3 Gates of the Dead (The 3 Gates of the Dead Series) (7 page)

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“No, I am quite serious. In fact, we have thought about arresting you.” Jennifer reached for something behind her back. I could only assume it was handcuffs.

I had no idea whether she was bluffing. I didn’t watch many police shows, so I didn’t know if she could just arrest me because she felt like it. I looked at the note again. “You might want to wait before you put me in handcuffs.”

For the first time, she looked puzzled. “Yeah, why?” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“Because of the comma.”

“What are you talking about?”

I held up the piece of paper. “Here. Notice what it says. It says, ‘Aidan,’ comma, meaning, this message is addressed to me, it seems. Or she wanted it to get to me.”

“Why would a comma make a difference?”

I let out a little snort. “Because Amanda is … was … an English teacher who was anal about grammar. If she had wanted to tell you that I was the killer, she would have been more precise.”

Jennifer frowned. “People forget themselves when they are about to die.”

Every horror movie, serial killer, and dissecting video I had seen began to show in my mind. Every dead body had Amanda’s face on it. Bodies with arms missing, stab wounds, blank, staring eyes.

“Pastor Schaeffer?”

“I’m sorry; I’m just having a hard time with this. I really loved her, you know.” I took a drink of my water to wash down the lump in my throat. “And as for the comma, you don’t know Amanda.”

“Enlighten me.”

I paused with a little smile on my face as the tears began to run down my cheek. I wiped them with the back of my hand. “When I first met her, I preached on a Sunday when our pastor was gone. Amanda had decided to come to our church to visit. She walked up to me after the service and told me my sermon was great, but the grammar was terrible.”

“And then what, you asked her out to lunch?” Jennifer rolled her eyes.

I smiled. “That is exactly what I did, actually.”

“Gutsy of you,” Weaver commented with a small smile.

I shrugged. “Couldn’t really help myself.”

Jennifer didn’t smile and continued to stare at me.

A knock on the door interrupted us before an overweight, mustached man popped his head in the room. “Detectives?”

“If you’ll excuse us a minute, Pastor Schaeffer,” Jennifer said. They walked out and closed the door.

My muscles ached as if someone had just beaten me senseless. I realized I had been tensed up during the entire exchange. I wanted to cry again, but I didn’t want to give the watchers behind the glass a chance to see it. I wanted to be alone at home, and be really, really piss drunk in the grand tradition of my Irish ancestors.

The detectives came back ten minutes later. I noticed their demeanor had changed, and their faces were a bit more relaxed.

“Well, it seems your story checks out,” Jennifer said. “The Wilkes’ are coming down to the station to file their report.”

“Great, so now the whole church will know I’ve been suspected of murder.”

Her unreadable face changed to a wrinkle of disgust. “Pastor Aidan, trust us to handle things a little better than that.”

“Trust you? You have me come down here without telling me why and tell me the woman I loved was killed. And then, you nearly accuse me of her murder. Sorry if I don’t participate in a trust fall with you anytime soon.”

I thought she was going to jump over the table at me, but she leaned forward and pointed a finger at me. “It’s my job. There are things I have to do sometimes that I don’t like. Surely a minister understands that.”

She had me there, but I didn’t want to admit it.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have the power to ruin people’s lives and reputations with a false accusation.”

“Of course you do; you’re a minister. Don’t you do that all the time?”

I about came out of my chair when Lieutenant Weaver broke in.

“Okay, that’s enough, Pastor Schaeffer, it had to be done. You can deal with that by knowing that we are just trying to figure out who killed Amanda.”

“So what you really mean is, grow up, be a man, and help us any way you can now, is that it?” I said as I ran my hands through my hair.

“That’s about right,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Fair enough.”

Jennifer remained silent but stared at me with her arms crossed. “I know it’s painful, but can you tell us anything about this boyfriend?”

I shook my head. “No, she didn’t say much about him, except that he was more mature and spiritual, whatever that means.”

“So, maybe older?” Jennifer pressed.

I scratched my arm. “I suppose that’s possible. She didn’t like me spending time on my PlayStation or watching
SpongeBob SquarePants
.”

Jennifer raised her eyebrow. “You watch
SpongeBob SquarePants
?”

“I like cartoons, sue me. I watch it with my brother’s kids when I visit. They got me hooked. I also like Stanley Kubrick films, quiet country music, and a nice smooth whisky. Do you want all my hopes and dreams now?”

Lieutenant Weaver interrupted. “What about the message? I’m willing to bet she was trying to tell you something, but what could it be?”

“Truthfully, lieutenant, I have no idea. I know it looks weird. I just don’t have any explanation for you. My bitterness would say that ‘he’ refers to whoever this boyfriend might be. Seeing as I didn’t know him, she might be telling me something else.” I paused. “May I ask where she was murdered?”

Jen looked at Lieutenant Weaver who nodded. “She was murdered at the Confederate Cemetery.”

I scrunched up my face. “Confederate Cemetery? As in where dead soldiers from the South are buried? We have one of those in Columbus?”

Weaver gave Jennifer a thin smile. “Ah, here’s another one! You owe me ten bucks, Jen. I told you most people in Columbus didn’t know that.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s because most people in Columbus are stupid when it comes to their own history.”

A bit pissed by their banter, I broke in. “I’m actually not from Columbus. I’m from Indianapolis.”

“No excuse,” she said.

“Okay, whatever. How was she killed?”

“We aren’t releasing details of that right now, not even to the family,” Weaver said.

“Why?”

They glanced at each other again. “Let’s just say there are elements to this case we prefer the public didn’t know as of yet,” Jennifer said.

I nodded. “I just want to be helpful.”

“We don’t have any more questions for you, Pastor Schaeffer.” Weaver stood up. “Thank you for coming in. I need to run, so Jennifer is going to finish up.”

He left, and Jennifer and I stared at each other.

“Listen, Detective Brown, Jennifer, I’m sorry I snapped. I’m just in shock, and my emotions aren’t always in check. I have a bit of a temper.”

She smiled, her lips tight. “Me too, and I’m sorry.”

“Well, let’s agree to forgive each other then.”

“Fair enough.” She handed me her card. “If there is anything you can do to help us in this case, please call. If we need to talk to you again, may we call you?”

“Of course. I just want you to find the sick bastard or bastards who did this.”

“I didn’t know that pastors used that word.”

“Only me. I have a problem with my mouth.”

“Well, thank you for coming in.” She offered her hand. The touch sent a sensation through me that I hadn’t felt in a while. She took her hand away as our eyes met. “I’m sorry, Aidan, I’m sure she meant a lot to you.”

“Thank you, she did.” My throat tightened again. “I guess I always thought she would come back to me at some point.”

She nodded, fingering her scar. “I understand.”

“Let me know if there is anything else you need.” I walked out of the room not waiting for her response.

Chapter Ten

“That’s been my past forty-eight hours, Brian, finding out my spiritual leader is having an affair and almost being arrested for murder.” I held the phone between my head and shoulder as I stirred my homemade spaghetti sauce for dinner.

“Excuse me, but holy shit!”

“No excuse needed, and I hope your wife is not around to hear your language.” Ashley was one of those women who blushed when she said “crap,” but since she was one of the kindest, most beautiful women I had ever met, I forgave her for that flaw. For some reason, she loved me like a brother, even though I had been a corrupting influence on her husband.

“Nah, she’s at her book club tonight.” He paused. “I can’t believe Amanda is…” he stuttered, “gone. I’m sorry; that sounded so heartless.”

“It’s okay, man. Seriously.” I added the onion I had chopped up. My eyes watered, though I didn’t think it was because of that.

“So, you didn’t do it, did you?”

“Are you serious?” I slammed down the wooden spoon.

“I just had to ask. It’s good to know I’m not friends with a murderer.”

“This is serious, Brian! Amanda’s dead!”

“I know, which is why I asked.”

“What would you have done if I had confessed?” I wrinkled my brow.

“Come on, it’s not like I really believe you did it. Don’t get your panties in a twist. But you have to admit, you would have been wondering the same thing if it had been me.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. I knew that he really didn’t believe I would have killed Amanda, or anyone else for that matter. Still, for a moment, I felt very alone.

“Aidan? Are you mad at me?”

“No, not really. Natural enough question, I suppose.” And it was. I had to keep telling myself that. Whenever a woman was murdered, so I had read in P.D. James’ novels, the lover or ex-lover was usually the first to be suspected.

“Who do you think really did it?”

I took a sip of beer. “I’m not sure. Maybe it was this guy she left me for, but I never actually met him, of course. I probably would have kicked his ass if I had.”

I closed my eyes as I fought another round of tears.

“Most likely.” Brian agreed. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Try to help in any way I can. I still love her, or loved her, so I feel I owe her something.” My voice cracked. Thankfully, Brian didn’t notice.

“Even after six months of not talking to her?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Weird, isn’t it?”

“No, Aidan, it isn’t weird at all.”

I stirred the spaghetti sauce. Bishop nosed my leg, and I fed him a dog treat. I guessed Brian was right. It wasn’t weird. I still loved Amanda but tried to deny it the way most men did when they had their pride destroyed — by acting as if it didn’t bother us at all. Inwardly, we asked pretty much the same questions women did. Did I do something wrong? Could I have made changes to make her stay? Treated her better? I hadn’t always been the most considerate person in the world.

I felt a totally irrational desire to prove to her that I loved her by finding her killer.

“I don’t know how I can help, Brian. I have no idea where to start looking.”

“Did she leave any personal stuff at the condo? Things you might be able to look through?”

“No, there’s nothing but a few CD’s and other small stuff I have to give to the police. Wait…” I said, closing my eyes as I thought.

“What is it?” Brian asked.

“I just remembered that I have a key to our storage shed. I hadn’t gotten around to getting my stuff out because I didn’t want to take the chance that I would run into her.”

“Well, give the attractive Detective Brown a call and have her personally escort you.”

“Who said she was attractive?”

He laughed. “You keep talking about her in ‘the voice.’”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“You make this voice that you use when you think a woman is really good looking. You use it every time you talk about my wife.”

“Brian, I…”

He laughed again. “Don’t worry about it, man. Can’t be married to an attractive, fantastic woman and expect to be the only guy who notices.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, she is the total package.” I stirred my dinner. “Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be finding my total package in Detective Brown. We didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

“Hey, call it romantic tension.”

“Right. It really gets me going that she thinks I’m a murderer.” I paused. “Besides, Brian, I really loved Amanda.”

“I know you did.”

I tasted the sauce. It needed a few more minutes. “I don’t even know if we’ll find anything in that shed. I don’t really want to go there.”

“Why not?” Brian prodded.

“Because it’s near a grave…”

I dropped the spoon on the floor.

“Aidan?”

“Caves of the Dead. I know what Amanda was trying to tell me.”

“What?”

“When we first got the shed, we noticed the graveyard right behind it. We made a joke that the storage sheds were like the caves of the dead.”

“Wow. Maybe you should call Detective Brown now.”

“It’s eleven o’clock. I think it can probably wait until the morning.”

“I wouldn’t wait. Call her. In these types of cases, from what I understand, time is everything.”

I poured a glass of wine and took a big sip. “You’re right. I do need to run though, the sauce is about ready.”

“Okay, but we didn’t even get to talk about your faith.”

The shift in topic threw me. I was not ready to talk about this subject with him. I didn’t want to tell him I had lost it completely. It was still too painful, and I didn’t feel like being the object of his pity. There was too much other stuff to deal with.

“It’s fine, getting a little better.”

“Even with the whole Mike situation?”

“Yeah, I mean, that didn’t help, but I got over it.”

“Good. I was praying that you would. Keep me posted.”

“You bet. See you, bro.”

I picked up the phone and looked at the card Jennifer had given me. She had told me to call if anything else came up. I guess this qualified, but I couldn’t help being nervous.

Come on, Aidan. It’s not like you are calling a girl for a date.

And she wasn’t just a girl. She was a detective investigating the murder of my ex-fiancée — a murder I had some sort of link to — so it was doubtful she would ever think about me in any other way. I kept telling myself that, but I couldn’t stop thinking of her smile and her body, and the way she smelled. I closed my eyes and shook my head.

This had to be all business.

I dialed her number.

“Hello, Pastor Aidan.”

“Caller I.D.?” I asked.

“No, I’m a cop. We have a sixth sense about who is calling us, part of the training.”

“Uh, right.”

“That was a joke.” Jennifer chuckled.

“Right, I know, sorry.” This hadn’t started well.

“Did you have something for me? I’m kinda busy right now.”

I wondered if I had interrupted a date or something. “I just remembered something about Amanda, or rather, something of hers that I have.”

“What’s that?”

“I have a key to her personal storage shed.”

There was silence at the other end of the phone.

“Detective Brown?”

“Yes, I’m here. Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“Well, I guess shock would be a good word. I hadn’t thought about the storage shed in a while.”

“Do you have the key in your possession?”

I walked up to my bedroom and took out the box with Amanda’s stuff. The key was attached to yellow receipt paper. “I’m staring at it right now.”

“I’m gonna have to get a warrant to get into that place.”

“No, you won’t. I have the password to get in, and I’m on the lease papers. I had some stuff there.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Just stupid crap. Some books, old CDs, I think.”

“I’m on another case right now, but I need to see inside the shed. Can I pick you up first thing tomorrow?”

“Uh, yeah, I have to run to the church in the morning. I could meet you there at eight.”

“Eight works for me.” Her voice became soft. “Listen, I’m sorry about today. I came off like a bitch.”

Well, this is interesting.

“It’s really okay; you were just doing your job.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t just that.”

“What?”

She paused. “This case is creeping me out.”

I looked at the phone. Was this the same hard woman I had talked to this morning?

“Aidan, are you there?”

“Yes, sorry, just making sure I heard you. Can I ask why?”

“I think it would be better if I showed you tomorrow. Actually, you might be able to help the investigation. So, see you in the morning?”

“Right. See you then.”

I sat down on the couch and rubbed Bishop’s ears. My mind went to the soulless Xerox copy that had been Amanda’s last words.

“Bishop, what was your mommy trying to tell us?”

He looked up and whined.

“I know, bud. I can’t figure it out either.” I tried to remember what Amanda told me about the guy she left me for. He was a head pastor at another church. She would not tell me anything about him because she knew I might figure out who it was. Amanda lived alone, so she had no roommate to talk with, and all her friends lived in Cleveland. So, I had little to go on.

I hoped the storage shed would have some answers.

I lifted the box to put it back in my closet when I noticed some photos stacked at the bottom. I pulled them out and saw Amanda’s face, smiling at me. I glanced at our pictures. I saw the photos of our trip to Disney World with her family, a friend’s wedding, and numerous barbecues. Each picture brought a memory, like the time I told her I loved her or the first time we kissed. Most of all, I remembered when I proposed to her in a boat on Lake Erie. We made love for the first time in the woods on Put-in-Bay Island. Christian guilt followed a desire to do it again and again.

She had almost been my wife, my total package, and now she was dead, murdered in some obscure, horrible way that not even seasoned detectives wanted to discuss.

Tears dropped onto my cheek, and I felt full-on sobs coming. Taking deep breaths, I stood up and stumbled down the stairs. My body shook, and I gasped. Going to the fridge, I opened it and pulled out four beers.

I drank the first one without even thinking. I popped open another and gulped it down almost as fast. The room began to spin as I took the other two with me to the couch.

Hopefully, by the time I got to the fourth beer, I would pass into oblivion and remember nothing. At least, for a little while.