The Lord is My Shepherd

  “Her desk is in the back left. The one with the model airplane on it.”

  “Thanks.”

  She headed toward the back, noticing that all the desks seemed to be empty. She wondered if they took lunch later at the paper. The model airplane turned out to be easy to spot. Angela's desk, too, was deserted. She put the envelope down on the desk and then grabbed a Post-It for a quick note. She wrote the church's phone number on it and that questions should be directed to Geanie.

  Finished, she stood up and turned to find Oliver staring at her with large eyes. “Hey, Cindy. What are you doing here?”

  “Leaving an ad for the Sunday paper. Where is everybody?”

  “Meeting.”

  She looked at him closely. He was pale, and his hands were shaking. “Why aren't you at the meeting?”

  “Because I … I wanted to talk to you.”

  There was something wrong. He took a step forward, and she took a step back. She looked him in the eyes. “Oliver—”

  Oliver.

  Who had admitted to living in Texas when he got his first newspaper job.

  Oliver.

  Who had moved to Pine Springs the same time the killings stopped in Raleigh.

  Oliver.

  Who had come to her window Monday morning instead of her front door.

  Oliver.

  Who had talked to Mark but had not shown him his cross.

  Oliver.

  Who had the opportunity to steal the key to the sanctuary from Harold.

  Oliver.

  Who had questioned her so closely about what the police knew.

  Oliver.

  Who had different hair than the picture of the missing church member from the Texas church, but had the same eyes!

  Cindy jumped backward and yanked out her cell phone. Did I program Mark's number as 8 or 9? It has to be 9.

  “Cindy, listen to me, it's not what you think,” he said, moving to follow her.

  Her thumb slid on the keypad, and a moment later she heard a man's voice.

  “Give me the phone, Cindy,” Oliver said.

  She ducked around a desk and frantically looked for something she could use as a weapon. “It's Oliver! We're at the newspaper!” she shouted in the direction of the phone.

  He lunged forward, knocking the phone from her hand. She continued to move backward, her ankle slamming against the corner of a desk.

  Something silver glimmered, and she snatched a letter opener off of the desk and brandished it in front of her.

  “Cindy, no,” he said, his voice laced with panic. “I don't want to hurt you.”

  “It's your fault! All those people died because of you. You're a murderer. How could you? People trusted you. They cared for you. I had dinner with you. I thought it was safe!”

  He shuddered and then stopped advancing. She continued to move away, feeling with her feet and her free hand. She desperately tried to remember which way to the front of the building, but she was completely turned around and all she saw was a maze of desks.

  “You're right. I am a killer. Dozens have died because of me.” His voice sounded cold and hard. “Well done, Cindy. Police in five cities are baffled. You've found the killer they couldn't.”

  Five? Where is the other one? “But why?” she asked, still holding the letter opener.

  “Why not? It's a cruel world, and people don't get what they deserve. Someone needs to punish them.”

  “It's not for you to decide who lives and dies!”

  “Somebody has to,” he said with a smile.

  Over his shoulder she saw Mark running toward them, gun drawn. Oliver must have heard him because he spun around, hands in the air. “Detective, I'd like to turn myself in. Cindy's right. I did it. I'm the killer.”

  “You confess to killing Ryan Bellig?”

  “I confess to killing everyone.”

  “Here, Raleigh, Boston, Texas, and where else?” Cindy demanded.

  Oliver laughed, and the sound made her blood run cold. “Maine.”

  Paul appeared a moment later and handcuffed Oliver while Mark kept his weapon trained on him.

  “You have the right to an attorney,” Mark began.

  “I know my rights, and I'm willing to waive all of them,” Oliver said.

  He turned his head and stared at Cindy. His eyes seemed to sear her soul. “I'm sorry that you got caught up in all of this,” he said softly before Paul led him away.

  Shaking, Cindy sat down in a desk chair and dropped the letter opener.

  “How did you figure it out?” Mark asked.

  “He was the only one who fit the pattern.”

  “What was that about Boston and Texas and Maine?”

  “Last night I found out that there were similar murders in both Boston and Texas, but none of them were ever recognized for their religious symbolism. He said five cities just a few minutes ago. So I asked him where the fifth was.”

  “And it was in Maine,” Mark filled in. “We'll have to check it all out, but this is good. He's the only Shepherd who didn't produce a cross. I had planned to visit him at home tonight and arrest him if he couldn't show it to me.”

  “It does fit into a neat little package, doesn't it?” she asked.

  “I never call murder neat. Messy, yes. Traumatic, yes. Neat, no.”

  “I just wish I knew why he did it.”

  “I'm sure that will come out eventually.” Mark picked Cindy's cell phone off the floor.

  “Thanks,” she said as she reached for it. “I'm so glad you answered your phone. I thought maybe I should have called 9-1-1, but I wasn't sure I'd have enough time to give them all the information they'd need to find me.”

  “They can track cell phone location,” he said. “You didn't call me, though. You called Jeremiah. He called me.”

  “I'm glad I picked up,” a familiar voice said.

  Cindy glanced up and saw Jeremiah striding toward them. “Thank you,” she said.

  “I'm just relieved it's all over,” Jeremiah responded.

  “You can say that again,” Mark added. “If I ever see either of you at a crime scene again it will be too soon.”

  12

  HALF AN HOUR LATER THE STAFF OF THE NEWSPAPER RETURNED FROM their meeting, and Cindy suddenly found herself the center of unwanted attention. The police were almost through questioning her, and she had hoped to escape without having to talk to anyone else.

  It wasn't every day, though, that news happened in a news-room instead of just being reported there. Finally, the police had to push them all outside the building so they could finish up.

  Mark and Paul had taken off almost immediately with Oliver in handcuffs. Sometime after that Jeremiah seemed to disappear. Frustrated, Cindy felt like she had been abandoned to the mercy of the journalists who she could hear shouting questions to police officers outside.

  She shuddered as she thought about the dinner she had shared with Oliver and how she had told him things she didn't tell people. She remembered how he had urged her not to be afraid to go home. All along he was the one who had broken into her house in the first place.

  I guess you never really know people, she admitted to herself. She thought of the people outside. They had worked for three years with Oliver and had never suspected that the story to beat all stories was right under their noses.

  “I have to get out of here,” she said to the officer who was finishing taking down her statement.

  “This will just take a couple of more minutes, ma'am, and then I'll help you get out of here,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  She could feel the adrenaline draining from her body, and she knew that she would crash soon. She wished she could be certain of a good night's sleep. Even with Oliver in jail, though, she wasn't sure that would happen. The world seemed too dangerous still. Sure, a killer was off the street, but that killer was someone she knew, someone she let her guard down around. She wasn't sure how she could ever learn to trust people again.


  Kyle's right, I do spend too much time in my own head, she realized in disgust. While she could never be as cavalier as her brother, she found herself really wishing she could have a small piece of his attitude to help her relax and take everything in stride. Maybe I'll give him a call tonight, congratulate him on that whole rescue thing.

  “Okay, we're finally done here,” the policeman said a few moments later.

  “Great.” Relief flooded through her. “How do we do this?”

  “Out the side door to avoid the vultures,” he said grimly, turning to lead the way.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  When they reached the exit she remembered in frustration that she had parked in the main lot. She would still have to face the gauntlet of reporters if she wanted to get home. The officer pushed the door open, and she followed him out.

  There, parked next to the exit, was Jeremiah's car. He leaned casually against it, arms folded across his chest. “Need a ride?”

  “Yes, please.” Relief washed over her.

  “I've got her, Officer,” Jeremiah said.

  The policeman snapped him a salute and hurried back inside. Cindy was amused at the exchange. She looked again at Jeremiah. There was something in his posture that did demand respect. Was it just because she knew he was a rabbi, or was he the kind of guy who got people's attention anyway?

  “Hop in,” Jeremiah said. He opened his door and slid into the driver's seat.

  As soon as she had the door closed, he hit the gas. Cindy shrank back into the seat and fought the urge to duck her head like some kind of celebrity trying to evade the paparazzi. She glanced sheepishly at Jeremiah, who grinned at her.

  “Go ahead and duck down if you want,” he said, as though reading her mind. “We can come back for your car when they're all busy looking in another direction.”

  “When I couldn't find you inside I thought you had abandoned me,” she confessed.

  He smiled at her. “We've come this far together. I figured we might as well see it out together.”

  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Thank you again, for everything.”

  “You're welcome. So, what shall it be, do you want me to take you home or to work?”

  “Can I have a third option? I don't like the sound of either of those right now.”

  He chuckled. “Okay, how about a Seder tonight at my secretary's house?”

  “Serious?” she asked, opening her eyes.

  He shrugged. “Why not? It would be something completely different for you at any rate. And it fulfills your requirement of being neither at work nor at home.”

  “You're on. But I really should stop off at work and then at home before that.”

  “Acceptable.”

  A few minutes later he dropped her off in the church parking lot with a promise to pick her up in an hour. Cindy walked slowly toward the office, trying to catch her breath and remember what it was that she had to do there.

  When she stepped into the office she found it crammed with people who saw her and burst into applause.

  “What on earth?”

  Geanie threw her arms around her. “We've been listening to the news on the radio. We heard everything about you and the newspaper. We're so excited that you caught the killer.”

  “Do you know who the killer is?” Cindy asked, wondering how much of their excitement would disappear once they knew that.

  “Unfortunately, we do,” Geanie said with a brief frown. “But what's important today is that you caught a murderer and helped us all feel safe again.”

  “I never realized anybody besides me felt unsafe,” Cindy said quietly. It would have been nice to have known that she wasn't alone in that regard.

  “Talking about that usually makes people feel worse,” Geanie admitted.

  “Well, I'm glad I could help,” Cindy said.

  “Are you going to the program tonight?”

  “No.”

  “You're going to miss it?” Roy asked from across the room.

  “I'll see the Saturday night program,” Cindy called back.

  Roy nodded approval.

  “What are you doing tonight to celebrate then?” Geanie asked.

  “I'm going to a Seder.”

  “How cool! You'll have to tell me all about it tomorrow.”

  “I promise.”

  “Awesome.”

  The office door opened, and Gus carried in a massive bakery box. He struck a pose and hoisted the bakery box aloft. “I have cake!” he boomed in his best theater voice.

  There was another round of applause. Somehow, Cindy found herself in charge of cutting the cake. There was excited chatter in the room as the pieces of cake were passed out. Cindy was glad to hear that there were also some more serious tones, though, as people considered the horror of having one of their own turn out to be a serial killer.

  Maybe life does go on. She finally ate the first forkful of her own slice of cake. “This is delicious!”

  “Chocolate, it's good for what ails you,” Gus said. “Besides, nothing but the best today.”

  She had to smile. She wondered if this was what Kyle felt like all the time, a conquering hero who saved the day. For the first time she sort of envied her brother.

  So much for leaving well enough alone, Jeremiah realized. For whatever reason, Adonai seemed determined to cross his path with Cindy's. He didn't know why or what the plan was, but when she had called his cell, screaming that it was Oliver, he had known he was meant to save her. And save her he did, if just from the newspaper reporters. He was amazed that she had single-handedly cornered Oliver and got him to confess. When he had seen her wielding the letter opener in the back of the building, it had been a far cry from the girl cowering on the floor of the church sanctuary.

  Now it was over, though, and life could resume as normal. She would go back to her job, and he would go back to his, and they would wave as they passed each other in the parking lots. Somehow that didn't seem quite right, though. He had a feeling that Cindy Preston wasn't done with him just yet, although he couldn't say why.

  Was it possible that she had something to teach him? Or maybe Adonai felt he needed to have more friends outside of his faith. Whatever the reason, she seemed destined to stay in his life, at least for a little while longer.

  After dropping her off at the church he headed home to change his clothes for the Seder. Once that was done, he picked up the phone and called Marie.

  “I heard they caught the guy, and he was one of their own,” she said by way of greeting.

  “Yes, Marie, they caught him. Cindy confronted him at his work, he confessed, and the police took him away.”

  “A blessing.”

  “Absolutely. Ready for another one?”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I invited Cindy to partake of the Seder tonight.”

  “I appreciate you inviting people into my home and feeling so free to do so,” Marie said, sarcasm thick in her voice.

  “I'm sorry. At least I gave you notice so that you can have the right number of place settings.”

  He realized it was the wrong thing to say almost as soon as it left his mouth. He winced, waiting for the backlash, but Marie gave no acknowledgment of it.

  “She's your responsibility,” Marie said darkly.

  “I understand.”

  “It's no sin of mine if she taints the table,” Marie continued.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Because I keep an immaculate house.”

  “I know you do,” he reassured her. “I promise, she'll be properly attired and thoroughly purified before arrival.”

  “All right,” she said grudgingly.

  “Thank you, Marie.”

  He hung up the phone. The evening would either be a great success or a horrific disaster. All he could do was hope and pray that the two women would get along.

  Be honest, it's not Cindy you're worried about, it's Marie. It was true. Marie was notoriously biased
against Christians, and all the time he'd spent with Cindy didn't help.

  Jeremiah glanced at the clock. He still had a while to go before he picked up Cindy. He grabbed a book and settled down in the living room to read for a few minutes.

  He flipped open a book of Shakespearean sonnets, but couldn't focus. He had found that reading old English remarkably improved his vocabulary skills but was neither easy nor to be engaged in lightly. After rereading the same sonnet four times, he closed the book. He sat quietly for a few minutes before finally giving up and getting ready to leave the house.

  He tried to blame his distraction on the earlier excitement or his apprehension about Marie's behavior at the Seder. The truth was, though, that something just wasn't right.

  His day off was turning out nothing like he'd expected. He was relieved that the reign of the serial killer had come to an end, but at the same time something about the whole situation made him uneasy. Oliver didn't seem stupid to him. And the guy who had been able to perpetrate those crimes didn't seem like someone who would turn himself in so easily, confess, and happily go off to prison.

  No, he would have tagged the killer as someone who would have gone down fighting, striving with his last breath to be smarter, quicker, deadlier than his opponents. It was hard for him to see Oliver as that type of individual, even without the afternoon's events.

  Not everything has to be so complicated, he told himself. Sometimes the bad guys do confess. It happened all the time in his country, only with terrorists as opposed to serial killers. They were always proud to claim their work and would defend it at any cost.

  Paranoid, that was what he was. He took a deep breath and decided that maybe it was time to pick up Cindy. He would be early, but the worst case scenario would have him shadowing some of her coworkers for a little while. That was preferable to figuring out ways to set a confessed killer free.

  A handcuffed Oliver sat alone in one of the interrogation rooms. He looked tired, deflated, but also somewhat relieved. Paul and Mark had observed him for nearly five minutes through the one-way glass.

  “Does it seem odd to you that he would just confess like that?” Mark asked. “After all the games, the elaborate setups? The man managed to keep every crime scene free of DNA evidence, and yet just sings like a bird with a little push from a church secretary?”