggy.

  "Did they miss me at the hospital?" she teased.

  "They did, but I covered for you."

  "Glad to hear it. Are you okay?"

  "Nothing some aspirin and a few days won't fix."

  "Good. I was worried about you," she admitted.

  "Did you hear anything more about the other driver?"

  "No."

  Her phone beeped in her ear. "Can you hold on a sec while I see who's trying to call?"

  "Sure."

  She pulled her phone away from her ear and looked at the caller ID.

  Mark Walters.

  A chill danced up her spine. Why would he be calling except to tell her that she was right and there was another killer on the loose?

  2

  JEREMIAH, IT'S MARK ON THE OTHER LINE. CAN I CALL YOU BACK?" CINDY asked, forcing herself to take a deep breath.

  "Sure," Jeremiah said as she switched over.

  "Hi, Mark."

  "Hi, Cindy. How's the rabbi?"

  "Fine," she said, flushing slightly. She didn't know why the question made her uncomfortable.

  "Figured as much. Listen, we need to ask you some followup questions. You at home?"

  "Yes."

  "Great. See you in five minutes."

  Cindy hung up and briefly debated calling Jeremiah back.Before she could, though, there was a knock on the door. She opened it to find Mark and Paul standing there, faces grim.

  "That was a quick five minutes," she said as she gestured them inside.

  "We were parked out front," Paul explained.

  "Let's sit down," Mark said.

  They took seats around the kitchen table and they both pulled notepads out of their pockets. Cindy wrinkled up her nose. Both men smelled of smoke.

  "It wasn't just a heart attack that killed Dr. Tanner, was it?" she asked, her mouth dry.

  "We don't know much at the moment but we're trying to rule out possibilities," Mark said. "We are, however, fairly certain that he was dead or unconscious when the accident happened."

  "Of course he was dead. Jeremiah said so," she replied.

  "That may be, but I'm not sure how much Jeremiah actually saw rather than imagined. That was a nasty accident," Paul commented.

  Cindy felt anger rising in her and it caught her offguard.Why should she feel suddenly so defensive over them doubting Jeremiah's account of the accident? Was it because she had relied on his conclusion when making the decision to call the police in the first place?

  She took a ragged breath and asked, "How do you know the driver was dead or unconscious, then?"

  "The accident investigator," Mark said.

  "He found something?" she asked.

  "More like he didn't find something. Skid marks. Dr.Tanner never once hit the brakes during the entire thing."

  "And had he been awake he would have been pushing the brake pedal as hard as he could," she said.

  "That's the logical assumption," Paul said. "So, we want to go over the accident with you again and ask you some more questions about Dr. Tanner."

  "Anything I can do to help," Cindy said.

  She felt like all she did was repeat herself for the next half hour until she'd told the story from her point of view a dozen times. Finally they shifted topics.

  "Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Dr.Tanner?" Paul asked.

  Cindy shrugged. "He was a kind man, well thought of, but I don't know enough about him to be able to answer that. I'm guessing that's a question for his family."

  "Anyone at the church know him better?" Mark asked.

  "Joseph Coulter sits on a board with him."

  "And just which board would that be?"

  "The GPNC Board. The board was created to oversee use and care of the Green Pastures Nature Camp. The camp is about an hour-and-a-half drive from here and was created by several churches and non-profits in the area years ago for use as a camp and a retreat. Kids go there to summer camp from all over the area. Adults go to religious retreats."

  "I'm familiar with it," Paul said. "They were both on the board?"

  "Yes."

  "Anyone else at the church have close ties with him?" Mark asked.

  "Dave Wyman, the youth pastor, relied on him to drive the bus to camp whenever it was needed. He took the news really hard this morning."

  "Ah yes, Wildman. Heck of a nickname for a youth pastor."

  "Anyone else?" Paul asked.

  "Not that I know of. If you want, I could set up an appointment with Pastor Roy—"

  "No, thank you," Mark interrupted, visibly wincing.

  Cindy remembered the first and last time Mark had tried interviewing the head pastor and the look of utter frustration on his face when he left Roy's office.

  "Okay, I think we're done here," Paul said, snapping his notebook shut and putting it away.

  He stood and Mark followed suit. Cindy rose reluctantly to her feet.

  "I've got a question for the two of you. I know you're not smokers, so why do your clothes smell like smoke?" she asked.

  Mark grimaced. "I'm sure you'll read about it in the papers tomorrow. We were investigating an accident. An environmentalist got caught in a planned burn to clear out undergrowth before the dry season."

  "That's terrible! How does that involve you, though? You're homicide detectives."

  "Anytime somebody finds a body like that we get called.Strictly routine," he said.

  She noticed that he didn't look her in the eye when he said it. "You've always had a terrible poker face," she accused.

  He shrugged.

  After the detectives left she called Jeremiah back, but it just went to voicemail. She hoped that meant he was getting some rest. She flopped down on the sofa and turned on the television.

  "And next up on the Escape! Channel is Kyle Preston's newest show Dare Me. See
the first part of Kyle's journey as he attempts to go over a waterfall in a barrel."

  She clicked the TV offin disgust and headed for her bedroom.Once there she began throwing darts at his face on her dartboard. The picture was actually a better one of him. He looked serious and intense, like he actually was contemplating what an idiot he was for always putting himself in such danger.

  Jeremiah ached all over when he woke up. He stood gingerly and walked into the bathroom where he inspected himself in the mirror. There was bruising on his left cheekbone.He pulled offhis shirt and saw the welts and bright purple bruises left by his seatbelt. The cut on his leg was hurting and starting to itch. All in all, he had gotten offlightly. Except for the bruise on his face no one would realize anything had happened to him.

  He debated briefly going into work. He knew he should, but all he really wanted to do was go back to bed and catch up on some reading. He took a shower, which did little to make him feel better. Having made up his mind he put on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and picked up the phone.

  His secretary answered on the third ring.

  "Hi, Marie, sorry for calling you at home. I just wanted to let you know that I'm not going to be in today. I'm still recovering from yesterday."

  "Recovering? From what?"

  "The car accident. Didn't you hear?" he asked, surprised.He always assumed that Marie heard anything that happened at or near the synagogue within five minutes.

  "You were in a car accident?" she asked, voice rising an octave.

  "In front of First Shepherd. A guy had a heart attack and rear-ended me."

  "And you didn't think to tell me?"

  He winced. "Actually, I thought you'd have figured it out when you saw my car. Cindy came running out of the church right after it happened and insisted I go to the hospital."

  "In the future, you call me when something like that happens," she fumed.

  "Sorry. I wasn't thinking straight. The car flipped and I was pretty out of it." He felt only slightly guilty playing it up. The last thing he wanted from Marie was a guilt trip.

  "Oh! Are you hurt?"