“Larraby was an idiot, Charlie. He shouldn’t have been trusted to write a parking ticket.”
Charlie stood. “Want a beer? I have Bud Light and Anchor Steam. Take your pick.”
“No, thanks. I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself.” Charlie left the room for no more than a minute before returning with a bottle of Anchor Steam. “Tell me, Jack, do you believe the Iler girl’s account of that night?”
“I don’t know. Sitting in the car alone, after having just seen two dead bodies, I can see how it might affect your perception of time. Two minutes could easily seem like ten. So I think it’s possible she’s wrong. But one thing I can tell you-she’s not lying. And that’s more than I can say for Greg Spurlock.”
“Yeah, Milt told me you found some ‘discrepancies’ in Spurlock’s story.” Charlie took a long pull from the bottle and set it on a coaster. “Okay, he’s a liar. But is he a killer?”
“No. The person who killed those two boys also killed Colt Rogers. Spurlock couldn’t have done it. I had Eric check Spurlock’s whereabouts at the time Rogers was murdered. He was performing surgery at Central Baptist Hospital.”
“Which puts your ass firmly planted back on square one.” Charlie finished off the beer. “Where do you go from here?”
“Talk to Greg Spurlock again. Try to find out why he’s lying.”
“That’s a start. Anything else?”
“Go back to the prison and talk with Eli. If he really wants to prove his innocence-if he is innocent-he has to give me more than what he’s given me so far.”
“When are you going to see him?”
“I’m leaving at nine this morning.”
“Want some company?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Charlie. He might not be too thrilled to see one of the detectives who put him away for life.”
“Well, I’m going, so thrilled or not, Eli will just have to deal with it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Today had been a good one for Eli Whitehouse. Better than good, really, considering the violence taking place inside his body. What had once been a healthy temple was now a battleground for those traitorous cancer cells gnawing at him like starving rodents, devouring the remaining healthy tissue inch by inch. But that wasn’t the case on this particular day. Today, the holy Sabbath, the two hostile factions rested, just as God had done after creating the world and all that was in it. As a result of this temporary truce, the excruciating pain that kept him on the edge of madness had blessedly taken a few hours off, allowing him to enjoy the best day he’d had in weeks. This was a rare moment, and he was thankful for it.
Eli felt strong enough to get out of bed without assistance and sit in a chair next to the window. This was the first time in weeks he had been able to perform such a simple task, and he was delighted that he could pull it off. No buzzing a nurse for help, thank goodness. No need to seek assistance from an orderly. Today, he was his own man. Pain and the certainty of death were terrible burdens to shoulder, but what he detested in equal measure was the loss of independence that went hand in hand with a terminal and debilitating illness like cancer. He had always been strong and independent; now someone had to clean him after he used the toilet. On certain days, he had to be fed like a baby. He no longer controlled the simplest of functions.
He was a prisoner behind bars and a prisoner to his illness.
Sitting in the chair, gazing out the window into the bright sunlight, he thought about his children. How much he loved them and missed them. How different they are, especially the two boys, neither of whom he had seen in years. Isaac had stopped visiting more than fifteen years ago; Thomas had never set foot inside the prison. He had often marveled at those differences, Isaac with his desperate need for approval, Thomas with his casual lack of concern toward virtually everything and everyone. How could two children born of the same parents be so dissimilar? Esau and Jacob had nothing on his two boys.
And there was Rachel, his lovely flower, the loyal one. His heart burst with joy every time he thought of his precious daughter. She had been steadfast in her belief that he was innocent, never wavering, never questioning or condemning. Her regular visits to the prison kept him going, providing him with the strength to survive today and the courage to face tomorrow. Were it not for Rachel, he would have withered and died long ago.
She had been like Saint Peter, the rock, the one who held the family together and kept him sane.
Rachel was also his primary lifeline to the outside world, particularly in regards to family affairs. Through her he kept up with his two absent sons, and although he was fully aware that her reports were far from truthful, he drank in her words like expensive wine. Not once did he challenge anything she said to him about the boys, even though he knew much of her account was pure fiction.
Isaac is an evangelist like you, Father, she told him. He has his own church, a nice one on Southland Drive. He has many members in his congregation-more than two hundred-and they love and respect him. He is happily married to a lovely woman named Rebecca-yes, just like Isaac in the Bible, what a coincidence!-and they have two sons, David and Matthew, and a daughter, Mary. You should be proud of him, Father.
Eli was proud of Isaac, but more than anything he was surprised by him, by the path he chose to take in life. Never in a million years would he have guessed that his eldest son would become a preacher. Not Isaac, who, as a young man, would go to any lengths to put distance between him and the church. He wanted to get as far away as fast as possible. Isaac had no time for sermons, or the Word of God, or Holy Scripture handed down like thunder by his old man. He got more than enough of that nonsense at home.
However, as Eli reflected upon it now, he wondered if he should have been surprised by Isaac’s decision to follow him into the ministry. Perhaps it wasn’t such an outlandish or extreme decision. After all, preachers are nothing more than performers, actors upon a stage, playing to an audience. And what are all performers desperately seeking? Love. They all want to be loved.
No one sought love more than Isaac Whitehouse. Where better to get it than the pulpit?
Through Rachel, Eli kept up with Tommy’s career in the Marines. Rachel told him Tommy had been awarded many commendations, having served with distinction in the First Gulf War and in Afghanistan. He had been wounded once, but it wasn’t serious. Now a colonel, Tommy worked at the Pentagon, but would soon be shipping off again for another tour in Afghanistan. He was single, never having found a woman willing to accept his nomadic existence.
When Eli asked why Tommy had never once visited him, Rachel said it was because “it would break his heart to see you behind bars.”
Of course, Eli knew she wasn’t telling the truth. He knew it from the sorrow in her voice and the sadness in her eyes. He also knew why she was lying, and he loved her all the more for it. She was protecting both father and son.
No brother could ask for a better sister. No father could expect a better daughter.
Eli played along with Rachel even though he had long been aware of the real truth about Tommy, the sad, heart-breaking truth about his beloved son. Early on, various members of the congregation, while visiting Eli, would relay news of Tommy’s downward spiral. Later, it was Colt Rogers who delivered the ever-depressing stories of Tommy’s decline.
Tommy had been booted out of the Marines long ago and was now a full-fledged alcoholic. He was unable to hold a steady job for any substantial length of time, had never been married, and would likely be homeless were it not for the kindness of Rachel and Kirk Foster. He was a sad, lonely, broken soul.
Eli’s heart ached at the realization that Tommy, his special child, his golden boy, had fallen so deep into the depths of despair. Why it happened was no mystery. The murders, seeing his father sent to prison for life; therein lay the root cause for Tommy’s decline. But Tommy’s downfall wasn’t simply a matter of the son not being able to deal with the sins of his father. Or that his father was exiled to a prison cell for life. That was only part of the story, not all of it. The truth, Eli knew, was yet to be uncovered. And only when the truth is finally revealed will the world know why Tommy Whitehouse descended into his own private hell, taking with him all but a precious few fading memories of the beautiful child he had once been.
