Before Another Dies (9 page)

“Pastor Lenny, thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“No problem.” He approached and shook my hand. “You know we ministers only work on Sundays. The rest of the time is spent on the golf course.”

“I haven't been in church life very long, Pastor, but I'm pretty sure that's not true.” Actually, I knew it wasn't true. I have a habit of learning as much about the people I spend time with as possible. I had been going to Ocean Hills Community Church for less than a year. It had been Pastor Lenny who baptized me. Pastor Lenny Grecian—what a name.

“Let's have a seat.” I took the few steps necessary to reach the front row of the gallery.

“I have a confession to make,” he said.

“Isn't that my line?” It was a lighthearted comment mired in heavyhearted emotion. I was compensating.

A polite laugh burbled from the man. “I'm not a priest,” he said. “I confess, I've never been in this room before. I suppose I should take a greater interest in city life.” Small talk meant to put me at ease. He was good.

“Most people find it boring. The chamber seats two-hundred-fifty people, but I've seen it full only two or three times. Usually, we have a handful of people and the occasional senior citizen who finds this more interesting than television. Unless you have a love for civic matters, this is the dullest place on a Tuesday night. I've seen a lot of people nod off.” I wrung my hands.

“I'll bet I've seen more,” he said with a smile. There was a soft kindness in his eyes.

“I doubt it.”

Pastor Lenny was not dynamic. He did not pound the pulpit or wave his Bible, but he could fix the attention of his listeners faster than anyone I have ever seen. He was more teacher than preacher but his communication skills were phenomenal. If you fell asleep in one of his sermons it was because you weren't listening or were on medication. “Where's Floyd?”

“My son said you might want to talk to me alone, so he bowed out and went back to the office. By the way, how's he doing?”

“He's doing well. Adjusting.” Floyd and his father could not be more different. Pastor Lenny was an outdoor man, as his tan testified. A surfer, he spent his high school days on the beaches of California looking for that perfect ride. After graduation, he learned that surfing doesn't pay well, and he took to driving trucks. “To be outside,” he once told me. Someplace along the line his thoughts shifted from the waves to the Maker of the waves. At the age of twenty-five, he went to college then on to seminary. He started Ocean Hills Church the week after they handed him his master of divinity degree. That was twenty years ago.

“I appreciate you giving him the job, Maddy. He still lacks focus. I was hoping some consistent oversight by someone like you might help him settle on a track.”

“Would it have helped you at his age?”

He erupted into laughter. “No, it most certainly wouldn't. I needed time to be me before I could become what I was intended to be. That's why I'm so patient with Floyd. He's battling genetics.”

“That may be his greatest asset.”

Pastor Lenny shook his head. “His greatest asset is the Lord. At least he has that settled.”

“He'll find his direction. He told me yesterday morning that he might enjoy being a police officer.”

Lenny made a sour face. “Officer Floyd Grecian,” he mumbled. “I just don't see it. Still, I think he can be great at whatever he chooses. I just wish he'd choose it.” He paused and looked up at the council bench. “Do you like it up there?”

I admitted that I did. “It's hard to describe. The job is hard, frustrating, carries less glamour than most think, and gives more bruises than caresses. Still, I love it. The position makes me feel . . .”

“Complete?”

“That's a good word for it. Complete. I feel like I belong.”

“Do you feel like you'll belong in congress?” Somehow the good pastor had changed the subject from himself and his son to me, and I hadn't seen it coming.

“That's an unknown. I think so. To be honest, I feel a little guilty. The people elected me to this position. I'm the first full-time mayor, and now I'm running for a higher office.”

“I have a question. Why do you call congress a higher office?”

I shrugged. “That's just the way it's done. Everyone speaks of politicians running for higher office.”

“Are you saying that being a congresswoman is more important than being mayor?”

“I wouldn't put it that way. It's probably more prestigious.”

“Is that important?” he asked.

I looked at him and weighed my answer. “I'm not sure. Are you saying that I'm running for the wrong reasons?”

“Not at all. I don't know what your reasons are. I'm just curious. As mayor you serve a group of people within city boundaries. As a congresswoman you'll be doing the same thing. Some of the issues will certainly affect those outside the district and maybe even the whole country, but in the end, you're a person serving other people. There's no higher or lower in that.”

That started my brain churning, and I appreciated it. A few moments thinking of something else was a welcome break. “I'm not sure the distinction would make a difference in the campaign.”

“It wouldn't, but it might make a difference in you. Don't sell yourself or this office you hold short. Anything done for God, anything done for others, is important, which, if I understand my son correctly, is why I'm here. I was very sorry to hear about your friend's tragedy. How can I help?”

The heaviness that had been threatening to squeeze the breath out of me returned. I filled him in on Fritzy, the phone call, my visit, and the reason I wanted to meet with him. “I promised Fritzy that I would help with the arrangements. Would you be willing to do the funeral?”

“Yes,” he said immediately.

“I don't know her spiritual state or that of her husband. I feel guilty admitting that.”

“Guilt is a useless emotion. It's good for alerting us to a problem but nothing more. It's like a fire alarm that goes off. Once we know of the danger, the alarm is doing nothing more than making noise. I'll be happy to do the service. Give me her phone number and address. I'll make an appointment to visit her. Has she chosen a funeral home to work with?”

“I doubt it,” I said.

“There are several good ones in the city. I'll make a recommendation. You'll need to call her before I do. Tell her who I am, and that I'll be calling. Lawyers have a reputation for chasing ambulances. I don't want to be accused of chasing hearses.”

I chortled and told him I'd make the call.

“Now, how are you doing?”

“Me? I'm fine. Why?” I squirmed in my seat.

“Why? Let's see. Floyd told me you discovered a murder victim yesterday, and this morning you get a call about the murder of a friend's husband. Considering the experiences you've endured in the past, well, I just want to make sure you're doing okay.”

“I'm fine, Pastor,” I said. “Some old hurts have been reopened but that's to be expected. Right now, I'm hurting more for Fritzy than for myself.”

He smiled. “That's what I like about you, Maddy—your heart. If you need to talk, just give me a call. We'll have coffee or something. Of course, you'll have to pay.”

“I'd be happy to pay.”

He studied me for a second and then, apparently convinced that I wasn't going to melt into a blob of broken woman, he said, “Let's have a word of prayer.”

He took my hand and bowed his head. I closed my eyes and did the same. It still felt strange to me. The prayer was short and to the point.

When I raised my head, I said, “Thank you.” I noticed his eyes shift from me to something behind me. I turned.

Tess Lawrence and Jon Adler were standing just inside the chamber at the same door Pastor Lenny passed through a few minutes before.

“Do they always look that unhappy?” Pastor Lenny asked.

“You don't know the half of it.”

chapter 11

T
hat was sweet,” Tess said. Sarcasm is sarcasm no matter how pleasantly it is said. I chose not to respond. I brushed past the two and entered the corridor that led from the council chambers to my office. To my dismay, they followed.

“Some might think the council chamber is an inappropriate place to have prayer.” It was Jon.

“Don't be ridiculous, Jon. Anyone who has attended council meetings knows that we often begin the meeting with a guest minister leading in prayer. It's a very old tradition. You've seen it scores of times. It began with Ben Franklin.”

“Still the issue of separation of church and state—”

“Don't go there, Jon. If I want to hear talk like that, I'll join the ACLU.” I stepped up my pace. The air in the hall was getting thick. “All I did was have a brief,
personal
prayer with my pastor. If you have a problem with that, then . . . you have a problem—period.” I stopped outside the outer door to my office. “What did you want?”

“The police are asking a lot of questions about your murder victim,” Tess said. “We should talk about how to control the press on the matter.”

“He was not
my
murder victim, Tess. He is the responsibility of the police. All I did was drive to work and make a phone call.”

“Still, everyone knows you're the one who found him,” Tess persisted.

“If one of the maintenance crew found the body, would you be dogging his heels?”

“If you haven't noticed,” Jon piped in, “you're not on the maintenance crew. You're the mayor.”

“Yeah, Jon, that occurred to me. As far as controlling the media, it can't be done. The media does what the media does. I've already spoken to Doug Turner—”

“You called Doug Turner?” Tess was aghast.

“No, I didn't call him; he came to me.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth. Read the paper when it comes out.” I crossed the threshold into my office and stopped short. Tess and John almost collided with me. I turned on them. “I have work to do. I'm sure you understand.” I turned again, nodded at Floyd as he stood behind his desk—he always stood when I entered the room—and marched into my private office. I hoped Jon and Tess would retreat to their underground boroughs.

“Mayor . . .” Floyd began.

I longed for a few moments alone, but I was destined to keep on longing. Judson West sat in front of my desk reading the
Register
.

“Detective West is here to see you,” Floyd said.

“I see that, Floyd.” I said thanks and closed the door behind me.

Unlike Floyd, West didn't rise. He just folded the paper and set it on the empty seat to his right. I plopped down in my chair and rubbed my eyes. I should have felt some apprehension at seeing West, but instead I felt a measure of comfort. I always felt good in his presence. He was a comfortable man; comfortable with himself and with his surroundings.

People act strangely around me. As mayor, they either voted for me, against me, or not at all; in some cases, as with city employees, I'm their boss; in other cases, I'm the city scapegoat. With West, I always felt that I was just me.

“I don't know how you put up with those two,” West said.

“You heard?”

He nodded. “I admire your control. Strength under pressure. It suits you.”

“It's not a very comfortable fit today,” I admitted. “Do you get people like that in the police department? What do you do with them?”

“We shoot them and drop their bodies just beyond territorial waters.” He kept a straight face.

“Is that just for sworn officers of the law or does it extend to elected officials?”

“We're always looking for ways to branch out.” He smiled and straight white teeth became visible. He looked good. His dark hair was just the right length, and his eyes shone with rested confidence. “I've been interviewing everyone in city hall as part of the investigation. I saved you for last.”

“You're personally interviewing everyone in the building?”

“I have a couple of senior officers helping. I get to interview the big, important people. I've talked to everyone on the council, and now I'm down to you.”

“I told you everything I know yesterday. There's nothing more I can add.”

“I know, but I want to cover all the bases.” He paused. “I also wanted to see how you were holding up. I understand Mrs. Fritz and you are close.”

“We don't pal around. She mothered me, and I returned the favor. It's a good relationship. My heart breaks for her.” It was my turn to pause. “She said you were very kind to her. Thank you.”

“Some people deserve an extra measure of kindness. She struck me as one of those. How's she holding up?”

“Better than I would have guessed, but she has her moments. The emotional roller-coaster ride has started. After the funeral the ups and downs will even out some.”

He shifted in his seat. “Do they ever go away—the ups and downs, I mean?”

“No.” The answer came quickly. “Most days the peaks and valleys are not as extreme. Other days, they're as bad as they can get. You just learn to deal with them.”

His eyes softened, and he drew his lips into a line. “I'm always on the other side. I used to think I had the hard job making the call, visiting the family to ask questions they don't want to answer. While it's no picnic, close friends and family do the real work. They shoulder the real burden.”

I was starting to feel the rising pressure of sadness again. It was time to change the subject. “Have you learned anything?”

“I had the medical examiner do a preliminary evaluation on Mr. Lopez. He confirmed that someone broke Lopez's neck, and that it was most likely the cause of death. I say most likely because the ME hasn't done the full autopsy.”