Enigma (7 page)

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. “I deliberately left my fingerprints all over the original, but here’s a copy of the letter. I couldn’t have made it without knowing what the original said, since his office has told me nothing about this one. He’ll get it. He’s a weasel, but he’s a smart weasel.”

We walked back to his car in silence, and shook hands. “I wish you all the best on your journey into a new life, James.”

I pulled the poem out of my bag and gave it to him. “This is something that helped me more than I can say. It’s a poem by Mary Oliver, called
The Journey
. I kept it taped to my dresser mirror for a couple of very dark years.”

“Thanks, Russ. It feels good to tell all this to someone besides Raul.”

“Raul?”

James laughed. “I met him three years ago, doing the Lord’s work in Mexico. Tomorrow.” He climbed up into the cab of his SUV, and the beast snarled to life. The window slid down. “I’ll be so glad to leave this monster truck behind, along with the monster house, and the monster wife. The kids I will miss, but I can’t do anything about that.”

The window slid up, and he backed out. I waved, watched him drive away, then headed for my own car.

Telling Kommen tomorrow morning was going to be an interesting adventure. In the meantime, I’d type up my report and attach the letter James had given me.

I needed a change of pace. There was a Rockies game this evening, and I decided to splurge on a high-end ticket.
Maybe Colin would like to come with me, too. Three hours in the soft Colorado evening with Colin, side by side, knees brushing now and then. No. Still a bad idea.

* * * *

Andrew Kommen pushed away from his desk and marched to the window, clutching my report in a fist. Apparently the view from the window wasn’t any more comforting than the one he’d just left, so he returned to his desk. He hadn’t taken the news that James Richardson was Enigma gracefully. His face was as ashen as his office walls. His hands shook. “You bastard. You don’t know how much damage you’ve done to good people.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger, Mr. Kommen.” I picked my words with care. “I’m not responsible for the behavior of others. It may be your practice to lay blame like that, but you can’t make me the bad guy.”

I stood up. “I’m glad you refused to have Reverend Richardson here for this. He can learn the news from you, rather than me. I’m guessing he’s a messenger-shooter, too. Good luck with that.”

I stopped at the door. “You’ll get my invoice for $39,000 this afternoon. That’s two weeks at seven thousand, and the bonus of twenty-five for solving the matter within four weeks of engagement. I’d like it in a cashier’s check, please. All as agreed in our contract.”

This time I got all the way to the elevator before Colin caught up to me. I was genuinely glad to see him. His face told me he was glad, too.

* * * *

At five minutes to one the next day, Colin fetched me from the reception area and delivered me into Kommen’s inner sanctum. Everyone else was already there, and the atmosphere felt like sharks circling in chummed water. Two closed briefcases sat on the coffee table in front of Howard. I assumed it was the payoff. Colin bolted, and I sat down without anyone acknowledging my arrival.

I wasn’t offended, though. I was just a spectator in this drama, now. In fact, I figured that both Howard and Kommen had objected when James insisted I be present. He’d promised me all the answers and the fireworks, though. Right now, it felt like they were going to be prizewinners.

James got up and poured himself a drink at the bar. “Anyone else for a drink?” Ugly silence was his answer. “Right, then,” he said, sitting back down. “Let’s do the money exchange first, then you can ask me questions.”

He pulled up a battered gray and black duffel from beside his chair, then a green one from inside the first. “Andrew, would you please transfer the money to these bags?”

“No,” Howard Richardson jumped up as if his chair had ejected him, his face an unhealthy red. “Answers first.”

James shrugged and sat back. “Ask away, then.”

Howard paced. “Why in heaven’s name are you doing this?” he fumed.

James was as relaxed as he’d been at the park two days ago. “Because you took my life away from me, and now I’m taking it back. With interest.”

“But why now, when my ministry is doing so much good work—work that you’ve done so much to accomplish?” Richardson’s voice had a whine in it, and I almost felt embarrassed for him.

“You are so fucking blind, Howard.” James shook his head. Apparently he’d been practicing his swear words, because this time he didn’t even blink. “Why now? Because I’m finally ready, and because there’s a lovely symmetry to this timing.”

He took a swig of his drink. “I was released from the prison you sent me to on March 31st of 1994. Easter was April 3rd that year. On that morning, you paraded me like a prisoner of war in front of the congregation and the cameras, claiming I’d been raised from the depths of temptation, restored by everyone’s prayers.”

James Richardson had probably never had such complete attention from the reverend and Kommen. They were spellbound. Maybe it was the first time they realized how serious he was.

“Easter was April 4th this year. Enigma’s first letter arrived on April Fool’s Day. So close to Easter, so apt. This time, I sat quietly on stage while you postured and pounded and prayed, knowing that it would be the last time I’d have to do it.” He took another sip of whatever he’d poured himself and smacked his lips.

“In the fifteen years between those two Easters, I spent every moment I could planning my escape and your punishment. At first, I wanted you dead.” Everyone’s eyebrows went up, including mine.

“But I realized that would be far too easy on you. I want you to live a long time with the knowledge of how you crippled your little empire, and how you have no one to blame but yourself.”

“But I’ve done nothing—”

“Nothing? Shut up, Howard, and listen. You ready?” James started counting on his fingers.

“One. You turned my mother’s pregnancy into a bargaining chip to seize control of old man Evans’ church. And money.

“Two. You signed my commitment papers to reparative therapy illegally, since you are not my father, but only my stepfather.

“Three. You were already fucking Leigh when you introduced her to me, and you didn’t stop when we got married. And yes, there have been others. I have only a partial list, but it’s plenty long.” It was as if all the oxygen had left the room. Both men stared at James in silence. Neither one of them moved for several seconds.

“Four. Most importantly, once you realized I wasn’t going to sire children to support your conversion myth, you got busy. You’ve had three children by the wife that you arranged for me. You had the gall to pretend they were mine. Leigh readily agreed, of course, because she’d do anything for you. Anything. Your willingness to use people,” James choked up, shook his head as if to open the pipes again, “is staggering.”

James let his hands drop. The room was utterly silent. I looked at Kommen. His aura was shocked flat, in full defensive mode. I guessed he hadn’t known this stuff, and now it looked like he was busy figuring out how to distance himself from the good reverend.

“I’ll deny it.” Howard stood up straight in what he must have thought was a gesture of defiance. “Leigh will support me.”

“You idiot!” James shouted. “How can you be so fucking stupid? Do you really think you can pray away reality? Pray away the gay? Pray away the DNA?” James slammed his glass on the table and stood up. “Reality, especially
inconvenient
reality, is part of God, Howard. It’s time you figured that out.”

He knocked back the rest of his drink, strode to the bar, and got himself a glass of water. “Do you think I’ve just been doodling on a notepad for fifteen years? No, you don’t think at all. I have no Richardson genes. Thank heaven. But I do have DNA samples from myself and the children recorded at two different labs, both of which are recognized by the courts. Enough of the blood tests were authorized by Leigh for other reasons, so you can’t claim I’ve committed some kind of fraud. And I have certified copies of all of them.

“Those are documents beyond your control. They will prove your paternity beyond a doubt.” James raised his glass in a cynical salute. “Copies of the relevant ones are poised to be mailed to some of your fiercest brothers in Christian ministry. I suspect you know what they might do with those. The very same thing you would do with them if the shoe were on the other foot.”

Howard Richardson’s face had gone grey. “Please—”

“Oh, you want mercy? You are so pathetic.” James laughed, joyless and hard. “You cruel, selfish little man. Long ago you abandoned the last scrap of human decency you may have once had. But now when you’re caught with your pants down, you want mercy?”

James dashed to stand in front of Howard, and I braced for physical violence. None came. “When did you show me mercy?”

His voice became a wail. “You let those men fucking torture me! A boy died while I was there, and not by suicide. Death by therapy.” He took a deep breath and blew it out. “Do you even know what they did to me? Do you?”

He wiped a string of spittle from his chin. “No, you don’t. You didn’t want to know.”

He turned away with a sob. “Listen to the songs on that album again, Howard. You might get a whiff of how bad your shriveled, decaying heart stinks. What’s the term our HR department uses in our employment agreements? Moral turpitude? That’s you, Howard. You should be fired.”

Richardson’s face crumpled, but James wasn’t finished. “It’s your turn, now. It’s time you climbed up on the cross of changes. For the rest of your pathetic life.”

I surprised myself by breaking the long silence that followed. “Tell us about those lyrics, James?” Three heads swiveled in my direction.

Howard opened his mouth, but James cut him off with an abrupt hand wave. “Sure.”

He raised one hand, thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “That following summer, 1994, I was this close to suicide. I couldn’t function with a woman, didn’t even want a woman, and I didn’t dare touch a man. I was drowning, without hope. I was eighteen, trapped in his phony righteousness.” He tilted his head toward Howard.

“Then I heard that song, 'Return to Innocence.’ It saved my life. I knew it was a sign from the real God, the one that wanted me to be me. I played that song over and over. I wore out tapes, then I wore out CDs. It was my secret treasure. It became my battle cry.”

He took a drink of water. “I had to be patient. But I knew that if I kept the faith, the next step would come. Meanwhile, Howard, you just kept digging your own grave without any help from me or anyone else.

“I found men here and there, decent guys, all very short term, since I wouldn’t tell them who I really was. Then I met Raul. I knew he was the one. We’ve been lovers for three years, and we’re very happy together. We’ll live in Mexico.”

His eyebrows arched, as if he’d just remembered something. “Oh, by the way. I’ve emptied all the church accounts I had signing powers for. That came to about a hundred grand, in case you’re wondering.”

James pointed to the duffels next to the briefcase. “So now it’s time for this money. Andrew, you can do the honors.”

Kommen got a nod from Howard, clicked open the briefcases and began putting the bundled bills into the bags. It didn’t take long. “How do we know you won’t keep asking for more money?” he snarled, stepping back.

“You don’t. I don’t expect to ask for more, but you never know. I’ll be happiest, though, if I don’t.”

James turned to Kommen. “Speaking of money, have you paid Mr. Morgan yet? If not, that should happen now.”

Andrew Kommen made his pissy face, but said nothing. He pulled out an envelope and gave it to me. Feeling cynical, I opened it and checked. Right instrument, right amount.

“What about the children?” Howard was whining again. “They’ll grow up without a father.”

James barked out a short laugh. “What do I have to say to make this sink in? They
will
grow up with their father, and you’ll take good care of them. Leigh will no doubt make me out to be the villain, but while I’m genuinely fond of the kids, they’re not mine. They’re yours and Leigh’s, you take care of them. Be decent to them. And to my mom, too. I’ll know if you’re not. You don’t want that to happen, believe me.”

James stood up, took the bags and hoisted one in salute, as if he were getting on a plane. Maybe he was. He’d had plenty of time to make reservations. “Don’t try to come after me, Howard. If you do, you’ll lose everything.”

James smiled. No, he was gloating. “See, you’re the one in the closet now. One mistake from you is all it will take. One email from me to a particular attorney somewhere in this great country, and your sordid story—complete with proof—comes blazing out of the closet to be splashed over every Christian network station there is.”

He winked at me and then he was gone. Nobody moved or spoke for what seemed a very long time. I was the first to leave.

* * * *

I drove home slowly, so sad my chest hurt. For an empath, it’s never easy witnessing a family, no matter how dysfunctional, tearing itself apart. The pain goes so deep, the wounds are so grievous. Pain is pain, and even with practice you can’t always keep a wall between your own and what belongs to others.

Worst of all, it’s usually the innocents who get ground up in battles that never should have injured them in the first place. The sins of the fathers. If this scandal became public, the three Richardson kids would be exposed horribly. At best, they would simply suffer abandonment by the man they believed to be their father.

Later, hopefully when they were strong enough to bear it, they’d probably discover the grotesque truth that their real father and grandfather was the same man, that both he and their mother had lied to them, just as James had. Children may fib, but it takes an adult lying to a child to do real damage.

On the other hand, I believe deeply that at least once, maybe twice in a man’s life, he has to choose between his own truth and all the stories the rest of the world tells him about what he owes others.