From the time he was very young, Tommy had been strangely aloof, indifferent to the judgment and opinions of others, emotionally shut off (by his own choice) from any part of the outside world that failed to interest or intrigue him. He did not suffer fools or boredom lightly. Those with special gifts rarely do. And yet, at any given moment, with the quicksilver flash of a smile and the twinkle in his eyes, he could draw you to him with the suddenness of a lightning strike. His was a magnetic personality.
“You are like the serpent in the Garden,” Eli once told him. “Wily, cunning, charismatic, and… maybe a little dangerous.”
Thoughts of Tommy only added more crushing weight to the guilt Eli felt for what had transpired. To see his talented, gifted son fall like beautiful Lucifer from God’s heaven inflicted upon Eli far more pain and hurt than the cancer inside him. It ripped at the very core of his soul.
He closed his eyes and prayed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
By two in the afternoon, Eli could feel his strength and energy levels begin to ebb. He still felt better than usual-just being out of the damn bed was enough to lift his spirits-but he could feel the fatigue begin to set in. In a couple more hours he would once again be a prisoner in his bed, too tired and too weak to move, a pitiful shell of the once-formidable man he had been.
Earlier in the day he had received a call from Rachel informing him that Colt Rogers had been murdered. He had acted surprised when Rachel broke the news, but in truth he wasn’t. There was no reason to be surprised. Colt Rogers operated in that shadowy world between right and wrong, living a dangerous existence while also consorting with men of questionable character. Eli had never harbored any illusions about Colt Rogers. Colt was a man constantly in search of trouble, and in Eli’s experience, men who seek trouble usually find it. That Colt met a violent death came as no shock to Eli.
Being a man of God, Eli felt duty bound to say a prayer for Colt. After all, even the worst sinners are deserving of a few kind words directed at the Almighty. If Jesus was magnanimous enough to grant the thief on the cross entrance into Paradise, then the least Eli could do was pray for Colt Rogers. But this particular prayer would not be a lengthy one. Only a few words followed by a quick Amen. He would not take up much of the Almighty’s time advocating for Colt Rogers, a man he had little use for.
Eli now understood that Colt’s death was the reason why Jack Dantzler requested a second meeting. When Dantzler phoned Warden Curtis late yesterday afternoon, he had offered no particular reason for the meeting, other than the usual “to tie up a few loose ends.” He didn’t mention Colt’s murder, or if he did, Warden Curtis kept the news to himself. Either way, it didn’t matter. Eli had granted Dantzler’s request. Truth be told, he liked Dantzler, and would enjoy visiting with him again.
Sitting in his chair, the warm sun shining through the window, Eli felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy. He fought sleep as long as he could, wanting to be awake and alert for his chat with Dantzler, but by two-thirty, with fatigue closing in faster than he expected, Eli nodded off.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he was startled awake by the door opening and the shuffling of footsteps in his room. Looking up, clearing the sleep from his eyes, he saw two men standing in front of him. A smile crossed his lips.
“Well, well, Charlie Bolton,” Eli said. “A ghost from my long-ago past. This is quite the surprise.”
“Eli.”
“It’s been a long time, old friend.”
“That it has.”
“Lie to me, Charlie. Tell me I’m looking good for a man my age.”
“You look better than I expected.”
“For someone with a terminal illness, right?”
“Right.”
“Are you enjoying your retirement? Your ‘golden years’, as they say?”
“My knees ache constantly, and I would like to catch more fish. But all things considered, I have no complaints.”
“Lucky you.” Eli nodded at Dantzler. “Detective Bolton, are you aware that your young partner is a Gnostic?”
“No kidding. What’s a Gnostic?”
“Someone with heretical beliefs.”
“Huh. And all this time I had him pegged as a Democrat.”
Dantzler stepped in front of Charlie, cutting short their private chit-chat. This was not the time for small talk. He wanted to ask his questions, get his answers, and leave as quickly as possible. The prison infirmary, like all hospitals, smelled of sickness and death. It was a smell-and an environment-that made him uneasy. The sooner he could get out, the better. He certainly didn’t want to stick around listening to these two gabbing about the past.
“You get the news concerning Colt Rogers?” he said.
“Rachel called this morning to inform me of what had transpired. A harsh way to meet your Maker.” Eli grinned. “Excuse me, Detective Dantzler. Your ‘Creator’.”
“Any thoughts on who might have pulled the trigger?”
“Well, I didn’t do it, that much we all know.”
Dantzler reached in his coat pocket, took out a small tape recorder, and held it in front of Eli. “I’m taping this conversation, Eli, whether you like it or not. I want accuracy.”
“So be it, Detective. I am too weary to argue with you. Turn it on and let’s get started.”
“What was your relationship with Colt Rogers?” Dantzler asked.
“Relationship? I had no relationship with the man. None.”
“He was your attorney, wasn’t he?”
“Are you insane, Detective Dantzler? I would never have a man like Colt Rogers as my attorney.”
“That may come as a shock to Isaac and Rachel. They are both under the impression that he’s your attorney. According to them, Rogers has handled your affairs since Abe Basham died. Are they wrong?”
“Not wrong, just not aware of facts as they are. Let me assure you of one thing, Detective. Colt Rogers was a two-bit hustler, a con man, and in all probability an outright thief. Why would I dare have someone like that as my attorney?”
“You’re telling me he didn’t represent you after Abe died?”
“That’s precisely what I’m telling you.” Eli stroked his white beard while taking several deep breaths. “Colt knew from having talked with Abe that I have property and holdings worth a lot of money, somewhere in the neighborhood of seven million dollars, in fact. A neighborhood like that tends to attract a lot of flies. Well, when Abe died, Colt was on me quicker than a vulture swooping down to a rotting carcass. Came to me with all these grand ideas, elaborate plans to parlay the money-
“Okay, so who does handle your financial affairs?” Dantzler asked.
“My son-in-law.”
“Kirk Foster?”
“Your mouth to God’s ears, Detective. That is not public knowledge.”
“Given the fact that neither Rachel nor Isaac know, it’s not even private knowledge. Why the secrecy?”
“They will find out in due time.”
“Why Kirk?”
“Because I trust him. And because I know he will do the right thing when I’m gone. He loves Rachel very much, he’s friendly with Isaac, and he has been exceptionally kind to Thomas. He was the perfect choice and the logical
