Juanita, how it connected to the explosion in Carlo’s building, and Paul’s part in it.
Murray nodded. “Find anything out?”
All eight men focused on Paul, and he weighed his words. He wasn’t going to talk about the autopsy. That might be enough to send all of them into a tailspin. Telling the truth didn’t mean telling everything he knew.
“The police want to keep working with me. I’m sorry I was gone the last couple of days. Looks like you got the meals served and everything cleaned up without me. I’m sorry to not be here to help.”
“We managed.” Murray had a full beard, black salted with gray, that he hadn’t trimmed in a decade. He was wire thin, full of barely controlled energy. He’d found a talent for playing the guitar and helped with church services and had good managerial skills. When Paul was gone, Murray took over, even preaching a sermon now and then. He had just found an apartment away from the mission, though he still came in daily to work.
“Murray can sing, but his idea of preaching a sermon is to yell at all of us that we’re going to burn if we don’t change our ways.” Louie had just gotten out of prison after a five-year stretch and worked at the mission as part of his community service. The other men laughed softly. Murray was fervent for the Lord, no doubt about it.
“I’d like a turn preachin’, Pastor,” Louie added. “I’d especially like a turn passing the collection plate.”
More laughter. There was no collection plate at the Lighthouse Mission. No one had a dime to spare. Louie ran a hand over his thinning dark hair and slouched in his chair. He was able bodied and did his share of the work and a little more, but he showed no interest in finding a job outside the mission. He’d be gone as soon as he’d put in his time here. Paul hoped he’d reached him for the Lord. Louie said all the right words, but Paul couldn’t tell if the young man had taken salvation to heart.
Paul knew Murray could talk fire and brimstone, but he suspected Louie was reacting more to his own sense of guilt than to what Murray said. Louie had routine drug tests, and if he flunked one, he’d be back in prison immediately. So far, as near as Paul could tell, the young man was staying sober.
“Price of sitting through a meal,” Murray said. His approach might well be the best one. Paul leaned toward love and mercy in his sermons.
The men spent a few minutes good-naturedly teasing each other. Paul let their talk draw him out of the horror of sitting in on that autopsy. He should never have done it. He’d survived it by switching into cop mode. Now he was having trouble pulling out of it, and he let these men, his friends, his brothers in Christ, bring him back to himself. This day had reminded Paul of all the selfishness of the life he’d left behind. He settled back into his faith and rediscovered his servant nature while these men updated him on the day. By the time he finished his coffee, he was Pastor P again, and he thought he was exhausted enough to be able to sleep.
“The day’s catching up to me. I’ve got to get to bed.” The thought of walking up four flights was almost more than he could stand, but the elevator wasn’t reliable, and he had no wish to spend an hour or two stuck between floors.
They told him good night. He walked away from the only friends he had—men who, if they succeeded in the mission, went away and if they failed, went away. As he climbed he thought of that moment when he’d touched Keren while handing over his coffee cup.
That touch made him realize that he was terribly lonely.
He showered and donned a clean pair of sweatpants and another Lighthouse T-shirt then sank into his bed, feeling sleep claim him as he lay his head on the pillow.
The nightmare bloomed instantly to life, jerking him awake. The day played through his head. He tossed and turned half the night, with the autopsy grinding its way into every cell in his brain. When he dozed off, he had nightmares about what LaToya might be going through right now.
It was almost merciful when he was awakened by pounding. He staggered out of his bedroom to answer his door, more exhausted than when he’d gone to bed.
He yanked the door open and saw Keren and O’Shea. Two other men stood in the hallway behind them. His stomach twisted. “You found LaToya.”
Keren shook her head and the lopsided bun she always wore bobbed dangerously on her head. She held up a sheet of paper from her notebook. It said, “Shut up.”
She jerked her head toward the door. He was obviously expected to follow.
Paul’s living quarters shared this floor with the mission offices. She didn’t speak, just waved her hand at him to follow. O’Shea stayed behind with the other policemen and Paul didn’t even ask why. It didn’t fit with the “Shut up” sign.
They jogged down the narrow flights of stairs, past the men’s shelter on the third floor, past his newest project, a teen center on the second floor. The eating area, which also doubled as the church, was on the ground floor. The jog felt like someone was beating on his chest with a baseball bat instead of stabbing him with a knife. Sad to say, it was a big improvement.
There was a women’s shelter in the basement for a few of their special residents. That area was carefully locked away from the men. Even Paul wasn’t allowed down there. The women residents had suffered so much at the hands of men that many of them were incapable of relating to them in any healthy way, even with their minister. In order to make them feel safe enough to trust the Lighthouse Mission, their separation from men had to be absolute. They even had a separate dining room and their own church services led by nuns from the nearby Catholic church. Paul knew he should really move the women’s facility to another building. Rosita had taken over a lot of that part of the mission, along with other women volunteers.
Paul was already breathing hard when he and Keren reached the ground floor. Keren went straight outside and he followed, hurrying to catch up. With every step, he was reminded of the beating he’d taken in the explosion. He caught her arm before she could lead him on a 10K power walk.
“Hey.” He dragged her to a stop. “Have mercy, Keren. I’m about all in. Unless we need to go farther for whatever it is you want.”
Keren’s black pantsuit was rumpled. Her white blouse was untucked. Her hair was making a break for it. “Sorry, even with the stitches, I forget you’re hurt. It’s been a mean few days for you, hasn’t it?”
“It’s okay, the walk was just getting to me after the stairs.” Paul resisted holding on to his aching ribs. “What made you come charging in on me this morning?”
“O’Shea and I decided the guy knew too much about you. How’d he pick Juanita and LaToya to hurt? He obviously knows you well enough to know them. It figures he’s been watching you. We wondered just how closely. O’Shea’s checking for listening devices.”
Paul’s breathing slowed until he decided he was going to live. “This is an age where mothers plant bugs and hide cameras so they can monitor their babysitters.”
“That’s right, so bugs and miniature cameras are easy to buy and install. The bugs can be tucked into couch cushions, slipped under a loose flap of wallpaper, hidden inside electrical appliances, air ducts—even sewn into the lining of clothing.”
Paul looked down at the sweatpants he’d slept in and his white T-shirt with the mission logo. “You think they could be in these clothes?”
“Do you just have one outfit you wear day and night?” Keren studied his clothes.
Paul knew it looked a lot like the one he’d worn yesterday. “No, I have several.”
“That are all the same?” A smile quirked Keren’s lips. “Although your sweatpants yesterday were black and these are dark gray. Sorry, I didn’t notice.”
Considering the situation, Paul was real glad she was amused. “I don’t know where anyone could hide a bug in my clothes.”
“A bug or a tracking device.” All the amusement faded from her expression. “We’re checking everything.”
“Tracking device?”
“Well, you said he told you he was watching then sent you running. And he obviously knew when you got to the house, because he blew it up.”
Paul looked up at the buildings that surrounded him. “He could be renting one of a thousand apartments right here. I just figured he meant he’d be able to see me part of the time. That I wouldn’t know when he was there and when not.”
“We’ll be thorough. “With a confident jerk of her chin, Keren said, “If there’s a listening or tracking device anywhere, including in your clothes, we’ll find it.”
“It never occurred to me he might be tracing me electronically. I guess I’ve succeeded in my goal to stop
