Hugh Pratt called early and asked to rendezvous at his office after breakfast. I took an elevator up the Wells Fargo tower to floor ten and followed his directions through the hallowed corporate hallways. I stopped at a southern facing window and then at a western. This high, Roanoke City opened like a map, blurry and gray through the lashing rain.
Hugh welcomed me and closed the door.
“I didn’t realize how small my office is until now you’re standing in it,” he said.
“It is my Batman-like prognathous altering your perception of reality.”
“Should I know what prognat-whatever means?”
“It helps my sense of superiority,” I said, “that you don’t.”
He went behind his desk. Outrageously he sat oriented away from his view of Roanoke. I remained calm about his absurd furniture placement. Barely. His desk held one keyboard, two monitors, neat stacks of papers, a phone, and an orderly container of pens and pencils. Today he wore suspenders and no bowtie.
He punched up Robert Wallace’s cell and put him on speaker. By the sound of it, Wallace was drinking coffee and not feeling talkative; I respected that.
Hugh Pratt said, “Thanks for coming, Mr. August. I hope this isn’t inappropriate, but I wanted to hear how you’re progressing.”
“Sure. What occasions your request?”
He made a wincing face. Looked away. Appeared as though he hoped I wouldn’t ask. Released a long breath through his nose.
“Father Louis called me the day after we met, indignant and furious. I don’t know how he found out. I assured him we were working to disprove his accuser, and I refused to reveal Jeremy’s name. He called me again last night. He demands we curtail your services or he’ll pray about leaving the church.”
“Ergo, you need an update.”
“Please.”
“Louis Lindsey appears to be more unsavory than you, the vestry, or the congregation realizes. Or at least it doesn’t appear that you realize it,” I said.
“Can you be more specific?”
“I can. But understand I can prove nothing yet. Inside a courtroom or out, inside a vestry meeting or out, this is hearsay so far. But hearsay I trust.”
“I understand,” said Hugh. His speakerphone rattled with a grumble from Robert Wallace.
“I spoke with Lindsey. Spoke with Jeremy Cameron. Of the two, I trust Jeremy. I have personally witnessed strange behavior from Lindsey. Also there are rumors about town that he runs around on his wife and could potentially be in the closet.”
“Rumors.”
“Unsubstantiated.”
He nodded. Like a man relieved to hear no hard evidence had been found because it delayed the hard decisions he’d have to make.
“You trust Jeremy and you trust the rumors?” he said, emphasizing the final word.
“I do. A gut feeling thus far. But if I were you, I wouldn’t act on my gut. I need a few more days.”
“Rob Wallace wants Jeremy Cameron fired. Today.”
“Yesterday would be better,” said Wallace through the phone. “Damage to the church is irresponsible and unnecessary.”
Hugh said, “Clergy decisions are technically the privilege of Father Louis and the Bishop, baring drastic circumstances. I think Rob and I are willing to wait a few more days to get hard evidence before taking action.”
“What do you know about Alec Ward?”
He paused. Held my eyes a moment. Frowned.
“Who?”
“The Ward family and their son Alec. They attend All Saints,” I said.
“I don’t know them,” he said. Pulled a little at his collar. “Rob?”
“I know them. Late-service people,” said Wallace. “Hugh and me, we attend the early.”
“Alec is missing,” I said.
Hugh Pratt swallowed. “Missing?”
“Gone a couple days.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is that germane to your investigation?”
“Don’t see how it could be. Especially in light of Jon Young.”
“Who?” Hugh asked.
“Jon Young attended your church until two years ago. Went missing and showed up dead in the Roanoke River.”
“Oh! Yes of course. That was awful. Sorry, I should remember his name. I often have a narrow scope of focus.”
“Did you ever have suspicions or guesses why Jon Young was murdered?” I said. “Or hear unsubstantiated rumors?”
“No. Should I? Should we?”
“Not necessarily. But it’s unwise to ignore coincidence,” I said.
“In your profession, I can understand that. Okay, well…that’s all I needed. Rob, anything else?”
“No,” said the phone.
Hugh stood. Our meeting was over. “Please let me know if you discover hard evidence against Father Louis or Jeremy Cameron. In the meantime, we’ll be praying he’s innocent. Father Louis, I mean.”
“And Alec Ward?”
“The missing kid? What about him?”
“I am concerned,” I said. Still seated.
“If you don’t mind, let’s allow the police to do what they do and you focus on Father Louis.”
“You’re the one writing checks.”
“Thank you.”
“Though seems to me, Alec Ward is probably worth caring about.”
He stiffened. “I didn’t say I don’t care. That’s an unprofessional thing to insinuate, Mr. August.”
“I’ll let you know,” I said and stood, “when I have evidence one way or another.”
“That’s what you’re being paid to do.”
“Lovely view.” I nodded at his window. “Only an ass would ignore it.”
A chuckle from the phone.
I drove to All Saints, feeling smug that I’d be early, when my phone rang. It was, what do you know, All Saints.
“Yes, hello, Mr. August,” said a warm and pleasant voice. “You have an appointment this morning with Nicholas McBride, our worship minister and children’s coordinator?”
“That’s right I do. And I’ll be, get this, a few minutes early.”
“I’m very sorry, Mr. August, Nicholas has to cancel. Something popped up and he can’t make it,” she said.
“I’ll wait in your reception area. I’m in no hurry.”
“I’m afraid he says he’s unavailable all day.”
“No problem. How about tomorrow, same time?”
“Nicholas said he’ll call you when he’s free. He has your number,” she said, a new note of strength in her syllables.
“How about I show up right now and knock on his office door, whether he likes it or not?”
She paused. I fretted my stock was plummeting.
“Mr. August, that will not be—”
“Twas a joke. Can’t you infer I’m hilarious? Tell Nicholas McBride to call me immediately. Only a coward hides from his problems. Tell him I said so.”