peaceful.’ He gestured with his oak-tree arm down a stretch of beach away from the camera crew.
‘Jabez?’ Mary Magdalene clearly didn’t want to leave his presence. ‘I can stay-’
‘Go. It’s fine,’ Jabez said.
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ Mary Magdalene said, ‘I have the Lord’s work to do.’ She uttered this with a mysterious air, as though this activity involved Navy SEALs, Russian microfilm, and Jimmy Hoffa.
They followed Jabez. The morning had turned shiny, the sky cloudless. A wheel of gulls cawed above their heads, swerved as one, and dived for food in the lapping surf. Shriveled husks of two dead Portuguese man-of-war jellyfish lay on the sand.
‘Mary Magdalene seems real sweet,’ Whit said.
‘She’s very devoted. I rescued Mary Magdalene from the streets of Houston. She was homeless, hopeless, strung out on dope, not strong. I made her strong,’ Jabez said.
‘You and Jesus,’ Whit said.
‘Absolutely,’ Jabez agreed, as though he and the Lord made an awesome tag team. ‘So, Whit. You’re a JP now. How very… rewarding for you.’
‘I like it,’ Whit said.
‘I surely hope you’re reelected,’ Jabez said. ‘I mean, running that restaurant and that delivery service just didn’t seem to be your calling.’ The comment was topped with such a dollop of theocratic sugar that it might not be an insult. Jabez smiled in the light of his expensive muscles and his expensive compound and his expensive television crew.
‘Gosh, Jabez, thanks. And I pray on a near-constant basis that you get picked up by a TV station that actually serves a metropolitan area.’
Jabez’s smile never dimmed, but one of the balloon-shaped muscles in his arm tensed. The preacher turned to Claudia. ‘I called because I thought I might be able to help you with your inquiries.’
‘We understand you’d been to see Pete recently.’
‘Yes. I offered him spiritual counsel. He and I have known each other for a long time. He was going through some difficult times.’ He paused and dropped his little bomb. ‘He wanted custody of his son.’
‘That we knew,’ Whit said.
Jabez crossed his bulky arms. Small gold crosses were tattooed on his knuckles. ‘Oh. Well, perhaps I’m not being helpful. The Hubbles were, of course, opposed to him filing. Trying to settle with him. I guess you knew that as well.’
Whit and Claudia exchanged a quick glance. The Hubbles had consistently claimed no knowledge of Pete wanting custody. If Jabez was being truthful, then they were lying.
‘What did he have on them that would have made them even negotiate with him? You only go out-of-court if you’re not sure you can win, and Faith and Lucinda should have been as sure as saints,’ Whit said. ‘What leverage did Pete have?’
Jabez shook his head. ‘Don’t know… Your Honor. Pete kept that private.’ But there was a flicker of an amused smile behind his solemnity, and Whit wondered.
‘I understand you and he fought. Argued,’ Whit said.
‘Ah. Velvet?’
‘Yes.’
‘She misunderstood. Pete wanted me to be a character witness for him. I was willing, because I do think everyone can change, and Pete seemed sincere in wanting to improve his lot. But I told him he would need to accept God in his life, and he got mad at me then. There were no other arguments.’
‘So did Pete discuss any other aspects of his life with you?’ Claudia asked.
A pained look crossed Jabez’s gladiator-handsome face. ‘When I was in wrestling… well, some of my colleagues were attracted to women of dubious morality. Some of them worked in adult films, and I heard, through them, about Pete. I actually saw him at a dinner party a few years ago, hosted by a wrestling promoter. He looked terrible. He asked me not to tell anyone back here about his… career. I’ve kept my word. Gossip is the devil’s venom poured in an ear. So do you suspect the Hubbles.?’
So much for the evils of gossip, Whit thought.
‘We have no suspects at the moment. We’re not even sure it’s a homicide,’ Claudia said. ‘Judge Mosley will be conducting the inquest in the next couple of days.’
‘Would suicide surprise you?’ Whit asked.
‘I don’t quite understand why he would come home and work on getting close to his son, then kill himself.’
Whit changed topics. ‘Did he mention that he was working on a film?’
Jabez’s mouth gave a cautious twitch. ‘I prayed he would not resume his career.’
‘No. A documentary about his brother Corey. He says on a tape we found that you refused to cooperate with him.’
The mouth twitched again and a muscle flexed under the cross-laden T-shirt. ‘That’s not so. I just couldn’t be of much help to him. He had called me… when he came back to town. That’s how we got to talking. He did ask me to tell him about the day Corey vanished.’
‘And you said what?’ Claudia asked.
Jabez paled under the store-bought tan. ‘Well, I was one of the last to see Corey before he was reported missing. Pete asked me to restate what I remembered. I’m afraid I wasn’t much help to him.’ He stared out at the flat plane of the bay, stretching away like green glass.
‘You and Corey strike me as unlikely friends,’ Whit said.
Jabez shrugged. ‘I wanted to help Corey. He was in trouble at school, at home, and sinking further. I thought I could help him reshape his life.’
‘So he was like a project,’ Whit said. ‘You could get your Samaritan merit badge by turning him around.’
‘That’s a crude way to put it, but yes. If I didn’t think God could turn around lives, I would never bother with a ministry.’
‘And Corey was willing to be preached at?’
‘You have an admirable ability for oversimplification, Whit,’ Jabez said. ‘It must serve you well in traffic court. No, he wasn’t willing to be preached at. But he was willing to have a friend he could talk to, who didn’t smoke dope, who didn’t want to drag him down. I was a refuge.’
‘You were a goody-goody. He was a punk. I’m frankly surprised Corey Hubble would give you the time of day,’ Whit said.
‘You just never know about people, do you?’ Jabez said.
‘So what happened the day Corey vanished?’ Claudia interrupted.
‘Corey had planned to spend the night with me. We were going to watch movies at my house. I’d gotten a tape of Godspell, thought he might like the music and it’d give me a way to witness to him. He called and canceled at the last minute, saying he was sick. I never heard from or saw him again.’
‘Did Pete share any theories about Corey with you?’ Claudia asked. ‘Any information he had found about his brother?’
Jabez Jones considered for a moment, and the pause reminded Whit of a talented preacher waiting for the congregation to lean forward, eager for the next word. ‘It makes no sense to me. Pete mentioned a possibility that Corey was still alive. And in some kind of trouble.’
20
‘You know that motto, What Would Jesus Do? I look at Jabez and wonder. What Would Jesus Think?’ Claudia said.
‘He’s lying,’ Whit said.
‘Prove it.’
‘Oh, Christ, proof. My gut tells me. He’s a publicity hound. If he can link himself to a high-profile death, he will.’
