"The good Lord loves a listener," Roland said. "Bless you, Brother Sean."
Roland turned to the woman next to Sean. Her name was Evelyn Reyes. She was a large woman, in her late forties, a diabetic who walked with the aid of a cane most days. She had never spoken before. Roland could tell that it was time. "Let us all welcome back Sister Evelyn."
"Welcome," they all said.
Evelyn looked up, from face to face. "I don't know if I can."
"You are in the house of the Lord, Sister Evelyn. You are among friends. Nothing can harm you here," Roland said. "Do you believe this to be true?"
She nodded.
"Please unburden your sorrows. When you are ready."
Tentatively, she began her story. "It started a long time ago." Her eyes welled with tears. Charles brought over a box of Kleenex, retreated, sat in his chair by the door. Evelyn grabbed a tissue, dabbed her eyes, mouthed a thank you to Charles. She took another long moment, continued. "We were a large family back then," she said. "Ten brothers and sisters. Twenty or so cousins. Over the years we all married, had children. We would have picnics every year, big family get-togethers."
"Where did you meet?" Roland asked.
"Sometimes in spring and summer we would meet at Belmont Plateau. But mostly we would meet at my house. You know, over on Jasper Street?"
Roland nodded. "Please go on."
"Well, my daughter Dina was just a little girl in those days. She had the biggest brown eyes. A shy smile. Kind of a tomboy, you know? Loved to play the boys' games."
Evelyn's brow furrowed. She took a deep breath.
"We didn't know it at the time," she continued, "but at some of these family gatherings she had… trouble with someone."
"With whom did she have trouble?" Roland asked.
"It was her uncle Edgar. Edgar Luna. My sister's husband. Ex- husband now. They would play together. Or at least that was what we thought at the time. He was an adult, but we didn't give it much mind. He was family, right?"
"Yes," Roland said.
"Over the years Dina got quieter and quieter. All through her young teenage years she didn't play much with friends, didn't go to the movies or the mall. We all thought it was a shy phase she was going through. You know how children can be."
"Oh my, yes," Roland said.
"Well, time passed. Dina grew up. Then, just a few years ago, she had a breakdown. Like a nervous condition. She couldn't work. She couldn't do much of anything. We couldn't afford any professional help for her, so we did the best we could."
"Of course you did."
"Then one day, not long ago, I found this. It was hidden on the top shelf of Dina's closet." Evelyn reached into her purse. She produced a letter written on bright pink paper, a child's stationery with sculpted edges. At the top were festive, brightly colored balloons. She unfolded the letter, handed it to Roland. It was addressed to God.
"She wrote this when she was only eight years old," Evelyn said.
Roland read the letter from start to finish. It was written in a child's innocent hand. It told a horrifying tale of repeated sexual abuse. Paragraph after paragraph detailed what Uncle Edgar had done to Dina in the basement of her own house. Roland felt the rage rise within. He asked the Lord for calm.
"This went on for years," Evelyn said.
"Which years were these?" Roland asked. He folded the letter, slipping it into his shirt pocket.
Evelyn thought for a moment. "Through the mid-nineties. Right until my daughter was thirteen. We never knew any of this. She had always been a quiet girl, even before the problems, you know? She kept her feelings to herself."
"What happened to Edgar?"
"My sister divorced him. He moved back to Winterton, New Jersey, where he was originally from. His parents passed a few years back, but he still lives there."
"You haven't seen him since?"
"No."
"Did Dina ever speak to you of these things?"
"No, Pastor. Never."
"How is your daughter faring of late?"
Evelyn's hands began to tremble. For a moment, the words seemed locked in her throat. Then: "My baby is dead, Pastor Roland. Last week she took pills. She took her life, as if it were hers to take. We put her in the ground over in York, where I'm from."
The shock that went around the room was tangible. No one spoke.
Roland reached out, held the woman, putting his arms around her big shoulders, embracing her as she unabashedly wept. Charles stood and left the room. In addition to the possibility of his emotions overcoming him, there was much to do now, much to prepare.
Roland sat back in his chair, gathered his thoughts. He held out his hands and they all linked together in a circle. "Let us entreat the Lord for the soul of Dina Reyes, and the souls of all who loved her," Roland said.
Everyone closed their eyes, began to silently pray.
When they were finished, Roland stood. "He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted."
"Amen," someone said.
Charles returned, stood in the doorway. Roland met his gaze. Of the many things with which Charles had trouble in this life-some of them simple tasks, many of them things most take for granted-working on a computer was not among them. The Lord had blessed Charles with the ability to navigate the deep mysteries of the Internet, an ability with which Roland had not been graced. Roland could tell that Charles had already found Winterton, New Jersey and printed out a map.
They would leave soon.
15
Jessica and Byrne spent the afternoon canvassing the Laundromats that were either in walking distance or within reasonable SEPTA distance from Kristina Jakos's house on North Lawrence. In all, there were five coin-op laundries on their list; only two of which were open past 11 PM. As they approached a twenty-four hour laundry called the All-City Launderette, unable to resist any longer, Jessica asked the question.
"Was the press conference as bad as it looked on TV?" After leaving St. Seraphim she had stopped for a take-out coffee at a mom-and-pop on Fourth Street. She had caught the replay of the press conference on the TV behind the counter.
"Nah," Byrne said. "It was much, much worse."
Jessica should have figured. "Are we ever going to talk about it?"
"We'll talk."
As frustrating as it was, Jessica let it go. Sometimes Kevin Byrne put up walls impossible to scale.
"By the way, where is our boy detective?" Byrne asked.
"Josh is shuttling witnesses for Ted Campos. He's going to hook up with us later."
"What did we get from the church?"
"Only that Kristina was a wonderful person. That the kids all loved her. That she was dedicated. That she was working on the Christmas play."
"Of course," Byrne said. "There are ten thousand gangbangers going to bed tonight perfectly healthy, and a well-loved young woman who worked with kids at her church is on the marble."
Jessica knew what he meant. Life was far from fair. It was up to them to exact whatever justice was available. And that was all they could ever do.
"I think she had a secret life," Jessica said.
This got Byrne's undivided attention. "A secret life? What do you mean?"
Jessica lowered her voice. There was no reason to. She just seemed to do it out of habit. "Not sure, but her sister hinted at it, her roommate almost came out and said so, and the priest at St. Seraphim mentioned that she had a sadness about her."
"Sadness?"
"His word."
"Hell, everybody's sad, Jess. That doesn't mean they're up to something illegal. Or even unsavory."
"No, but I'm going to take another run at the roommate. Maybe poke around Kristina's things a little more closely."
"Sounds like a plan."
The All-city Launderette was the third establishment they visited. The managers of the first two laundries had no recollection of ever seeing the pretty, slender blond woman in their place of business before.