The Lord Is My Shepherd (2 page)

“Let me help you up,” Jeremiah said.

Some morbid part of her wanted to look at the body again, to reassure herself that it was no one she knew. The rest of her was quite sure she'd never forget what she had seen.

I'm going to be sick.
She stumbled a few feet away from the rabbi.

“Hold on. Where are you going?”

“I need to get out of here,” she said.

“I don't think that's a good idea. Wait until the police get here. In the meantime, this will keep you a little warmer.” Jeremiah slipped his coat around her shoulders. “Put your arms into the sleeves.”

“He's dead, right?” She knew the man was dead. Eyes didn't lie, and the dead man's eyes told her everything. Still, she needed to hear it, needed to know that she was right. Needed for someone else to acknowledge it.

“Yes, he's dead.” Jeremiah's voice was calm and authoritative.

Cindy nodded. He put his arms around her, and she gladly leaned into him again. They slid to the floor against the back pew to wait for help.

J
EREMIAH CONSIDERED QUESTIONING THE WOMAN ABOUT WHAT HAD happened, but realized he'd hear the story soon enough once the police showed up. He leaned back against the pew and held her. She had calmed down considerably, but he gently stroked her hair to soothe her.

He glanced over at the body: a man in his late forties, a black-handled Bowie knife sticking out of his chest, and playing cards fanned out around him. Whoever had stabbed the victim had used a lot of force to drive the weapon in that far. The blood that had spilled out onto his white shirt was dark and dried. He'd probably been dead for several hours before the girl found him.

Girl.
He glanced down at her and smiled. She was old enough to be someone's mother. He guessed her age as close to thirty. Her long, light brown hair fanned out over his shoulder and chest. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but he remembered them as vivid green and wide with terror. He must have made quite a sight barreling through the door the way he did.

He had been the rabbi at the synagogue next door for almost two years and had seen her on many occasions in the parking lot, but he didn't know her name.

Jeremiah smiled grimly when the police arrived in less than five minutes. If his emergency call had been about a stolen car or a purse snatcher, they would have waited hours for the police, but mention “dead body” and watch them come running with sirens blasting.

Officers sealed off the area just in time. Outside the sanctuary Jeremiah could see several people he took to be other staff members showing up at the door for work. They had certainly gotten a lot more than they bargained for.

“Sir, could you and the lady step over here?” a detective asked, waving them toward a pew a little way from the body.

“We can move now,” Jeremiah told the woman. “Are you ready?”

Cindy nodded, and he stood. She struggled for a moment, and he could see the bruises that had already formed on her knees and her right arm. He stooped down, put his hands under her arms, and pulled her into a standing position. She gave him a fleeting smile before her eyes fixed on the body. He grabbed her chin and gently pulled her head around to face him.

“Come over here with me,” he said. He kept an arm around her and half-led, half-carried her over to the detective. Jeremiah lowered her into a pew and then sat beside her.

The detective took a seat in front of them and turned around. He passed a hand through his sandy blonde hair, and his sharp eyes looked her over before turning on Jeremiah.

“My name is Mark Walters,” he said, addressing Jeremiah.

“Jeremiah Silverman. I'm the rabbi from the synagogue next door.”

The detective nodded toward the woman. “I take it she found him?”

“Yes.”

“Were you with her at the time?”

“No, I was getting out of my car when I heard her screaming. I ran over to see if I could help and found her on the floor next to him.”

“A real Good Samaritan,” the detective commented, not unkindly.

“Not quite. I'm Jewish.”

The detective just blinked.

“Sorry, bad joke,” Jeremiah said, mentally cursing. The last thing he needed was to anger the police. Neither he nor the synagogue needed that kind of attention, especially not with Passover about to start.

Mark stared hard at him for a moment and then nodded. “My wife makes jokes when she's scared or upset. I guess she's not the only one. Me, I find it hard to be funny when there's a dead man on the floor of a church and a killer on the loose.”

“I'm sorry,” Jeremiah said. “This is just a stressful way to start your day, you know?”

“That I do know,” Mark agreed.

He turned his attention back to the woman who sat quietly, staring off into the distance. “I need to ask her a few questions.”

Jeremiah put his arm around her shoulder, and she turned to look at him. “The detective has a couple of questions for you.”

She seemed to wake up at that and blinked slowly, as though only now seeing him. She looked at the detective and cleared her throat. “Yes, of course,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“I'll make this as quick as I can,” the detective said. His tone was reassuring.

“Thank you.”

“Your name?”

“Cindy Preston.”

Cindy. It suits her
, Jeremiah thought.

“Okay, Miss Preston, do you work here?”

She nodded. “I'm the secretary.”

“The man on the floor, do you know who he is?”

“No,” she said.

“Have you ever seen him before?”

“No.”

“Okay, that's fine. You're doing fine,” Mark assured her. “Can you tell me what happened this morning?”

“I fell over him.” Tears streaked down her cheeks.

“You fell over him?” Mark asked.

She nodded.

“Okay, how about before you fell on him. What were you doing?”

“I unlocked the sanctuary.”

“Is that part of your job?”

“Yes. I'm almost always here before everyone else, and I unlock the sanctuary and then the office and then any other rooms that are going to be used in the morning.”

“So the sanctuary was locked this morning when you got here?”

She nodded and wiped at her eyes. “Yes. The main gate wasn't, though.”

“You mean the gate out by the parking lot?” the detective asked.

She nodded.

Jeremiah and Mark exchanged a quick glance. Mark turned back to Cindy. “Is the main gate usually locked?”

“Yes. I mean, every once in a while the last person to leave forgets, but not often.”

“So, the main gate was unlocked but the sanctuary was locked?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. You unlocked the door and then what happened?”

“I tripped over him before I could reach the light switch,” she said. “My cards went flying out of my hand.”

“So, the playing cards are yours?” Mark asked.

“Yes. It's my lucky deck.”

“Not so lucky today.” Mark sounded grim. “So you fell, and your cards went flying. What next?”

“I got up and turned on the lights. I turned to see what I had tripped over, and there he was, lying face down.”

“Face down?” Jeremiah asked before he could stop himself.

Mark glared a warning but didn't say anything.

“Yes. I thought maybe he'd fallen or had a heart attack or something. I asked if he was okay, and when he didn't answer, I grabbed his shoulder like they showed us in the first-aid class and rolled him onto his back. That's when I saw the … the … knife.” She took a deep breath and bit her bottom lip.

“That's okay, ma'am. What happened after that?”

“I screamed, I think, and he came.” Cindy turned to look at Jeremiah.

“I see,” Mark said.

“I found her here on the floor beside him, and I called 9-1-1.”

“Have you seen the victim before?”

Jeremiah shook his head. “No.”

Jeremiah spied another officer checking out the crime scene. He watched the man walk the perimeter of the sanctuary; his eyes roamed over everything. In the background Jeremiah could hear Mark's droning voice, as he asked Cindy the same questions in three different ways. They trained police to do that. By asking the same questions, but varying the language and prompting for more and more detailed responses, they could often get more information out of witnesses than a simple narrative. They also could tell if a person was lying. It was hard not to slip up when being questioned like that. The second detective had made it almost all the way around the sanctuary when he stopped and bent down. The officer whistled low, and their detective turned to look.

“Miss, I'll be right back,” Mark said and hurried to join his partner.

The two bent over to examine something on the floor. Because Jeremiah's line of sight was blocked, he couldn't see what they were looking at. When they stood up, though, he could read their lips.

The cards belong to the woman. She tripped over the body, and they went flying. Still, make sure you tag them all.

Done. You get anything solid from her?

Not yet. She seems clean, but she could just be a good actor.

Her car was still warm when officers arrived, and this guy's been dead for several hours.

She could have killed him last night and come back today.

I don't think so. The pastor says that she was at the hospital most of the night with one of the elderly members of the congregation who was dying.

We got a confirmation on that?

I'll call the hospital. I don't think we have anything to worry about with her. How about the guy?

Works next door. Heard her screaming and came to help.

Mark walked back toward them. The detective crouched down and touched Cindy's shoulder. In his hand he held a small plastic bag. Inside was a silver cross and chain encrusted with dried blood. Etched into the center of the cross was a lamb.

“Have you ever seen this before?” Mark asked.

She straightened slightly and nodded. “That's a Shepherd's Cross.”

“What's a Shepherd's Cross?”

“The church gives them out to Shepherds. They're members who volunteer to visit the sick and the shut-ins.”

“Like you?”

“No, I'm not a Shepherd, just a secretary.”

“And just how many Shepherds are there?”

“Thirty.”

“Is there any way to know which Shepherd lost this? Any distinguishing size or markings?”

She shook her head. “They're all identical. You don't think—”

“Is there anything else you can think of? Did you see anything unusual?”

“I don't think so.”

Seeing the blood-covered cross had excited Cindy's interest, but Jeremiah could see she was about to cry again. If a Shepherd had been responsible for the murder, it would be devastating to her.

“I don't think she remembers much right now,” Jeremiah offered. “She's still in shock.”

Mark looked at him again with intense scrutiny. Even though it made him uncomfortable, Jeremiah knew how to sit quietly and stare back calmly.

“Okay,” Mark relented. “Ma'am, is there a place we can reach you if we have any further questions?”

Cindy nodded and gave the detective her home phone number. Jeremiah then gave his to the detective as well.

“One last thing, did either of you touch anything?”

Jeremiah shook his head no. Cindy nodded.

“The door and the light and … him … when I rolled him onto his back. And, of course, my cards.”

“Nothing else?”

“I don't think so,” she said.

Mark turned back to Jeremiah. “We're done with her for now, so she might want to go home. We still need to question the rest of the church staff. She should consider taking a day or two off. I'll call later this week if I have more questions for either of you.”

“But I can't take time off,” she said. “This is Easter week, and there's so much to do.”

“Cindy, you can call your pastor later today and make that decision with him, okay?” Jeremiah said.

“I suppose … ”

Mark continued to stare at Jeremiah. “We're not done talking with the other people who work here yet. I can get one of the other officers to take her home.”

“You probably need them here. I can run her home,” Jeremiah said.

Mark gave him the ghost of a smile. “Thanks, Samaritan.”

Jeremiah just nodded. He refused to let the detective bait him.

As she walked out of the sanctuary, Cindy took a deep breath of fresh air, which seemed to clear her head. A crowd of strangers stared and whispered as she passed by. She had never felt so on display. Pastor Roy was talking with a detective, but he smiled at her and gave a reassuring nod. She'd call him later. What a sight she must be! She still wore Jeremiah's coat, and he had his arm around her shoulders, half-pushing her toward the parking lot.

Only a short hedge separated the parking lots of the church and the synagogue. A small gap in the bushes close to the buildings allowed people to cross from one parking lot to the other. The dirt pathway was a testament to the unspoken accord the two congregations had shared for nearly thirty years. On Sunday mornings the church used the synagogue's lot for overflow parking. On Saturday mornings the synagogue did the same.

Jeremiah steered Cindy toward his car, an older black Mustang. She hesitated a moment. Was it safe to leave with him? After all, he was really a stranger to her. She glanced over her shoulder, but no one looked their way. Her coworkers would be occupied by the police for quite a while. Jeremiah opened the car door, and she allowed him to help her inside. Moments later they drove out of the lot.