bringing Dantzler into this. It might have been a mistake, a grave error in judgment that could easily lead to disaster. But it was the right decision to make. He believed it then, and despite the potential for a tragic outcome, he believed it now. If Dantzler was as smart as Eli believed him to be, it would all turn out for the best.
If…
Dantzler held the fate of Eli’s family in his hands. And he didn’t even know it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
What had Eli meant when he uttered that statement? Was it a cryptic message, his way of directing Dantzler to the mysterious name in the obits? Was it even a message at all? Could it be Eli, overwhelmed by fatigue and fear, had confused Jesus’s empty tomb with his own, which, in a matter of weeks, would no longer be empty? Had the words been directed at Dantzler, or was Eli, a man of God, conversing with a higher authority?
He wanted to dismiss Eli’s statement as little more than the incoherent ramblings of a dying man. But he couldn’t persuade himself that the words were meaningless. It was the timing that wouldn’t allow him to simply write off the five words spoken by Eli. The timing, he felt, was crucial. He had been pleading with Eli to give him the name in the obits, yet Eli steadfastly refused. Then, at the last minute, Eli spoke:
Dantzler was convinced of two things: Eli had directed his statement at Dantzler, and the answer to the puzzle could be found in those five words. But how to go about unraveling the mystery, that was the question. Eli had given him very little to work with, not a Proverb or a Psalm or one of the thousands of familiar biblical quotations. No particular book, chapter, or verse. Only five simple words:
What are you trying to tell me, Eli? Dantzler said to himself. And why do you persist in making this so difficult?
It was well past midnight, and Dantzler sat on his back deck, watching the moon slowly make its way across the lake that backed up against his yard. The CD player was on, the volume down. Leonard Cohen, his favorite singer-songwriter, was singing a song titled “The Law” that had a lyric Dantzler now associated with Eli Whitehouse.
“
This was surely true in Eli’s case. In twenty-nine years behind steel prison bars, the old man had never once asked for mercy, never once pleaded his case. Even now, with death banging on his door, he refused to provide information that in all likelihood would set him free. The name that held the answer to this mystery, along with the reason why Eli took the fall, would soon be locked away forever. Eli was taking it all to the grave with him.
You’re a damn fool, Eli, Dantzler whispered out loud. One stubborn, insane Reverend.
After nearly two hours of solid drinking, Dantzler was more than halfway through a bottle of Pernod. He had long ago zoomed beyond buzzed and was now well on his way to completely drunk. The night air was warm, almost muggy. In the darkness, around the lake, a chorus of crickets and loons sang, competing with Leonard Cohen for his musical attention.
The alcohol, the night, Eli’s cryptic words, Cohen’s music… they had conspired to send him into a dark, funky mood. It was territory he knew well, a place he visited often, and had since he was a small boy.
Next to him, on a small wooden table, was an 8x10 photograph in a gold frame. Picking it up, he brushed off some dust and held it under a lamp. It was his favorite photo, taken in Florida when he was six years old. In the photo, he was standing between his parents, Sarah and Johnny Dantzler.
Johnny Dantzler was only twenty-eight when the picture was taken. Tall, muscular, proud, more handsome than a movie star, he was a man who seemingly had everything within reach.
Everything, that is, except time.
Less than four months after the picture was taken, Johnny Dantzler was dead, killed in Vietnam.
Dantzler was barely six then, yet he’d felt a depth of sadness and hurt he doubted could ever be rivaled. But he had been wrong. He would feel it again. Eight years later when his beloved mother was murdered.
After staring at the photo for several more minutes, he gently put it back on the table. He took another drink and stared out at the shimmering water. Leonard Cohen sang “If It Be Your Will.”
Those were the last words he heard before passing out.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Dantzler was flagging pages in the Bible when Milt and Scott came into the War Room. Several seconds later, Eric strolled in, carrying a bag overflowing with bagels. He tossed the bag onto the table, went to the coffee pot, filled a cup, and sat across from Dantzler.
Milt eyed the Bible in front of Dantzler, turned to Scott, and said, “Know what this reminds me of, Scott?”
Scott shook his head.
“A story I once heard.”
“Oh, yeah? What story?”
“The great W.C. Fields was an alcoholic and quite the reprobate his entire life,” Milt said, dragging a chair away from the table and sitting. “He was anything but a man of God, that’s for sure. Well, one day, late in Fields’s life, when he was old and near death, a friend of his walked into the room and was stunned to find Fields reading the Bible. ‘Why are you studying the Bible?’ the guy asked. ‘You’re not a religious man.’ Know what Fields’s reply was?”
“Don’t have a clue.”
“Old W.C. said, ‘I’m looking for loopholes.’ ” Milt laughed. “Now, that’s one terrific line, don’t you agree?”
Scott shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. One question, though. Who’s W.C. Fields?”
“You gotta be kidding me,” Milt said. “You don’t know who W.C. Fields is? That’s criminal. You ought to be busted back to traffic cop for an answer like that. Don’t you young kids know anything at all?”
“Hey, Milt,” Scott said. “Who’s Lady Gaga?”
“Hell, how should I know?”
“You gotta be kidding me. Don’t you old farts know anything at all?”
“
“He’ll never last as a Homicide dick.” Milt gently cuffed Scott on the side of his head. “He’s too ugly, he’s a wise ass, and he’s a dummy when it comes to cinema history. I give him two more months and he’s back walking a beat.”
“Nah, Milt, I think the kid’s got a future with us,” Eric said, turning toward Dantzler. “Why are you studying the Good Book, Jack? Are you looking for loopholes?”
Dantzler shook his head. “When Charlie and I went to see Eli, just before we left, the old guy said something interesting. He said, ‘think of Jesus’s empty tomb.’ At first, I wasn’t sure if he was speaking to me or mumbling to himself or maybe hallucinating. But after thinking about it, I’ve concluded he was trying to tell me something. Those five words hold the answer to this mystery. I’m convinced of it.”
“Jack, are you sure this guy isn’t playing mind games with you?” Milt asked. “Hell, if he really wants this thing solved, all he has to do is give you a name. How difficult can that be?”
“Dammit, Milt, he can’t. He’s protecting his family.”
“You like that cantankerous old bird, don’t you?”
