“Because I’m telling you I am. I may have many negative qualities, Detective, but being a liar isn’t one of them.”
Dantzler sat, stared at the floor for several seconds, and then looked at the Reverend. “You’ve been here since, what… ’eighty-two, and you’re just now declaring your innocence? In all those years, not one squawk, not one appeal. You never once cried foul. Something about that doesn’t ring true.”
“I didn’t kill those two people, Detective Dantzler. That’s the truth.”
“Why now? Why me?”
“Why now? Let’s just say circumstances have changed within the past two weeks. Changed in a positive way from my standpoint. As for why I chose you, simple. I checked up on you, and from everything I could learn, you’re a first-rate detective.”
Dantzler reached into his coat pocket and took out his notepad.
“What are you doing?” Eli asked.
“I’m gonna take some notes.”
“No, you’re not. You don’t need notes. You’re young… your memory is fine. Put that away.”
“Notes ensure accuracy.”
“You’re not preparing for an exam, Detective. Lose the cheat sheet.”
“You don’t like it, tell me to leave,” Dantzler waited for the Reverend’s response. When the old man remained silent, Dantzler flipped the notepad open, and said, “Tell me about the circumstances. What changed?”
“Can’t do it, Detective. Sorry.”
“Why not?”
“Silence is golden.”
“Clever answer, but not very helpful,” Dantzler said, shaking his head.
“It’s all you get.”
“I don’t work closed cases.”
“Then open it,” the Reverend said. “Give it a fresh look through a new pair of eyes. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get it right this time.”
“They got it right.”
“No, they didn’t.”
“The evidence-all the evidence-says you were guilty.”
“That evidence is much like some of your religious beliefs, Detective. It’s dead wrong.”
“What’s wrong about it?”
“That’s for you to find out.”
“You’re not doing much to convince me to take this case.”
“You’re already convinced, Detective. You just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.”
“Let’s say I believed you, Reverend, which I don’t. But for the sake of argument, I’ll pretend I do. You would have to give me a lot more than your assurance that you are innocent before I would agree to pursue this. A whole lot more.”
“I’ll give you two reasons, Detective. First, the drugs. They found heroin, cocaine, and pills at the crime scene. I had nothing whatsoever to do with drugs. In any way, shape, or form. Ever. Wouldn’t even know what they look like or how they smell. They were planted at the scene.”
“Not good enough. Anyone in your situation is going to say exactly that. Your second reason needs to be much better or we have nothing else to discuss.”
“The gun. Do you really think I would leave the murder weapon at the scene? Do you think I’m that stupid?”
Dantzler shook his head, said, “That’s still not enough.”
“Check the Herald-Leader for the past two weeks. The obits. You’ll find your answer there.”
“The obits?”
“Dead people do tell tales, Detective.”
“That’s it? Check the obituary page? That’s all you’ve got?”
“It’s all you need. Trust me.”
Dantzler stood. “Whose obit am I looking for? And why?”
The Reverend shook his head and closed his eyes.
“Why not give me the name?” Dantzler asked. “If it’s that important?”
“Those circumstances I mentioned earlier? The change was positive, not perfect.”
“So, you won’t give me the name? Or you can’t?”
The Reverend shrugged.
“Are you afraid of someone?”
Silence.
“What you are giving me is awfully thin, Reverend.”
“No more talk, Detective. I’ve given you enough. You either do it or you don’t. Won’t make much difference to me, because I’ll likely be dead by the time you figure it out. It would be nice to see my name cleared before I’m gone, but if it doesn’t happen, so be it. When I face my Maker-your Creator-I’ll have to answer for my share of sins. But murder will not be in the book.”
“You’re smooth, Reverend. I’ll give you that. I almost believe you.”
“Look into it, Detective. If you don’t, you’re letting a murderer run free.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You do that.”
Dantzler turned and walked out of the light and into the darkness.
“Oh, Detective,” the Reverend said. “You do believe me.”
CHAPTER THREE
Dantzler made it back to Lexington just after nightfall. As always, the Saturday night in-town traffic was a nightmare, a whirling mass of far too many people in far too much of a hurry to get to far too many places. Everyone, it seemed, was always in a rush. Always on the go. Dantzler often wondered if Americans were somehow wired for constant movement. Maybe it was part of our DNA, like the color of our eyes. Whatever the reason, the evidence was clear that taking life easy, stopping to smell the roses, or appreciating Nature’s beauty were quaint concepts that had long ago vanished in this mad-dash country.
He gave brief consideration to making an appearance at the police station, but decided not to. It was out of the way, and he didn’t want to fight the traffic any longer than necessary. Also, he knew there was no need to check in, not in today’s cell phone, text message, Twitter world. Had anything happened demanding his attention, he would have heard about it ten seconds after it occurred.
After making a quick stop at the Liquor Barn on Richmond Road to buy a bottle of Pernod and some orange juice, he headed home, the small ranch-style house on Lakeshore Drive he bought in the mid-1990s. Home sounded good, especially after the craziness of the past few months, in which there had been four homicides and three suicides. God knows, he could use the down time, the quiet, being alone. There were books to be read, music to be listened to, tennis to be played, personal issues to be dealt with. In the blur of work, too many important items had been neglected or pushed aside. Like most Americans, he seemed to be trapped on a speedway going nowhere fast. It was a feeling he didn’t like.
With each passing year, he became more aware of the reality that time charges relentlessly forward, never yielding, grabbing your life by the throat and carrying it toward its inevitable end. We are all weary and reluctant travelers hanging on as best we can, engaged in a futile attempt to outrun the clock, to win the mad dash to the finish line. But no matter how hard we fight it, how strong our resistance, or how swiftly we run, time always wins the race. Time is undefeated and always will be. That will never change.
An hour later, sitting at home alone, he recalled a line written by the great T.S. Eliot: all time is unredeemable. The old poet got that one right, Dantzler had long ago concluded. True, work was important, and what he did mattered, but… he had to pay more attention to life outside the job. Time lost is time gone forever.
He wanted off the speedway.
Maybe that was why he felt such ambivalence toward his meeting with the Reverend. Did he really want to open that can of worms? Dig into a crime now almost thirty years old? Help a man who would surely be dead within a matter of weeks, possibly even days?
Did he really want to invest his time and energy in a closed case?
Dantzler’s silent answer to every question was no. And yet… he couldn’t simply dismiss it outright, no matter how much he might want to. The old man was right-Dantzler tended to believe him. Dantzler had interviewed his share of liars in the past, but the Reverend, though smooth-tongued enough to be a superb liar, was hitting at some truths.