Chapter 8
Gideon and Danny walked hand in hand along the shore at Playa del Rey. Gentle waves washed up to their feet, forming rippling lines in the sand as the water receded. It was just after seven in the morning. The beach was deserted except for the occasional jogger with a dog in tow and a random squawking seagull searching for sand crabs the waters had deposited on the shore. Whenever the occasional jogger approached, their hands would gently part and the two men would transform themselves into colleagues, or possibly brothers, simply enjoying the morning air together. When the joggers were far enough in the distance, their hands would join again, converting them back into the lovers they had become.
“I’m going to interview the members of the board of trustees again,” Gideon said as the two walked barefoot in the sand. “I feel like I only scratched the surface with them. Scarlett Shackelford in particular. I think she knows a lot more than she’s saying.”
“What do you mean?” Danny asked innocently.
“She used to be Hezekiah’s personal secretary. I’d like to know why she left. There’s something there. I can feel it. Did Hezekiah ever mention her to you?”
“Only once,” Danny replied. “He was telling me something about his daughter, Jasmine. I can’t remember what it was. And then he said something about Scarlett’s daughter. Something about how cute she was and that he envied her father for having such a lovely little girl. It was a bit strange at the time, but I didn’t give it much thought until you mentioned it just now. Do you think it means anything?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll see if I can get some answers out of Scarlett. What was his relationship like with Jasmine? Did he ever discuss it with you?”
“He loved Jasmine. He always worried about her. He thought she hung with the wrong type of friends. Apparently, she liked to party, but he was always so busy, he couldn’t keep track of her. He complained that Samantha showed very little interest in her. He once told me she treated Jasmine like an object that she put on display whenever a scene called for it. He always regretted that she had been raised, for the most part, by nannies and house staff.”
“Did you ever go to his house?”
Danny hesitated before he responded. He, in fact, had been to the Cleaveland estate on one occasion. Hezekiah and Danny had been seeing each other for six months. Samantha was in Washington with Jasmine, accepting an award for her work on women’s issues around the world.
“I want you to see my house, Danny,” Hezekiah had said out of the blue while the two lay twisted and tangled in each other’s arms one afternoon after they had made love in Danny’s bed.
“I’d like to see it sometime, but it’s not necessary. How would you explain me to your staff?”
“I don’t have to explain anything to my staff. I’m the lord of the manor,” Hezekiah had said jokingly. “There’s always someone coming and going. They won’t give you a second thought.”
“Wouldn’t it make you uncomfortable having your lover in your wife’s house?”
“Maybe a little. But it would be worth it for you to see where I live. I can’t explain it, but it’s important to me that you see that part of my life. My home is a part of who I am, and I want you to know every part of me. I also want you to come to my church one day. I sometimes search the faces in the audience, hoping I will see you there.”
“I understand, Hezekiah. That means a lot to me.”
“Good! It’s settled,” Hezekiah said, sitting upright in the bed. “Let’s go to the house now.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. Samantha and Jasmine are in D.C. Etta is probably out running errands. The groundskeepers are most likely done for the day. Now is a perfect time.”
After much persuading, Danny agreed to follow Hezekiah in his car to the estate.
As Danny walked on the beach with Gideon, he remembered how he felt when he first entered the house.
Danny had driven his blue 1998 Toyota Corolla behind Hezekiah’s silver Mercedes from the West Adams District to the heights of Bel Air. The wrought-iron gates slid open at the sight of Hezekiah’s car. Hezekiah gave the guard in the gatehouse a thumbs-up and pointed to Danny’s car behind him. The guard nodded cautiously as Danny passed through the gates.
The house was like none Danny had ever seen. The double doors swung open as soon as they had parked their cars, and Etta Washington was standing in the threshold, in her usual black dress and white apron. Danny could see a hint of surprise on Hezekiah’s face when he saw her. Hezekiah braced himself and opened Danny’s car door. Side by side, the two men ascended the stairs to the main entrance.
“Hello, Etta,” Hezekiah called out as they approached the entrance to the house. “This is my associate and friend Michael Thomas. Michael, this is our housekeeper, Etta.”
“Welcome home, Pastor Cleaveland,” Etta said warmly. “Hello, Mr. Thomas. Welcome to the Cleaveland estate. Will you be staying for dinner?”
“No,” Danny blurted. “I mean, I—”
“Thank you, Etta,” Hezekiah interrupted. “Yes, Mr. Thomas will be joining us for dinner.”
Etta looked on approvingly as the two men entered the house. There’s something . . . almost lighter about Pastor Cleaveland in the presence of that young man, she silently noted.
The opulent exterior of the house was mirrored in its interior. Sunlight poured through a skylight in the two-story foyer and coated the massive oval-shaped room in a yellow glow. Double living room and dining room doors were to the right and to the left. A round marble table that held a massive floral arrangement sat in the center of the room, and on each side symmetrical stairways caressed the curved walls and climbed to a second-floor landing that overlooked the room. Black wrought-iron banisters provided a stark contrast in the bright room.
Directly ahead hung the first of two Picassos in the Cleaveland home. The painting was in the center of the foyer’s rear wall. The dreaming woman’s hands rested suggestively in her lap. Her head was slightly tilted to the right, and her closed eyes hinted of erotic sweet dreams. Parts of her deconstructed face provided a glimpse of the thoughts that seemed to give her such serene pleasure.
Antique furniture and European art were masterfully displayed throughout. A well- thought-out furniture arrangement composed of wingback chairs, marble- and glass-topped tea tables, and satin-swathed couches created the optimum setting to impress and entertain the rich, the pious, and the famous. Crystal chandeliers and Lalique vases sparkled throughout, and plush pastel carpets softened the hard edges of each room. A cold, sleek black baby grand piano rested in front of a wall of glass that overlooked the grounds and a shimmering cobalt-blue swimming pool.
Hezekiah escorted Danny through what seemed like an endless chain of rooms, each more beautiful than the one before, pointing out trinkets, paintings, and books that marked significant events in his life.
“You see that Bible on the coffee table,” Hezekiah said in the living room. “It’s a first edition sixteen eleven King James Pulpit Bible. There are less than two hundred of them in the world. It was a gift to us from Pope John Paul II.”
“I’m not sure if I even want to know the story behind that,” Danny said, pointing to a painting, Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, which hung over a fireplace that was almost the size of his bedroom in the West Adams District. The five women’s faces resembled primitive tribal masks, and the jagged edges of their pink flesh formed sharp angles that pointed in every direction.
Hezekiah was almost embarrassed when he responded, “I bought that for Samantha on our eleventh anniversary. She insisted on it.”
An oil painting of Hezekiah and Samantha was on the opposite wall. Their faces countered the seductive and horrifying image of Picasso’s five women across the room. Hezekiah’s and Samantha’s smiles in the painting absorbed the light that streamed through the room’s many windows.
Danny remembered the uneasiness he had felt amid such opulence and wealth. The house didn’t reflect the Hezekiah he had come to love. He hadn’t seen him reflected anywhere in the home’s sixty thousand square feet. After that day, they never discussed the house again and Danny never went back.
“I have been there once,” Danny finally said to Gideon as they walked hand in hand along the beach. The warmth of the morning sun had slowly replaced the cool ocean mist.
“What did you think?” Gideon asked cautiously.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. It was magnificent, but . . .”
“But what?”
“It wasn’t Hezekiah. It was all Samantha. You could feel her in every room. I felt sorry for him when I saw him in that house. It was almost like he was a piece of furniture or a painting.”
“You mean he seemed out of place?”
“I think he hated it,” Danny said, looking at the horizon. “Behind the expensive suits and that television smile, Hezekiah was a very humble man. In a lot of ways he was like a little boy. He was playful and passionate, and he really cared deeply about people. He sometimes told me about problems people in his congregation were facing, and I could see in his face how much it affected him.”
“I never knew that about him.”
“I don’t think anyone knew it. I don’t think he fully realized how deeply he cared about others until we met. He told me once that I helped him see who he really was. I understand it now, because he did the same thing for me.”
Gideon placed his arm around Danny’s shoulder. He could see the conversation was making Danny uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I’m being insensitive. I know how much you loved him. I just hope one day you’ll be able to love me as much. He sounds like a wonderful person who also loved you very deeply, and I’m grateful to him for that.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Danny said, nestling under Gideon’s shoulder. “It actually helps me to talk about it.”
“He was very lucky to have found you. People go their entire lives and never have what you two shared. This might sound selfish, but I can’t help but think that if it was not for him, I would have never met you, and that frightens me.”
“Why?”
“Because the thought of not having you in my life scares me.”
“But a few weeks ago you didn’t even know I existed, and you were doing just fine.”
“That’s the thing. I thought I was doing fine, and then you came along and showed me how empty my life was. The thought of living that way for the rest of my life absolutely frightens me. Knowing that I spent so many years chasing my career and never really connecting with another person is very sad.”
“You’ve never been in love?”
“Infatuated, yes. In lust, maybe. But I can’t say that I’ve ever been in love. Certainly not in the way I feel about you.”
The two men walked in silence. The range of their feelings ebbed and flowed with the tide. More locals began to trickle onto the sands, causing them to replace their intimate touches with a more respectable distance.
“Danny?” Gideon finally said. “Do you think you could ever love me the way you loved Hezekiah?”
There was no response. A dog barking in the distance punctuated the quiet. The gentle rushing waves pounded like thunder in Gideon’s ears, and the calls of the distant seagulls sent a screeching chill up his spine.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you that,” Gideon said bashfully. “I’m a reporter. I can’t help my—”
Danny gently placed a finger against Gideon’s lips before the last word could escape and said, “I think I already do.”
Samantha held the gun with the skill and intention of a trained assassin. The room was dark and smoky, and shards of light pierced through the crevices in the boarded-up windows. A ceiling fan whirled in slow motion, causing smoke to plume from the floor to the ceiling and then back down to the cold cement.
Samantha’s arms were fully extended, with the gun aimed at a target that was just out of view.
“Don’t do it!” Hattie sputtered in the grip of a fitful sleep. “Please, Samantha, don’t do it.”
A patchwork quilt made from the remnants of her life lay in a heap at her feet. She clutched a pillow to her chest, as if shielding herself from the bullet in Samantha’s gun. It was 3:12 a.m. Hattie hadn’t fallen asleep until 2:00 a.m. A cup of chamomile tea, the crackling voice of a radio evangelist calling for fire to rain down from heaven on evildoers, and the second chapter of Acts had finally coaxed her into a blissful sleep. But the peace and safety of slumber had not lasted.
Samantha took a deliberate step forward. Multiple layers of the sheer black fabric of her dress fluttered and waved from a wind that engulfed the room. Her intentions were clear to Hattie even under the veil of sleep. Samantha took another step forward.
Hattie thrashed her head from side to side on the bed, freeing her gray-streaked hair from tightly clamped bobby pins and plastic rollers. Her feet kicked and flailed, as if she were fighting to keep Samantha at bay.
“No!” was her muddled cry. “I won’t let you do it again!”
Samantha was oblivious to her entreaties. The louder Hattie cried, the closer Samantha came to her target. The harder she thrashed and kicked, the more deliberately Samantha moved.
Hattie craned her neck in the bed to see who Samantha had in her sights. She could feel the presence of a man. Was it Gideon? Or maybe the man Hezekiah had pleaded with her to protect. Her body twisted from side to side, but the figure was just beyond her view.
“Stop, Samantha! You can’t keep doing this. God, please don’t let her do it again.”
Samantha continued slow and steady toward her prey. As she moved, the wind blew harder, causing her dress to whip and snap in the gusts.
And then Hattie saw him. A young man standing vulnerable under Samantha’s icy gaze, with the gun aimed directly at his head. His face was as clear as if he were standing in the room with Hattie. “Danny!” Hattie shrieked. Even in sleep she knew his name. She knew it as sure as she knew her own. She also knew, and did not question, that this was the man whom her pastor loved so deeply.
Hattie lay flat on her back. Her neck arched toward the headboard. She frantically began pounding the mattress with her clutched fists. “No!” she yelled into her dark room. “No!” She slammed her fists into the bed. “No, no, no, no, no!”
A loud blast from the gun pierced through her dream. She could see sparks coming from the barrel. Behind the flash she saw the dark eyes of Samantha Cleaveland staring defiantly at her. The sight caused Hattie to burst violently from the dream. She bolted upright in the bed. Her forehead was covered in perspiration. Gray hairs pointed in every direction, and plastic curlers lay strewn across the mattress. Hattie cried fitfully as she struggled to free herself from the nightmare. She fixed her eyes on the oval vanity mirror on the opposite wall and saw her shaking, disheveled reflection. The nightgown drooped over one shoulder, and her fingers shook as she clutched her gaping mouth.
“Don’t let this happen again, Lord. Why are you testing me? I can’t let it happen again.”
“I gave you her head on a platter, and you treated her like she was made of porcelain.”
“I couldn’t accuse her of a cover-up on national television. She had just lost her husband. The public would have demanded my head, not hers.”
“Bullshit. The public loves that kind of scandal, and you know it. Admit it, Gideon. You’re afraid of her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gideon said incredulously. “Timing is everything with a story like this. As for her husband’s death, Samantha Cleaveland is one of the most popular public figures in the country. No reporter wants to be perceived as attacking a grieving widow, especially not one like Samantha.”
Gideon and Cynthia sat facing each other in the lobby of the oceanfront hotel. They could see throngs of summer revelers taking full advantage of the afternoon heat from their vantage point in the bay window overlooking the Santa Monica boardwalk. Scantily clad joggers, souvenir-toting tourists, and sticky-fingered children juggling cotton candy and snow cones formed a mob of fun seekers and sunseekers.
Gideon would never admit to Cynthia that he agreed with everything she accused him of. He had kicked himself many times after the interview he conducted with Samantha in her home only weeks earlier.
He had had her in his sights on that day in her living room. Vulnerable, with his lights and cameras pointed at her and exposing every pore.
Gideon recalled the fateful interview that had caused him to question his ability as an investigative reporter.
“Tonight we are honored to have a woman who, until recently, was one half of a couple that for years has captivated the hearts of people around the world,” he had said, looking directly into the camera. “Her recent tragedy rocked the religious world to its core. Please welcome Pastor Samantha Cleaveland. Good evening, Pastor Cleaveland, and thank you for inviting us into your lovely home.”
He recalled how Samantha had magically transformed into a bigger-than-life character when the camera was rolling. Her skin captured the light around her and sent it back into the room brighter than it had come.
“Thank you, Gideon. It’s my pleasure, and welcome to my home,” she had said graciously.
“I’m sure I speak for millions of people when I say how sorry I am for the tragic loss of your husband.”
“Thank you,” she said with a slight nod of her head.
“Let me start by asking you, are the police any closer to finding out who assassinated Pastor Cleaveland?”
“The Los Angeles Police Department has been amazing throughout this entire ordeal, but unfortunately, they are no closer today to finding his killer than they were the day it happened. A part of me feels we may never know who killed Hezekiah. The important thing, however, is that this person will have to answer to God either in this life or the next.”
“You are a woman with strong religious beliefs. Are you in any way able to forgive the man, or woman, who did this to you, your family, and all the people who love you?”
“I’m so glad you asked me that.” Gideon remembered how Samantha had looked him directly in the eye when she answered. “I have already forgiven him. This has caused my daughter and me immense pain and anguish. There were days when I didn’t think I could go on without him. But you know, Gideon, God promised us all that He would never give us more burdens than we could bear. And with that knowledge I was able to get up one morning a few weeks after it happened, put on my makeup, and face another day. Don’t get me wrong, though. I still cry every day, and I miss him more than you can imagine, but life must go on, and every day I get a little stronger.”
“You mentioned your daughter, Jasmine. How is she handling the loss of her father?”
“Jasmine took her father’s death very hard. They were very close. She was Daddy’s little girl,” Samantha said with a smile. “They were inseparable from the day she was born until the day he died. She couldn’t bear to be in the house after he was killed, so she’s staying temporally with very dear friends of our family in Malibu. I see her every day, and we pray together on the telephone every evening, before she goes to bed. God and time heal all wounds, and every day she gets a little stronger. As painful as this has all been, I know that someday she will come to understand that this is all a part of God’s master plan.”
“Can you think of any reason anyone would want to kill your husband?”
Gideon noted that Samantha’s suddenly dilated pupils were the only visible reaction to the unexpected question.
“I have thought a lot about this and have had multiple conversations with detectives, who wanted to know the same thing. Everyone loved Hezekiah. He was the kind of person that would give you his last dollar if you needed it. I’ve never known him to have an enemy. I can’t think of anyone who would have wanted him dead.”
“New Testament Cathedral is the sixth largest church in the country. Your television ministry generates millions each year. Do you think jealousy may have played a part into this?”
“I would hate to think jealousy was a factor, but anything is possible,” Samantha said coolly. “There are many troubled people in the world. We may never know what motivated this person to do what he did.”
“Do you think you may have factored into his death in any way?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Her eyes became a centimeter tighter.
Gideon saw the almost imperceptible shift in her demeanor. He pressed on, unfazed by the icy glare from his guest or the rustling of his producer behind his shoulder. “What I mean is, could you have done something to contribute to the murder of your husband, inadvertently, of course?”
Megan, his then segment producer, clutched her mouth to prevent a gasp from escaping. The four cameramen looked nervously at each other and then zoomed in on Samantha’s stone face.
“Anything is possible, of course. I’m sure I’ve made decisions in the ministry that may have possibly upset some people, but I honestly don’t think I’ve done anything to anyone that would illicit such an extreme response as that. What your viewers need to understand is that, for the most part, the world is filled with people who have no desire to hurt anyone.
“I have traveled all over the world and have met so many people from different cultures, and I’m always amazed to find people just like you and me, all believing in the same God, but maybe calling Him by a different name, who simply want to live their lives without doing harm. There is, however, a small minority of people out there who don’t have God in their lives, and unfortunately, they sometimes make misguided decisions that hurt other people.”
Gideon found some solace in remembering that he had pushed a little harder. “I find it difficult to fathom that a man as powerful as Hezekiah Cleaveland didn’t have any enemies. So do you think this was a random shooting?”
“My husband was human like everyone else. He made mistakes like us all. He’s done things that, if he were alive, I’m sure he wouldn’t be proud of. But I’ll say it again. I don’t think he ever did anything that would warrant him being killed. If that were the case, we all would have to walk down the street, looking over our shoulders.”
It was at this point in the interview that Gideon abandoned the thought of exposing Hezekiah’s affair with Danny. He knew from experience that after her last response the audience would be sitting snugly in the palm of her hand. She was officially immune to scandal. He grudgingly conceded that at that point the interview had turned into pure fluff.
“Let’s talk about New Testament Cathedral,” Gideon said, flipping the index cards. “Shortly after Hezekiah’s death you were installed as pastor. How has the transition from first lady to pastor been for you?”
“I believe it was a blessing for me. The appointment was totally unexpected. I didn’t even know I was being considered for the position until I received a call from the president of our board of trustees,” Samantha said, batting her mink eyelashes.
“I, of course, was honored,” she continued, “and a little concerned whether it was too soon after losing my husband. However, the trustees had faith in me and insisted that it was the best thing for New Testament Cathedral. Initially, I said no, because I felt I needed more time to mourn my loss. But my daughter said something that changed my mind.”
“What did she say?” Gideon asked, abandoning all hope for a hard-hitting interview.
“Something very simple. She looked me in the eye and said, ‘Mommy, Daddy would have wanted you to be pastor. ’ So I prayed through my tears and through my grief, and God . . .” Samantha paused and gingerly dabbed the corner of her eye with the tip of her finger. “God spoke to my heart late one night and said, ‘Samantha, this is my will. With me, you can do all things.’ After I heard that, I knew I had to either live what I’ve been preaching all these years or just walk away. I decided I would stand on God’s word.”
Gideon remembered looking down at his index cards so the camera could not catch the smirk on his face. He regretted that he had resisted the urge to ask, ‘Were you aware that your husband was involved in a homosexual affair for two years with a man named Danny St. John?’ Or ‘How do you think the millions of people who send you their hard-earned money every year would feel if they knew you knew about it?’ Or ‘If the public found out that one of the most loved ministers in the country was gay, it would have cost you millions. What did you do to Hezekiah when you learned of the affair?’
“Pastor Cleaveland,” Gideon said, looking up again, “I think your board of trustees made an excellent choice.”
An audible sigh of relief could be heard from Megan in the background, signaling her relief that Gideon had become less aggressive.
For the remainder of the one-hour interview Gideon censored any question that would in any way appear accusatory. His questions could have been asked by any novice journalist. Samantha skillfully spun each response to fit her image as the brave grieving widow who set aside her own needs for the good of the church.
“Pastor Cleaveland, it has been a pleasure speaking with you today. I now see why America has fallen in love with you.” Recalling this comment hurt Gideon the most. “I wish you, Jasmine, and New Testament Cathedral the best.”
“It’s been my pleasure.”
Now sitting with Cynthia in the hotel lobby, Gideon felt attacked and needed to defend how he had handled Samantha during that interview.
“She made a fool of you,” Cynthia said, pressing on with her assault. “And on your own television show. She made you look like just another one of her lackeys. You let me down, Gideon. Not only that, you also let down everyone at New Testament Cathedral. The world deserves to know the truth, and you were the only person in a position to tell it.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit melodramatic, Cynthia?” Gideon asked, finding it increasingly harder to protect himself from the barrage of accusations. “The only thing you handed me was a stack of e-mails. That’s not enough to build any kind of credible case on.”
“So you don’t believe they’re authentic?” she asked.
“I didn’t say that. I’m saying you’ll need more than a bunch of e-mails if you want to be the first lady of New Testament Cathedral.”
“I never said that was my primary motivation,” Cynthia snapped, leaning forward in the wicker chair. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“I’m not an idiot, Cynthia,” Gideon responded as his patience grew thinner. “Any fool can see through that ridiculous pious ‘good of the church’ routine of yours. It’s obvious this is all about destroying Samantha so your husband can become pastor and, thereby, you first lady.”
Cynthia pressed forward, unashamed of the exposure. “Whether that is true or not is irrelevant. What’s important is Samantha should have never been installed as pastor and someone has to do something about it.”
“And you’ve elected yourself as that person?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around with the balls to do the job,” she said, looking to Gideon with disdain.
“Look, I didn’t ask to meet you today to talk about any of your grand schemes,” Gideon said dismissively.
“Then why did you ask me to come here?”
“I wanted to ask you what you know about Hezekiah’s death.”
“What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously.
“I’ll be blunt with you, Cynthia. There are some people who think Samantha may have had something to do with his murder.”
Gideon felt his relationship with Cynthia had sunk beyond the reaches of discretion. He was desperate for any piece of information that would potentially remove Danny from Samantha’s deadly path.
“Do you know anything that might potentially link her to his death?” he asked point-blank.
Just as he spoke the words, a waiter bowed over his right shoulder. “May I get you two another glass of chardonnay?”
“Yes, thank you,” Cynthia quickly responded, with Gideon’s words still hanging in the air. The waiter departed with a confirming nod of his head.
“My husband and I just had a very similar conversation,” she said, finding it difficult to contain her glee. “I’ve always had my suspicions.”
“What type of suspicions?”
“Well, for starters, not many people knew their marriage was a sham. He had so many affairs, I stopped counting. Not to mention the last one was with a man, and he was thinking about leaving the church for him. I called Samantha ‘his camera wife.’ They were the perfect couple in front of the camera, but when it was turned off, they went their separate ways.”
“No one ever told me that.”
“No one wants to speak ill of the dead.”
“No one but you?”
“I thought we were beyond the bullshit, Gideon. As you said, you’re ‘not a fool,’ and neither am I.”
“You’re right. We are beyond that. Anything else? You said you had your suspicions.”
“Well, there’s also the fact that Samantha hated living in Hezekiah’s shadow. You could see it in her face sometimes when she was standing behind him. It was only a hint of disdain, but I could see it, and I’m sure others could too.”
“But why would she be jealous of him? He made sure she had everything. She’s got two Picassos, for Christ’s sake, and that god-awful house in Bel Air.”
“You have to understand something about women like Samantha. They make men into the successes they are only because they believe the world isn’t ready for them to be in positions of absolute power, especially in the church. The faith community is still very chauvinistic. I suspect once she felt the world was ready for her, she figured she no longer needed Hezekiah.”
“Is that how you feel about your husband?” Gideon asked unapologetically.
“Perhaps, but you forget the difference between Samantha and me.”
“What’s that?”
“Samantha is an ordained minister with a doctorate in theology.”
Gideon tried to hide his disgust with her frankness. “She obviously didn’t do it herself. If you think it’s possible that she is responsible, who do you think she could have convinced to do it?”
“That’s easy,” Cynthia said, beaming. “Have you heard of Willie Mitchell?”
“Yes. The minister that committed suicide.”
“That’s right. Coincidentally, on the same day Hezekiah was killed,” she said with a slight wink. “He was a fool who Samantha had wrapped around her finger. Uneducated and very crass, but also very rich,” she said. “Made a fortune in a string of shady real estate deals. He was connected to all sorts of underground gangster types and street thugs. Guys with the balls to do whatever is necessary in order to get the job done,” she revealed, looking disappointingly toward Gideon’s crotch. “All he wanted in life was to fuck her, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually let him in exchange for arranging Hezekiah’s murder.”
“Can you prove any of this?” Gideon asked with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“I can’t prove a damned thing,” Cynthia said with an exasperated sigh. “All I’ve got are the e-mails, which you say are useless.”
The two sat in silence, looking out the bay window at the ocean in the distance. Surfers danced on the cresting waves. The shoreline was dotted with kaleidoscope umbrellas, dripping coolers, and folding beach chairs with heads sticking over the tops.
Cynthia broke the silence. “Sometimes I feel the only way to get rid of her is if the same thing that happened to Hezekiah happens to her.”
Gideon looked to her with suspicion but said nothing. The instincts of a seasoned reporter kicked in. This was the time to listen and not to ask questions.
The silence allowed Cynthia’s mind to wander. “God forgive me, but sometimes I wish someone would . . .”
“Would what?” he asked, prodding cautiously.
“Someone would put a bullet in her pretty little head,” she said while casually scanning the shoreline.
Gideon did not respond. He couldn’t without admitting that he had entertained the exact same thought.
The wall safe was tucked discreetly behind a nondescript oil painting that would not catch the eye of a burglar trained in the art of identifying valuable masterpieces. Samantha nimbly turned the dial. With each spin, an almost inaudible click reverberated through her quiet home office.
This room, her office, provided a startling contrast to the decor of the other rooms in the house. A sleek Swedish couch and two modern leather chairs, too perfect and erect to provide comfort, floated on a bloodred island rug in the center of the room. Sparkling modern light fixtures served more as art than as illuminators. Stark teak planks covering the floor directed every step taken in the room to the front of Samantha’s desk. The glass desk glowed at the rear of the room from light shining through a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the lush grounds of the estate.
With the last turn of the dial, a louder series of clicks indicated that the safe was unlatched. Samantha slowly opened the heavy metal door, revealing a small portion of the hidden treasures she had stashed in secure locations around the world.
A 478.68 carat blue sapphire and diamond necklace, once worn by the queen of Romania at the coronation of her husband, was nestled in a burgundy velvet box. A flawless 10.04 carat black diamond from South Africa in a much smaller velvet box sat atop a stack of stocks, bonds, and deeds to a winery in Napa Valley, a villa in the South of France, and a penthouse in Bangkok.
In the rear of the wall safe were stacks of one-thousand-dollar bills. The stacks were comprised of bundles containing fifty one-thousand-dollar bills held together by a single white paper strip.
The gun that was used to, almost, kill Danny St. John was sitting on one of the stacks of money. Samantha reached past the fortunes and removed it from the steel cave. It was a small matte black Smith & Wesson Centennial 442 snub-nosed revolver. She trembled slightly when she felt the sensuous weight and cold steel in her hand.
Samantha had fond memories of the gun. It held a special place in her heart. It was also the same gun Virgil Jackson had used to kill her husband. It was the gun that David had used in his bungled attempt to kill Danny. She viewed it as her friend. A friend who would do anything she told it to. A friend who asked no questions and a friend who obediently removed anyone who stood between her and her heart’s desires.
Samantha walked slowly across the room to the window overlooking the estate grounds. The sun was just starting its slow decent to the horizon. Her world was quiet and peaceful as she fondly reminisced about the day her loyal friend removed Hezekiah from her life.
It had been a beautiful Sunday morning at New Testament Cathedral. The parking lot was filled with freshly washed cars. Children played on the lawn in front of the church, carefully trying to keep their flowered white dresses and little tan suits clean for as long as possible. Women rushed their husbands up the stairs to the church to get a good seat. The lobby was filled with members waiting to be seated by the ushers. White-gloved ushers handed neatly folded powder-blue bulletins to each person who entered the sanctuary.
The day before, Samantha had arranged for the balcony to be closed to give her hired assassin the privacy he needed. When the sanctuary had reached full capacity, the overflow of worshippers was directed to Fellowship Hall, where folding chairs had been assembled auditorium style. No one liked viewing the service over the television monitors, but they could not refuse the only remaining option.
By 10:50 the choir had lined up behind the now closed double doors to the sanctuary. Except for choir members waiting to enter the sanctuary, the lobby was empty. They waited patiently for the first chords from the organ. Singers nervously fastened buttons on their robes and adjusted the sashes embroidered with the name of the church. The doors flew open and the procession began when the chord was finally struck. Parishioners stood to welcome the jubilant march.
Reverend Willie Mitchell had dropped off the crack-addicted assassin, Virgil Jackson, three blocks away from the church. He had then double-parked his car in the parking lot of the church and had run up the stairs. His seat was waiting for him in the pulpit. As he passed Samantha on the front row, she remembered how he bent over to kiss her check and whispered, “Everything is set.”
Samantha had decided against pearls for her wrist and had instead chosen a diamond bracelet Hezekiah had bought her for Christmas.
The worship service proceeded as it had for the past ten years. The choir sang, the people rejoiced, the cameras rolled, and Hezekiah entered the sanctuary on cue. The cameras followed his precisely sculpted black suit as it floated up the steps to the pulpit. He nodded good morning to the choir as they continued their song.
When the song ended, all cameras focused once again on Hezekiah. Samantha remembered how pious and arrogant he looked on the forty-foot JumboTron screen. The applause subsided, and Hezekiah spoke his first words of the morning.
She remembered them as if they were etched in her brain. “I know a lot of you are not going to want to hear what I have to say this morning, but praise God, I’m going to say it any way.
“Brothers and Sisters, it’s time for us to stop lying to ourselves. It’s time we stop lying to each other, and most importantly, it’s time we stop lying to God. He already knows our hearts, so who do we think we’re fooling? Now, please understand I’m preaching to myself just as much as I’m preaching to you.”
A mixture of laughter and the words ‘”Go ahead, Preacher” came from the far reaches of the sanctuary.
“Now, one lie is only the tip of the iceberg. Once you tell one lie, you’ve got to tell ten more to cover it up. Pretty soon we don’t even know what the truth is ourselves. We lie about our hair color. We lie about our jobs. We stretch the truth about our income.” Hezekiah extended his arms to illustrate the point. “And some of us even lie about who we love.”
Samantha shuddered slightly at her office window when she recalled how nervous she was at that point in his sermon. She had looked over her shoulder to the balcony several times, hoping Virgil would act before Hezekiah said something she would regret. She wanted to be remembered as the wife Pastor Cleaveland loved. Not as the woman he had planned to divorce for a man.
Virgil Jackson had entered the now empty lobby unnoticed and had quietly climbed the side stairs of the balcony. The double doors of the sanctuary were closed, and all eyes and ears were focused on Hezekiah and his cryptic sermon.
Hezekiah continued, “I will be the first one to say before God and all of you that I’ve told my share of lies. I’m just a man. A man who must humble himself daily before God to confess his sins and to plead His forgiveness.” Hezekiah picked up the handheld microphone and walked away from the podium. “I, like you, have done some things in my life that I am not proud of.”
Countless amens were uttered. Samantha remembered noticing Hattie Williams rocking with her Bible open and reading. A quiet confusion began to work its way through the pews. This was a sermon like none they had ever heard from the pastor. He had lowered himself to the level of mortals. The faces became troubled by his descent, because they needed him to be better than they were.
Hezekiah had put one foot on the steps, preparing to walk down, when two loud shots reverberated through the sanctuary. The first shriek came from someone in the center of the church, as Hezekiah fell backward into the pulpit. Everyone was paralyzed for what seemed like minutes. Women began ducking behind pews, while men shielded them. Screams were soon heard from every part of the auditorium. Hezekiah lay bleeding from bullet wounds to the head and chest. The members in Fellowship Hall gasped as they watched the mayhem unfold on the massive flat-screen.
Virgil stood erect and ran stumbling up the center aisle of the balcony. Samantha saw the shadow of a man running out of the dark balcony.
Samantha smiled slightly when she recalled how she dramatically broke free from a security guard who was trying to protect her. She ran up the steps to her husband. Some members of the choir dashed from the stand, while others crouched, weeping, behind seats. The organist sat frozen in fear on the bench as several people ran screaming out the double doors.
Samantha dropped and cradled Hezekiah’s head on the arm of her suit. Her bracelet sparkled from the light in the church’s stained glass. She screamed hysterically. “Hezekiah, baby! Hezekiah, don’t die! I need you.” She resisted the urge to lay her head on his chest, for fear of getting blood on the collar she had so carefully selected. “Hezekiah! Please, God, don’t take him from me!”
After a respectable moment had passed, Reverend Willie Mitchell and Reverend Percy Pryce gently separated Samantha from Hezekiah’s body and briskly escorted her, crying and thrashing, out the side door. Hezekiah’s lifeless body lay at the top of the steps, clutching the microphone, while the security guard tried unsuccessfully to resuscitate him.
By two o’clock the church grounds were filled with police cars and news vans. Satellite dishes pointed to the heavens, and high heels stumbled over electrical cords crisscrossing the parking lot. The police had emptied the sanctuary of parishioners, and the double doors had been cordoned off with yellow tape. Members were now milling in the halls and outside the church, giving and receiving comfort. The final word had already spread that the pastor was dead.
From her window in the church Samantha could see reporters, with microphones and cameras in tow, cornering members for their reaction to the tragedy for the local and national news networks. Television programming around the country had been interrupted to report on the assassination of Pastor Hezekiah T. Cleaveland. The hats, the fresh haircuts, and the pain at New Testament Cathedral were beamed live that day to televisions throughout the world.
Samantha fondly remembered seeing the covered body of her husband being removed from the church. Cameramen scrambled to get a shot of the gurney as it was being lifted into the rear of the van. Crying women, children clinging to their thighs, provided a dramatic backdrop for the parting shots of the vehicle.
Samantha sobbed into a crumpled tissue on the sofa inside Hezekiah’s office. The suit jacket Hezekiah had worn that morning was draped over her lap, and blood from his head had dried on her sleeve. Reverend Pryce and his wife, Cynthia, sat on either side of her.
Jasmine had not attended church again that morning. Samantha had instructed Etta to let her sleep in. She hadn’t wanted Jasmine to witness her father’s assassination. Samantha called home shortly after being taken to the church office. “Jasmine, honey,” she said. “This is Mommy. Something terrible has happened. Daddy has been shot. He’s dead.”
Suddenly Samantha’s office door swung open, and Jasmine appeared in the threshold. The whoosh of the door startled Samantha from the fond memory of that wonderful day two months earlier. She turned abruptly from the window, revealing the gun, her friend.
“Jasmine, you startled me,” she said with uncharacteristic surprise. “Why didn’t you knock?” As she spoke, she slowly put the gun into a desk drawer.
“I didn’t know you were in here. I came in to get one of your cigarettes,” Jasmine said, watching the gun as it disappeared into the desk.
“I’ve told you I don’t like you smoking. It’s a filthy habit.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Because, honey, your mother is under a lot of pressure and—”
“How much longer are you going to pretend I didn’t see that gun you just put in your desk?” Jasmine asked suspiciously.
“I’m not pretending. I know you saw it.”
“Then would you mind telling me why you have a gun? I thought you and Daddy hated guns. Are you planning on using that on someone?” she asked sarcastically.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have it for protection.”
“Protection from what?” Jasmine scoffed. “This place is crawling with armed guards. Sometimes I feel like I live in a prison. I don’t believe you. What is the gun for?” she asked insistently.
The two women locked eyes. There was silence in the room. Throughout Jasmine’s life she had never felt she knew fully what damage her mother was capable of doing to those she considered a threat or an enemy. She had seen Samantha send employees running from rooms in tears. She had had a front row seat in the theater that was their life. For years she had seen how Samantha manipulated her father. She had sometimes sat in disbelief after witnessing how abusive her mother could be to the house staff and security.
Now seeing her mother standing there with a gun, she realized there was yet another level of cruelty she was capable of. The picture did not surprise or shock her. The image of her mother standing at the window, the blue sky enveloping her in an ethereal glow, actually filled in a missing piece in her view of her mother, the woman with the French-tipped fingernails holding a gun.
“Have you ever used it?” Jasmine asked without any hint of doubt.
“Of course I haven’t.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“What are you talking about?” Samantha replied.
“I think you know,” Jasmine said coolly.
For the first time Jasmine saw a third dimension to her mother, and it frightened her. She knew all too well the cardboard cutout of the pastor’s wife and the loving mother that had always repulsed her. She knew the cruel woman who seemed oblivious to the feelings of others. But now she saw the dangerous woman who, without question, had it in her to kill. In that light, at that window, and with that gun, her mother could not hide her true self.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Samantha said, closing the desk drawer. “You should leave.”
“You killed him, didn’t you?”
Samantha froze for a millisecond. “Killed who, darling?” she said, as if indulging the furtive imagination of a precocious child.
“Daddy,” Jasmine said, looking her directly in the eye. The original intent of the question was simply to irritate her mother, but as the words floated between them, they took on a distinct air of possibility and even truth.
“Why would you say a horrible thing like that?” Samantha replied incredulously. “Are you on drugs again?”
“No, I’m not on drugs. I haven’t used drugs since I came back from Arizona. Now answer my question,” Jasmine said firmly. “Did you kill Daddy?”
“Honey, you know perfectly well I was sitting in the audience when your father was killed.”
“Is that the gun he was killed with? Did you pay someone to do it?”
“I want you to stop this nonsense right now.” Her tone shifted from that of an indulgent caregiver to that of an accused killer. “I don’t want to ever hear those words come out of your mouth again. Do you understand me?”
“For the first time I feel I really do understand you. You had him killed. Why?” Jasmine said, taking a step closer to Samantha. “Did you want to be pastor that bad? Did you finally realize you didn’t need him anymore? That you could do it all on your own.”
Samantha took a step toward her, narrowing the space between them to only a few feet. Her shoulders stiff and her hands at her sides, as if squaring off with an equally worthy opponent, she said, “I loved your father. I could never do anything to hurt him.”
Jasmine laughed slightly. “You hated him. He hated you, and I hate you too.”
As the last word escaped her lips, Jasmine felt the sharp sting of Samantha’s open palm on her cheek.
“You will not speak to me in that way,” Samantha said as Jasmine recoiled from the blow. “I’m your mother, and don’t you ever forget it.”
“Or what?” Jasmine said, holding her burning cheek. “You’ll kill me too?”
Samantha immediately raised her hand and, in a flash, leveled another blow with even greater force. “If you insist on speaking to me like a grown woman, then I will treat you like one. You don’t seem to realize how much I indulged you and your behavior only because your father protected you from me. Now that he’s gone, there’s nothing standing between us. You don’t know what I’m fully capable of, and trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“I think I know now,” Jasmine said defiantly. “I know you’re capable of murdering the only person in the world I ever loved.”
“I’ll attribute your ranting to your drug-addled brain. But trust me, if you ever say that to me again, or to anyone else, you will see for the first time exactly who you’re dealing with.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Yes, it is.”