Dantzler was now the lone voice arguing against laying the four murders on Kevin Stone. That made his the lone voice keeping an innocent man behind bars.
He felt like a traitor to his own cause.
Dantzler pulled up next to the Church of the Holy Father, got out of his car, and walked around to the front door. Standing outside, he could hear a voice coming from inside the church. He opened the door slightly and peered inside, fearing he had arrived in the middle of an evening service, or possibly a funeral. But he hadn’t. The church was empty, save for Isaac Whitehouse, who was standing alone in the pulpit, reciting a passage from Paul’s letter to Galatians in a deep, melodious voice.
Isaac stopped speaking the moment he saw Dantzler open the door and step inside the church. Closing his Bible and notebook, he waved Dantzler forward. Stepping down off the stage, Isaac stopped at the second row of seats, leaned over, and picked up a small tape recorder. After turning off the recording device, he extended his hand to Dantzler.
“It’s an old habit of mine to record my sermons in advance,” Isaac said. “I’ll listen to it several times between now and Sunday, make a few notes, pick out the obvious flaws. This way, I have the opportunity to critique it, to see if I’m being redundant, of if I am using certain phrases too often, or being plain old boring. There’s nothing worse than a dull sermon. This gives me some idea of the strengths and weaknesses before the curtain goes up on Sunday.”
“Sorry if I interrupted,” Dantzler said.
“Don’t apologize. I was almost finished. And to be honest with you, it wasn’t going particularly well. I’ll record it again later this evening, after I do a major overhaul.” Isaac pointed to one of the pews. “Have a seat, Detective. Or if you prefer, we can go to my office.”
“This will be fine,” Dantzler said, sitting. “Did you hear about your cousin, Kevin Stone?”
Isaac nodded. “Rachel told me. A real tragedy, Detective Dantzler. A sad end to a sad life.”
“Will you preach at the funeral?”
“There won’t be a funeral per se, only a brief graveside service. But, yes, I will say a few words for Kevin. He was, after all, family. I feel it’s my responsibility to help lay him to rest.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“Where will he be buried?”
“He won’t be. Believe it or not, Kevin had a will. He wanted to be cremated and have his ashes scattered over his mother’s grave.”
“Mind my asking who is paying for the cremation?”
“Rachel and Kirk.”
“When was the last time you saw Kevin?” Dantzler asked.
“Let me think about that. Oh, five years ago, maybe. I only saw him once or twice after his release from prison.” Isaac looked away. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe, Detective Dantzler, but Kevin was one of the nicest, sweetest young kids you could ever hope to meet. He was two years older than me, and when I was young- I’m talking really young-Kevin was my big hero. He was only six or seven, but I thought he was just so cool. And he always treated me like a kid brother, his best pal. Then Aunt Grace died and everything changed. His father, Vince, was a great guy, but he was simply too busy to keep a close watch on Kevin. Vince was a plumber and an electrician. He worked all the time.
“About a year or so after Grace died, this would be when Kevin was eight or nine, he began hanging around with the wrong crowd,” Isaac continued. “That’s when he drifted away from us. Sadly, it meant drifting away from the very people who could have helped him through what had to be a difficult time.
“Was Kevin close to his mother?”
“Yes, very close. And she had terrific parenting skills. Once she was gone, Kevin had no one who could help him channel his anger and frustration.”
“My father was killed when I was six, my mother when I was fourteen. I know something about anger and frustration.”
“I didn’t know. It must have been horrible for you.”
“Did Eli try to help?” Dantzler said.
“Eli and my mother both tried. They even asked Kevin to move in with us full-time, said it would be the best thing for him. Vince agreed. But Kevin didn’t want to, and I suppose none of the adults felt like pushing the issue. In retrospect, it was a mistake letting him have his way. Left alone, Kevin became a street kid, hanging out with and influenced by the wrong people. He also became mean, bitter, and exceptionally hot-headed. It didn’t take much for him to explode.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Are you the one who shot Kevin?”
“No. But only because someone else shot him first.”
“Rachel said a detective was wounded. How is he doing?”
“Barring complications he should be okay. He was very lucky.”
“I’ll say a prayer for him.”
Dantzler said, “Back in ’eighty-two, did Kevin spend much time at your house?”
“By then, he had become a professional boxer and was doing quite a bit of traveling. He was hardly ever in our house. Why do you ask?”
“I’m looking at him as the possible shooter of those two kids in Eli’s barn.”
“You’re putting me on, right?”
“It’s not possible?”
“Kevin may have killed them with his fists, but not with a gun. And certainly not with Eli’s twenty-two. That simply could not have happened.”
“Why not?”
“Kevin didn’t have access to Eli’s safe. He didn’t have a clue where the safe was located. Only a handful of people did.” Isaac let out a deep sigh. “Are you convinced Eli is innocent?”
“Yes.”
“Eli is fortunate to have you in his corner. You and Rachel.”
“What about you? Aren’t you in his corner?”
“I’ve seen the evidence against Eli, Detective Dantzler, and it is overwhelming. I can only believe what I see.”
“You believe in God, but you can’t see him.” Dantzler stood. “We believe what we want to believe, Brother Isaac. For whatever reason, you don’t want to believe Eli is innocent.”
Isaac remained silent as Dantzler left the church.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Working a closed case was like performing open-heart surgery on a corpse: no matter how many faulty arteries you replaced, the patient didn’t get any better.
Right now, Dantzler’s patient, the Eli Whitehouse case, was barely on life support.
In a career that spanned more than twenty years, he had never worked a case this frustrating or this perplexing. Most cases had doors he could open, paths he could follow, evidence he could pursue. Not this one. This case offered nothing. There was nowhere to go, no new direction to turn, no fresh ideas. Dantzler felt like a painter who was staring at a blank canvas without a single brush to work with.
“That’s some look you have on your face, Jack,” Laurie said, stepping into the War Room. “You look like a man pondering the mystery of the universe.”
