The Church of the Holy Father was housed in an old building that had once been a hardware store. The one-story structure, which was at least seventy years old, was made of concrete and had recently been given a fresh coat of white paint. The roof was black, and three large silver crosses rose from the front facade. The parking area was small, requiring most parishioners to park in an adjacent restaurant lot.
When Dantzler arrived there were only two cars in the church parking lot. He pulled up next to a blue Honda, cut the engine, and got out. Walking toward the front entrance, he recalled that as a young boy he had come here with his father to purchase a ladder and some paint. Less than three months later his father was killed in Southeast Asia.
Dantzler entered the building, looked around, saw no one. As he was about to head toward the pulpit, he heard sounds coming from his left. Turning, he saw a plump middle-age woman standing on tip-toes dusting a large picture of Jesus. Upon seeing Dantzler, she took one last swipe at the picture frame, and then came toward Dantzler, right hand extended.
“Name’s Clara,” she said, shaking his hand. She looked back at the picture. “You wouldn’t think the Son of God could collect so much dust, but he does. I spend half my time keeping this picture and frame dust free. Well, I suppose it’s the least I can do for our Savior.”
“I remember when this was a hardware store,” Dantzler said, looking around. “A guy named Walters owned it.”
“You have an A-one memory. Buddy Walters. He was my first cousin.”
“How long has the church been here?”
“Let me think. Since about nineteen ninety-two. Maybe ’ninety-one. You’d have to ask Brother Isaac to be sure.” She put down her dust rag. “I’m assuming you are Detective Dantzler.”
“I am.”
“Brother Isaac is in his office in the back. Follow me and I’ll show you the way.”
Isaac Whitehouse stood when Dantzler entered the office. He was of medium height, somewhat on the stocky side, with dark eyes, jet black hair, and a full beard. He wore a blue suit and white shirt, with the collar open, and a pair of loafers. Except for the area around the eyes, he bore little resemblance to his father.
“Clara tells me you’re a Homicide detective,” he said, motioning to a chair across from his small desk. “I don’t see many of those around here. Am I safe in assuming you are not here on a spiritual quest?”
“That would be correct.”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m here to talk about your father,” Dantzler said, sitting.
“Ah, an Eli quest. Been years since I trod that path.”
“I’ll make it as painless as possible,” Dantzler said.
Isaac nodded. “I must confess up front that I am more up to date on Holy Scripture than I am on my unholy father.”
“You aren’t close?”
“How can you be close to a man who has been absent for much of your life?”
“I’m sure it’s been a difficult situation.”
“Every family, every individual, will at various times come face to face with trials and tribulations. It is God’s way of testing us. His way of challenging the strength of our faith. Haven’t you been tested, Detective?”
“On occasion.”
“And how do you handle your trials and tribulations?”
“One at a time.”
“A wise approach.” Isaac brushed a piece of lint from his coat sleeve. “What do you want to know about Eli, Detective? And why?”
“I’m looking into your father’s case.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“There isn’t much I can tell you. It was a long time ago.”
“I understand. But you may know more than you realize.”
“I doubt it, but… okay, fire away.”
“Where were you when the murders occurred?” Dantzler said, taking out his notepad and pen.
“Asleep in my dorm room.”
“At the University of Kentucky?”
Isaac nodded. “I was awakened in the middle of the night when my aunt phoned to tell me two men had been shot to death in the old barn. That was really all she knew. I immediately phoned the house, but got no answer. A few minutes later, my aunt phoned again and told me Eli had gone to the crime scene. I dropped by the house later in the day, after classes, but no one was there. By the time I did see Eli, he had been arrested for the murders.”
“How long before you were able to speak with him?”
“I think it was the next day.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me not to believe the things I was about to hear.”
“Did he tell you he was innocent?”
“Sure. He swore to me there was no way he would ever commit a double murder.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I did, initially,” Isaac said. “But when I was told they found his pistol at the murder scene, with his fingerprints on it, I went in the other direction.”
“Do you still think he’s guilty?”
“I’ve seen no evidence to convince me otherwise.”
“Your father swore the gun was in the safe.”
“But it wasn’t, was it?”
“You don’t seem too torn up about any of this.”
“The incident happened twenty-nine years ago, Detective. I was seventeen at the time, a freshman in college. Whatever I felt, and my feelings have varied over the years, I’ve had plenty of time to come to grips with what happened that night. I’ve had to live with the knowledge that my father, a man of God, is in prison for committing a double murder. It hasn’t always been easy, but I’ve dealt with it.”
“Did you know the two victims?”
“No.”
“The original detectives thought the killings resulted from a drug deal gone bad. Do you think your father was involved in drugs?”
“No. He wouldn’t know the difference between a joint and a Camel.”
“Can you think of any members of his congregation who might have wanted him out of the way?”
“Get real, Detective. I was a teenager, I hated being a preacher’s son, and I paid absolutely no attention to Eli or his congregation. Back then I worshipped Bob Dylan and James Dean, not Our Lord Jesus Christ.”
“And yet you followed in your father’s footsteps.”
“Hardly. I answered God’s call, not Eli’s.”
“Even a preacher can have enemies. Can you recall your father ever having trouble with any church members?”
Isaac shook his head. “Those people loved my father. They hung on his every word like it had been faxed down straight from heaven. To them, he was like the thirteenth Apostle. And Eli loved them as much as he loved his own children. Maybe he loved them more than he loved us. He always said, ‘I am the one who shines God’s light into their dark hearts.’ Saving souls was his mission, and he took it seriously. No, Detective, he had no enemies within the congregation.”
“Had to be tough sharing your father with so many strangers.”
“You learn to deal with it,” Isaac said, looking away. “Why are you asking these questions?”
“Because I think your father might be innocent.”
“Well, you have now become the second person to hold that belief, the first being my sister.”
“Rachel?”
“That would be correct. She has never wavered in her belief that Eli is an innocent man. But I would say to you the same thing I have always said to her-show me the evidence that proves his innocence.”
“How old was she when it happened?”
“Eight or nine. And the apple of Eli’s eye. They have always been extremely close.”
“What about your brother?”
“You would have to ask him. I learned long ago not to speak for Tommy.”
Dantzler stood and looked at a large gold plaque on the wall. Inscribed on the plaque were the names of deceased church members. “How many members do you have in your congregation?”
“Almost two hundred.”
“I was told that in his hey-day, Eli’s congregation numbered around six hundred.”
“That’s a fairly accurate estimate, I would say. He was a very powerful, very charismatic evangelist. To this day, he remains one of the finest I’ve ever encountered.”
“That’s a rather generous assessment of a man you seem to have so little regard for.”
“As Eli often said, the truth is the truth, even when it might be distasteful.” Isaac smiled. “If you are asking whether or not Eli was a better preacher than me, the answer is, yes, he was. By many miles. However, my preaching skills are not inconsiderable. I’m no slouch when it comes to spreading the Word, Detective. If you’re wondering why my congregation numbers are small, it’s because of changing times, not because I lack talent. We are old school here. The men and boys wear a coat and tie, the woman wear dresses. Here, we still sing Rock of Ages, not rock ’n roll. I have little or no use for these so-called mega-churches. They are like Wal-Mart-big and loud and offer everything. But at their core they lack soul.”
“Who owns the property where Eli’s church was located?”
“Eli.”
“And what about the property where the murders occurred?”
“It’s all Eli’s.”
“He’s the sole owner?”
“Yep.”
“And when he dies?”
“I assume it will be jointly owned by his three children.”
“Does Eli have a will?” Dantzler said.
“I suppose he does, but I’ve never seen it.”
“That property has to be worth some serious money? Ever had any offers for it?”
“We are besieged with offers on an almost-weekly basis, some of which are rather hefty. One developer wants to put in a shopping center, condos, and a water theme park. There’s certainly more than enough land to do it. But Eli won’t sell, and no amount of money is going to make him budge.”
“Why?”
Isaac shrugged. “No one but Eli can answer that. What I can tell you is that once he passes on, the three of us will sell it in a New York minute.”
“You’ve discussed the matter, then?”
“No. But we’re not fools, Detective. We can use the money. We’ll listen to all offers, choose the best one, and sell.”
“Who pays the property taxes now?”
“You would have to ask Eli’s attorney. I don’t actually know.”
“Colt Rogers?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever had dealings with him?”
“Never. I’ve only met him once or twice.”
“What about Abe Basham?”
“I met with him several times during the lead-up to the trial. After the verdict, I maybe spoke to him a half-dozen times. Tell me, Detective. What makes you think Eli might be innocent?”
“Instinct, mainly.”
“That’s a rather tenuous thread to hang a belief on, isn’t it?”
“No more tenuous a thread than faith in a God who lives in the heavens, or belief in life after death.”
“I like my thread better than yours, Detective.”
“Well said, Brother Isaac.”