The Lord is My Shepherd

  Cindy had been right about a lot of things the last several days, and this time was no exception. Oliver, it turned out, was the audience, not the performer.

  “Rabbi, are you all right?” Mark asked.

  Jeremiah opened his eyes. “I will be.”

  “Okay. Let's see who we have here.” Mark turned toward the two men on the bench. A moment later he made a strangled sound.

  “What is it?”

  “I know them. They're cops. They are … were … assigned to follow Oliver. They were keeping an eye on him while we tried to flush out the killer.”

  “Looks like the killer found them first.”

  Mark ran back to his car, and Jeremiah could hear him requesting officers be sent to Oliver's house.

  Jeremiah had attended a Seder at Samuel's house the year before. Had he been there last night instead of at Marie's, would he have been able to save them?

  Mark returned a moment later.

  “How did they die?” Jeremiah asked.

  “It looks like he poisoned the wine. He waited until it was over and then went in and posed them.”

  “Just the wine?” Jeremiah asked.

  “No, the grape juice too,” Mark said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  Jeremiah clenched his fists, his nails cutting into his palms until he could feel blood flow.

  “I know, it's terrible,” Mark said, bending down to take a closer look at the dead officers.

  “And the one who escaped?”

  “Oldest daughter, name's Ol—”

  “Olivia,” Jeremiah supplied.

  “Tell me, why do bad things happen to good people?” Mark asked.

  “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because you're a rabbi. I figure if someone's going to know the answer it might as well be you.”

  “If I ever figure it out I'll let you know.”

  “Do the world a favor and let everybody know if you figure that one out.”

  More officers arrived on the scene and began to rope it off to collect evidence. Jeremiah waited, helpless and angry. There was nothing he could do but give his statement. He was eager to leave. He needed to be at the synagogue to help members cope as the news got out.

  More than that, though, he wanted a chance to do some investigation of his own. The police might be doing their best to bring the killer to justice, but they would never succeed if he found the guy first.

  As forensics took over the crime scene, Mark pulled Jeremiah to the side. “Let's compare notes.”

  “This is going to take awhile,” Jeremiah said.

  “I've got time.”

  All right, then, you first.”

  Cindy woke up still feeling embarrassed about some of the things she had said and done at the Seder. She realized there had been no excuse for losing it, no matter how much Marie annoyed her. At least her husband and kids had seemed nice.

  She was too afraid to turn on the television or radio or even to check her email. She wanted the nightmare to be over, the killer to be dead or to have moved on. She knew she wasn't quite ready to cope with a reality that did not embrace one of those two theories.

  She yawned. It was earlier than she usually got up, but with everything that had happened all week she was really behind. If there was any hope of things going well during the Saturday pageant or the Sunday services, then she needed to devote every hour of the day she could to work. Although she doubted she would have any uninterrupted workdays for a long time.

  Happy Good Friday to me, she thought. She just hoped Geanie had managed to pull off her usual holiday miracle and would have her work wrapped up by ten in the morning so that Cindy would have a chance of recruiting her to help with her work.

  It was still dark as Cindy drove to the church. She ran through the list of things she had to do that day. Like every Good Friday, the list was overwhelming. The fear that a killer was still loose only added to the sense of impossibility.

  As she neared the church the sun burst over the horizon sending fiery tendrils of light across the sky. She gazed in awe as the light chased away the shadows, and she prayed that it might obliterate the shadows in her mind as well.

  She pulled her attention back to the street and prepared to turn into the church parking lot. The light from the sun touched the middle of the three crosses and illuminated the face of the man hanging on it.

  Cindy hit the brakes and yanked her steering wheel to the right, ramming her car into the curb. She came to a stop and flew from the car to the foot of the cross. She tripped on something in the grass and fell to her knees.

  She looked up at Oliver's face contorted in pain, a gag in his mouth and a crown of thorns on his head. He looked down at her, and the agony and terror on his face overwhelmed her even as she watched blood trickle into his eyes.

  She remembered standing on the lawn four days earlier when Ralph and Drake had said they were anchoring the crosses so that they could withstand a hurricane. She reached for her cell, realized she'd left it in the car with her purse, and ran back.

  “9-1-1, please state the nature of your emergency.”

  “I'm at First Shepherd on the corner of Main and Lincoln in Pine Springs. A man has been hung on the cross on the lawn, and I can't get him down.”

  “Emergency services are on their way.”

  Cindy hung up and then dialed Mark. “It's Oliver!” she screamed when he picked up. “The killer found him. He's here, at the church, hanging on the cross.”

  “Did you call 9-1-1?”

  “Yes. Hurry, we've got to help him.”

  “I'll be right there,” he said, and hung up.

  Cindy dropped her cell and grabbed her keys out of the ignition. She ran around to the gate, opened it, and then ran for the janitorial closet. Her hands shook so badly she could barely fit the key in the lock. Once inside, she grabbed a tall ladder and wrestled it from the room, knocking dozens of cleaning products off the shelves.

  The metal squeaked and scraped, and she smashed two of her fingers between the ladder and the door. She bit her tongue to keep from screaming at the pain of it and continued to pull.

  Once she had freed it from the room, she half dragged, half carried the ladder back around to the front of the church. As she passed the foot of one of the other crosses she glanced up and realized there was someone hanging on it as well. She gasped and dropped the ladder on her foot. She barely felt the pain as she stared up into the eyes. Dead. Dead eyes. She forced herself to turn and look at the third cross and saw another body there. And the eyes on it were also dead, so very, very dead.

  She felt her chest constricting in pain and fear. It's too late to help them, but you can help Oliver!

  Cindy grabbed the ladder and dragged it over to Oliver's cross, ignoring the stabbing pain in her foot. She stood it up and managed to open it. With shaking hands she began to climb. Don't look down. She glanced over at one of the dead men and felt dizzy. Don't look at the eyes. She continued to climb, but it felt like her throat had closed up and it was hard to breathe. Breathe, don't stop.

  She heard the sound of squealing tires and the grinding crunch of metal. Don't look back. The pain in her foot was excruciating. Don't think about it. She forced herself to keep climbing and to look up at Oliver. God, don't let him die.

  Finally, she neared the top of the ladder. Sweating, she felt as though she would fall backward. She reached out and grabbed Oliver's right arm. It didn't budge, and she used it to anchor herself for a moment. Once she had her balance, she took a good look at the arm nearest her, stretched out along the wood of the cross. It was flecked with blood and pulled tight.

  A nail had been driven through his palm. A sermon she had heard as a kid flashed through her mind. The pastor had said that the nails would most likely have been driven through Christ's wrists because the hands wouldn't have been able to support so much weight without tearing. She remembered nearly fainting at the graphic description at the time. She screamed in anger and fear.
/>
  A hammer. She needed something to yank the nail out. But she was afraid that if she left to find one, she wouldn't be able to climb the ladder again. I've got to find another way, she thought frantically. I could wait for the ambulance; they can get him down.

  She glanced at Oliver's slack face and realized he had passed out. His breath came in shallow little hisses. Crucifixion meant death by suffocation. The person would lose the ability to pull themselves up to get enough oxygen. Unconscious, Oliver would soon lose the battle to breathe. There was no time to wait for anyone to help. It was just her and what little strength she had.

  Cindy grasped the head of the nail, prayed for strength, and pulled for all she was worth. It didn't budge. She tried again. Nothing. Please, God, please! She grabbed it a third time, and screaming, pulled with everything she had.

  The nail came free, and Cindy started to fall backward. She dropped the nail and grabbed at the cross. She caught it. The wood cut into her hand, and she could feel a dozen tiny splinters embed themselves in the wound. She pulled her body forward until she was balanced again. Panting, she looked up, and realized in horror that Oliver's right arm was still affixed to the cross. It should have been hanging free since had pulled out the nail. She looked closely, trying to ignore the sweat pouring into her eyes, which caused them to blur and sting. It took a moment, but at last she saw the clear cable tie that had been wrapped around his wrist, and then around the wood, anchoring his arm firmly to the cross.

  Her eyes flew to his other arm, and she saw that it also had been cable tied to the cross. She turned her eyes back to the one within her reach.

  She sobbed in frustration as she tugged at it. I need scissors, a knife, something. She heard sirens in the distance. She took a breath and took a step down. Pain seared through her left foot, radiated upward, and her leg collapsed. She fell, screaming, fingers scraping on the ladder as she lost her grip. Her other ankle smacked a metal rung. She slammed into the ground, and blood filled her mouth.

  Before she could move a shadow loomed over her. Someone's come to help. A moment later, her eyes focused on the face above her, and she knew she was going to die.

  “You shouldn't have interfered,” he scolded.

  16

  MARK DROVE HIS CAR HALFWAY ONTO THE LAWN IN FRONT OF THE church, and he and Jeremiah jumped free. Jeremiah saw the three bodies on the crosses. At the foot of the cross were three other bodies. The man was dressed as a Roman centurion; the teenage boy was dressed in archaic clothing as well, probably representative of a disciple. Both were dead, necks twisted at impossible angles. The third was a woman wearing modern clothes, with the exception of an old-fashioned scarf wound around her head, prostrate on the ground as though praying. Next to her lay a pile of biblical looking clothes that it appeared the killer had not had time to change her into. She lay completely still.

  Jeremiah knew without having to see her face that the woman was Cindy. He reached her before Mark did and gently rolled her over. Her face was swollen, and she had a ragged cut on her forehead. Relief surged through him when he realized that she was still breathing, even if it was shallow.

  “She's alive, but she needs help immediately,” Jeremiah said, looking up at Mark who stared slack jawed at Oliver. Several feet above him Jeremiah could hear the crucified man's ragged breathing. “He doesn't have long,” he added.

  As he heard sirens blaring, he checked Cindy quickly for additional injuries. Moments later an ambulance and a fire truck arrived together. A paramedic dropped down next to Jeremiah.

  “She's out cold—nasty blow to the head. Also check the broken bones in her foot. She's got lacerations on her hands, splinters in the one,” Jeremiah said, standing up slowly and relinquishing Cindy to the other man's care.

  A fireman had already ascended the ladder and was busy cutting Oliver down. Others were removing the bodies of the two dead men on either side.

  There was nothing he could do for the living. He could only try and provide justice for the dead. Jeremiah took a deep breath and walked over to Mark.

  “How is she?” the detective asked.

  Jeremiah shook his head. “I'm not sure yet. She's alive, though, and I'm pretty certain she'll pull through.”

  “Thank God for small miracles, huh?”

  “Given what we know this guy is capable of doing, I don't count it a 'small' miracle.”

  Mark grunted in the affirmative. “It looks like she interrupted him this morning.”

  “And so did we.”

  “He's probably long gone by now.”

  “Probably,” Jeremiah said. “I'll check the rooms.”

  “I'll check the grounds and the surrounding area. Meet me back here in ten and call if you see anything,” Mark instructed.

  Jeremiah nodded and moved off. He glanced toward Cindy, who was being loaded onto a stretcher. The best thing he could do for her, he realized, was to catch the guy who had done this. She had complained about not feeling safe. All of them should have paid more attention to her.

  He moved swiftly and silently toward the main gate which stood wide open. Inside he checked the doors one by one, starting with the sanctuary. It was locked, as were the next few. For a moment he wondered if the killer might have a key and if he should go get Cindy's keys so he could open all the rooms and make sure they were clear.

  The next door he tried, the knob turned freely. He tensed, hand reaching for his cell. He stopped. There was no reason to call Mark off of his part of the hunt until he knew for sure he had something. He crouched down before throwing open the door.

  Nothing. He waited a second and then another. Finally, he risked a quick glance into the room. He saw half a dozen beat-up couches and cushions scattered all over the floor. A window on the far side of the room let in the early morning sun. He stood and went inside, glancing around. He checked behind each of the sofas and realized it must be where the youth group met.

  Suddenly, the door slammed shut and he spun, cursing himself for not having paid attention. He ran to the door and tried to open it. A doorstop had been jammed underneath it though. He turned and headed for the window on the other side of the room. He slid it open, pushed out the screen, and climbed through.

  He hit the ground running, and pulled his cell free of his pocket.

  “You got something?” Mark asked.

  “Guy locked me in the youth room. He should be headed for the main gate.”

  “On it.”

  Jeremiah turned the corner and saw a man in black pants, jacket, and hat erupt through the gate and sprint into the parking lot. He turned and gave chase, wishing he hadn't spent so much energy that day running already. The muscles in his legs burned, but he pushed himself faster, ignoring the pain.

  He heard footsteps behind him and realized they must belong to Mark. Ahead of him the killer vaulted the low wall that circled the parking lot. Jeremiah was a dozen steps behind him. He also jumped the wall and landed in someone's rose bushes.

  He ignored the thorns as he plunged ahead. He saw the man disappear around the corner of the house, and a second later he heard a child's high-pitched scream. He slowed for a moment, and Mark caught up with him. Together they rounded the corner and saw a little girl lying crumpled in the path.

  Jeremiah hesitated. He was the faster; he should go after the killer. Mark was armed, though and he was also a detective. He made a quick decision. “I'll take care of her, you stay on him.”

  Jeremiah stopped, and Mark surged forward. He knelt down next to the little girl and pulled his cell from his pocket. Her scalp was bloody where she had hit her head on the ground, probably when she had been thrown. He gritted his teeth as he called for help.

  As he hung up the girl's mother came flying out of the house wearing a shirt and a slip.

  “Help is on the way,” Jeremiah said, in a soothing tone. “I've called for an ambulance.”

  “Who are you? What happened?”

  “My name is Jeremiah. I'm a rabbi. The police
are chasing a man, and it looks like he knocked your daughter down when he ran this way. She hit her head.”

  The woman collapsed next to her child, sobbing in fear.

  “Wait until the paramedics look at her before moving her,” Jeremiah advised.

  He stood, itching to continue the chase, but the woman grabbed at him with trembling hands. “Help me, help me, please.”

  “I'm not a doctor,” he said.

  “Help me pray for her.”

  He stood, torn between his need to catch the guy who had hurt so many and this plea from a terrified mother. You're not a policeman, you're a rabbi, he told himself sternly. He knelt down, took the mother's hand, and placed his other one on the little girl's arm.

  Ten minutes later an ambulance arrived, and a minute after that Mark returned.

  “I lost him,” he admitted as he and Jeremiah moved off a little ways, leaving the girl to her mother and the paramedics.

  Jeremiah groaned in frustration. “Hopefully, either Cindy or the girl got a good look at him.”

  Mark nodded. “Why don't you head back to the church. I'll be back once I've covered things here.”

  “Okay,” Jeremiah said.

  He considered returning the way he'd came, but ultimately decided he didn't care for another run-in with the rose bushes. He walked the long way around and found himself again at the front of the church. In addition to the ambulance and fire personnel on the scene, police had cordoned off the area to keep back those who gawked in horror at the scene.

  A uniformed officer moved to intercept Jeremiah, but Paul waved him through. “Any luck?”

  Jeremiah shook his head. “He got away. There's a little girl who might be able to give us a description, though. Mark is with her and her mother now. What about Cindy? Is she okay? Has she said what happened?”

  “She's still unconscious. I heard the paramedics say something about broken bones, but other than that, I don't know anything. Looks like they're getting ready to take her to the hospital, though.”

  Jeremiah turned and saw them loading Cindy's stretcher into the back of one of the ambulances. He jogged over.