Personal Journal Entry
“BOBBY Kent, it’s been too long,” Pastor Douglas Brown said, coming from behind his desk and shaking Bobby’s hand. The handshake turned into a hug, and the two men moved to a pair of chairs near a low table at the other end of the office. “Cassandra will be pleased that you’re back in town,” he added, referring to the choir director of the Nashville megachurch.
“It’s been a long time, but it’s been a long road, too, Pastor.” Bobby leaned back in the chair and hooked his boot on his knee, then draped his hat on his bent knee. “I’ve had a rather serious – what’s the slang? – a serious life event happen recently.”
The pastor raised an eyebrow. “Would you like to talk about it?”
Bobby took a deep breath and felt his eyes burn. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
The pastor stood and put a hand on Bobby’s shoulder as he walked by him. He cracked open his office door and said to his secretary, “Mary, go ahead and free me up for the rest of the afternoon.” He returned to his seat. “I find that the best way to start is usually in the beginning.”
Where would the beginning be? He contemplated for a moment before replying, “When my grandfather died, my family’s horse farm was in serious financial jeopardy. He mismanaged it nearly into the ground, and my father didn’t know how to fix it. I was a senior in high school at the time, and between us and God, I was able to go to college. My dad thought that maybe a formal education would help us save our legacy.
“In college, I met a girl named Carol.” He paused, thinking back to the first time he’d seen her sitting on that hard metal chair in the classical violin class. She’d already mastered the instrument and sat in first chair almost as soon as the teacher assigned them. Bobby learned right away that he could make her giggle if he’d pop out a jaunty Irish tune or a boot-stompin’ country tune in what he considered a hoity-toity environment. He’d liked the way she laughed.
He continued, “We started dating. I was rather enamored with her. But before things got serious, or even official between the two of us, I got called to Nashville. The night I got the call, I sought her out and convinced her to celebrate with me. I bought some champagne, because that seemed to be what one did during such a moment, and we took my truck out by the river and, well,” he coughed and felt his cheeks burn, “one thing led to another.”
Pastor Douglas did not look shocked, nor did he demand Bobby pick up his hat and leave. He simply said, in a gentle voice, “Go on.”
“I kissed her good-bye the next morning, and that was the last time I saw her. I signed a record deal, recorded my album, and started touring. About midway through my first tour, I realized that while I’d grown up in a churchgoing home, I’d never actually been committed to Christ before. I was doing things I shouldn’t have been, and drinking…”
He let his voice trail off. “Until one night on our bus, I was reading a devotional that someone had sent me and went to my knees before God. I was different after that, and from then on, the places my music took me became my mission field.”
Douglas smiled. “That’s a good story. You should share it one morning for the congregation.”
“That’s just what you call the beginning.” He cleared his throat. “So, I started sending as much money back home as I could spare. The family farm was saved. I was there this past week and it’s a beautiful place. My father truly brought it back.”
“You did.”
He nodded. “Right. I brought it back, financially. But my father put in the physical improvements.”
The older man waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not going to split hairs with you. Go on.”
“Well, it seems that night with Carol…” Again, he let his voice trail off, then took a big, unsteady breath. “That night with Carol was her beginning as well. Basically, we, ah, have a daughter. An eight-year-old.”
He waited. Again, no shock came from his church leader. Just encouragement. “Go on.”
“She went to my parents, pregnant, alone, asking for a contact number for me. They lied to her, pastor. They told her I wasn’t interested in anything to do with her or my little girl. All the while they were giving Carol a few dollars here and there and keeping what I sent them.” He felt his jaw clench, felt anger fuse his cheeks with heat. And, finally, he saw shock on his pastor’s face. “For eight years, they’ve lied to her, to me, and to my little girl, Lisa, while they pocketed the majority of the money I sent home.”
The pastor’s eyes widened. “What?”
“They knew I’d leave Nashville and come home, and they’d lose that paycheck. So, they’ve hid her, convinced family members that I didn’t want…” His breath hitched and he bowed his head, praying for strength. Douglas leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “I am so angry,” he whispered harshly.
They were silent for several long moments before Douglas spoke. “Your anger is understandable. But, there is soon going to come a time when you have to forgive, and you have to let it go.”
“I really don’t want to.” He realized he’d fisted his hands. He intentionally relaxed them and flexed his fingers.
The pastor nodded and folded his hands. “Not wanting to is going to eat at you, and open you up to all sorts of bad and worse. The truth is you don’t have to accept them. You don’t have to pretend they were right, and you don’t have to condone their sin. But you have to forgive, and you have to honor. The price for their sin should not be your soul.”
Bobby snatched his hat off his knee and surged to his feet. “How can I? What they took from me…”
“Can never be replaced. You can’t go back, Bobby. You can only go forward. Our Lord Himself said, ‘But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you.’”
“You’re asking the impossible.”
“No, son. I’m not the one asking.” Douglas stood and approached him. “Their sin in lying to you, in deceiving you, and selfishly taking your money – their sin is no worse than your sin of drunkenness and fornication. But you have a daughter, now. You have a little girl because God makes beautiful things out of even the most sinful things we do. The Lord has forgiven you for your sin, and more, without a fight or any hard feelings. What do you think He’s about to do with your parents? What part must you play in His plan? Let me pray about it with you.”
Bobby looked at his watch. “Can’t. Have to go.” He put his hat on his head, desperate to remove himself from this feeling of conviction. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
Before he put his hand on the doorknob, Douglas spoke again. “I love you, Bobby, and so does your heavenly Father. If you need me, call me. And if you need Him, you know how to find Him.”
Bobby cleared his throat. “Thank you, Pastor.” He pulled open the door and walked out without a backward glance.
“RHONDA, I can’t believe you lost your temper like that,” Carol admitted, taking a bite of her sandwich, her teeth audibly crunching through the grilled pumpernickel bread as the flavor of corned beef and sauerkraut filled her mouth. She didn’t know how Rhonda had managed to convince one of the file clerks to have the deli lunch waiting for them when they got in from court, but she was so thankful for whatever powers of persuasion she used.
“I can’t believe it took me two hours to do it,” Rhonda offered. “I’m just lucky Judge Williams was as fed up as I was or else I could be in serious trouble.”
“I know. He must have hit your last nerve. I’ve never seen you even impatient in traffic.” Carol declared.
Rhonda smiled a small smile. “He let me ramble a bit. He should have stopped me before I even got going.”
Carol’s phone vibrated with an incoming text message. “Jury’s back in,” she confirmed, taking one last bite of her sandwich before she stood. “They were out all of about, what, fifteen minutes?”
“Surprised?” Rhonda asked almost rhetorically.
“Not really,” Carol answered, picking up her briefcase. “No one in their right minds would let him go since the entire crime was committed on camera. I think the judge should have the state sue him for legal fees, honestly.”
They exited the office and entered the lobby of the building. As they waited for the elevator, she heard her name. “Ms. Mabry!”
Carol turned. She didn’t recognize the woman wearing a bronze colored pantsuit and shockingly high heels awkwardly rushing toward them. She hesitated, because she knew, somehow instinctively, that this woman was a reporter.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
The woman stopped and pushed her silvery blonde curls behind her shoulder. “I thought we could talk about your new next door neighbor.”
With an inward sigh, Carol pointedly looked at her watch. “I have nothing to say and I have a jury coming back in on a felony trial. Have a nice day.”
As she and Rhonda stepped into the elevator, Rhonda looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “What was that all about?”
“Just gossip.” She tugged on her suit jacket and brushed at the sides of her hair, making sure all strands still stayed tucked inside the stylish bun on the back of her head. “I hate gossip.” Unfortunately, she knew that was just the beginning of what would most certainly be a storm.
“THANK you for taking the time to meet with me today.” Richmond’s Commonwealth Attorney Maurice Davidson returned his telephone to the cradle and formally greeted Carol and Mitch. He sat behind his large desk in a leather chair, elbows on the arms of the chair, long fingers steepled. He wore his white hair closely cropped to his head. His light brown eyes stood out from skin the color of dark caramel. Despite the political savvy his job required, he rarely ever played politics on the job. Carol had nothing but respect for him and enjoyed working for him.
“What did you need specifically?” Carol asked, knowing Maurice rarely wasted time or words.
“The mayor called this afternoon. We’re desperately trying to put a lid on this, but it’s going to blow at any time. Do we have anything the press can use?” Maurice asked, slanting his eyes toward Mitch, who busied himself by checking the screen on his vibrating smart phone.
“I’m already fielding calls,” Carol said. “Young women being murdered in a ritualistic manner is going to attract attention. One of the crime scenes would have been enough to cause mass speculation. Three go beyond our ability to contain.”
“I agree. What do you have at this point?”
“We only have test results back from the first two victims. Both were drugged with the same cocktail. The DEA stepped up. They’re trying to identify the street source.”
Maurice nodded. “What else?”
“We believe the latest victim wasn’t the original target, and she was a blonde the last time her roommate saw her. We’re questioning drug stores, beauty supply, and grocery stores in the area to see if anyone bought it that night. We might get lucky and get a better image from security cameras or ATMs in the area,” Carol said.
Maurice sat forward a bit and placed his steepled fingers atop his desk. “Found any correlation between the victims besides their appearance?”
Mitch shrugged. “He’s clearly killing someone else; replaying something over and over. I have profiles being created. The clothing is always professional and so far hasn’t been owned by the victims, including the first one who was a professional herself. Dying the hair to closely match the first two victims… it’s clear he’s killing a tall, red haired, professional woman.”
Maurice pursed his lips. “Any cold cases fit that?”
“Not in Virginia in the last fifteen or so years, best we can tell,” Mitch said. “We’re branching out as far as we can, but prior to recent years, in many cases, those kind of things require a manual search. With our available resources, it’s too daunting of a task to pursue beyond what we’ve done.”
“Understood.” Maurice glanced at his watch. “Thanks, Detective. I appreciate your time.”
Mitch nodded and stood. He reached over and shook the older man’s hand. “I’ll let you know if anything breaks.”
With half a smile, Maurice resteepled his fingers. “My ear’s to the ground with this one. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.” As Carol started to stand, he met her eyes. “Give me just a second, Carol.”
When the door shut behind Mitch, he looked at her. “Got an interesting call today from a reporter out of Nashville asking all kinds of questions about your relationship with ‘country music superstar’ Bobby Kent.” Maurice actually made air quotes with his fingers when pronouncing Bobby’s title.
Carol licked her lips and tried not to jump to any kind of defensive posture. “I’m sure it won’t be the last call you get,” she said after clearing her throat.
“Doesn’t sound like it.” He paused, as if giving her time to elaborate, but she didn’t. “Care to explain?”
“Not particularly,” she said, shifting. “But I will confirm that Bobby Kent is Lisa’s father and ask that this remain between you and I. I know it will get out. He said it always does.”
“Consider it between us, then.” He sat up suddenly, his chair squeaking as he moved from a near reclining position. “Okay. I heard Rhonda lost her temper in court today.”
Carol smiled. “About a millisecond before Judge Williams blew up.”
Despite his nod, he said, “That would have been up to him. The judge isn’t my concern. My attorneys are my concern. What’s your opinion?”
“That I’m glad I wasn’t the one questioning the witness. The way we divvied up the duties in court today, it could have just as easily been me.”
“Okay,” he said, his tone sounding mollified. He opened a file on the center of his desk blotter. “Thanks, Carol. Have a good one.”
Clearly being dismissed, Carol stood. “You, too,” she said. On her way out of his office, she glanced at her watch and mentally calculated how much time she could spare before she had to pick up Lisa from dance practice.