Jessica wasn’t interested in the man’s story, but she wanted to keep him talking. ‘So, what happened?’
‘Well, they told me I was too old to be an altar boy, and too young for the seminary, not to mention my lack of formal education. So, when tragedy touched my life, I chose another path. I was ordained a Pentecostal minister when I was just fifteen.’
‘This was here in Philadelphia?’ Jessica asked, although she already knew the answer.
‘No, ma’am. I went back down to Appalachia, where I’m from.’
Roland took a moment, continued. ‘My first ministry was in Kentucky. I was raised there, and my bishop felt I had a deeper understanding of the people. I got a small roadside church in Letcher County.’
Roland Hannah shifted his weight in the chair. The shackles on his feet made a clinking sound that echoed off the old stone walls.
‘You have to understand that these people are very poor,’ he said. ‘Their land — their very lives — had been raped by the coal companies, the logging companies, the government. First they took the trees, then the coal, then the mountaintops themselves. These folks are skeptical of any organization, be it religious or secular.
‘I did the best I could with what I had, which was very little. It is impossible to feed hungry children with just the Word. In time I became much more than just a minister to them.’
I’ll bet, Jessica thought. She recalled Ida-Rae Munson’s words:
He used to hand them missals out like candy. Used to hand out a lot more than that, if you was young and fair.
Roland leaned forward, continued. ‘There was a woman of sixty who came to me one Sunday. She’d had a child at fifty-three, born out of wedlock, and believed the boy to be possessed by demons. And by this I do not mean the boy was violent or out of control in any earthly ways. She believed the boy was the devil himself.’
Both Jessica and Byrne remained silent.
‘I observed the boy for three days in his home, and was both astounded and horrified by what I saw. I brought it to my bishop, who counseled prayer for the boy, but nothing more.’
‘What did you do?’ Jessica asked.
Roland leaned back, shifted his weight again. ‘I returned to my ministry and told the woman there was nothing to be done. She fell to her knees and begged me to come back to her home one last time. She said that things had gotten worse.
‘Of course I went. Once there, I found the child in swaddling, even though he was seven years old. The room was lit with oil lamps, and smelled of dead flowers and sulfur. She handed me the boy, and directed my hand to feel beneath the boy’s thick, curly hair. I did as she asked.’
Jessica saw Roland run his hand along the scarred metal table top, perhaps searching for some sense memory. His fingers found the deep ruts in the surface.
‘Do you know what I felt?’ Roland asked.
‘No,’ Jessica said.
‘Horns, detective. The boy had two small horns growing from his head.’
Roland Hannah bowed his head for a moment, mouthed what looked to be a silent prayer. When he finished he retuned to his tale.
‘I performed the ritual, against the counsel of my bishop. It was a long, draining process, one that threatened my faith, as well as my life. But I believe something entered me that day, detective, something that exited that boy, who was just fine when I left him.’ Roland Hannah knitted his fingers. ‘Word spread over the county of this divine event. News was made in heaven, as they say. And even though I was just a boy myself, people knew I was possessed of the fire of the Spirit. The Holy Thunder Caravan was born that day.’
The room fell quiet for nearly a full minute. Jessica finally broke the silence.
‘That’s a very interesting story, Roland.’
‘Praise Jesus.’
‘Very interesting. But I’d like to talk about a different time in your life, if you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all,’ Roland said. ‘As you might imagine, I have nothing but time.’
‘Let’s talk about that tragedy to which you alluded before. Let’s talk about the day your stepsister Charlotte and her friend Annemarie were murdered.’
The word murdered hovered in the air. Jessica remembered the case well. The two girls were brutally killed in Fairmount Park. Years later a great cop named Walter Brigham was destroyed by the investigation.
‘Charlotte,’ Roland said softly. ‘If it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I won’t be talking about her.’
Jessica thought she detected a slight waver in the man’s voice. It was maddening that she could not read his eyes, but it seemed she was rattling him. ‘What would you like to discuss?’ Jessica asked.
Roland Hannah smiled. ‘You asked to see me, detective.’
Jessica shuffled a few papers, purely for Roland Hannah’s benefit. ‘Fair enough.’ She pushed back her chair. The screech of metal on concrete was like a shout in the confined space. ‘Let’s talk about what happened five years ago, then. Let’s talk about a string of very nasty murders in Philadelphia.’
Roland Hannah said nothing. His smile slowly disappeared.
‘Let’s start with a man named Edgar Luna, a man named Basil Spencer, and a man named Joseph Barber,’ Jessica said. Edgar Luna, Basil Spencer, and Joseph Barber were three of Hannah’s victims.
The blind man was silent for a long time. Outside a gust of wintry wind rattled a loose pane of glass. Finally, calmly, Roland Hannah spoke.
‘I did not commit those vigilante murders of pedophiles years ago. I was framed for them, as I am being framed now.’ He gestured to the room around them, a room he could not see. ‘I am a blind man in prison. How could I be doing any of this?’
Jessica and Byrne both knew how this would play in court. It was not good for them.
‘Then why did you confess?’ Jessica asked.
‘I was under a great deal of stress. I wanted it to be over. As you might imagine, I was traumatized over my affliction.’
Roland Hannah meant his blinding at the hands of another madman. Years after Charlotte’s death Hannah had haunted the dark alleys of Philadelphia, looking for the man who had killed his stepsister. In the end, investigators believed Hannah thought himself an avenging angel, murdering anyone and everyone who was even suspected of pedophilia.
‘I wonder if she still holds the rose,’ Roland said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Tell me about these killings.’
Jessica glanced at Byrne, and back at the prisoner. She knew Roland Hannah was trying to bait her, and she wasn’t going to bite. As calmly as she could, she said: ‘They are murders, not killings, Mr Hannah. Cold-blooded, pre-meditated murders.’
Roland Hannah nodded gravely, as if saddened by the news of violence. Jessica knew him to be a man without conscience, a killer who preyed on criminals, acting as judge, jury, and executioner.
When Hannah had confessed to three murders, investigators went to the burial sites. They found the bodies. As a matter of routine they collected hair and fiber evidence, as well as fingerprint and blood evidence, even though this material was never going to be used in court. With the possibility of a new trial on the horizon, the lab was now attempting to match forensic evidence found at those scenes with material collected at the current crime sites.
‘From what I understand, the people being killed in your city — under your watch, I might add — are not the most savory characters,’ Roland said. ‘The people killed five years ago were just the same. Children of disobedience. Have you not considered that whoever committed those murders, framing me then, is doing the same thing now? Ridding the world of further sinners?’