The Lord is My Shepherd Page 2

  “I tripped over him before I could reach the light switch,” she said. “My cards went flying out of my hand.”

  “So, the playing cards are yours?” Mark asked.

  “Yes. It's my lucky deck.”

  “Not so lucky today.” Mark sounded grim. “So you fell, and your cards went flying. What next?”

  “I got up and turned on the lights. I turned to see what I had tripped over, and there he was, lying face down.”

  “Face down?” Jeremiah asked before he could stop himself.

  Mark glared a warning but didn't say anything.

  “Yes. I thought maybe he'd fallen or had a heart attack or something. I asked if he was okay, and when he didn't answer, I grabbed his shoulder like they showed us in the first-aid class and rolled him onto his back. That's when I saw the … the … knife.” She took a deep breath and bit her bottom lip.

  “That's okay, ma'am. What happened after that?”

  “I screamed, I think, and he came.” Cindy turned to look at Jeremiah.

  “I see,” Mark said.

  “I found her here on the floor beside him, and I called 9-1-1.”

  “Have you seen the victim before?”

  Jeremiah shook his head. “No.”

  Jeremiah spied another officer checking out the crime scene. He watched the man walk the perimeter of the sanctuary; his eyes roamed over everything. In the background Jeremiah could hear Mark's droning voice, as he asked Cindy the same questions in three different ways. They trained police to do that. By asking the same questions, but varying the language and prompting for more and more detailed responses, they could often get more information out of witnesses than a simple narrative. They also could tell if a person was lying. It was hard not to slip up when being questioned like that. The second detective had made it almost all the way around the sanctuary when he stopped and bent down. The officer whistled low, and their detective turned to look.

  “Miss, I'll be right back,” Mark said and hurried to join his partner.

  The two bent over to examine something on the floor. Because Jeremiah's line of sight was blocked, he couldn't see what they were looking at. When they stood up, though, he could read their lips.

  The cards belong to the woman. She tripped over the body, and they went flying. Still, make sure you tag them all.

  Done. You get anything solid from her?

  Not yet. She seems clean, but she could just be a good actor.

  Her car was still warm when officers arrived, and this guy's been dead for several hours.

  She could have killed him last night and come back today.

  I don't think so. The pastor says that she was at the hospital most of the night with one of the elderly members of the congregation who was dying.

  We got a confirmation on that?

  I'll call the hospital. I don't think we have anything to worry about with her. How about the guy?

  Works next door. Heard her screaming and came to help.

  Mark walked back toward them. The detective crouched down and touched Cindy's shoulder. In his hand he held a small plastic bag. Inside was a silver cross and chain encrusted with dried blood. Etched into the center of the cross was a lamb.

  “Have you ever seen this before?” Mark asked.

  She straightened slightly and nodded. “That's a Shepherd's Cross.”

  “What's a Shepherd's Cross?”

  “The church gives them out to Shepherds. They're members who volunteer to visit the sick and the shut-ins.”

  “Like you?”

  “No, I'm not a Shepherd, just a secretary.”

  “And just how many Shepherds are there?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Is there any way to know which Shepherd lost this? Any distinguishing size or markings?”

  She shook her head. “They're all identical. You don't think—”

  “Is there anything else you can think of? Did you see anything unusual?”

  “I don't think so.”

  Seeing the blood-covered cross had excited Cindy's interest, but Jeremiah could see she was about to cry again. If a Shepherd had been responsible for the murder, it would be devastating to her.

  “I don't think she remembers much right now,” Jeremiah offered. “She's still in shock.”

  Mark looked at him again with intense scrutiny. Even though it made him uncomfortable, Jeremiah knew how to sit quietly and stare back calmly.

  “Okay,” Mark relented. “Ma'am, is there a place we can reach you if we have any further questions?”

  Cindy nodded and gave the detective her home phone number. Jeremiah then gave his to the detective as well.

  “One last thing, did either of you touch anything?”

  Jeremiah shook his head no. Cindy nodded.

  “The door and the light and … him … when I rolled him onto his back. And, of course, my cards.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “I don't think so,” she said.

  Mark turned back to Jeremiah. “We're done with her for now, so she might want to go home. We still need to question the rest of the church staff. She should consider taking a day or two off. I'll call later this week if I have more questions for either of you.”

  “But I can't take time off,” she said. “This is Easter week, and there's so much to do.”

  “Cindy, you can call your pastor later today and make that decision with him, okay?” Jeremiah said.

  “I suppose … ”

  Mark continued to stare at Jeremiah. “We're not done talking with the other people who work here yet. I can get one of the other officers to take her home.”

  “You probably need them here. I can run her home,” Jeremiah said.

  Mark gave him the ghost of a smile. “Thanks, Samaritan.”

  Jeremiah just nodded. He refused to let the detective bait him.

  As she walked out of the sanctuary, Cindy took a deep breath of fresh air, which seemed to clear her head. A crowd of strangers stared and whispered as she passed by. She had never felt so on display. Pastor Roy was talking with a detective, but he smiled at her and gave a reassuring nod. She'd call him later. What a sight she must be! She still wore Jeremiah's coat, and he had his arm around her shoulders, half-pushing her toward the parking lot.

  Only a short hedge separated the parking lots of the church and the synagogue. A small gap in the bushes close to the buildings allowed people to cross from one parking lot to the other. The dirt pathway was a testament to the unspoken accord the two congregations had shared for nearly thirty years. On Sunday mornings the church used the synagogue's lot for overflow parking. On Saturday mornings the synagogue did the same.

  Jeremiah steered Cindy toward his car, an older black Mustang. She hesitated a moment. Was it safe to leave with him? After all, he was really a stranger to her. She glanced over her shoulder, but no one looked their way. Her coworkers would be occupied by the police for quite a while. Jeremiah opened the car door, and she allowed him to help her inside. Moments later they drove out of the lot.

  “Right or left?” he asked.

  “Right. Then right on Stanton,” she said.

  She looked at Jeremiah sideways. “I thought you were the murderer when I first saw you.”

  “Lucky for you I wasn't.” He glanced at her and smiled.

  “Yeah, lucky.”

  “It explains why you tried to get away from me, though.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don't be. You were terrified, and I came out of nowhere. You seem better now.”

  “It helped to leave.”

  “Not surprising,” he said. “Sometimes a little sunshine can chase the shadows away.”

  “I like that.”

  He turned onto Stanton Street. “Now where?”

  “Turn right at the signal,” she told him, forcing her eyes back to the road.

  He nodded and slowed as he made the turn. “You're the church secretary?”

  “Yes.”

  “So basicall
y you run the church?”

  She laughed, and the sound surprised her. “I'm not sure that the pastor would agree with you.”

  “Then he's an idiot.”

  “I wouldn't say that,” she said.

  “I would. Marie, the secretary at the synagogue, is like the field marshal. She schedules meetings and events, makes sure everyone knows what they're doing every day, keeps the staff informed of what's going on, listens to everybody's problems and tries to solve them all.”

  “That pretty much sums up my job. So, what is it you do at the synagogue? I think you probably said, but I don't remember much of the last hour.”

  “I'm the rabbi.”

  “Oh!”

  He laughed. “It's really not that impressive. I just try to help people like you do. Then once a week or so I get up and make a speech.”

  “You're being modest.”

  “Am I?”

  She nodded. “I've attended synagogue a couple of times, and I know there's a lot more to it than that.”

  “Really? You better tell me so I can expand my job description.”

  Cindy wished she had a witty response, but at the moment, she felt as if her brain were fogged like a windshield on a cold day. Instead, she just stared out the front window.

  “It's left on this next street, second house on the right,” she said.

  He pulled up outside her tiny yellow house with white trim. She stepped out of the car and felt a chill run up her spine. For a moment she had an image of walking into her home and tripping over another dead body.

  Cindy jumped as Jeremiah's hand descended on her shoulder. She hadn't even realized that he had gotten out of the car.

  “I'll walk you inside,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Thank you.” She took a deep breath and walked up to the front door, pulling her keys from her purse.

  “Wait!” he whispered.

  She stopped. Something in the tone of his voice commanded obedience. She turned and stared at him. His eyes were no longer deep and gentle but blazing, and his jaw was set.

  “What is it?” Fear washed over her.

  “The door.”

  Slowly, she turned and looked. It stood ajar. Not much, just a crack, but it had been opened. Blood drained from her face. When she heard footsteps, she grabbed Jeremiah's arm. Someone was in her house!

  3

  WHAT DO WE DO?” CINDY'S VOICE QUIVERED.

  “You're not expecting anyone?” Jeremiah asked.

  She shook her head no and fixed eyes dilated wide with fear on him. I should call the police, he thought. It was probably just a common burglar, but the timing was suspicious, and it could be the murderer.

  He could hear one person moving around in the room just inside the door. If there was anyone else in the house he couldn't hear them. He crept closer to the door, squatting down slightly and presenting his right shoulder toward the house. Just as he reached the door he could hear the intruder start to whistle.

  Staying well to the side, he motioned for Cindy to get behind him. Her breathing came fast and loud. He pushed open the door. A man stood in the hallway. He shouted as the door opened, and Cindy screamed.

  Jeremiah could see both of the man's hands, and they were empty. He vaulted through the doorway and reached the stranger in two bounds. He shrank back from Jeremiah and raised his hands to ward him off. Jeremiah grabbed the man by the shoulder and stopped short before slamming his head into the wall.

  “Mr. Grey!” he heard Cindy cry. “What are you doing here?”

  “You know him?” Jeremiah asked, without looking at her.

  “Yes, he owns the house.”

  Jeremiah released him and took a step back but kept his eyes trained on the other man's face.

  “Cindy, what's going on here?” Mr. Grey demanded.

  “I'm so sorry, Mr. Grey. We saw the open door and thought you were a burglar.”

  The older man's countenance relaxed. “I'm sorry I frightened you. I'm here to do the maintenance on the air conditioning.”

  “What maintenance?” she asked.

  “I'm checking it before summer gets here to make sure the ducts are clean. I left a message on your answering machine last week.”

  “I didn't get it,” Cindy said. “I'm sorry. Harold Grey, this is Jeremiah, the rabbi at the synagogue next door to First Shepherd.”

  “Rabbi,” Harold said, offering his hand.

  Jeremiah shook it warily, still not liking the situation. He noticed that after the initial surprise Harold wasn't looking either him or Cindy in the eyes.

  “Mr. Grey, sorry if we scared you,” Jeremiah said.

  “That's all right. I figured I would just slip in and check out the system while Cindy was at work so I wouldn't have to bother her. Speaking of which, is everything okay, Cindy?”

  “A man was killed at the church, and Cindy found his body this morning,” Jeremiah said.

  Harold jumped slightly. “Killed! That's terrible! Was it a church member?”

  “No,” Cindy said. “I'm sorry, the police sent me home after they took my statement. The rabbi was kind enough to drive me,” she said.

  All the blood drained from her face, and she started to rock slightly. Jeremiah jumped forward just in time to catch her as she began to slump.

  “She's fainted. Help me,” he told Harold.

  Together they carried her to the couch. Harold headed for the kitchen and returned with a cold, wet cloth, which Jeremiah used to bathe her face before putting it around the back of her neck.

  Cindy's eyes fluttered open. “What happened?”

  “You fainted, but you're fine,” Jeremiah said.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Harold asked.

  “No, I've got it,” Jeremiah said.

  “I should probably go then. I was just about to leave when you two arrived. Cindy, is there anything I can get you?”

  “No, thank you. I'm sorry, Mr. Grey.”

  He patted her hand. “Just try and get some rest. We'll talk later.”

  Jeremiah saw the older man to the door and closed it behind him. Alone, he turned and looked at Cindy. “I'm just going to take a look around and make sure there are no other surprises.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a voice full of relief.

  From where he stood he could see all of the living room and the kitchen. He headed for the hallway and discovered two bedrooms and a bathroom. One bedroom looked like it was used as an office, with a filing cabinet, a desk, and chair. He moved over to the computer. The computer was off. He opened the closet and spotted a couple of board games and a few boxes labeled “crafts.”

  From there he entered Cindy's bedroom. A bed, chest of drawers, and a dresser filled the small space. On the night-stand lay a Bible and a couple of other books that looked like they were retold fairy tales. Everything in the room reflected a pale shade of green. Only shoes and clothes filled her closet. Satisfied that nothing seemed out of place he returned to the living room.

  Cindy sat up straight on the couch and looked much better. “Thank you for being my hero again.”

  He smiled. “You know us heroes—never satisfied with rescuing the damsel once. As long as she's in danger we have to keep rescuing her.”

  “This damsel is extremely grateful. Thank you, Rabbi.”

  “Jeremiah, please, Ms. Preston.”

  “Call me Cindy.”

  He smiled. “You have a nice place here.”

  “Thanks. Mr. Grey rents it cheap to staff members. I could never afford it otherwise.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “Better,” she said. “I've never seen a murder victim before.”

  “I know,” he answered.

  “I'm sorry. First murder, first unknown person in my house, first time fainting. You've really caught me at my best today.” Cindy shook her head.

  “I think you've handled it pretty well, considering,” he said. It was time for him to go, but he found himself delaying. He wasn't
sure if it was out of concern for her or curiosity about the murder.

  “I just keep going over it in my head, you know?” she said. “I mean, who would want to kill that guy and in the church? It makes no sense.”

  “I'm sure it made perfect sense to the murderer.” He smiled warmly.

  “Probably. It's just, I usually feel safe in the sanctuary and now I don't feel safe. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I grew up in Israel. Sometimes safety seemed like a luxury,” he said.

  “I had no idea. That must have been hard with all the violence.”

  He shrugged. “When a place is home and it is all you know, you don't stop to think about how it could be different.”

  “You must have left when you were young.”

  “Why do you think so?” he asked, letting himself smile at her.

  “You sound American. I would have thought you grew up around here.”

  “Thank you. Are you going to be okay?”

  “I think so. I just wish I knew why that guy was killed.”

  “You would feel better if there was a real reason, and it wasn't just some random act?” he asked.

  “Much. I know that probably sounds lame. I'm just not a big fan of randomness.”

  “Well, I wouldn't worry about it. I'm sure the police will figure out who did this and why,” Jeremiah answered.

  “The door was locked. I know it was. There aren't many people who have a key to the sanctuary. How did he get in there?”

  “Maybe the killer let him in.”

  He regretted saying it as she turned pale.

  “There was a youth rally last night,” she muttered.

  “Would the kids have been in the sanctuary?”

  “No, it should have been locked before they got there last night.”

  “Hopefully, by the time you get back to work they will have caught this killer.” He edged toward the door. “You should put some antiseptic and bandages on your knees.”

  “Thanks. How long have you been a rabbi?” she asked.

  He smiled. “Two years. Speaking of which, I should get back before my secretary decides I'm what all the commotion is about.”

  Cindy smiled wanly. “We can't have that.”

  “Yes, when she gets going—” He let an exaggerated eye roll say the rest for him.

  “Thank you again. For everything.”