Page 12 of Death in the New Year

“He was already motherless. You are not a mother. You are not a woman. You are a Jezebel. A whore, and I will rid this earth of you and all like you.”

He tugged one more time on the rope, her feet now dangling in mid-air. The scraps of fabric she called clothing were now hanging from her body, but it only repulsed him. Taking his knife, he sliced across her abdomen, then down both thighs. That was enough for now. He didn’t want this to end too soon.

After all, you never know when you’ll find something better.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Miller and Trak walked into the church, nodding a greeting at the reverend. Seeing Barry, they casually held a finger to their lips, and he gave a curt nod of his head. Trak took the pews on the left, Miller the right, and they spread out as far as they could.

It wasn’t like it was a full house. With seating for probably a hundred people, there were barely forty in the church. Most of them looked exactly like what had been described. Drag queens, strippers, bartenders, bouncers, waiters, waitresses, and a sundry of other workers from the Quarter. No one in this place had money to spend or throw at the church. These were truly the weary and downtrodden.

Trak had an incredible ability to see everything at once without turning his head. Two pews in front of him to the left was a man he thought he recognized. He didn’t forget faces, but sometimes names escaped him. Signaling Miller, he signed to him to glance at the face. He agreed that the face was familiar, but neither could pinpoint from where.

“Well, it’s wonderful to see so many familiar faces,” smiled the reverend. A man in the front pew laughed and spoke up.

“Looks like you’ve been training for another marathon, Reverend. Ain’t you gettin’ old for that?” The audience laughed, shaking their heads at the man.

“The way I figure it, Pete, Rehoboam had eighty-one children. If he can manage that, I can manage to stay in shape and help my cholesterol,” he grinned.

“Didn’t he have a dozen wives?” smirked one of the women. Everyone laughed at that, including Miller and Trak. They liked this service where people were involved, talking to one another.

“He did indeed, and I assume that you’re implying I’d do better with a wife,” smirked the reverend.

“I would never imply such a thing,” she said, smiling at him.

He had a good chuckle and then casually spoke to them about the season and giving back. He spoke about the needs of the soup kitchen and the rehab facility, where apparently, many of them had been at one time or another. Then, he addressed the death of Imelda. Several people had tears in their eyes, but none more so than Shirley, who was seated in the choir.

“It’s a horrible thing when a woman can’t even be in her own home without fear,” said the reverend. “I’d like to ask that you all take extra care and watch out for yourselves and your neighbors. I can’t afford to lose any of you. You are special to me and to this community. We must stick together and watch out for one another.”

The flock smiled at him, nodding as they sang one final hymn and walked out, hugging one another, waving goodbye.

“Anything?” asked Barry.

“Who is that man over there?” asked Trak. He nodded toward the man, and Barry looked at him, then back at the men.

“That’s Dave Gibbons. He has a colorful past, so it doesn’t surprise me that you might recognize him,” said Barry.

“And what does his present look like? Is it colorful as well or is it more black and white now?” asked Miller.

“He’s a father of two little boys, works for a restaurant in the Quarter. He’s a great pastry chef.” Suddenly, the man turned, staring at Miller and Trak. He swallowed hard, then walked toward them.

“Hello. I think you might recognize me,” he said, looking down at his shoes, his face flushed with embarrassment.

“We did, but Barry says your life is on track now,” said Miller.

“Yes, sir. A big thanks to you and Mama Irene. She connected me with the restaurant and got me into a training program. I was an angry young man, always starting fights and hurting people. I never wanted to. It was as if it was something I couldn’t control.”

“I can understand that urge,” said Trak.

“Yes, sir. I believe you can. You ran me down that night outside the bar. I didn’t know that lady was your wife. I didn’t mean to scare her, and it was wrong of me to do so. I’ve felt guilty for that for years now.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.” He stared at the big man, nodding.

“I know. I was a runner, like the reverend. Only I was fast, really fast. You have to be if you’re going to run from cops and angry people that you’re stealing from.” He shook his head, biting his lower lip. “My life is good now. I’m clean, sober. I haven’t been in any kind of trouble for almost fifteen years now. I have a wife and two little boys that are my whole world. I don’t know what you want with me, but that man fifteen years ago doesn’t exist any longer.”

“We didn’t want anything from you exactly,” said Miller. “We’re trying to find who killed Imelda and possibly another woman. Did you know her?”

“Everyone knew Imelda. She was the reverend’s right-hand woman. She knew everything about the church, the records here, all of it. That woman was always willing to lend an ear and just listen. She never hurt a flea, not that I knew of.”

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