Page 7 of Go First
Marcus stepped closer.“Huh?”
“It’s an old Hebrew cipher.Substitution—first letter of the alphabet for the last, second for the second-last, and so on.Used since Biblical times.”
She scribbled, converting each character.The letters tumbled into words, the words into lines.Her breath caught as the meaning took shape.
She read it aloud: “Treasures of wickedness profiteth nothing, but righteousness delivereth from death.”
Marcus nodded, thoughtfully. “As in – if you’re not righteous…”
“You die.”
She moved to the second line.Another verse decrypted, stark and cold.“The mouth of the just bringeth forth wisdom, but the deceitful tongue shall be cut out.”
The words seemed to burn into the air.Verses from the Book of Proverbs.About the tongue.About deceit and riches and righteousness.About life and death.
Kate stared down at Whitfield’s mutilated mouth, then back at the carved scripture.A message as clear as it was cruel.
Marcus said it for her.“Somebody shut him up.And they wanted us to know exactly why.”
Kate swallowed hard, her eyes tracing the lavish office one last time.The symbols, the silence, the grotesque absence where the pastor’s tongue ought to have been.
This wasn’t murder.Wasn’tjustmurder.It was judgement.
A security guard approached them; an older guy, a little stout with a slight limp and name-badge that read ‘Hernandez’.
“I’ll walk you round to the Pastor’s house,” he said, quietly.
Marcus and Kate shared a glance.‘Walk you round’ meant ‘escort’.It meant ‘go exactly where we want you to go, and nowhere else’.But for now, they’d accept the offer.
Kate peeled off her gloves as they walked out into the hallway, Hernandez keeping a respectful few paces ahead.The lights were harsher out here, bouncing off decorated tiles and polished floors, a world too bright after the hushed menace of the pastor’s office.
Margaret hadn’t moved from her chair.She rocked gently, whispering fragments of prayer into her palms.The deputy caught Kate’s eye, as if to ask whether to press her for more.Kate gave a subtle shake of her head.
Marcus fell in beside her, his shoulders filling the narrow corridor.“So.A preacher with a silver tongue, and somebody takes it literal.”
Kate folded her gloves, slipped them into a bag.“Not literal.Symbolic.They want it understood.Two references from the Book of Proverbs… that wasn’t just graffiti.It was doctrine.”
“Wait!”
Footsteps behind them, rushed.Hernandez stiffened, old instincts – maybe cop instincts – instantly preparing for danger. But he relaxed as he saw who it was: Desiree, the CSI, running to catch them up.
“Thought you’d like to know,” she said, breathlessly.“We just found a few fibres under his fingernails.Both hands.Two different kinds of black fabric, cotton and polyester-wool mix.Suggests he might have struggled with his attacker.”
“Thanks,” Marcus said.
Desiree’s face folded into a smile.“No problem.”
Kate flashed Marcus a look, but he avoided her eye.
They continued on their way for a few paces before Kate stopped dead still.Hernandez looked at her curiously.
“Did you serve drinks at the reception last night?”
Hernandez blinked in surprise, as if he wasn’t used to being spoken to.
“Yes?”he said, warily.
“Dressed like that?”