The local WDBJ7 news update on Fox Sports Radio mentioned Alec Ward’s Amber Alert and gave a number to call with leads. He was still missing; nothing had ‘popped’ yet.
The subsequent weather update stated the oncoming nor’easter would develop near the coast and then move inland. Roanoke would be hit hard, starting Friday. Today was Wednesday.
If Alec Ward’s abductor was the same guy that abducted Jon Young, and that was still a big if, then he might dispose of the bodies in a similar fashion—dumping them into the river and letting them be found downstream days later. And if the guy was smart, he would take advantage of the swollen waters inherent with a big storm.
Which meant maybe—maybe—Alec Ward had forty-eight hours to live. If he was still alive.
In my office, I left a message for Sheriff Stackhouse. She returned it an hour later.
I told her Muscle Russel had confessed; Louis hired goons to jump me and Jeremy Cameron.
“Can you prove it?” she said.
“No. Told Russel I wouldn’t rat him out.”
“This is law enforcement, babe. Not the damn virtue police. We lie all day long.”
“I can’t use him. I get a bad reputation and no one talks to me anymore,” I said.
“You’re worried about your reputation?”
“Only reason Russel told me in the first place is he trusts me. Called integrity, Sheriff.”
“I gave that up years ago when I got the boob job,” she said. “Why’re you calling me then, if I can’t use it?”
“I’m being collegial. Sharing information is wise. Maybe you should write that down, I’m giving you pearls here.”
“Proof. I need proof. His attorney would chew my ass and spit me out if I brought him all this stuff I can’t prove.” She took a deep breath in my ear. “I hope you’re right about this, kiddo. You turn into a nutcase conspiracy theorist, I can’t recommend you out anymore.”
“Working on it.”
“I didn’t know Russel Devine did hits like this.”
“He doesn’t usually. Times are tough. Ever heard of the Pink Mafia?”
“Sure. They throw great parties,” she said.
“Louis’s a member.”
“Not surprised. It’s a good underground support group for guys like him. Guys still in the closet, I mean.”
“Russel said the Pink Mafia wouldn’t be involved in a kidnapping. Said they aren’t violent.”
“He’s right, babe. Bunch of sweet guys, mostly. Never give me trouble. And I mean it about the parties. Best in Roanoke. Even you’d like them.”
“Even me? I like parties.”
“No you don’t.”
“No I don’t.”
I hung up and dialed Manny.
“You find Louis?”
“Sí. Left the church twenty minutes ago. Guess where he’s been.”
“Jail. Surrendered himself out of respect for me.”
“He left church and drove slowly by your office. Then drove even slower by my house. I thought about shooting him then,” said Manny.
“Our house.”
“This guy’s obsessed with one of us.”
“He spot you?”
“Maybe. Hard to be coy in a neighborhood, migo.”
“I bet he didn’t. People are obtuse and they make mistakes when they’re fixated.”
“Like you with señorita Veronica?”
“No. Not like that,” I said.
“Coy. You heard I said it? Coy’s a good word.”
“Where’s Louis now?”
“Coy. I use it right?”
“Yes Manny. You are clearly the world’s foremost authority in neurolinguistics and morphophonology.”
“In Spanish I know a lot of big words. I just don’t use them out of respect. Something for you to think about.”
“Where’s Louis?”
“At Sweet Donkey. With that guy again—Nicholas. I’ll tail him a while longer then I gotta go arrest someone.”
“Actually do what you’re paid to do?”
“I don’t get paid near enough for what I actually do, migo.”
We hung up and I rubbed my forehead. Thinking about Nicholas McBride. The target of Louis’s ongoing advances. I should’ve talked to him days ago but he’s evasive. Clearly unwilling to give testimony. I needed to crack him somehow. While also being sensitive to the fact that this ordeal was already awful for him.
The stairs leading up to my office creaked and groaned. Multiple sets of footsteps.
Robert Wallace came in, followed by two other guys, one of which I knew. Robert didn’t give a cautious or polite knock, just walked in. I liked that about him. He was dressed in steel-toe work boots, Dickies, and a flannel shirt. I was reminded again of an old brahma bull, shaggy and powerful.
“Mr. August,” he said. “Need a moment of your time.”
I stood. “You got it.”
Robert inclined his head to the younger man, maybe forty, to his right. The younger man looked a little like Robert. “This is my nephew. Darrell. Son of my brother.”
I shook hands with Darrell.
I shook hands with the other man, too. Friendly guy, shaved head. Shirt a little too tight across his protruding middle. A black man with great teeth.
He said, “You recognize me?”
“You’re Omar Bell. Elected Roanoke’s mayor last year.”
His smile widened. “Mayor, and also proud parishioner of All Saints.”
“August, I want you to listen,” said Robert Wallace. “Listen to this story, and then we’ll talk. Darrell works for me. Helps process lumber. Or he did, now he’s in the office. Couple years ago, his foot gets crushed by two big oaks. Wasn’t being careful. Those trunk sections weigh two tons each. Maybe more. Pulverized Darrell's foot.”
Darrell verified the story by pulling up his left pant leg. His sneaker was attached to his leg by prothesis. Darrell said, “The pain was awful, Mr. August. I got depressed and addicted to Oxycodone. Tried to kill myself twice. Worst year of my life. The only reason I’m alive, Mr. August, is Father Louis. Uncle Rob told him about me, and he started visiting every week. Prayed for me. Convinced me to go to Mount Regis for rehab, and got the church to help pay for it. I’d be dead without him. He’s a great man, Mr. August.”
Robert Wallace kept his gaze on me during the story. He said, “I could bring a couple dozen just like him, August. Testify to the character of Father Louis.”
“I too sing his praises, Mr. August,” said Mayor Omar Bell. “Through his intervention and counseling, my marriage was saved. I haven’t touched a drink or a woman other than my wife in five years. Father Louis is a saint, if you ask me.”
“You get the point, August?” said Wallace.
“That a sexual predator can be good at his job? I never doubted it,” I said.
Wallace’s face darkened. “Father Louis isn’t gay, August. You were hired to find him innocent.”
“No. I was hired to discover the truthfulness of Jeremy Cameron’s accusation. And he’s telling the truth.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Father Louis is clergy.”
“But more importantly, he’s human,” I said.
“You understand the Apostolic succession, August? We trace the lineage of our bishops back to the original apostles. Not just anyone can be clergy. It’s a sacred and holy thing.”
“Agreed. But it involves people; it’s inherently flawed.”
“Clergymen aren’t like the rest of us,” said Robert.
“Jeremy Cameron is clergy. Why is he exempt from your pedestal?”
“I didn’t say they don’t make mistakes. Cameron’s still a boy.”
“Jeremy—”
He spoke over me. “You were fired, August.”
“Fired, but obstinate.”
“You’re tearing down All Saints.”
“I’m protecting the people within,” I said.
“You don’t understand how hard it is to keep a church together. I’ve been tending the church for fifty years, and my family before that. It’s the center of our community. We need it.”
“The leader of your church is corrupt. And the blind accommodation and idol worship will corrode outward until the walls cave.”
“You can’t prove he’s corrupt,” said Wallace.
“Did you forget your church has a missing kid?”
Robert made an eye roll. “Father Louis didn’t take Alec Ward.”
Mayor Omar Bell said, “Mr. August, what do you want? What would it take for you to leave this alone?”
“A signed confession from Louis and big fat severance packages for Jeremy and Nicholas, so they can start over somewhere else.”
“That’s preposterous. You’re a private detective. Probably licensed, I assume?”
“Proper as heck.”
“Considering that you are no longer in the employ of All Saints, I find it disturbing you are still investigating Father Louis. Having him followed. Making unfounded accusations. Haranguing his wife on the street. This sounds suspiciously like harassment to me.”
“Harass his ass all the way to a grand jury.”
“Mr. August, you are to cease your investigation immediately. This very minute. Do you understand?” said the mayor.
“Yes and no.”
“Yes and no?”
“Yes I understand, and no I won’t.”
“I’ll pull your license and have the chief of police arrest you for harassment. Don’t think I’ll hesitate,” he said.
I made a gasping noise.
He glowered. Terrifying.
He said, “I heard you were a smart-mouth jackass.”
“Phrase you’re searching for is, pithy with a formidable intellect. Trouble is, Mayor, those threats are not things you can do. They are cute threats only.”
“Watch me.”
“The chief might bring me in to placate you, sure. Maybe even shout a little. But that’s all he’s got. Besides, he owes me a few favors. This might not go your way.”
I didn’t tell him it would be impossible to do my job if the police hated me or if my reputation was ruined. He could conceivably wreck my career in the long run. If I hadn’t done that myself already.
“You’re a piece of shit, August,” he said.
“I heard a rumor that your assistant makes more than you, Mayor. Is that true?”
“If we—” he said.
“It’s true. I looked it up. Just wondered if you could admit it.”
Robert Wallace’s deep voice interrupted our pissing contest. “There’s still time, August.”
“Oh?”
“Father Louis retired to get you off his back. Because you were embarrassing him. He sacrificed himself for the good of our church. If you back down, maybe he’ll return,” he said.
“I like a lot of things about you, Robert. Including your FJ40 and your determination to preserve what’s noble and holy. But Louis Lindsey isn’t a noble person. He’s not who you think he is, despite the good he’s done. The truth will come out soon. It’s going to be rough. But necessary.”
Robert’s nephew Darrell leaned forward, his face a little red with anger. “Father Louis is a good man. I am alive because of it.”
“Good deeds do not a good man make. You fellas ever cracked a Bible? Worship God, not men.”
“Stop your investigation, August,” said Wallace.
“No.”
“Yes,” said the mayor. “Yes you will.”
“This is a fun circle we’re going in.”
For a dangerous moment I thought Wallace might come around the desk. He owned his own company, kinda ran the church, was used to getting his way. Looked like he wanted to cut me down like a tree. But the anger and fight passed like a rain cloud.
With unexpected hurt, he said, “You’re ruining the church. And for some of us, the church is family.”
He turned to go.
The mayor sniffed. “Life’s gonna get hard on you, Mr. August, you keep this up. Maybe I can’t arrest you, but I can ruin your reputation, got’damn it. Make sure everyone knows not to hire you again.” And he followed Wallace to the door.
Last to go was Darrell, Robert’s nephew. He moved with a limp to accommodate the prosthetic. His descent down the staircase was exaggerated and slow.
I remained standing. My head hurt and I felt rotten.
Mackenzie August. Ruiner of families.