A Dirty Shame (5 page)

“Jack, according to everything I’ve read, these people think they’re sanctioned by the church. It’s part of their religion to wipe out the unclean.”

“Yeah, I saw that,” he said, eyes hardening.

“So the question is, why was Reverend Oglesby a target? He doesn’t represent the kind of victim they’d normally look for. White male. Man of the cloth. A leader in the church.”

“That’s a question we’ll need to find out the answer to. I think we need to pay another visit to Reverend Thomas and Lorna Dewberry. They know something.”

The church was deserted when we pulled back in the lot, but Johnny Duggan was hunched over the flowerbeds, trimming the hedges in a pair of overalls that had grass stains from ankles to armpits. Johnny had been the unfortunate soul who’d found Fiona Murphy’s body last winter by the side of the road. He’d aged what looked like a hundred years since then.

He turned toward us when we pulled into the church lot and tossed his hedge trimmers onto one of the bags of mulch he had laid out in a straight line. He held up a hand in greeting and waited for us to come over.

“Morning, Sheriff,” Johnny said. “Doc Graves. Good to have you home.”

My eyes stung a little because he sounded like he meant it, and I all could do was nod back. Johnny had been a contemporary of my grandparents, but he’d watched my dad grow up from infancy, and he’d been devastated when my parents had died. He’d been one of the only people to seek me out and tell me to my face he didn’t think my parents had been guilty of the charges the FBI were laying at their feet. Too bad he’d been wrong about that. I’d found all the proof I needed hidden away in an underground cellar at their cabin. But Johnny had never judged me for my father’s sins, and I knew when the latest info about my parents’ activities broke in the news that he still wouldn’t blame me.

“Morning, Johnny,” Jack said. “Nice looking flowers you’ve got there.”

“Got ‘em from the nursery over in Fredricksburg. They have their own greenhouses, and they don’t use chemicals. Ms. Dewberry thinks it’s important for the church to be anti-chemical.”

I coughed and turned my head so I wouldn’t burst into laughter at the look on Johnny’s face at the mention of Lorna Dewberry. It was obvious he didn’t hold her opinions in high regard.

“We’re here to see the Reverend and Ms. Dewberry,” Jack said. “Are they in the rectory or inside the church?”

“I heard you was already here this morning,” he said, scratching the silver whiskers on his chin. “Ms. Dewberry was fit to be tied that her morning schedule was off, but the Reverend calmed her down right enough. Sad about what happened to Reverend Oglesby. He was a good man.”

“Did you know him?” I asked.

“Bout as well as anyone, I reckon. And by that I mean not well. He was a quiet fellow. Did his duty here at the church, and I’ve seen him a couple times coming and going from the hospital. He always had a polite hello to say and always asked about my family.”

“Thank you, Johnny,” Jack said. “I guess we’ll go disrupt Ms. Dewberry’s schedule a little more.”

“Gonna have a hard time doing that,” Johnny said. “She drove the Reverend down to North Carolina to speak with Reverend Oglesby’s father and bring him back here for the services. You only missed them by half an hour. They said they’d be back late tonight or early in the mornin’. Someone from Richmond is supposed to come in and fill Reverend Oglesby’s position temporarily until someone new can be found. He’ll be here in the morning.”

Jack sighed and I could feel the frustration coming off him in waves, but he hid it well from Johnny.

“Thanks again, Johnny. We’ll be seeing you around.”

Johnny reached out and put his hand on Jack’s arm to stop him. “I heard some of what was done to that boy,” he said. “Whispers get out, no matter how quiet you try to keep it.”

“Don’t I know it,” Jack said.

Johnny’s eyes were dead serious and steady on Jack’s. “We like to think we’ve progressed, and that we’re all accepting of change with the times. But people lie to themselves every day. No one really likes change. And things aren’t all that different from when I was a boy. You be careful, son. Very careful. I’m tired of standing over gravesites of people I’ve known since they were in diapers.”

“I don’t suppose you’d know where I should get started?” Jack asked.

“I wouldn’t know a thing like that,” Johnny said, dropping his hand and bending down to pick up his shears. “I keep my head down and do my work. Take care of my family. Just like my father and grandfather did before me. But you might talk to the sheriff over in Westmoreland County. Seems I remember hearing a similar story a few months back when I was there getting a trailer full of mulch. ”

Jack and I said our goodbyes to Johnny and got back in the cruiser. I couldn’t control the shivers that racked my body, and I huddled tighter in my coat.

“Do you think he’s part of it?” I asked as we headed back into town.

“No, but he’s given us as much of a warning that we’re on the right track as he can without bringing danger to his own family. I’m going to drop you off at the funeral home. I need to do some checking and put out some feelers. Will you be okay?”

“I’m fine, Jack. I’ve got Reverend Oglesby to keep me company and organs to weigh.” I didn’t bother telling him I’d be fine as long as I didn’t go to sleep. But I had a feeling he already knew more than I wanted him to.

“I’ll be back by dinner,” he said. “I’ve never had a campout on the third floor of the funeral home before. I’ll bring the stuff for S’mores and a couple of sleeping bags. Campouts are always more fun with company.”

I breathed out a sigh of relief I didn’t know I’d been holding.
Never forget to breathe, J.J.

***

Other than being beaten to hell, Daniel Oglesby had been a very healthy thirty-six year old man. I lost track of the hours that went by as I studied every inch of the victim. There hadn’t been any food left in the stomach or small intestines, so I’d been able to firm up the time of death around the 48-52 hour mark, which would put TOD anywhere from 11pm Tuesday night to 3am Wednesday morning. Which also told me his body had been kept somewhere fairly cool and protected because he hadn’t decomposed as much as he should have for being dead that long.

I’d also found high traces of Diprivan in the tox screen, which explained how the killers had managed to get to the Reverend without him putting up a fight. His body had been too damaged, so I hadn’t found any puncture wounds on the surface of the skin during the external examination, but I’d found the needle mark in the muscle after I’d taken x-rays. It was the fastest way to bring him down, and by the amount I found in his system, it would have brought him down in a matter of seconds.

I finished up with the body and made him as presentable as possible so he could be claimed for burial, and then I pushed him back into the refrigeration unit. My throat was dry as dust and a slight throb was pulsing just behind my eyes. When I looked up at the clock I saw it was already past seven. I wondered briefly where Jack was or if he’d tried to call, but my cell phone didn’t get service down in the basement. If he’d needed to reach me he would’ve had to call on the landline.

I assured myself he’d just gotten caught up in the investigation and that it didn’t matter if he was here or not. I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And there was a couch in my office just off the kitchen. I could sit there and stare at the wall as well as anywhere.

With that decided, coffee was my first priority, so I headed up to the kitchen and rolled around a couple of different possibilities in my brain from the information Jack had given me. It was a four-hour drive to North Carolina, and Reverend Thomas had said Reverend Oglesby left right after services on Sunday to make it down to his father’s house before it got too late. Oglesby would have packed a bag for that long of a trip. He’d have made a stop by his house to grab his things, maybe had a bite to eat before setting out. Or he could’ve tossed a suitcase in his trunk before he’d left for church that morning. I’d have to remember to ask Jack if they’d located the car yet.

The fresh scent of coffee filled the air, and I waited impatiently with an oversized mug as I tried to remember where I’d packed my aspirin. The sound of the buzzer startled me, and I stood unsure for a second as I stared at the door off the kitchen. Only close friends or the dead used the side door. It was probably Jack, but there was a part of me that remembered what could happen if it turned out to be an enemy instead of a friend. My mind went blank for a minute, and I couldn’t remember where I’d left my gun.

“Coat pocket,” I said to myself, heading to the coat rack in the corner and fumbling with the material until I felt the heavy weight of the gun knock against my hand.

The buzzer sounded again impatiently, and I chambered a bullet as I went to unbolt the door. Frustration and anger at myself made my hands unsteady as I went at the latches.

“Get it together, Graves. You’re acting like an idiot. It’s probably nothing.” But it could be something. That’s what I had to remember.

I got the door open and didn’t bother to hide the gun in my hand as I greeted the person on the other side.

“Are you going to shoot me?” Vaughn asked. “I would have left the rats on the third floor if I’d known this is how you’d thank me.”

My breath shuddered out in relief, and I ignored the sweat that had beaded at my temple.

I unchambered the round and flicked on the safety before stepping back to let him in. “Jack said they were mice. Little mice.”

“Hmm, well, who am I to challenge the word of the sheriff? It’s good to see you, Jaye,” he said, a grin sliding across his always affable face.

He was dressed in his normal work clothes—meaning he wore tailored black slacks, a charcoal grey dress shirt that probably cost more than my Suburban, a black tie with silver swirls that was undoubtedly Italian, and a long coat of black cashmere. His hair was as black as mine, and his eyes were a lovely deep blue framed by lashes I’d always been envious of. He evened it out with a goatee that was precisely shaped and perfectly groomed.

Vaughn was the clotheshorse among us, and he’d told me frequently over the years that just because I didn’t care about clothes didn’t mean I needed to look like a rag picker all the time. I’d tried not to take offense. I’d worn nothing but scrubs for most of the last eight years, so I tended to forget what real clothes felt and looked like. He owned an antique store/vitamin supercenter over in King George Proper, and despite the odd combination, he did very well for himself. It didn’t hurt that he came from a family almost as prosperous as Jack’s.

“I was worried about you,” he said. “Wanted to come up to the cabin and check on you myself, but Jack thought it’d be best to give you some space for a while. Though to tell you the truth, if you’d waited another week he would have dragged you back himself.”

He reached out to give me a hug, but I ducked out of the way awkwardly and put the kitchen island between us. He masked the hurt with another smile, but I could still see it in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “I just can’t—I don’t like people to touch me anymore. I get sick.”

Understanding and pity darkened his eyes and that was almost as hard to see as the hurt. “It’s okay, babe. Jack warned me. I just thought I should try, just in case you were immune with me or something.”

He tossed the handkerchief he carried in his pocket down in front of me, and I realized I was crying. I couldn’t do that now. I was afraid if I started I might never stop. I still had the gun in my hand, and I laughed a little as I put it inside the drawer of the island. It was either laugh or start crying again. I scrubbed my hands over my face and looked at Vaughn again. He’d rolled up his shirt sleeves and loosened his tie, and he’d made himself comfortable on one of the barstools while I’d been getting myself back together.

“I’m glad you came by,” I said, clearing my throat. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but really, I am. I missed you.”

“That’s good enough for me, honey. I really missed you too. It wasn’t the same without you here telling Dickie he’s being a dumbass.”

“What’s going on there?” I asked. I remembered I was desperate for coffee and went over to finish the pot I’d been making before I’d been interrupted.

“Dickie filed for divorce from Candy.”

“No!” I turned to look at him to see if he was serious. “I didn’t think he’d have the guts. Dickie likes his money.”

Dickie had married Candy a couple of years after high school because she’d told him she was pregnant. He realized his mistake pretty much after their first month as husband and wife, so he went out and found himself a mistress to even things out. They’d all co-existed in denial for the last six years.

Vaughn smiled and the corners of his blue eyes twinkled. “I think he’s going to be okay. He hired a private investigator first and found out Candy had been juggling a lot of balls, some of them not yellow and fuzzy, during her Sunday morning tennis lessons.”

“Oh, that’s perfect,” I said, snorting out a laugh. “So they cheated on each other and now things are amicable all of a sudden?”

“As amicable as possible. They’re going to split everything down the middle except the bank. His grandfather’s will stipulates it can’t go to anyone other than whomever the heir appoints. Candy hasn’t been the problem at all, but Vanessa is giving him fits.”

Vanessa was Dickie’s mistress. She’d given him an ultimatum that she wanted him to file for divorce because she was ready to have children before her ovaries dried up. When Dickie decided Candy would skin him in a divorce, he’d told Vanessa he couldn’t do it and she’d walked out.

“Good for her,” I said, bringing the coffee over and taking the stool across from him. “I always thought things came too easily for Dickie. He’ll appreciate her more if he has to win her back.”