Dominion (111 page)

“You mean when a cop is killed? Or when they’re after a black man who killed a white cop. Is
that
what you’re thinking?”

Clarence didn’t respond. Ollie reached into his briefcase and took out a picture of a husband and wife and two daughters and a son, ranging from ages four to nine. It was a beautiful family in front of a fireplace at Christmas time.

“Who are they?” Clarence asked.

“That’s Officer Tallon,” Ollie said. “He was the murdered SWAT officer, the one they took the HK53 from.”

“You never told me he was black,” Clarence said.

“I didn’t know he was black until they gave me this picture. But it really doesn’t matter.” Ollie looked at him. “Does it?”

“No,” Clarence said, his throat dry. “It really doesn’t.”

“If it means anything—and apparently it does—Lieutenant Tucker’s black too,” Ollie said. “Those guys were pros. Start to finish.”

“Ollie’s been full of himself since he got back from L.A.,” Manny said to Clarence. “He’s even harder to live with than usual.”

“Hey don’t either of you guys mess with me today,” Ollie said. He picked up a long black leather case leaning on his desk. “I’m carrying heavy metal, packin’ major heat. I checked out this HK53 from the department for a few days. Taking it home tonight.”

“Why?” Clarence asked.

“I do it every once in a while when there’s some loose ends. Sometimes just living with a piece of evidence or a weapon, just having it around, triggers something I haven’t thought of. Maybe I’ll lean it on my nightstand and it’ll whisper secrets to me in the night.”

“Maybe I better call your wife and warn her,” Manny said.

The low gray sky seemed as hard and impenetrable as it was dark and foreboding. Winter’s long bony fingers gripped the city, having already stripped bare the trees, leaving everything a lackluster gray. Clarence Abernathy scraped just enough ice from his windshield to allow him to see straight ahead, but not up or down or to the side. He didn’t care.

Clarence found himself longing for the past, nostalgic even for Mississippi. Geneva kept telling him he should just be grateful the charges against him had been dropped. But they’d been unjust charges, and his reputation would suffer from that injustice the rest of his life. How good could he feel about that? Having lost his reputation, he now cared less about trying to uphold it than he ever had. It would be like guarding the jewels after they’d already been stolen. What did it matter what he did any more? How much worse could people think of him?

He didn’t share Ollie’s jubilation at the progress in the case made down in L.A. Sure, Spider would probably go to jail eventually, provided he faced the right judge and jury and his lawyer wasn’t too good. Shadow might go down too. But Clarence seriously doubted those who pulled the strings and set up the murder would be put away. Harper would come up with some angle, and Norcoast and Gray would worm their way into lesser charges. Even if Ollie could come through with his mountain of circumstantial evidence, would it be enough? How much of Clarence’s own amateur sleuthing, right down to the tissues from Gray’s garbage can, would prove inadmissible? On finding corners had been cut, would some liberal judge drop the charges entirely?

How many men had weaseled their way out from under evidence that should have nailed them dead to rights? Men such as Norcoast and Gray and their high-priced Ivy League lawyers always had some technicality, some way of getting off the hook. They were above the system, like the politicians and cops in old Mississippi. In the end, Clarence told himself, they would get off—but Dani and Felicia would still be dead. There would be no justice. It gnawed at him like a nagging ulcer. It produced ever bigger and darker clouds in his mind, each new cynical thought seeding them with rain.

Clarence’s sleeplessness and fatigue were compounded by severe blood-sugar swings. He hadn’t told Geneva, not wanting to worry her. He felt on the edge, tired of playing games, tired of waiting for justice that would never come.

If it’s justice I want, maybe there’s only one way to get it.

“The longing of your brother’s heart is for something further back,” Lewis said to Dani. “For Eden. And for something further forward. For heaven. Limited to the horizons of that world, his thoughts can only remind him of what is not. Out of that can only come despair. Men are born with a longing for Eden, Elyon’s garden, and a longing for Jerusalem, Elyon’s city. This longing creates the pain of separation from what is good and the hope of experiencing the good as it was meant to be. When we were in that world, our hearts could never fully rest. Sometimes the turmoil was overwhelming, as it is now for your brother. He’s like a man without eyes, groping along the wall in search of justice in a world of injustice.”

“He’s totally disillusioned,” Dani said. “I wish I could go tell him there’s so much more happening that he can’t see.”

“Elyon has told him that already, in his Word. He must find it there himself, learn to believe and trust what the Sovereign One has said to him.” Lewis paced again in his inimitable professorial style. “Your brother is right to be disillusioned with that world. He does not belong there. No one does. Only the ungodly could be content with a world so dark, and even they are never truly content. Clarence’s error is in being disillusioned with what is true, for truth is just as real now as it was before the tragedies he’s endured. That he is so disappointed with the failings of the dark world shows he put too much hope in that world. Only
this
world can bear the weight of his highest expectations. Only this world can fulfill his deepest longings.”

“Can we pray for him?” Dani asked.

They bowed their knees toward Elyon’s throne, lifting up one still living on the planet of pain.

The man reached underneath the worn brown Malibu, just below the Visualize Whirled Peas bumper sticker. He groped around, finally fingering a greasy little container. He removed the key and opened the trunk. He looked both ways, then removed the long black leather case, shut the trunk, took it to his own car, and drove away.

“Sheila? Hi, this is Clarence Abernathy.”

“Hello, Mr. Abernathy. Say, I’ve been wondering when we’ll see your column featuring Mr. Norcoast’s career. Don’t worry, I haven’t spoiled the surprise!”

“Uh, well, I’m still working on it, but I’m sure you’ll be seeing the councilman’s name in the paper real soon. Listen, speaking of surprises, I heard Reggie’s birthday is Sunday.”

“Yes. He’ll be forty-five!” Sheila was as effervescent as always.

“That’s great,” Clarence said. “Listen, there’s five or six of us, friends from his district, and we were wondering if maybe there’d be any time tomorrow when we could drop in as a surprise, bring Reggie a cake and some presents. Just for forty minutes, maybe? Hopefully Mr. Gray could be there too. Any possibility you could help us pull this off?”

“Oh, that sounds just
wonderful,”
Sheila said. “I love surprises. Let me check everybody’s schedule. Jean’s gone tomorrow, and neither of the part-timers work Fridays. Yes, Councilman Norcoast and Mr. Gray have a breakfast appointment out, then they’ve got a telephone conference with Congressman Sparks from ten-thirty until eleven. Then both of them have an hour open until they’ll need to leave for a lunch appointment. Sounds like eleven would be perfect!”

“Wonderful,” Clarence said. “How about you write me in for an eleven o’clock appointment with Mr. Norcoast, but just tell him it’s an interview, okay? He won’t know the others are coming, all right? Don’t tell Mr. Gray either. I’ve got a little plan I won’t bore you with, but we need to be with just Reg for a while, then we’ll call in Carson. All right?”

“Certainly,” Sheila said. “I
love
this kind of thing! The councilman will be
so
surprised.”

Yes, he will. More than you can possibly imagine.

“Antsy is stuck in the present,” Dani said. “His eyes are closed to the past, in which Elyon has proven himself faithful, and closed to the future, to his promise that all wrongs will be made right.”

“Your brother sees himself as the main character in life’s drama,” Lewis said. “He demands the script be written to his liking and he storms off the stage when it isn’t. He resents Elyon directing the drama as he sees fit.”

“He’s so angry and desperate. More than I’ve ever seen him.”

“His anger and despair are like a compass that points to true north,” Lewis said. “They are a reminder there’s a right direction, and the whole earth is headed in the wrong one. Hell is automatic. Heaven’s values, however, are a choice against the grain, a choice he needs to make. Your brother’s disillusionment is valid, but he must not allow it to control him. He must let it direct him toward heaven.”