The Lord is My Shepherd

  “A couple of bodies were found at Glamour Girl, the beauty parlor on Fifth Street,” Paul said.

  “I'll see you in fifteen.” Mark hung up, relieved that it wasn't another religiously themed murder. Maybe they'd make it through Wednesday without one. It would be nice.

  When he arrived the crime-scene photographer worked the far end of the room, and Paul talked to a distraught blonde woman, the owner it seemed. She smoked and waved her arm wildly, sending the toxic fumes through the air. Mark covered his mouth to avoid sucking it in. He walked toward the photographer.

  “Hey, Jack.”

  “Hey.”

  Mark turned to look at the bodies. A man wearing a dark suit sat in the chair, his eyes frozen wide in terror. His throat had been cut. His bare feet were immersed in one of the pedicure tubs filled with blood. Beside the tub lay a woman with long, dark hair that fanned out around her on the floor. Her throat had also been slit. Each of her hands held one of the man's ankles.

  He stood for a moment, taking it in. Paul joined him, and together they stared at the crime scene. “His name is William O. Carruthers.”

  “What does the “O” stand for?” Mark asked.

  “Ollie. She's Mary Gomez.”

  “It figures.”

  “Why?”

  “She's washing his feet,” Mark said quietly.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “There's a story in the Bible about a woman who washed Jesus' feet and wiped them dry with her hair.”

  “During the week leading up to his death?”

  Mark nodded. He passed his hand over his eyes. Any lingering doubt evaporated. “We're dealing with a serial killer. And I'm pretty sure this is an old game for him.”

  “I was hoping you weren't going to say that.”

  “Yeah, well, I'm saying it.”

  “How many more events of Easter week are we looking at?” Paul asked.

  “A lot. The Garden of Gethsemane, arrest, trial, execution on the cross, Resurrection,” Mark said.

  “What comes next?”

  “Tomorrow's Thursday. I think we're about to see an escalation.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the Last Supper,” Mark said. “Jesus and his twelve disciples.”

  Paul swore under his breath.

  “How far down the list of Shepherds did you get yesterday?”

  “About half. All of them had their crosses. All of them had alibis for Sunday night.”

  “I'm not liking this,” Mark said. “We've got to move faster.”

  “You still think the church killing is related?”

  “Yeah, I think Ryan Bellig came looking for the man who killed his wife and daughter. And I think he found him.”

  “Too bad it didn't work out so well for Ryan. It would have saved the rest of us a lot of grief.”

  Mark grunted. “I found the hotel where Ryan was staying. Let's go check it out when we're done here, then we can split up the remaining Shepherds. Somebody on that list has got to be missing a cross.”

  Mark knelt down to get a better look at the woman. “What's the story here? Owner came to open up and found them?”

  “Yes. Apparently Mary came in early some days, by appointment, to handle some of the male clientele who didn't want to come during regular business hours.”

  “Didn't want people to know they got manicures and pedicures?”

  “Apparently. Weird.”

  “Lots of high-end corporate types do the manicure thing, part of that whole 'polished' look,” Mark said. “I know a guy in the D.A.'s office who does, though he'd deny it.”

  “She's getting me a list of all Mary's other male clients and any others that had reason to know about this little routine.”

  “So our victim opened up shop, and the killer came right in?”

  “Looks as though.”

  “Tell the owner I'd like to see her appointment schedule for two weeks in either direction, just to be sure.”

  “Already done.”

  “And?” Mark asked, looking up.

  Paul shook his head. “You're not going to believe who's scheduled to come in today at twelve-fifteen.”

  “Our friendly, neighborhood church secretary?”

  “Bingo.”

  Mark stood up. “You know, I really think the killer is performing for her.”

  “She's fast becoming the one constant in this mess. Only flaw in that theory is that she didn't witness donkey guy.”

  “Accident, oversight perhaps? Or maybe she didn't catch his attention until the church.”

  “What about Raleigh? Was he performing there for anybody in particular?”

  “Not that I can tell. I'm going to call in the F.B.I. and see if we can get some help with this, especially since it looks like the same guy might be operating in a second state.”

  “Get them to check out their files and see if it might go further back,” Paul suggested.

  “Good idea. You know, maybe we'll get lucky. The woman washing the man's feet were the last bodies they found in Raleigh.”

  “He quit mid-week?”

  “Yeah.”

  Paul stared at him intently. “I take it you don't think he's going to stop after this one, though?”

  Mark shook his head. I can't explain it, but I have a feeling this guy's just getting started.”

  On Wednesday morning Cindy timed her arrival at the church so she was not the first one there. There was no way she was going to risk stumbling across another dead body when she was alone. She glanced over at the adjacent parking lot and sighed with relief when she saw Jeremiah's car. It made her feel better, knowing that he was nearby. After all, she hadn't been completely alone on Monday. He had been close enough to hear her screams and come to her rescue.

  Inside the office everyone was jumping. Staff and key ministry leaders dashed back and forth, tending to last-minute details as they readied for prayer services. They'd already had two early in the morning, but the large one was scheduled for noon.

  Geanie arrived at Cindy's desk and offered her a soda. The assistant sported a white shirt, short plaid skirt, and white knee-high socks with Mary Jane shoes.

  Cindy took the can. “I'm not going to like this, am I?”

  “I don't like this. You should be bringing me soda.” Geanie crossed her arms.

  “I like the look, but you do remember we're a Protestant denomination, right? As in protesting the Catholic church.”

  Geanie flipped a braid over her shoulder. “Be nice, it's the most churchy thing I own, and you know it.”

  “Fair enough. What's the problem?”

  “The problem is Royus.”

  Cindy groaned. That was code for a Roy-Gus disagreement that affected everyone else. “What happened?”

  “Roy decided this morning that he wants to cut the first thirty minutes of the Thursday night performance and preach a sermon about the events leading up to the crucifixion instead of showing them.”

  Cindy cringed, knowing how hard Gus, the actors, and the rest of the creative team had worked on the play. “And what was Gus's response?”

  “He declared that he wants to cut the sermon Sunday morning about the Resurrection in favor of doing an interpretive dance about it.”

  “And?” Cindy asked.

  “Both sides have dug in deep and are now firmly entrenched.”

  Cindy wondered if it was too late to go back to bed.

  “I'll see what I can do,” she promised Geanie.

  “Thank you.”

  “You said your drop-dead deadline for Thursday's program was this afternoon?”

  “Yeah. Two o'clock. And tell the gentlemen if they can't reach an agreement by then, that I will decide what's going to happen on Thursday. And assure them that neither of them will like it.”

  “I don't blame you, Geanie.”

  “Then don't try to stop me,” she warned.

  “You'll have resolution by two o'clock.”

  Cindy took ten minutes and pers
onally delivered the ultimatum to both men. When she returned to the office, a stranger waited in the chair in front of her desk.

  “The prayer service isn't until noon.” She forced a smile.

  The man stood. He had sandy hair and light-colored eyes and was only slightly taller than her. “I'm not here for the service. I was supposed to meet a friend of mine. I think maybe I got the time mixed up.”

  “Who are you meeting?” she asked.

  “Oliver Johnson.”

  “I don't think he's here right now. He'll probably show up for the noon service, though. You're welcome to stay.”

  “I wish I could, but I've got an appointment then. Could you do me a favor?”

  “What is it?”

  “If you see him, could you tell him Karl stopped by? Tell him I'm sorry I missed him, but I'll catch him later.”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks, ma'am, I appreciate it.”

  Cindy kept the smile plastered on her face as Karl left, even though she wanted to wring his neck for calling her ma'am. She sat down and stared at the mound of paperwork on her desk. More than anything, she wished she could just do some research instead. She had braved her house the night before but had been too freaked out to search online for more info on psycho killers with a taste for the religious.

  Two hours later she sent email reminders to both Roy and Gus that they needed to make a decision about the Thursday program or suffer Geanie's wrath. Finished, she returned to the stack of papers that, if anything, seemed to grow rather than shrink.

  When she glanced at the clock again it was noon. She could hear the muted sounds of the organ and considered spending her lunch hour in the prayer service. Then it struck her that she hadn't canceled her appointment with the manicurist. She reached for the phone and tried in vain to recall the name of the shop. She glanced over at Geanie, but the other woman was on the phone.

  She stood up, deciding she might as well go. It had been a long time since she had a manicure, and it would be rude to cancel so close to her appointment even if she could remember the name of the shop to get the phone number.

  It took her ten minutes to drive to Fifth Street. As soon as she turned down it, she realized she should have canceled. She recognized the yellow police tape from halfway down the block. Just keep driving. You don't want to know. When she got close to the shop, though, she swung into a parking space.

  She got out of the car and approached the beauty salon. Policemen were everywhere, and two techs carried out a body bag.

  “I took the liberty of canceling your appointment for you.”

  She spun around and saw Mark standing behind her. “This is insane. I've never even been inside this shop before yesterday evening. I came as they were closing, and they made an appointment for me today.”

  “You mean, this isn't part of your normal routine?” Mark asked, growing noticeably paler.

  “No, why?”

  “Cindy, I think you'd better come with me.”

  “Why?”

  He stepped forward and grabbed her arm, eyes darting all around. “Because I'm pretty sure the killer's watching you,” he whispered.

  She gasped and then allowed herself to be pulled along to his car. She slid into the front seat and didn't bother asking where they were going as she took in what he'd said. It seemed preposterous, but even she couldn't deny the string of coincidences.

  Mark started the car and drove off.

  “Why me?” she asked after a minute.

  “I don't know. Something about you has caught his attention, though, I'm sure of it.”

  “Who is he?”

  “We don't know yet, but we're trying to find him as fast as we can.”

  “How do I know you're not the killer?”

  “You don't,” he said, glancing at her. “For that matter, you don't know the rabbi isn't either.”

  “Jeremiah?”

  “Yes, Jeremiah. There are a few things about him that just don't add up.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  He didn't say anything.

  “He's a kind man, a rabbi. How could you think that of him?” she asked.

  “I'm a cop, how can you think it of me?”

  “You're more accustomed to violence.”

  “He grew up in Israel.”

  “You're familiar with weapons.”

  “He served in the Israeli military. All citizens do over there.”

  “That doesn't make him a killer.”

  “It doesn't make him a boy scout, either.”

  “What about the Shepherds?” Cindy asked.

  “We're fast running out of suspects in that area.”

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “Somewhere safe while we figure this out.”

  “But I still don't understand. Why me? Why pick some random church secretary to torment?”

  He glanced at her. “Maybe something about you set him off. Maybe you remind him of someone. Or maybe it's not random at all.”

  “But I've never done anything to anybody.” Fear nearly choked her.

  “Okay, then let's think. If no one has a beef with you, what about with your family?”

  “My brother's a travel show host for the Escape Channel. He kayaks, bungee jumps, that sort of thing.”

  “Kyle Preston? Kyle Preston's your brother?”

  “I see you've heard of him.” She gritted her teeth.

  “I'm a huge fan. Could you get me his autograph?”

  “Can we please not talk about my brother!”

  “Okay, okay.” Mark took a deep breath. “What about your parents, what do they do?”

  “My mom runs the household, and my dad's an engineer. He's currently helping build infrastructure in Iraq.”

  Mark nearly crashed the car. After he regained control he glanced at her. “Are you kidding me? This could be some nut-job terrorist taking revenge on daddy?”

  Cindy took a deep breath. “A nut-job terrorist wouldn't bother with the Christian symbolism and wouldn't have done a practice run in Raleigh.”

  “You're right, sorry.”

  “None of this makes sense.” She slammed her fist into the seat.

  “Not everything in life makes sense.”

  “I'm not okay with that.”

  “I don't care if you're okay with that, it's the truth,” he said. “If it helps I'm sure this all makes perfect sense to this guy.”

  “If it even is a guy,” Cindy said in frustration. She turned to look out the window. Somewhere out there a killer waited, watched. Can he see me now?

  They drove for a minute in silence. The more time Cindy spent alone inside her own head, though, the more terrified she became. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.

  “What happened back at the salon?”

  “Two people were found dead. There was a man sitting in one of the chairs and a woman washing his feet.”

  She shuddered and felt sick inside. “He's making a mockery of Easter.”

  “Strange as this might sound, I'm not sure that's true. If he were mocking it, I would think there would be some perversion, or, at least, inversion of the events. Like the man would have been washing the woman's feet, or something like that.”

  “I guess.”

  She found herself staring hard at the cars that drove past. “I didn't see any murders connected with the Passion Week Killer that went beyond Wednesday,” she said. “Is it possible this is as far as he goes?”

  “Possible, but we can't afford to take that chance, especially before we have any real knowledge about the crime pattern in Raleigh and what or who might have triggered an end.”

  “You mean was he performing there for somebody?” she asked.

  “That's one of the things we're hoping to find out.”

  “Is it possible that Raleigh wasn't the first time?”

  He shook his head. “No word on that yet. We're still trying to get hold of the lead detective from back then, and hopefully, she can
shed some light on things.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, wishing answers would come faster. “This all looks so much simpler on Scooby Doo.”

  “My wife loves that show. Are you a Freddie girl or a Shaggy girl?”

  “Freddie. Definitely Freddie.”

  “My wife likes Shaggy. She has a thing for the lost puppy look.”

  “It explains a lot.”

  “Was that a crack?”

  “Sorry,” Cindy said, opening her eyes. “Reflex.”

  Mark smiled. “It's cool. Let me guess, Kyle was a pain to have as a brother.”

  “Good guess,” Cindy said, laughing despite herself. “So, what now?”

  “Is there anything significant between the feet washing and the Last Supper?” he asked.

  “No, I don't think so. I mean, some preaching, maybe some miracles, but nothing that stands out.”

  “I didn't think so, either.”

  “We should talk to Gus, the music minister. He's spent the last couple of years working on the play they're performing. They did it last year as well. It's really quite good. He did tons of research—wanted his Easter pageant to be the best retelling ever.”

  “One civilian in the middle of this is more than I can handle,” Mark said. “Every instinct I have says to keep you as far out of this as possible.”

  “A little hard when the killer keeps insisting on dragging me into it.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “What do you think this is all building toward?” Cindy asked.

  “I don't know. That's what scares me,” he admitted.

  “Imagine how I feel.”

  “I'm trying not to. If I have to imagine how anyone is thinking or feeling I'd rather it was the killer so I have a chance of catching this psycho.”

  She glanced around and recognized the neighborhood they were driving through. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Nowhere at the moment, just driving, why?”

  “One of the Shepherds, Joseph, lives up here. Have you interviewed him yet?”

  “No, but he's on my list for this afternoon.”

  “He lives up there.” Cindy pointed to the top of the hill. “He has a really old mansion and all this land. He often hosts picnics for the church in his backyard.”