Session 2 (5/14/2003) The Church
Session 2 (5/14/2003) The Church
The Mountain View Church of Vestavia was a large diamond-shaped building that reminded Joe more of a movie theater than a church. The seating was divided up into rows of individual chairs instead of pews, and was raised in the back so that the whole room sort of looked down onto the dais area, which was furnished with an ornate wooden pulpit and curtain. Joe could see as soon as he walked in that the pulpit had been vandalized, and that a section of chairs had been ripped up from the floor and then further damaged.
“Nobody steps on a church in my town,” he muttered to no one in particular.
The Wednesday night service was long, and in Joe’s opinion, fairly boring. He sat as close to the ruined set of chairs as he could, and throughout the service he tried to get a good look at the markings carved into the pulpit. While the rest of the congregation listened to the preacher drone on about whatever sin or virtue they should or should not be doing, Joe patiently copied down the markings from the pulpit into his handy notepad.
When the service was over and the crowd began to file out, Joe got up and headed over to where he saw the preacher speaking to a few of his flock. On his way, he saw a familiar face poking around in the back of the crowd. It looked like Willie Lamar was hanging around as well. The two made brief eye contact, and Willie then turned and pretended to be interested in a pamphlet on a nearby table. Joe took the hint and quietly hummed the Mission Impossible theme as he continued over to the preacher.
“Hey, preacher, great service! Really…um…you know…holy,” Joe interrupted, and the preacher and his small entourage all stopped talking and looked over at Joe with expressions ranging from disapproving to slightly frightened.
Joe took the opportunity to glance down at his attire. They must all be impressed by his new Spawn T-shirt. It was pretty cool, he admitted. Still, there was business to attend to.
The preacher slowly nodded to Joe and a confused but friendly smile returned to his face. “Well, thank you, sir. I appreciate it. Are you…uh…new to our congregation?”
Joe nodded, “Um…sure…why not? Say, padre, what’s up with the freaky things carved into the pulpit? Is that like some new religious thing?” Joe smiled at his clever questioning technique. He was sure that Willie was probably watching from somewhere in the back. Probably taking notes.
“Um…that is some damage from vandalism. We hope to have it repaired some---”
“Who did it?” Joe interrupted, trying to surprise him into giving something away.
The preacher looked surprised, but Joe couldn’t tell if it was sincere or not. This guy was good, that was for sure. Not many people could handle Joe’s powerful way with words like this. The preacher furrowed his brow and answered, “I really couldn’t say, but I believe that is a police matter. Say! Bernice!” The preacher motioned to someone behind Joe. “Say Bernice, this gentleman is interested in joining our congregation. Perhaps you would be so good as to answer a few questions for him.”
Joe turned and got his first look at Bernice. She immediately reminded him of that kid from the Addams Family. Unfortunately for her, the one she looked like was the boy.
“Ewww…I mean, hi!” Joe covered. She probably didn’t notice his little slip.
The preacher and the rest of his little group moved away, leaving Joe with Bernice. She certainly didn’t look any more pleased with the arrangement than Joe was. She must not be a Spawn fan.
“So…Bernice, can you give me a ride somewhere?”
. . .
Willie waited, biding his time. The crowd has thinned down to half a dozen hangers-on who had to have a word with the preacher before leaving. He saw Joe leave with a weird looking boy in a dress, but Willie figured Joe had his own life, and he could do what he wanted. To each his own.
Finally, the preacher was alone, and it looked like there would be no interruptions. Willie did his best to casually saunter over to the man while staggering and leaning heavily on his new cane. The preacher was stacking books onto a side table when Willie interrupted him.
“Good evening, Reverend. Might I have a word with you?”
“Certainly, what can I do for you?”
Willie brought out his wallet with his old police badge. He flashed it to the man as he introduced himself, “William Morris, Field Agent with the ATF. If you don’t mind, I have a few questions for you.” Willie held the badge open long enough for the man to focus on it, but then Willie dodged his head sideways to catch the man’s eye again. It was an old trick he had used before. If people felt that you were demanding eye contact, it put them on the defensive and they usually ignored the badge and looked you in the eye. But, it also meant he could leave the badge out a longer time, so it did not look like he was just trying to flash a fake badge and quickly put it away…which of course, is exactly what he was doing.
“What can I do for you, Agent Morris?”
“Well, Reverend, I’m in a bit of a bind here. I’m not really operating in my jurisdiction, you see, but I am working on a case in this area, and I believe your recent vandalism attack on the night of…” Willie pulled a small notebook out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open to a dog-eared page, “well, last Wednesday night, I guess, anyhow, I believe your attack may be connected to the case I am working on.”
The past raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Really? What could a vandalism attack have to do with an investigation by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms?”
“Well, reverend, I’m not permitted to give too many details at this time, but, unofficially, I’m following an illegal arms dealer who may be operating in this area. Real nut job, too, if you don’t mind me saying. The type that would get their kicks from something like this,” and Willie motioned to the damage on the pulpit. He started talking as quickly as possible, “Now, my problem is, as I said, I’m out of my jurisdiction here. You see, we at the bureau don’t want to take over this case, because if we do, the press could get wind of it, and then this guy I’m chasing would know I’m here, you understand? It would make my job a lot harder. So what I would like to do is just ask you a couple of questions in a purely unofficial capacity, if you know what I mean.”
The pastor seemed lost, and just nodded.
“Okay then, what can you tell me about the attack?” Willie had his notebook and pen ready.
“Well, we found the damage Thursday morning. Actually I got a call ‘cause the janitor, Mike Edwards, found the damage when he opened the church that morning, and he called me. Anyhow, there was a bunch of stuff knocked over and messed up, like furniture and things like that. And the front door was busted up pretty badly, and the carvings like you saw. And there was some mess in the vestibule that Mike took care of. Anyhow, we called the police and then we cleaned up as best we could. And really, that’s all I know.”
“Is this Mike Edwards here tonight, where I could have a word with him?”
A couple of minutes late, the preacher was gone, and Willie had shambled in a maintenance closet speaking to an elderly white-haired man wearing well-worn coveralls.
“Now Mr. Edwards, the reverend said there was some kind of mess that you cleaned up in the vestibule? Can you tell me what that was?”
“Well, sir, I don’t rightly know, to be honest with ya, what that stuff was. It was sure nasty though. Had bugs crawling in it an’ everything.”
Willie’s blood ran cold. “You say it had…insects crawling in it?”
“Yes, sir. Um…iffin’ I had to say, I would guess it was like somebody’d done throwed up.”
“Um…vomit?”
“Yes, sir”
Willie took a deep calming breath. “I don’t suppose you still have any of it by any chance?”
“No, sir.”
In a way, Willie was relieved. At least that meant he wouldn’t have to carry any of it back--
“I do still have the rags I used to clean it up, though,” the janitor said encouragingly, and reached behind him into a garbage can.
Willie reached into his jacket pocket and removed a plastic bag as the janitor turned back around with a grimy brown-black glob in one hand. Willie averted his eyes and waved the baggy at the janitor. “Yes, ahem…here you go sir, if you can just place the evidence into this bag…” Willie decided that only crazy white people would want to go and keep a dirty rag around for a week, just in case it came in handy.
A moment later, Willie was holding the plastic bag with the squishy rag inside. He struggled to avoid gagging as he held the nasty thing in one hand, with his cane in the other.
“Okay, thank you sir. Now before I go, is there anything else you can remember about that morning?”
“Nothing I can think of. It’s all like I told the poh-leese when they was up here.”
“Well, could you go over it one more time for me, just in case?”
“Well, sir, I came in, and I saw the mess on the floor. And I went down to the fuse box but they was all right--”
“Wait, why did you go to the fuse box?”
“Cause the lights was off.”
“Your lights were off—The power was out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And…it was not a fuse? Or a storm?”
“No, sir. It was the…uh…whatchacallit…the power box outside? You know, on the side of the building? Them kids or whoever done busted into the place…they messed with it and musta turned the power off.”
“They messed with it? How?” This might explain the sudden loss of power at the library just before the attack.
“They scratched some of that writing into the paint on the box, same as the pulpit there. I would show it to ya, but after the poh-leese came and took they pictures, they said I could paint over it. Shocked myself something nasty doing it, too. But anyhow, I looked at it real good, and it was the same writing as what they done to the pulpit.”
Willie wasn’t listening anymore. He looked at his watch. Nine-thirty. He needed to get back to the library.
