The Lord Is My Shepherd (14 page)

Cindy stepped inside the office, and Geanie pounced on her, eyes blazing. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Um, no?”

“Deadline time. And not a word from Roy or Gus.”

“Then go ahead and make up the order of service the way you want to. That's what you told them you'd do.”

“Really?” Geanie asked, eyes wide. “I've got your permission?”

“For what it's worth, you've got my permission.”

Geanie did a little hop.

“Just one thing,” Cindy continued. “I need to go now. You're in charge for the rest of the afternoon.”

Geanie snapped a salute and sailed back to her desk. Cindy shook her head, wondering what havoc she had just unleashed. The deed was done, though, and it served Roy and Gus right.

Cindy shut down her computer, locked her desk, and headed for the door. Instead of marching straight to the
parking lot, though, she found herself detouring to the sanctuary. She hadn't stepped foot inside since Monday morning.

The door stood open and half the lights were on. She walked inside, hesitantly at first, but then more boldly. She walked about halfway down an aisle and then sat down on a pew. She bowed her head and prayed that the police would catch the killer before he harmed anyone else. Finished, she stood, turned toward the back of the church, and saw a dark lump lying on the pew three rows back.

She took a step closer, and as soon as she realized it was a man she screamed. Seconds later Jeremiah sailed to her side. She realized he must have been closer than his car. Together they stared for a moment at the body in horror.

“I'm telling you that's a scream,” the man said, suddenly sitting up and causing them both to jump back.

Cindy sagged against Jeremiah in relief. “Harry, you know you're not supposed to sleep in here,” she told the homeless man.

Harry rubbed his face. “I didn't mean to sleep in here. I came for the service. And that preacher man just droned on so long I got a bit drowsy. And then you were screaming.”

Out of the corner of her eye she could tell Jeremiah could hardly contain his laughter.

“Harry, you frightened me.”

“You know I don't mean to frighten folks.”

“I know, Harry. Service is over, though. It's time to go.”

He got up and shuffled towards the door, and they followed him out. Jeremiah turned off the lights, and Cindy locked the door behind them.

“Can you get to the shelter all right, Harry?”

The old man nodded, and she felt sorry for him. Harry was a fixture in the neighborhood and a regular at the shelter down the street. She glanced up at Jeremiah, who regarded him through narrowed eyes.

“I still need to get that box of canned goods out of my trunk,” he said quietly. “In all the craziness yesterday, it never got done.”

“Would it be okay if we took it over now and dropped Harry off?” she asked.

He nodded.

The drive over was short and some volunteers happily came and emptied Jeremiah's trunk. Harry pulled a paper out of his pocket with great ceremony and handed it to Cindy.

“What's this?” she asked.

“I found it crumpled on the floor of the church. I figured I should throw it away, but maybe you want it for something.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she said. She took it and a quick glance at the paper revealed it to be a program from earlier in the day. She shoved it in her pocket.

A minute later she and Jeremiah were back in the car. “Where to now?” he asked her.

“I'd like to get my car back. It's parked downtown.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

They drove for a moment in silence.

“So, what happened this morning?” Jeremiah asked at last.

“Two people were killed in a beauty salon. The woman was posed washing the man's feet.”

“Two murders instead of one?”

“I know. Escalation, huh?” she said. “I mean, it's not like he didn't have the opportunity before. The guy on the donkey, there could have been other dead people there, putting the palm fronds down or something. He's raising the stakes.”

She clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap, wishing she had something to do with them. She needed to remember to put a different deck of cards in her purse so she'd have something to fidget with.

“No telling what he has in mind,” Jeremiah said quietly.

She glanced over at him. “So, is it true that in Israel military service is mandatory for everyone, men and women?”

“Yes, although, any Arabs living in the country are exempt.”

“So if you're Jewish you serve. No exceptions?”

He smiled. “Exceptions are made for people with mental impairments and physical disabilities. Also, exceptions are made for those pursuing some types of religious education and training.”

Like a rabbi
, she thought. “Oh. That's a convenient out.”

“Yes, it is. Why do you ask?”

“Just something I heard, and I was curious about it,” she said, trying her best to sound casual.

She felt somewhat relieved. It was stupid, but what the detective had said about the killer being anyone, even Jeremiah, had spooked her. It seemed hard to picture a sweet guy like him even carrying a weapon.

“Do you mind if I stop at home for a minute first? I want to pick up my suit for tonight's dinner so I'll have it with me.”

“That's fine,” she said. “How go the plans for tonight?”

He smiled. “Complicated. Fortunately, I have many eager volunteers willing to shoulder part of the responsibility.”

Cindy laughed. “Sometimes it can take more effort to supervise the volunteers than it would to do their job.”

“I have noticed that that seems to be true, particularly around holidays.”

They pulled up outside his house. “Come in. It will only take me a minute.”

She slid out of the car and followed him inside. She walked around his living room, and again her eyes fell on the bookshelf of poetry. Then she took a close look at the sparse furnishings and the paintings on the wall.

“I think I know your secret, Rabbi,” she said.

“Really, and what would that be?” he asked, emerging from his bedroom with a garment bag.

“This is just like my house. You're renting this from a member of the synagogue. I'd be willing to bet nothing in this room, from the poetry to that hideous painting to that ancient video player, is yours.”

“Very perceptive,” he said.

She shrugged. “It's obvious. I should have realized that last time I was here.” She pointed to the poetry. “These aren't your books.”

“No, they're not,” he admitted.

“It's amazing how most of the time we don't see what's right under our noses.”

By the time Mark arrived on the scene, officers had already cornered Randolph in his home where he had fled after being approached at the university. Something felt off
to Mark. He didn't see the guy they were hunting being stupid enough to stop off at home to pack a few things on his way out of town.

“What's going on?” he asked Paul.

His partner rolled his eyes. “He keeps shouting that he doesn't want to lose his job.”

“He's crazy if he thinks that's the worst that can happen to him,” a uniformed officer said.

Mark took a deep breath. “Any sign of a weapon?” The officer shook his head. “Okay, get me a vest.”

“What are you doing?” Paul asked as the officer hurried off.

“Playing a hunch.”

“Gambling with your life.”

“You honestly think we've got a serial killer trapped in there?”

Paul sighed. The officer returned with the bulletproof vest, and Mark strapped it on.

“Don't do anything stupid,” Paul cautioned.

“I think we passed stupid on Monday,” Mark said. He walked slowly toward the door of the house, hands at shoulder height.

“Can't lose my job,” he heard someone moaning inside as he got closer.

“Mr. Randolph?” Mark shouted.

There was silence for a minute and then the man inside the house shouted, “Go away!”

“I can't do that, Mr. Randolph. I need to come in and talk with you, just for a few minutes.”

“No!”

“Please, Mr. Randolph. There's a lot of worried people out here who don't want anyone to get hurt.”

“I never hurt anybody!”

“Well, we can talk about that when you let me inside.” Mark moved to stand next to the door.

“I can't lose my job! I don't want to do anything else. I can't do anything else!”

“We can talk about that too.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Just let me come inside, Mr. Randolph.”

The door opened slowly. Mark glanced out at the street and saw half a dozen weapons drawn. He stepped around the door and saw a middle-aged man wearing jeans, a shirt and striped tie. He was short with thinning hair and a bit of stubble on his face. His eyes were wild, desperate, and for a moment Mark wondered if he had made a terrible mistake.

Then Randolph turned and sank down on a chair in the living room, his head in his hands, and rocked back and forth. Mark eased inside, leaving the front door open. He positioned himself so the shooters outside would have a clear shot at Randolph, and he would be out of the line of fire.

“You want to go first?” Mark asked after a moment.

“I can't lose my job!” the man wailed.

“And why would you lose it?” Mark decided to discuss the topic that seemed most pressing to the suspect.

“Because I lied. I didn't want to, I had to.”

“Lied about what?”

“You know. It's why you came after me.”

“Yes, but sometimes it's good to say these things out loud. It helps put things in perspective.”

“Perspective?” Randolph looked up. “Perspective!”

“Yes, perspective,” Mark said, working to keep his voice level.

“How's this for perspective? I work harder than any other teacher on that campus!”

“And why is that?”

“Why do you think? Because when I don't work hard, people don't learn. I work hard for the kids. No one could ever know—” Randolph stopped abruptly and dropped his head back into his hands.

Out of the corner of his eye Mark could see officers approaching the door, getting ready to make a move. He held up his hand, and they paused.

“What is it that you don't want them to know?”

“I lied.”

“Then tell the truth now. It might help.”

“I don't have a doctorate. I never even finished my bachelor's,” Randolph ended with a wail.

Mark blinked several times. This? This is what they were all wasting their time over while the killer still roamed free? He dropped his hand, and the officers entered and hand-cuffed Randolph, who sobbed uncontrollably.

Mark stood up as Paul entered the room. “Mr. Randolph, where do you keep your Shepherd's Cross?” Mark asked.

Randolph looked at him in confusion. “On top of my dresser.”

Paul headed off and a moment later returned with the cross dangling from its chain. “We're fast running out of suspects.”

“I know.”

Cindy pulled her car into the driveway, and Jeremiah parked immediately behind her. She walked toward the house, trying not to let her fear get the better of her. She heard Jeremiah's car door close, and she tried not to jump as he came up behind her.

Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Everything seemed as it should be. She turned and nearly bumped into Jeremiah who had been right behind her.

“Sorry,” he said. He moved toward the kitchen, which still showed the ravages of the intrusion.

“Sorry,” she echoed. She walked in and scooped some books and papers off the floor and piled them on the table. It was stupid to be embarrassed, but she couldn't help it. Her mother had drummed into her that how clean you kept your house reflected on you as a person.

“You don't have to do this now,” Jeremiah said.

“No, it's fine.” She gritted her teeth and tried to sound cheerful.

She dropped another stack, and a few scraps of paper went fluttering through the air. Jeremiah caught one and looked at it. “Somebody doesn't like crossword puzzles,” he said.

She glanced at the scrap of paper and then at the other ones scattered around the floor. It was the crossword puzzle she had been working on Monday. It was the only paper that had been torn up.

“That's really weird,” she said.