Lie Down in Green Pastures (6 page)

"I hate school," Noah admitted. "The thought of going straight to college just makes me sick inside. It makes me feel trapped."

"You could get a job, work for a few years first."

"I want to be able to do more than work at a fast food joint and I'm not really interested in most of the skilled trades like mechanic and carpenter."

"So, what makes you feel that going into the military will be better than going to college or getting a job?"

"I feel like I'd actually be doing something, helping out, you know? And I could learn a lot in the process, maybe figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. My little brother, he's smart, loves to read and study. He wants to be a doctor someday and I think he'll make it. He hated Boy Scouts. He quit after six months. Me, I hate studying, but I loved Boy Scouts. I made Eagle Scout when I was fourteen."

Though he had no experience himself with Boy Scouts Jeremiah still knew that was young to achieve the distinction."What did you like about it?" he asked.

"Everything. It made sense to me. I knew where I stood, what I was doing, what I had to do to excel and achieve the next thing. I loved the outdoors aspects. And I felt like I was accomplishing something real."

Jeremiah cleared his throat, aware that what he said next would likely have a huge impact on Noah with consequences that were as yet unforeseen to them both. "Some people do very well in the military. They like the structure; they like serving; they can both follow and lead. There's nothing wrong with choosing that for a career or even for a short-term experience. However, there are costs, even beyond the obvious physical dangers. It can isolate you from friends and family, even change you. It can become hard to relate to people who aren't in the military. And then, if you do see combat, you'll have to live with the knowledge that you've killed people. Some can and some can't."

"I had thought about the danger, and that I might have to fight, but I didn't think that it could change me," Noah admitted soberly.

"It will change the way you think, respond, react. The military is very good at creating fighting machines. Unfortunately, there is no offswitch for what you will become. It will be part of you for the rest of your life."

"Thank you, sir, you've given me a lot to think about."Noah glanced across the room. "I think my mom wants me for pictures."

Jeremiah stood. "Go be with your family. Days like this are precious."

"I'll think about what you said."

"I hope so," Jeremiah whispered to the boy's retreating back.

4

C
INDY WAS TEN MINUTES EARLY FOR HER MEETING WITH GERALD WILSON. She sat down in a chair in the lobby of the Courtyard and waited nervously. A couple of minutes later a tall, thin man with thick glasses and steel gray hair entered the lobby, saw her, and walked straight over.

"Miss Preston, it is wonderful to finally meet you," he said, extending his hand.

She stood and shook it. "How did you know it was me?"

"My dear, before I retired I worked thirty years in forensics.You are the right age to match the voice I spoke with on the phone. You have a tense air of uncertainty that says that not only are you nervous but also you don't know who it is you're meeting and what they look like. You're here in the lobby early and that very habit of arriving early at places was what caused you to stumble upon the body in the sanctuary when no one else was around except a stranger next door with the same proclivity toward being early."

She was impressed. "Wow, you must have been very good at your job."

"I was," he said with a bright smile. "But, in this case, I cheated."

She tilted her head to the side.

He pulled a newspaper clipping out of his pocket. It was an article about her and it had her picture.

"Oh!" she said, laughing.

"A word of caution, my dear. Now that you are so famous, please do not assume that everyone who can call you by name when they see you, knows you and is someone you have just forgotten. Rather it may be a complete stranger, possibly one who seeks to do you harm."

She flushed. How many times had she forgotten someone's name after they had been introduced? Enough times that she always assumed she was the one in the wrong when someone she didn't know seemed to know her.

"How do I know you're really Dr. Wilson?" she challenged.

He laughed. "Very good."

He pulled out his wallet and showed her his driver's license.Cindy stared at it, but realized she wouldn't know a fake driver's license if she saw one. She nodded finally and he put it away.

"Since this is a Courtyard, should we adjourn to the courtyard?" he asked.

She nodded and followed him. The hotel was built as four blocks of rooms forming a square with a glass roof over the top and an elaborate courtyard in the center boasting walkways, plants, two restaurants, and dozens of benches and secluded tables. It offered a feeling of tranquility to business travelers and Cindy couldn't help but relax slightly as she sat down at a white table surrounded by greenery with the sound of a fountain nearby.

"This is lovely," she said.

"Yes, it is. When I travel I try to choose places like this.The people I interview are reliving horrific experiences and I've found it's helpful for them to be in a tranquil, soothing environment when they do."

"That's very thoughtful of you."

He shrugged. "Some would call it mercenary. The longer I can keep people talking, the more of their story I get." He smiled at her in a way that took some of the edge out of his words. "Now, as you know, I'm writing a book about crime and the myths and legends surrounding it in this part of the country. It's the fourth book of the kind that I'll be writing. I brought copies of my other three for you if you want them."

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that."

"Not at all. I want you to be able to trust that I'll handle your story with sensitivity and not try to turn it into some tabloid article."

She laughed at the thought. "I've got the brain of the killer alive in a jar?"

He shrugged. "Something like that. Some people can be so tactless and will do anything to sensationalize a story. I prefer to let the facts speak for themselves. After all, if there's anything I've learned, it's that fact really is stranger than fiction."

He pulled a digital recorder out of his pocket and set it on the table. "Now, do you mind if I record our conversation?"

"No, I guess not."

"Good, then let's get started."

As Cindy began talking to him and answering his questions about the Passion Week Killer she was surprised at what a good interviewer he was. He allowed her to tell the story in her way and then he asked her questions that she had never stopped to think about before. He slowly dissected every crime scene, every horrific moment and instead of finding it traumatic she actually felt somewhat freed. It was the first time she'd been able to tell someone who hadn't been there in the moment how she felt and what she thought about everything that transpired.

After about an hour he switched the recorder off. "You're doing just fine," he told her. "Most people aren't used to being interviewed and it can be quite comical at times, but you're doing very well."

"Thank you," she said, smiling tentatively.

"Let's take a break for a minute and have something to drink. What can I get you?"

"A Coke would be great."

He left for a minute and returned with two glasses of Coke.Cindy accepted hers, savoring the feeling of the cold glass in her hand, and took a long swig. It was amazing how much better it felt to be doing something other than talking about herself.

"So, what else are you investigating? You said your book was dealing with events local to Southern California."

"Yes. Pine Springs has provided me with an excellent opportunity in that regard. You see, in addition to the story you're already familiar with, Pine Springs is also somewhat infamous for playing host to a rather bizarre cult almost a quarter of a century ago."

"Really? I hadn't heard."

"Oh, yes, it's a fascinating story, actually. A religious leader, a crazed zealot named Matthew, lived in the mountains. He would come into town every two weeks for supplies and to attract new followers. Converts gave him all their worldly possessions, you know, pretty typical fare. People complained, but the police couldn't find anything to pin on him. Everyone who went with him went voluntarily.

"Then a couple of children from wealthy families were kidnapped. Ransoms were paid but the children were never found. Everyone suspected Matthew, but there was simply no proof. Finally, after three years, the entire cult just vanished. Poof! No one knows what happened to them. There are endless theories, some more plausible than others."

"Like what?" Cindy asked.

"Vigilante justice is a popular one, but it seems far more likely that the cult actually migrated, south perhaps."

"I've lived here for a few years and I've never heard that story."

Gerald shrugged. "Most people don't like to talk about it, but the rumors are there. Every couple of years a treasure hunter goes looking since it's rumored that much of the group's wealth was converted to gold and jewels and kept with them."

"Fascinating. I can see the allure," she said.

He smiled. "So can I. Who wouldn't want to stumble upon that kind of find?"

He finished his soda and put the glass down on the table."Okay, returning from the distant past to the recent past. Are you ready to continue?"

"Just about. Who else are you interviewing?"

"I'm planning on speaking with the detectives on this case when they have a minute to squeeze me into their very busy schedules. I don't blame them. I would put bringing killers to justice above discussing solved cases with a writer any day."

"You miss it?"

"Does it show? Actually, I miss the thrill of solving a riddle, of figuring out who did it. I don't miss the trauma of seeing what people are capable of doing to each other and the pressure to find killers before they escape."

"Hence, you write the books you do. Solved any riddles?"

"I think I've got the Lizzie Borden case solved, but I'm keeping that one to myself," he said with a wink.

Cindy laughed and shook her head.

"So, hopefully I can speak with the detectives who worked your case soon."

"You should also talk to Jeremiah."

"I would love to. Unfortunately when I approached you I also approached him and was told in no uncertain terms that he would give no interview. I was also strongly urged not to use his name or the name of the synagogue. He was very adamant about it."

"Why?"

"Many people value their privacy. I can't blame them for that. Being in the public eye changes things. Plus, people cope in different ways. Some people find it helps to talk things out.Others feel a deep need to repress stressful events."

She didn't see Jeremiah as the repressing type. Besides, he had spoken of the events with her since they had happened.She had noticed, though, that he wasn't necessarily fond of being in the spotlight.

"Okay, so what do you want to know now?" she asked.

He asked her more questions that she interspersed with a few of her own. It turned out that Gerald Wilson was a fascinating man with amazing stories from his time as a forensics investigator. After the interview was finally concluded it was dinnertime and he treated her to a meal at the nicer of the two restaurants at the hotel.

He regaled her with stories of his cases and also of the things he had discovered traveling around the country to research his books. When she finally left the hotel and made it home it was just past ten.

Cindy got ready for bed, but found that she was still too wound up to sleep. She hopped on the internet and tried looking up the cult Gerald had mentioned. Unfortunately there wasn't much information, even less as it turned out, than he had already given her.

She sighed.
I guess that's one mystery I won't be solving.
She sat back in her chair.

Then, of course, there was still the mystery of what had happened to Dr. Tanner. She thought about the conversation she had overheard in the pub the night before. She did a search on Max Diamond. Well over a million hits came back.

She tried again, searching for "Max Diamond controversy."A quarter of a million hits. "Well, Mr. Diamond, you must be one interesting character."

She tried again, replacing the word
controversy
with the word
scandal,
and was gratified when ten thousand hits came back. She skimmed the first three pages. Everything seemed to be linked to one of his accountants embezzling money. Hardly what she was looking for.

She tried again. "Max Diamond murder." Her heart skipped when a dozen hits came back but quickly sank when she realized they were all environmental websites accusing the land developer of murdering trees.

It was pointless, and she glanced at the clock to see that it was past one in the morning. She had to go to bed. She shut down her browser and headed for the bathroom. After brushing her teeth she sat down on the edge of her bed and yawned.

It was hard to believe that Dr. Tanner's funeral was the next day. Could it really have been just an accident, a cruel twist of fate that had killed him and involved her and Jeremiah?

It can't have just been an accident.

Accident.

She jumped to her feet and returned to her computer where a moment later she was typing "Max Diamond accident" into the search window.

Several thousand hits came back and she scanned them closely. There were a lot of articles about a handful of accidents on construction sites for property owned by Max Diamond.There were several reports of a minor car accident he was involved in a few years before. She kept going through the pages, something telling her that she was close to what she was looking for.

On the sixth page she found it. There was a two-year-old article from a Nebraska newspaper about the closing of a land deal between Max Diamond and an area rancher. The rancher had tragically lost his wife the month before to an accidental overdose of prescription medication.