“Do I know you?” a gravelly voice asked.
He had come in from behind me, probably hoping to see if he knew me and my implied threat.
“No, sir,” I said, rising to my feet. “My name’s Easy Rawlins.”
“What do you want?” Reverend Winters looked more country than usual that evening. He wore blue jeans and a checkered red work shirt. The brown leather of his shoes was old and worn out. You could see the impression of his baby toes on the outer edges. A pair of shoes like that might have outlasted a marriage.
“Can we talk privately for a moment, Reverend Winters?”
The minister made a gesture with his head, and Bumpy started patting me down. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t lay him out either. Bumpy grunted and Winters motioned toward the other side of the room.
We walked together, under the scrutiny of his private guards.
“Well?” he asked me. “Let’s get this over with. I got a sermon to deliver in just an hour and a half.”
Winters wasn’t tall or striking, neither was he delicate or particularly strong. His chin was subpar, and the top of his head was almost large enough to indicate a whole new species of man. His skin had the color and luster of dark honey standing on the windowsill. But it was his voice that set him apart from mortal men. As I said, it was raspy, but it was also rich and commanding. His voice alone made you want to go along with whatever words he was making. It was very disconcerting, but other things bothered me more.
“Cedric Boughman and Etheline Teaman,” I said.
That brought the minister up short. He seemed to be studying his own reflection in my eyes.
“This some kinda blackmail or somethin’?” he whispered.
“Never did like that word,” I said. “And you don’t have nuthin’ I want, except maybe the truth.”
“Fuck you.” The words shocked me. For some reason I never expected a man of God to be coarse in that way. But the shock went deeper than that. It was like a slap in my face, making me aware of my situation.
“Somebody stole somethin’ from Etheline,” I said. “An album of photographs.”
“How the hell would you know that?”
“I got my ways, Brother Winters. Believe me. Someone stole her photograph album.”
“So what?”
“Do you know where it is?”
“Why would I?”
“Etheline was a prostitute not a month ago,” I said. “She had a regular, a man in your employ name of Cedric Boughman. She also attended your church. She got special instructions from you—in person. Now Cedric is cryin’ in his bedroom and you sendin’ him his salary until he’s fit to come back to work.”
“This is a Christian institution, Mr. Rawlins. We don’t turn away lost sheep. We don’t persecute a man when he loses someone he cares for.”
“That sounds good, but it’s a lie. Cedric is either crazy or he don’t even know that Etheline is dead.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“I don’t know what’s goin’ on,” I said. “I don’t know who killed Etheline or why. All I know is that there’s a picture I need to see lost somewhere, and I intend to find it. I will keep on asking questions until I do find it.”
“Easy,” the minister said. “That’s your Christian name?”
“Ezekiel.”
“Good name. Where you from, Ezekiel?”
“Texas mostly. I was born in Louisiana.”
“New Orleans?”
“New Iberia.”
“Country, huh? Like me.”
Just that quickly, Winters had gotten the upper hand. If we were boxing, I would have been the tomato can from Podunk, and he would have been Archie Moore.
“You know country is plain and simple,” the minister said. “A country man does what he does, day in and day out. If the year is good then his wife got a few extra pounds on her. If it’s bad he works a little harder. That’s all.”
I would have bet that those words were destined for that evening’s sermon.
“Brother Boughman is in charge of school administration. He’s a good boy, but young. He gave in to temptation. He had congress with the devil, but what he found in that devil’s pit was a lost angel. He talked her into coming to church. Then he talked her into leaving that house of sin. And when she did that, he sent her here to me.”
“Then you told her to leave him and come to you,” I said. “Then somebody stabbed her in the heart.”
The minister winced. “I been workin’ hard for more’n eighteen years, Brother Rawlins. Eighteen years on the front lines against Satan and his crew. I work every day, all day. I’ve pulled men out of the bottle and the needle out of young women’s arms. I teach black chirren to love themselves and I give old women a place to feel like they make a difference. I work hard and I get tired sometimes.”
“Was Etheline a rest stop?” I asked.
“I loved her.” His voice lost its power. I almost believed him. “She was like a gift from God. At first it was just a physical thing. She had learned how to make men melt and holler. Some days she would come up into my rooms and I’d tell her to leave. But she would push my protests aside and grab hold of my spirit. She would stay with me deep into the night, listenin’ to all the weak things that I could never say to anyone in the congregation. I had to be strong for them, but with her I could let down. I could be that country boy.”
“Are you married, Reverend Winters?”
“Yes, son. Yes I am.”
“So all that love was secret and stolen,” I said. “Dangerous for a man in your position.”
“What you gettin’ at?”
“Did she take a snapshot of you, Reverend? Did she have a picture of the two’a you together?”
“What if she did?”
“Well,” I said. “Some might say that a picture like that would be like Joshua at Jericho: It could bring down these walls.”
“And you think I would hurt that girl from fear of somebody findin’ out about us?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time somethin’ like that happened. Did you write to her?”
He didn’t answer the question, but his face admitted the indiscretion.
“It’s like I said in the beginning, Reverend Winters. I didn’t know the girl. She’s not my concern. But I need to see that photograph. And I will have it. So if you know where I should look, it might be very helpful to your cause.”
The minister took a seat then. He looked down at his old comfortable shoes for succor, but even they couldn’t help him.
“You’re wrong in this, Mr. Rawlins. I had nothing to do with that girl’s death. I loved her. And even though she broke it off with me, I would have never hurt her. Never.”
“She broke up with you too?”
He nodded and held his head the same way Cedric had done.
“When?” I asked.
“On Sunday, right after service. She left me a note, said that she would only bring me grief, that she had to make a new life where no one knew her and no one could hurt the ones she loved.”
The minister lowered his head and grieved. I stayed quiet for a minute or two.
“Did she have any friends other than Cedric?” I asked.
“My secretary,” Winters whispered. “Lena McCoy. Lena helped Etheline to get on her feet when she came to us. She got her a job at Douglas where her husband works.”
“If you tell me how to get in touch with her, maybe I can figure this stuff out without causing you grief.”
“You okay, Reverend Winters?” Bumpy asked. He and the fat man had come to investigate their pastor’s obvious dismay.
“Okay, Reggie,” Winters said. He stood up to meet his followers. “Mr. Rawlins is gonna need Lena’s phone number. Call her up and tell her to help him all she can.”
Bumpy didn’t like it, but he was a soldier in the army of the Lord. The commander and chief had spoken, so all he could do was heed and obey.