Page 8 of Go First
He touched his jacket, a military-style number with epaulettes and silver buttons.Then understanding seemed to dawn.
“No, no.They got me a black shirt and pants, same as all the other servers.”
As they pushed through the heavy double doors, Kate took advantage of the noise to speak to Marcus.“Killer could have been one of the servers.Or posed as one of the servers.”
Outside the building, a light rain was falling, running in dirty trails across the hoods of patrol cars.A handful of church members had gathered at the yellow tape, murmuring, arms folded tight against the morning chill.One woman clutched a Bible to her chest as if it was a shield.
The county sheriff, Daniels, met them halfway.He was broad, genial-looking, but his eyes were lined with fatigue.“You going to talk to the widow?”
“Hoping she’ll talk back,” Marcus said.
Daniels glanced back at the church building.“This is going to hit the town hard.Folks either loved him or hated him, but everyone knew him.You put a man like that in the ground and the ripples go everywhere.”
Kate gave a small nod.“The ripples are the point.”
Daniels frowned, as though she’d suddenly spoken in a foreign tongue.
Kate let it lie.She wiped a raindrop off her nose, inhaling the scent of wet grass and exhaust.A siren wailed faintly somewhere far off.
Her mind went back to the desk, the grooves in the wood, the words of Proverbs made jagged and bloody.…The mouth of the just bringeth forth wisdom, but the deceitful tongue shall be cut out
Carefully chosen words.The killer had read deeply, studied, thought.Waited.
They went through a gate, Hernandez respectfully holding it open as they walked into a walled garden, prettily planted with a couple of abstract sculptures on the lawn.Kate felt sure she’d seen one of them at an exhibition in DC.
“You got that look, Vee.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’ve already put the next fifty pieces of the puzzle together, and you’re not gonna sleep until you’re sure you’re right.”
Kate shrugged.The Proverbs verses looped again in her mind, like a chant.
“Not fifty,” she said quietly.She stopped by a bench.“This wasn’t random,” she said.
Marcus crossed his arms.“Never is.”
“No.I mean—it’s not just a killing.It’s an indictment.They’re saying that his own words condemned him.His tongue condemned him.And they silenced it.”
Kate looked at her shoes. “And they left scripture as the justification.Scripture in code.”
Marcus studied her, then the body.“So we’re looking for a zealot.”
Kate exhaled, eyes still on ground.“A zealot who knows Hebrew.And who knows me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Whitfield residence was less a house, more an exhibit.They walked up a drive which swept in a wide curve past manicured hedges clipped into perfect spheres, and the front doors—carved oak with elaborate ironwork—stood open to let the late-morning light fall across a broad expanse of marble tiles.Just before the short set of steps, Hernandez, their escort, turned round to face them, making just the hint of an embarrassed shrug, as if to say, ‘What did you expect?’He then gave a brief salute, and started walking back towards the lake.
‘Do we just walk in and holler?’Kate wondered.‘Or will a servant do that for us?’
‘You know what?I’m just thinking,’ Marcus said, suddenly.‘There’s got to be a bunch of financials to look into.I mean – if this guy made his money honestly, then I’m the next American pope.And I’ve got a feeling there’s going to be a lot of paperwork.’
‘You want to go back to Portland and get stuck in?’
‘You okay with that?’
‘It’s practical.Only one problem.We came in your car.’