much as a chance to live and grow and laugh on this good earth where God put them in the first place.
“Maybe you came here today expecting me to give you comforting words in the face of this senseless tragedy, a tragedy not only for the African-American community but for the community at large. Maybe you expect me to tell you that this too shall pass. Don’t you believe it. I want you to get mad and stay that way.
“Take a good look at these children’s unfinished lives and Ben and Shiree Weston’s unfinished business. Are we just going to wring our hands and say that’s too bad, or are we going to do something about it? And I’m not just talking about catching the man who did this. Today I’ve heard rumors that there’s a chance the killer is already dead, that he died last night of a drug overdose. So be it. Let him stand before his Maker and explain himself. I have more faith in the Lord’s justice than I do in ours.”
This was followed by another answering chorus of amens. Across the center aisle I caught sight of a dry-eyed Molly Lindstrom sitting with her son Greg. She didn’t see me. She was listening intently to Reverend Walters, hanging on his every word.
“As a minister of the Lord it is my job to write sermons Sunday after Sunday, and some say I do it better than most. But don’t you believe that, either, because when I write one of those real tub-thumping sermons, the kind that makes the rafters up there ring, you can bet the sermon’s better than anything I could have written myself. I always figure the Lord Almighty must have a hand in those. And that’s the way it was last January when I wrote the first sermon of the New Year. I was inspired to challenge the men and women of this church, and especially the men of this congregation, to do something about the young men in our community, and in other communities as well, who have fallen afoul of themselves, of drugs, of gangs, and of the law.
“By no means are African-American young people the only ones involved in gangs, but I told the men in this congregation that they had a responsibility to the ones who are, that they needed to go out in the world and do something about that particular problem on an individual basis. We can sit here inside these four walls and pray about it, and we need to do that. But we need to do something more. Each of us needs to get off our backside and go out into the streets and do what we can to help.
“That’s what the sermon said. Ben Weston heard that challenge and he set himself the task of meeting it. He went after boys he knew in gangs who had some connection to this church. I can tell you that before he died he found four of them. He pulled them out of where they were and he put them on another track. Do you hear me? I’m saying he put them on another track entirely. He brought four young men out of the wilderness and led them into the Promised Land.”
Another louder murmur of amens trickled through the congregation. I glanced at the choir. In the front row sat an attractive young woman with a mane of pencil-thin braids. She was listening with rapt attention, and I wondered if she wasn’t the undercover cop Tony Freeman had tried to conceal from us as he escorted her out of his office.
Walters continued. “I believe Ben Weston is dead because he was doing the Lord’s work, because what he was doing rocked those gangs. They don’t want to lose their members’ loyalty, but Ben Weston figured out a way to take them away, to set them free. And so today, I want to issue another challenge to those of us who are left. And I’m not talking just to the members of the Mount Zion Baptist Church, either. I’m talking to all you people out there who came here today because Ben Weston and his family died, because Adam Jackson died.
“Instead of just grieving over this terrible loss, I want each and every one of us to do what we can, starting right where Ben Weston left off. Maybe we can’t save every one of those boys, because, quite frankly, some of them don’t want to be saved. And I’m not talking about throwing money at the problem for more social workers or more jails or more drug treatment centers, either. I’m saying that if each of us goes out and takes one boy or one girl by the hand, takes the time to talk to them and lead them in another direction, we can make a difference. If we do, Ben and Shiree Weston, Bonnie and Doug Weston, and little Adam Jackson will not have died in vain.
“After this service, we will be going to the Mount Olivet Cemetery in Renton. Afterward, there will be a reception here, sponsored by the ladies of the church. I hope as many of you as possible will join us both at the cemetery and here later.
“And now, Lord, in closing, we ask Your blessing upon this day, upon the grieving family members, and upon this community, that we can somehow find a way to turn this tragedy into a blessing. Amen.”
A small army of men, none of them police officers, rose as one and moved forward to collect the coffins one by one. As they did so, the strains of “Amazing Grace” once more caught fire in the church. This time, it wasn’t just the choir singing, either. The whole congregation was, their voices raised in affirmation. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one shedding tears and singing at the same time.
It was that kind of funeral.
CHAPTER 25
The coffins were still being carried down the aisle when my pager went off, summoning me back from the stirring hymn and Ben Weston’s unfinished business to my own. I stifled the pager’s racket as soon as I could and glanced at the display that listed Tony Freeman’s extension at Seattle PD. Why was he there instead of at the funeral? I knew he had planned to attend.
“Freeman’s not here?” I asked sue in an undertone.
“I haven’t seen him.”
“Call him back on the double,” I whispered, “and use a pay phone, not a radio. Find out what he wants, and tell him I’ve got another name for him to add to the list-Deddens, Gary Deddens from Patrol. Got that?”
Sue nodded, but she didn’t move. None of the rest of the congregation had, and I knew she was questioning the propriety of our leaving during the recessional.
“Go now,” I urged, “while we can still get out. Meet me out front as soon as you can. We’ve got work to do.”
I had finally managed to spot Gary Deddens sitting near the end of the third row of uniformed officers. He was far closer to the door than we were, and I knew that the slightest delay in our getting out would mean losing him and also losing the opportunity to send a chilling message to any other crooks still left in the group. I wanted to serve notice that we were closing in on them; I wanted to force them into making some kind of strategic blunder.
Shaking her head in disapproval, Sue nonetheless started for the side aisle, leading the way and excusing us to the people whose feet we had to step over in the process. In the vestibule, she asked directions to the nearest phone while I took up a station outside the door just as the last coffin emerged followed by Emma Jackson and Harmon and Junior Weston. They disappeared into the waiting limo while the rest of the people began to trickle out of the church into the courtyard. I looked around, trying to catch sight of Ron Peters and Knuckles Russell, but they were nowhere to be seen.
Sue erupted through the doors and looked around anxiously until she caught sight of me. “How’d you do that?” she demanded.
“Do what?”
“Come up with Gary Deddens’s name. Freeman says you’re right. Kyle Lehman’s copy of Ben’s deleted files finally turned up on Tony’s desk. He says we’ve got probable cause. He wants us to take Deddens into custody and bring him down for questioning right away.”
“But wait a minute,” I objected. “I’ve got to be here in case…”
“Captain Freeman is sending a squad car for us and for Deddens both,” she replied. “He wants the two of us there. He was very specific about that.”
Just then the first batch of uniformed officers emerged into the fitful sunlight, where they joined the growing crowd milling around the limo and the collection of hearses. I turned my attention on the officers, scanning faces, hoping to see that of Gary Deddens. I examined each one, some of them familiar and some not, and wondered how far the cancer of corruption had spread and how many more officers were involved in the protection racket. The possibility made me sick.
“There he is,” Sue whispered. “He’s just now shaking hands with Reverend Walters.”
“Who’s going to do it?” I asked. “You or me?”
“I will,” she volunteered over her shoulder. “You watch for trouble.”
