“When we walk with the Lord, in the light of His Word, What a glory He sheds on our way; While we do His good will, He abides with us still, and with all who will trust and obey. Trust and obey, for there’s no other way, to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey.”
The choir and congregation of the Rock of Ages church sang the hymn flatly, with no emotion or conviction. As they finished, pastor Howard Bullock stepped up to the pulpit.
“Good morning, friends and neighbors, brothers and sisters. In Leviticus, chapter 18, verse 22 we read that ‘You shall not lie with a man as with a woman; it is an abomination’. Now, the Bible is pretty clear here. But church, let me tell you. There is a new and exciting treatment available for the homosexual affliction. It’s just outside Lubbock, called the ‘Garden of Hope’. I’ve met with their representatives, and I am happy to refer our suffering young men and women to their service, that they might lead a happy, healthy and normal godly life. For those who don’t know, or may have forgotten, I offer therapy and counseling services here at the church through the week, on a variety of issues. I do this in addition to my normal duties as pastor here.” He continued, “Now, let us all turn in our Bibles to —“
A gunshot rang out. The sound was deafening in the small auditorium. Pandemonium erupted as those without weapons took shelter underneath the pews. Those who carried guns now brandished them, looking for the shooter. It was several minutes before anyone noticed that Howard Bullock was lying behind the pulpit, dead.
Harriet Jacobs dialed 9-1-1 from her cell phone. From underneath the pew, where she was hiding, she answered the call-taker’s questions in a hushed voice. She saw a second body laying on the ground. It was still moving, and she recognized him as Keith Markos, one of the deacons of the church. She couldn’t see any other victims, or the shooter, from her position. The call-taker instructed her to remain where she was.
Ashlynn Stackhouse also called 9-1-1. So did Emily Markos, Terry Jackson, and Marilyn Johnson. The call-taker was overwhelmed. She had to keep putting Mrs. Jacobs on hold to answer the other lines.
When police finally burst into the auditorium, they saw Gerald Johnson and Randy Stackhouse with weapons, and everyone else hiding under their pews. The shooter was long gone.
Police officers questioned everyone in the church, and let them leave family by family, until the auditorium was empty. They had searched the remainder of the building, and come up empty. A search of the grounds yielded the same results. There were no shell casings, or other physical evidence to lead them to a shooter.
The sheriff’s department sent a detective to the scene. The detective was already overwhelmed with work, and suggested that the city call in a private detective. When asked for a recommendation, the detective only had one: Grant Bell. The chief of police flatly said “No” and the mayor didn’t stop swearing for three hours. But Grant was their only hope of solving this case quickly, and in the end, they both relented.
Chapter Two
Grant Bell crushed out a cigarette and downed a shot of whiskey. He stared out his window, wearing nothing but his underwear. Life in a small Texas town could be harsh, and not just the weather. Ever since he was a boy, Grant had one dream: to serve in the United States military. That dream was crushed when he was only seventeen. After speaking with a recruiter, Grant found out that the military wouldn’t accept him because of his diabetes.
His next mission was to join the police force. He applied to the local city police department, the county sheriff’s department, and the Texas Highway Patrol. All rejected him, for the same reason: diabetes. He felt that the inciting incident, what caused the police departments to reject his application, was the night his blood sugar dropped. He wasn’t fully coherent, and wandered into his driveway naked, prompting neighbors to call the police on him.
Accepting his fate, he became a private investigator, and opened a small, one-man firm handling private security and investigations. He did mostly divorces, repossessions, foreclosures, evictions, and such. There weren’t a lot of security jobs. He was on the smaller side in stature, standing 5’10” and weighing in at a buck fifty. But he was scrappy. He had never lost a fight. Sure he had some scars to show, but the other guy always came out looking worse.
Grant had a small office just off the Town Square one block away from the city police department. It wasn’t much, especially on the outside. The building looked run-down and had not been properly maintained. The inside was better, but not by much. But the rent was affordable, and that’s what mattered to Grant.
Work was slow. That was to be expected in a small town in rural Texas. It was steady enough, however, that Grant was able to hire an assistant. He had wanted to hire Kiersten Jacobs. Kiersten was a lovely young girl and he thought she would be an excellent secretary, efficient and easy on the eyes. But Kiersten had turned down the job. Her older brother John had applied for it instead. John, also known as JJ, was as queer as a three dollar bill. Grant was not excited about hiring him, but JJ had proved himself to be a valuable asset.
JJ handled client intake, filing, billing, and the general management of the business, while Grant did the investigating. The two worked well together, despite JJ’s flamboyant personality. Grant wasn’t homophobic or anything, it’s just that JJ was very flamboyant.
Grant’s attention was re-focused on the present by the sound of his alarm going off. It was time to wake up, and he’d not even stopped drinking yet, much less slept. He gave a deep sigh, silenced the alarm and stripped off his boxers for a shower.
After his shower, he dressed and microwaved some instant waffles for breakfast. He gulped them down and made his way out of his apartment building to the office. It was a short walk, only a couple of blocks, around the square, and then another couple of blocks. He had hurried to leave the apartment, but took his time walking in to work. He was never on-time anyway.
JJ was already in the office and hard at work. He had a phone to his ear, listening to the person on the other end.
“Yes, sir. I understand. He just walked in, let me ask him.”
“Ask me what, JJ?”
“It’s Beau Carpenter. He wants to know if you’ll do security for the rodeo again this year.”
Grant lowered his voice. “No, I really don’t want to. Tell him no. We’re already booked.”
JJ put the phone back up to his ear. “Yes, Beau, he would be happy to do it. Yes. It will be three thousand for both nights. Okay, we’ll be there. Uh huh. Okay, goodbye.” JJ hung up the phone.
Grant glared at him. “JJ, you do remember which one of us is the boss, right?”
“Yes, I remember. I also remember that you ain’t worked any this month, and you got to pay me on Friday. How are you gonna pay me if you don’t work this rodeo?”
Grant had no argument for that logic. He knew finances were tight, but he still had turned down four jobs this month. They were all event security jobs, and he hated working events. Concerts, rodeos, tournaments, they all brought crowds. Grant hated crowds. He hated people. He much preferred the private investigation side of his business. Following people around, watching and taking photos, collecting evidence. He also was the county coroner’s assistant, and occasionally filled in when the coroner couldn’t do a death scene investigation. He got paid a flat rate of sixty-five dollars per body by the state for that.
Grant was willing to help the local police with their investigations, but they rarely let him. Even when a private investigation ended up involving the police, they shut him out. He was a joke to them, a wannabe who couldn’t get hired to do real police work.
Grant walked into his office and turned on the TV. It drowned out the sound of JJ making more phone calls. He closed the door behind him and settled into his desk chair. He fired up his MacBook and scrolled through his email. There were no new leads there, except maybe one. Karen Dupuy had begged Grant’s assistance in finding her son’s killer.
Grant was familiar with Karen Dupuy’s case. He’d turned it down twice already. Tyler Dupuy had been a horrible little shit from the get-go. He stole from his mama to get money to buy drugs. His grand-mama smacked him one time for back-talking her, and he pushed her down a flight of stairs, killing her. Of course, nobody could ever prove that. Nobody could ever prove anything, so he always got away with the terrible things he did. And then God hit him with a drunk driver.
There were no eyewitnesses, no traffic video, no evidence. Just Tyler Dupuy’s dead body lying on the side of a county road, and the desperate pleas of a mother begging for justice. Grant thought he might be able to make some progress with the case, but the police refused to let him in, and Karen Dupuy couldn’t pay anyway.
Grant flipped through the TV channels until he stopped on the local news station. The lead story was the shooting at a local church. He didn’t have much interest in the case, but he left the TV on for background noise.
Grant had been in the office about an hour when the intercom buzzed. JJ’s voice came across and said “The mayor is here to see you.”
Grant took his feet off the desk and switched off the TV. The door burst open and JJ entered, followed by the mayor, who sat down in one of the guest chairs in front of Grant’s desk.
“Mr. Bell, I can’t believe I’m saying this — wait, are you drunk? I smell alcohol!”
“Oh, no sir. I had a mimosa with breakfast this morning. Spilled some on me.”
“Very well. As I was saying, I can’t believe I’m here saying this, but we need your help with this church shooting. The city police department doesn’t have a detective anymore, and the guy from the sheriff’s department is covered up. Personally, I wanted to call in the FBI. But I’ve been overruled, temporarily, and the case is yours if you want it.”
Grant leaned back in his chair. “So you don’t have a detective to work this high-profile shooting, and you’re coming to me?”
“That’s correct.”
“Bullshit.”
“Mr. Bell, I don’t have time for your skepticism. If you won’t take the case, I’ll call the FBI.”
“Oh, no. I’ll take the case.”
“Good. Send your invoices to the city manager’s office, and your results directly to me, copied to the chief of police. And we both are to be kept informed every step of the way. Understood?”
“Yeah, JJ, did you understand that? Invoices go to the city manager.”
“Copy that, boss.”
The mayor continued, “The police chief will fill you in on the details of the crime. Please resolve this quickly, without any further media attention.”
“You got it.”
The mayor stood to leave. “Oh, Mr. Bell. One more thing. The future of this department’s cooperation with you rests with this case. Please don’t do anything to cause us to want to dissociate ourselves from you.” He turned and walked out the door.
As soon as the door closed behind the mayor, JJ said, “That’s my Nana’s church. She was there when it happened. I talked to her right after yesterday. She said she conked her head on a pew trying to get to the floor. They really ought to space those pews out better. You want me to tell her you’ll come by? She’ll have a cake baked and everything. She’s one of the best cooks in Collinwood, Texas.”
Grant interrupted. “No, JJ. Don’t worry about calling. We’re just going to show up. Sort of a surprise for your Nana.”
“We? What we?”
“You and me.”
“I ain’t getting in a car with you. Oh no, oh hell naw, I ain’t getting in a car with you. No, no, no, you can drive yourself, by yourself, Miss Daisy.”
JJ swished out of the room and returned to his desk. Grant followed.
“JJ, I really need you to drive me. I’m okay, really, but if I get pulled over, I might get in a little bit of trouble.”
“You’re drunk again. I knew it. You’re always drunk. You old drunk. Okay. But you better not throw up in my car.”
Chapter Three
The trip to Nana Jacobs’ house was a quiet one. Grant felt nauseous and JJ’s driving wasn’t helping. Fortunately, it was a small town and a short trip.
JJ pulled up in front of the house and parked on the street. He didn’t bother knocking on the door, he just opened it and walked on in. Grant followed him.
“Nana! It’s me, JJ.”
“Come on in here! Let me see you!” Nana Jacobs exclaimed.
“Nana, this is Grant. Grant, this is my Nana.”
“Well, hello Grant.” Nana Jacobs said.
“Grant and me are looking into the shooting at the church-house yesterday. The mayor come by this morning and asked us to.”
Nana crinkled her nose. “The mayor. What a putrid, horrible man. I didn’t vote for him, I’ll tell you that. Didn’t vote for him last time, won’t vote for him next time, either.”
“I know, right? But Nana, tell us what happened at the church yesterday.”
“Well, come on in and sit down. Fix you something to eat. There’s plenty of time for chit-chat later.”
“No, Nana, we’re on a case. We’re working. We need to know what happened.”
“Oh, okay. Well, there isn’t much to tell, I don’t suppose. Preaching had just started, and then there was a gunshot. It was so loud, it hurt my ears. I ducked down on the floor and got underneath the pew. I called 9-1-1 on my cell phone. I saw Brother Howard and Keith Markos both laying on the floor shot. That’s all I saw.”
Grant took over questioning. “Okay, Mrs. Jacobs, do you know of anyone who would want to hurt the pastor? Or Keith Markos?”
“Well… I’m not one to gossip, but Gerald Johnson had a fight with Brother Howard just before church. It was pretty loud, we could hear them through the wall of the church office. See, Gerald is the church treasurer, and Brother Howard was asking him for a raise. Gerald told him no, that the deacons had to approve it, and Brother Howard wouldn’t take that for an answer. He threatened to tell everybody that Gerald was having an affair with the church secretary.”
She continued, “And then there’s Randy Stackhouse. Randy and Gerald both had guns on them, they always carry one. But Randy’s daughter, Ashlynn, had been in therapy at the church with Brother Howard. Randy made her stop going and started carrying her to some doctor down in Lubbock, because he thought Brother Howard was molesting her. You know that girl’s only fifteen years old. I don’t know what would make a person do such a thing.”
Grant smiled as he took down notes. This was the kind of gossip he liked to be armed with before questioning suspects.
“Is there anybody else you could think of?” Grant asked.
“Oh, there is one more. That Terry Jackson. His son, Trevin, is being shipped off to some gay conversion therapy program because Brother Howard recommended it. Terry’s wife has been an absolute mess since Trevin came out, and she was over the moon to find out that there was a cure. It all seems like hogwash to me, but what do I know? I’m just a crazy old lady.”
“What about Keith Markos? Any reason you know of that anybody would want to hurt him?”
“No, but I’ll tell you that his life has been a tale of torture. You know he’s the head deacon? Well, his oldest son ran off with some prostitute, ended up getting killed up in New York City. His middle son went off to Iraq, they shipped him back in a box. The youngest is now hooked on heroin. His wife had a double mastectomy for breast cancer last year, and he just found out he has prostate cancer and double pneumonia. Hasn’t been out of the hospital a week, then he gets shot at church, of all places.”
Grant thanked Nana Jacobs, and took a piece of chocolate cake to go, at her insistence. JJ took only a muffin, saying he had just eaten breakfast. As he got in the car, JJ looked at Grant and said, “If you ever leave Nana’s house hungry, it’s your own fault.”
Chapter Four
Grant’s next stop was at City Hall. He wanted to get the details of the police investigation. JJ stayed in the car.
A desk sergeant told Grant that the chief was busy, and directed him to wait in the lobby. After about 20 minutes, an officer came out to speak to him.
“Mr. Bell?”
“Yes. I’m here to see the chief.”
“I’m sorry. The chief has had an unavoidable delay, and won’t be able to meet with you today. Can you come back tomorrow?”
Grant sighed. So this was what cooperation looked like. “Sure. Tomorrow is fine.” He faked a smile, and left the station.
“Where to next?” JJ asked, eager to get away from downtown.
“The hospital. We’re going to see if that deacon saw anything before he was shot.”
When they arrived at the hospital, they were greeted with the news that Keith Markos had died from his injuries. A nurse informed them that the body was being transferred to the medical examiner’s office.
“Well, that was our next stop anyway.” Grant said to JJ.
The medical examiner’s office was located in the basement of the county administration building. Grant knew that he would have to speak to the medical examiner directly, because the autopsy results would go to the chief of police, and he wouldn’t see them until after the case was closed. Luckily, the medical examiner was an old friend.
“Hey, Luke!” Grant called out as he entered the office.
“Back here!”
Grant walked into the morgue. An ambulance crew was just delivering Keith Markos’ body.
“You here for this one?” Luke Gordon asked. Luke had been the medical examiner in Collinwood for twelve years, and worked full-time at the college teaching forensic medicine. He and Grant had crossed paths many times on cases.
“I am.” Grant replied. “That one, and the preacher that came in yesterday.”
“Well, I’ve just barely met this one, but I started on the preacher already. Let me finish this paperwork, and I’ll be right with you.”
Grant waited patiently while Luke finished signing documents for the paramedics and logged the belongings that came in with the body.
“Okay, what can I do for you?” Luke asked.
“I want to know what you can tell me. Cops are stonewalling me, and the mayor wants this solved.”
“Well, you came to the right place. I know more than they do. For example, I can tie my shoes without help. Also, the preacher was shot in the head with a .45. From a preliminary look, I’d say the bullet was intended for the preacher, went right through him and hit the deacon over there. The bullet had a downward trajectory, so the shooter was above and behind the victims.”
“Above and behind? We need a look at that church. Come on, JJ. Thank you, Luke.” Grant said.
“No problem. I’ll get you more information as I have it.” Luke promised.
JJ and Grant went to the church next. The parking lot was cordoned off with police tape. Grant got out and lifted the tape high enough for JJ to drive under.
The door to the sanctuary was also covered with police tape. Grant took out his knife and sliced the tape.
“Are you allowed to do that?” JJ asked.
“No idea.” Grant replied, as he opened the door to the sanctuary. The church was eerily silent.
“Are we sure this place isn’t going to go up in flames as soon as I set foot inside?”
“Get in there!” Grant growled.
JJ ran to a pew near the middle and exclaimed, ‘This is where my Nana was sitting. Boy, these pews really are close together. No wonder she bumped her head. They ought to space these things out better.”
Grant walked to the pulpit and faced the pews. He turned around and looked upward. He estimated where Keith Markos had been standing by the blood stains on the floor. He then drew an imaginary line past the pulpit, ending in the choir loft. He made his way up to the loft, searching the area.
“JJ! Bring me an evidence bag!” Grant called out. He pulled a glove from his pocket and gingerly picked up the casing from the floor. It was a .45, just as Luke predicted.
Grant had just finished bagging the casing when an officer walked in the door. He quickly dropped the bag in his pocket.
“Hey! You can’t be here.”
“Well, how am I supposed to solve the crime if I can’t see the crime scene?”
“This is our crime scene, and you aren’t allowed to be here until we release it.”
“Okay, fine. We’re leaving.” Grant took a last look around as he walked toward the door.
The officer re-sealed the police tape and watched as Grant and JJ left the property.
“You gon’ get us both arrested.” JJ remarked as he drove away from the church. “I hang around with you, I’m gonna go to jail. I swear, for the life of me, I don’t know why I do this job.”
Chapter Five
JJ drove back to the office. Grant walked inside and sat in his chair. “JJ, I want you to research our suspects and find out everything you can about them.”
“Okay. Who are the suspects again? And you better not say Nana Jacobs.”
“Gerald Johnson, Randy Stackhouse and Terry Jackson. Add Trevin Jackson to that list also.”
“Got it.” JJ went back to the outer office.
Grant stroked his chin as he thought. Means, motive and opportunity. They all had motive. This was Texas, and everybody here had a gun, so he could assume they all had the means. As for opportunity, if he could figure out who was in the choir loft, he would have his killer.
“JJ! Add gun registrations to those background checks!” Grant yelled.
“Yes, sir” came JJ’s heated reply over the intercom. JJ was always fussing at Grant for yelling instead of using the intercom.
After a couple of hours, JJ had the background checks ready. He brought a stack of papers into Grant’s office.
“Okay, first up is Gerald Johnson.” JJ pinned Gerald’s photo to the bulletin board. “Mr. Johnson was heard to have a heated altercation with the victim before the shooting. He has a .45 Walther registered in his name. Interesting thing, though, it’s missing. Reported it stolen two nights ago. Rumor has it it he is having an affair with the church secretary. He’s the church treasurer, retired from the co-op, has three kids, all grown and moved away, married to Marilyn Johnson.”
“Next is Randy Stackhouse. Owns the hardware store, suspected the victim of molesting his youngest daughter. He has multiple guns registered to him, including a .45 Smith and Wesson. He has three girls, Taylor, Anna and Ashlynn. Anna moved away for college, Taylor works at the hardware store, and Ashlynn is still in high school. Wife Deanna left him two years ago.” JJ added Randy Stackhouse’s photo to the bulletin board.
“Finally is Mr. Terry Jackson. Works at the oil refinery, has a teenage son, Trevin. Trevin was going to counseling with the victim, and is being shipped off to some hocus-pocus witchcraft bullshit to de-homosexualize him. Our dearly departed pastor recommended the program, and the mother fell for it, hook, line and sinker. Dad’s not happy about the program. Married to Melinda Jackson, Trevin is their only son. And speaking of Trevin, he’s a student at the high school, gets mostly B’s and doesn’t participate in any extracurricular activities. Most interesting thing about him is that he got picked up two nights ago for breaking into people’s houses. Cops turned him over to his daddy, didn’t search him or anything.” JJ pinned the last two photos to the bulletin board.
Grant stood up from his chair. “Well, it looks like Randy Stackhouse is the prime suspect, but I need to speak to all of them.” Grant grabbed JJ’s car keys from his desk on the way out the door. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“You better not wreck my damned car!” JJ called after him.
The Johnson residence was on a quiet, well-kept street. The house was a one-story ranch style with blooming rose bushes in the front. Grant knocked on the front door. Gerald Johnson answered.
“Can I help you?” He asked.
“My name is Grant Bell. I’m investigating the shooting yesterday at the church.”
“Yes, sir, come on in.” He held the door open for Grant, and closed it behind him.
Grant sat on the sofa, and Gerald sat in his easy chair. Grant cleared his throat and said, “So, tell me about this fight you had with the pastor.”
“Ahh. I should have known that would come back up. It was nothing, really. The pastor asked for a raise, said he needed more money. But the church just doesn’t have it. We couldn’t give him any more money. And that’s all it was.”
“What about him threatening to expose your affair with the church secretary?”
“That’s just speculation and rumor.”
“Okay. Who do you think killed him?”
“I think it was Randy Stackhouse. He’s the one with the real motive.”
“Okay.” Grant paused. “Now tell me about this .45 Walther handgun registered to you.”
“Well, like I told the police, I was at the Saturday night church business meeting, and when I came home, it looked like somebody had broken in the living room window. My gun safe was open, and my gun was gone.”
“Any idea who might’ve done it?”
“No. Everybody knew it was there, we had a church party here last week. But nobody I could think of would want to steal it. It wasn’t anything special. It’s only worth about four hundred dollars. I still have my .38, because I carry it on me.”
“Okay. So tell me about the shooting. What did you see?”
“Well, I was sitting in the pew when I heard the shot. I saw the pastor’s face bleeding, and then he went down. Keith Markos was sitting right in front of me, and I saw him fall down too.”
“Did the pastor fall forwards or backwards?”
“He fell forwards, toward me. He kinda slumped over the pulpit before he fell to the floor. I grabbed my gun and started looking around for the shooter.”
“Did you see anybody?”
“No. Everybody was scared and trying to take cover under the pews. The shooter must have slipped out in the confusion. The only other person with a gun that I saw was Randy Stackhouse. Randy’s a good guy, but he definitely had good reason for wanting the pastor dead.”
“One last question. Do you know who all was in the choir loft during the service?”
“No, I don’t remember. But we don’t have a set choir, anybody can sing if they want to.”
“Thanks for the information, Gerald. I’ll be in touch.” Grant stood to leave.
As he left the Johnson house, Grant lit a cigarette. He rolled the windows down, and hoped JJ wouldn’t notice the smell in his car. He decided to skip Randy Stackhouse, and save that interview for last. He drove to the Jackson house.
Terry Jackson had just arrived home from work. Grant parked behind Terry’s truck in the family’s driveway. He got out of the car, and Terry met him at the door. “Can I help you?” Terry asked.
“Yes. I’m Grant Bell. I’m investigating the shooting yesterday at the church.”
“Well, I didn’t see anything. All I know is that there was a gunshot, and people screaming and trying to hide. I was one of them. Nothing more to tell than that.”
“Well, what about your son, Trevin? Was he at the church?”
“He was, but he didn’t see anything.”
“Can I speak to him?”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“No. I don’t have a warrant. Can you tell me who you think would have reason to want to kill the pastor?” Grant hoped a softer tone would keep Terry talking.
“Try Randy Stackhouse. He’s the only one I can think of.” With that, Terry shut the door in Grant’s face.
Grant sat in the car, defeated. He’d hoped to get more information about Trevin and this conversion therapy situation. He thought Terry Jackson’s attitude and actions were a little suspicious. It was getting late, and Grant decided to save the Stackhouse interview for tomorrow. He returned to the office, where JJ was waiting impatiently for his car.
“I was getting worried. I was about to send the police out looking for you.”
“Aww, JJ. I didn’t know you cared so much.”
“I meant about my car. And you better not have been smoking in it, either.”
“Nope. I wouldn’t do such a thing.”
JJ left the office. Grant locked up, and went home for the day.
Chapter Six
The next morning, Grant was at the office bright and early. He wanted to catch Randy Stackhouse at the hardware store, before things got too busy. Grant took his own car this time, since he’d had no alcohol the night before.
When he arrived at the hardware store, Randy was just opening up. He walked in the door, and Randy greeted him. “Can I help you find something?” He asked.
“No, actually I am looking for you. My name is Grant Bell, I’m the investigator looking into the church shooting. I understand you had some trouble with the pastor regarding your daughter, Ashlynn. I was hoping you could tell me about that.”
Randy rubbed his jaw. “It wasn’t Ashlynn. I would have killed him myself if it was. No, I pulled Ashlynn out of counseling at the church and started taking her to a doctor in Lubbock because Brother Howard was molesting another kid. I took Ashlynn to the church for an appointment and saw Trevin Jackson coming out of the office. His clothes were messed up, his pants were still unzipped and he had a white fluid on his face, just above his eyebrow. He went into the bathroom, but I took Ashlynn and left. I never took her back around Brother Howard unless I was right there with her.”
“So the pastor was molesting Trevin Jackson?”
“Sure looked that way. I tried to ask Trevin about it, but he wouldn’t talk to me. I told his daddy what I had seen, and he acted real mad, but Terry wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s a good man. I did figure he would go to the police, though. But I guess there wouldn’t be a point in going to the police if Trevin wouldn’t talk.”
“Do you think Terry Jackson could be the killer?”
“Naw, there’s no way. Like I said, Terry wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“What about Gerald Johnson?”
“Well, Gerald and the pastor got into an argument before church on Sunday. But it wasn’t anything Gerald would kill him over. It was just a disagreement about money. The pastor asked for a raise, and when we all voted Saturday night, I blocked it with a ‘no’ vote. Gerald was just delivering the news to the pastor on Sunday morning.”
“Do you own any guns?”
“Yes. I own a lot of guns. I have a .380, a .38, 9 millimeter, several shotguns, and a .45.”
“Okay. That’s what I needed to know. I’ll be in touch as the investigation progresses.”
“Yes, sir. I’m here if you have any more questions.”
Grant left the hardware store and returned to the office. He wasn’t convinced that Randy Stackhouse had anything to do with the shooting. But Terry and Trevin Jackson were looking much more suspicious now.
When Grant arrived back at the office, JJ was ready to go. “We gotta leave. We have to go see Nana Jacobs. She called and said it was urgent.”
“Okay, let’s go.” Grant turned and went back out the way he came.
At Nana Jacobs’ house, JJ once again skipped knocking and walked right in.
“Hello boys. Fix you something to eat.” Nana said, sitting in her chair.
“I’m good, Nana.” JJ said.
“I’m good, too. I just ate.” Grant said.
“Well, I called you boys over here for a reason. Might as well get on with it.” She fidgeted with the Bible in her hands before she continued. “In Leviticus, it says that man shall not lie with man as he lies with woman, it is an abomination. But that’s not the original translation of the verse. The original translation says ‘Man shall not lie with child as with woman, for it is an abomination.’” She gave a deep sigh. “But it also says ‘Thou shalt not kill’.” Tears streamed down her face.
Grant and JJ both gasped as Nana Jacobs pulled a .45 handgun from her purse, and handed it to Grant.
“I feel guilty for shooting him, but I don’t feel bad at all that he’s dead. When I heard what he did to that Jackson boy, I knew somebody had to do something. I never meant for Keith Markos to get hurt.” The tears fell faster. She held Grant’s hand with hers and said, “I killed Howard Bullock and Keith Markos, and I want to turn myself in.”
The End
