Godless (29 page)

A rattling
sound stunned Kevin out of a deep sleep. Dazed, he squinted at the clock: 5:33 in the morning. He heard the noise again, prompting him to quickly grab and answer the phone vibrating annoyingly on the bed stand.

He didn't recognize the caller's voice. “Who?”

“Cain, sir,” the man repeated. “Detective Tyler Cain. Denver Police.”

Kevin shot up with a start.

“I'm calling about your parents.”

“What about them?”

“They're gonna be fine,” said the detective reassuringly. “But they're both pretty shaken up.”

“Why? What happened?”

Angie's hand touched her husband's shoulder. He turned to look in her blearily anxious eyes, then tapped a speaker icon so that she could hear the officer's reply.

“There was an altercation with two men who came to the house last evening.”

“A robbery?”

“No, sir. Said they came at your dad's request. Showed your mother an official-looking document before she invited them inside.”

“What time did this happen?”

“It was around eleven o'clock. She told me she couldn't sleep. Back pain or something like that.”

“What was the official-looking document?”

“I have it here. Says your father scheduled an at-home transition.” A brief silence. “Do you know anything about that possibility?”

Kevin felt a cold shiver of alarm.
Mom and Dad transition? Impossible
!

“No, I don't. And no, they wouldn't.”

“That's what I thought. Anyway, your dad had already gone to bed. Woke up when he heard your mother scream.”

“Scream?” said Angie.

The feminine voice apparently confused the officer. “Excuse me?”

“That's my wife, Angie. She's listening on speaker.”

“Oh, of course. Hello, Mrs. Tolbert. I'm sorry to disturb you with such upsetting news.”

“Why did she scream?” Angie pressed.

“She told me she screamed when she realized what the men intended. One forced her onto a chair and started to tie her arms, while the other moved toward the bedroom. But your dad was ready for him.”

Kevin felt a fury rise. “Did they hurt her?”

“No, sir. Like I said, just shook her up. Your dad stopped them.”

“Where is my father now?”

“At University Hospital.”

“The hospital!” Angie cried.

“Yes, ma'am,” he explained. “The officer who responded to their call thought someone should look at Mr. Tolbert's injury. He took a blow to the head during the struggle, quite a bit of blood, but nothing serious. Your dad fought off two grown men with nothing but a hiking boot. Must be a tough old guy. Still, the doctors said they want to monitor him for twenty-four hours in case of a concussion. Both of your parents are resting comfortably now.”

Kevin took his first effortless breath since the call began. “Thank God,” he said.

“Yes, sir. Based upon the evidence I've found we could have been having a very different conversation.”

Angie squeezed her husband's arm tightly.

“What kind of evidence?” asked Kevin.

“I've been investigating a string of similar incidents for the past year,” Tyler explained. “The first was a pretty high-profile case. A federal judge was found dead in his chamber.”

“I remember that,” said Kevin. “It was tied to the wrongful death claim against NEXT.”

“That's right. I was a private detective at the time. I got called in after Judge Santiago received a series of suspicious letters. I tracked down a suspect who, it turned out, didn't commit the crime. But whoever did appears to have expanded his or her scope.”

“I don't follow,” said Kevin.

“Well, sir, there have been at least eight other deaths in the past year that appear to be linked. In each case the alleged volunteer had loved ones who claimed no knowledge of a scheduled transition. We've suspected the family members themselves, since most of the deceased left large estates to a child or some other close relative. Until now, however, we've been unable to speak to any of the victims themselves. All of them were found dead in a bathtub just like any other at-home transition.”

“How awful,” whispered Angie.

“Yes, ma'am. Frankly, we would have suspected you, Congressman, if your parents had been found dead.”

“I understand.”

“I'm not sure you do. You see, a letter was found on the coffee table in your parents' living room. It appears to have been written by your father, explaining that he'd decided to volunteer so that the house could be sold and donated to…let me find it…here it is. He wanted the proceeds given to something called the Center for Economic Health. Mean anything to you?”

“It's a think tank I founded with my business partner—” Kevin stopped short, his mind suddenly connecting the dots.

“Sir?”

“I'm leading an effort to garner support for something we call the Bright Spots proposal.”

“I've heard of that,” said the officer. “Part of the anti–Youth Initiative movement, right?”

“You could say that. Although we prefer to emphasize what we're for rather than what we're against.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the priority of bearing and raising children and respect for aging and disabled citizens.”

“Hmm,” said the detective suspiciously. “So the money from your parents' transition would have been used against the transition industry?”

“His parents' murder, not transition,” said Angie indignantly.

“Right, murder. But the money would have helped you fight the Youth Initiative?”

“Theoretically, yes. But like I said, my parents would never volunteer. They're vehemently against suicide, no matter how noble the motivation.”

The officer said nothing for several moments.

“Detective?” asked Kevin. “Are you still there?”

“Sorry,” he finally said. “I was just thinking. You may have helped fill in a missing piece of the puzzle.”

They waited for more.

“The intruders fled so quickly from your father's boot that one of them left behind a box filled with supplies. It contains a vial of PotassiPass, the serum used in NEXT clinics.”

“Isn't that what you would expect?” asked Angie.

“Actually, no. This particular serum has only been approved for use in clinics. Typical home-based volunteers use a different brand, one that's pretty tightly controlled. Every ounce is tracked to make sure none of it gets into the hands of curious kids or homicidal maniacs.”

Kevin considered the implications. “So the men who tried to kill my parents work for NEXT?”

“Not likely. I've spoken to the inventory control team at NEXT. They've had no incidents of stolen serum. Ever. Like I said, tight controls.”

Angie spoke next. “So what gap in the puzzle did this fill?”

“Not sure yet,” said the detective. “But I doubt it's a coincidence this happened to the parents of the politician spearheading an effort against the transition industry. Especially since the string of deaths began with Judge Santiago. The common wisdom was that he intended to rule against NEXT. Obviously he never had the chance. His death got the case reassigned.”

Kevin's face fell into his hands at the realization that his battle against the Youth Initiative had put his parents at risk. And for what? The Bright Spots proposal had been losing momentum, not gaining. Franklin's invitation to speak had been his way of throwing the movement a bone. The senator wanted breeders' votes, not their values. And he knew Kevin could deliver those votes better than anyone else in Washington.

Angie wrapped her arms around Kevin's deflated frame. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart,” she whispered into his ear.

“I've been so naïve,” he said regretfully.

“This isn't your fault. And your parents are all right.”

Kevin accepted Angie's embrace before turning back toward the phone. “I'll be on a plane later today,” he said. “Tell them I'm on my way.”

“I will,” said the detective. “Please let me know when you arrive. I'd like to ask you a few more questions once I look a bit closer at what we've discovered here.”

“Certainly,” said Kevin before ending the call.

Alex waited
for his wife's reaction.

“They're firing you?” she asked with quivering fury.

“They never said that,” he corrected.

“Then what did they say?”

“That it would be best for everyone concerned if I resigned.”

Tamara stared blankly at the words. Alex had done the same ten hours earlier when Phil Crawford and an attorney gave the verdict: the board had decided to settle the Baxter lawsuit. It was, they had determined, the only practical course of action, since going to court would cost a fortune in legal expenses with no assurance of victory. A settlement could help them prevent a prolonged, unproductive distraction from the mission of Christ Community Church.

Tamara appeared unconvinced by his explanation, and slightly confused. “Okaaay,” she said warily. “So why ask you to resign?”

A good question Alex hadn't been able to answer for himself despite a sleepless night.

“Is everything all right?” Tamara had mumbled groggily when Alex finally arrived home around midnight.

He hadn't been ready to talk about it. “Fine,” he had lied, “go back to sleep.”

Now, with his wife sitting in front of him dazed by the news, he reached for an explanation.

In truth, the church could settle a bogus lawsuit without asking the pastor to leave. But Phil Crawford wanted retribution for Alex's roundabout insubordination.

Never mind that the pastor reported to the entire board, not just the chairman.

Never mind that the board had backed his decision to draft the letter.

And never mind that every word of the accusation against Alex had been false.

Phil Crawford had decided that Alex needed to go.

“Our members will want to know who's responsible for such a sizable financial hit,” Phil had said. “Sooner or later they'll learn that your activism ended up costing this church more than we can afford to lose.”

Alex had a pretty good idea who would inform them.

Tears filled Tamara's eyes. Alex moved close to wrap his arms around his best friend and lover. She smothered herself in his embrace.

“It isn't right. You know it isn't right.”

Tension melted into sobbing. Alex felt himself succumb to the same emotion. The jarring shock of injustice had transformed their youthful optimism into wounded betrayal. What was worse, he couldn't fulfill a husband's role. He ached to shield Tamara from the shrapnel the board's decision would bring. But he couldn't protect her. He felt as if his manhood had been stolen away.

He tried anyway.

“Listen,” he said, gently cradling his bride's moist face in his hands, “there's no need for us to panic. God will use this for good, I know it.”

Or at least he hoped it.

“We have three months to figure things out.”

“Three months?” Tamara asked. “What do you mean?”

“The board said that if I resign they'll give me a three-month severance package, possibly more.”

She repositioned herself within Alex's embrace. “You should demand six months. No, a year.”

That would be a stretch. But Alex did have some leverage.

“Of course,” Phil had said, “we'd like to handle your resignation in a manner that will protect you and your family from unwarranted speculation and damaging rumors. That's why I've agreed to explain the reason for your resignation to the congregation myself.”

“And what reason would that be?”

“Simple. Your love for the people of Christ Community Church motivated you to avert a damaging scandal.”

“And that's supposed to prevent speculation and rumors?”

“Don't worry,” Phil had said while placing a paternal hand on his pastor's shoulder. “I'll be sure to give the announcement a positive spin. Some of the younger families at Christ Community really like you, Alex. I see no reason to disillusion them or cause them to question your integrity.”

It had been a not-so-veiled threat, one that tortured Alex during the six hours he had spent staring at the ceiling while waiting for Tamara to wake.

If he refused the severance offer he would risk destroying his own reputation, not to mention the church's. The look in Phil's eyes had made it clear that he wasn't bluffing: one way or another Alex needed to go. He should probably accept the offer to sidestep a battle he would no doubt lose.

He recalled the story Ellie Baxter had shared about her husband. Reverend Baxter had lost his ministry even though he had done absolutely nothing wrong. Sure, he'd landed on his feet. The Lord had even opened doors for them to launch a successful business. But Alex knew himself incapable of similar fortune. He wasn't wired to become an entrepreneur. He was called to be a pastor.

Tamara reached for a tissue and dried her tears. She took a determined breath. “So,” she said, “what's our next move?”

Not
your
next move.
Our
next move. The question buoyed Alex's spirit. He and Tamara were in this together, come what might.

“I'm not sure,” he said while inviting her back into his arms. “Phil wanted an immediate answer, but I told him I would let him know next week.”

“I bet he loved that,” she said sardonically.

The sound of a different cry wafted from the adjoining bedroom. Baby Joseph was ready for his early-morning feeding.

Kevin chuckled at the reminder.

“What's so funny?” asked Tamara.

“Perfect timing,” he said. “At the precise moment you ask what's next you get a summons.”

Tamara sat up to look in her husband's eyes. He offered a wink.

“I may not know how we'll make a living,” he began. “But I know our most important work is nowhere near done.”

“I love you, Mr. Breeder,” she said while squeezing her husband's torso.

“And I love you, Mrs. Bright Spot.”