Two Birds With One Stone

Cal Jackson sat at his desk, a cup of coffee nearby, happy that he didn’t have an active case to work on. Homicides in Clancy County, Tennessee had recently turned heads. Located about forty miles southeast of Nashville, the county’s population had grown by almost twenty percent in the last ten years. It wasn’t quite the sleepy, distant suburb of Music City anymore. The detective bureau operated out of an office in Smithville, the county seat. A good bit of retail and a smattering of industrial influx had changed things.

Residents of the county’s towns and cities were locking their doors at night and had become wary of checking the morning news, especially lately. It seemed like almost every week there was another murder. Luckily, Cal and his partner, Lorraine Vaughn, were able to solve the cases quickly. It had been three weeks now since they solved their last case, giving them a much-needed breather.   

Cal, who started out as a patrolman, had been a homicide detective in Clancy County for almost twenty years. An avid bowler, who once averaged scores in the 170s, a chronic sore back put an end to his dream of a perfect 300 one day. The closest he got was 270. He’d been thinking about retirement recently. Aside from his back, physically, he was still in pretty good shape, but at 63, mentally, he felt worn down. A short, barrel-chested man, he carefully maintained his weight, wore wireless rim glasses and kept a well-trimmed goatee. He was a thorough investigator, known for a methodic and meticulous approach to investigations. He and Lorraine had worked six cases during the last two months.

One guy had killed his brother because he didn’t like the way his brother looked at his wife. No discussion. No warnings. He just showed up at his brother’s two-bedroom rancher and shot him in the chest with a 12 gauge. Another case was that of a woman, who stabbed a neighbor in the chest for parking her car in front of the woman’s house instead of in her own driveway. Investigative techniques and the tools available to solve crimes had certainly improved over the years, but one change Jackson struggled to grasp was how often perpetrators these days displayed an indifference to committing homicide.     

He sat there pondering a recent conversation on the topic with Lorraine. He had discussed his feelings about the current state of the world with her. He enjoyed hearing a younger person’s perspective. She was a tall, attractive woman, who employed blond highlights to accentuate her brown hair. Not yet 40, and a detective for only about five years, she had a younger person’s view of homicide. “This is how we live now,” she said one afternoon over coffee.

“Some people these days seem to think that they are entitled to do whatever they want, including murder. It’s like it doesn’t even occur to them that it’s a crime. You lost your cool for a moment. So what? We all do that, right?” Of course that didn’t mean she condoned such behavior. She attacked every case like it was a high-profile situation. To her, the reputation of the entire department was on the line in every case that came across their desks.

Cal had nodded his head in agreement, but he couldn’t understand how these people seemed so unable to connect the dots. That their action wasn’t like stealing a few candy bars from Walmart while they waited to check out, something the store didn’t even prosecute. Murder for those who were caught and convicted was life changing, and for all practical purposes, a life ending act. “When they’re sitting on death row, or maybe just sitting on their cots behind bars for life, I wonder if they feel remorse.”

He was pondering Lorraine’s assertions about killers while he poured a second cup of coffee. He checked his watch. His partner should arrive shortly. She had a doctor’s appointment that morning. He had grown fond of her. Not immediately. Her first year on the job she was feisty. Only 34 when she was promoted, at times she was presumptuous for a rookie homicide detective. But she was a good listener and eager to learn. And she did learn. She became a top-notch investigator. More than 20 years her senior he’d quietly taken a paternal interest in her.  

When she arrived at the office, wearing white summer slacks and sandals, she placed her handbag on her desk and sat down, slumping in her chair. “Cal, I’m sorry to ask, but would you get me a cup of coffee, please?”

Saying nothing, he stood up and got her a cup; lots of cream and three sugars. He handed it to her and took his seat. Their desks were arranged so they could face each other. He looked at her and waited while she took a long gulp of coffee.

“I might have cancer,” she said. “They want to test me for lymphoma.”

“What?” He started to stand but caught himself. He sipped some coffee, trying not to show how concerned he was. “When do they want to do the test?”  

“Tomorrow afternoon.” She grabbed a tissue in an attempt to block a tear before it rolled down her cheek. Divorced in her mid-twenties after a short marriage, she dated, built a few relationships that didn’t last and finally, after a year or so working homicide, she gave up. She pretty much kept to herself now.  

“Tomorrow? What’s that, July 18th? My ex-wife’s birthday.” He grimaced and glanced at the wedding band he still wore. You want me to go with you?”

“My neighbor is going to go. Thanks.” She hated lying to Cal. He had earned her respect, and she had grown fond of him. He was a decent man, something in short supply in her opinion. Regardless, she preferred to go alone.

Cal’s phone rang. It was their captain, Bill Robinson. “I hope you guys enjoyed your down time,” he said. “We just got a double murder on our hands over in Madison. Grab Lorraine and get in here.” Madison was the fastest growing community in the county. It was situated next to Smithville. An influx of about 15,000 new residents brought the town’s population up to just under 30,000. The town was a mixture of the upwardly mobile, most of them new to Madison, and those who were long-term residents. Many of the new residents earned salaries significantly higher than the natives. It caused some tension, but until quite recently, the town had been known for its law-abiding ways. 

Robinson’s office was a mess. Piles of papers and file jackets, some of them probably ten years old occupied his desk, a small conference table and even window sills. A prized baseball, signed by Hank Aaron, sat on his desk. The window behind him was open, because the building’s air conditioning was anemic on hot July days like this one.

Lorraine quickly composed herself. As they were walking to the captain’s office, she whispered, “Don’t say anything, please.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

Bill Robinson was younger than he looked. Once, a star basketball player at Tennessee State, he retained his trim figure. His father had led civil rights protests and remained a pillar in the black community. The elder Robinson was not thrilled by his son’s career choice, which made Bill determined to reach for the top echelon of his chosen field. After all, his son had graduated Summa Cum Laude. That made the younger Robinson an impatient man. Married with five kids, one of whom would be going to college in the fall, he was itching for a promotion to chief of police. The current chief was on leave and had been for months. Word was, he wasn’t coming back to work. “Listen up, the mayor is up for re-election and he’s going to be on my ass to get this one solved quick.”

Cal laughed. “Morning Bill. Just give us the details and we’ll crack the case before lunch.”

Robinson sat back in his chair, as if he had relaxed, but Jackson knew the look. The man’s eyes clearly signaled he was serious. “You do that, Jackson and maybe I’ll remember you when I become chief.”

“Me a captain?” Cal laughed. It wasn’t something he aspired to.

“What about me?” Lorraine asked. “Do I get to be a co-captain like they do in the airline business?”

“You?” I’m not worried about you. With ambition like yours, you’ll be the chief instead of me,” Robinson said without a trace of a smile.

“So, a double homicide. Anybody we know?” Cal asked.

The captain put his glasses on and looked at the sheet. “A Colin Wright, 40, and a Marguerite Curcio, 38.”

Lorraine gasped. “Oh no! Are you sure?”

Robinson peered over his spectacles giving Lorraine the once over. “I’m sure, detective. Did you know one of them?”

“I knew both of them. They’ve been living together for years out on Maple Trace Road.”

“Right, that’s where it happened. How did you know them?”

“We all went to high school together. Maggie and I used to be close. She was a bridesmaid when I married Hank.”

Jackson and Robinson exchanged glances. “What happened between you two?” Cal asked.

“We drifted apart. She never married and she liked her marijuana. I was married, of course, and we didn’t have much in common after I got married. I think we completely lost touch after I told her I was going into law enforcement.”

The captain nodded. “When was the last time you spoke with her?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s been years now.”

“Okay, here’s the skinny on this. Wright was apparently self-employed. He was shot in the chest from around six feet away. The preliminary report says it was just one shot.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Curcio was stabbed multiple times in the chest and abdomen and her throat was slit. Again, the preliminary report suggests the time of death was between seven and nine p.m. last night. The bodies were discovered by a neighbor at 6:45 this morning.”

“That’s an odd time,” Lorraine said. 

Robinson nodded. “According to the neighbor, Ms. Curcio left for work every day at six. When the neighbor saw her car still in the driveway, she got curious.”

The three of them walked through what Lorraine knew about Curcio and Wright. She didn’t remember much about Colin Wright, other than that he was a druggie in high school, who sold weed to fellow students and that he seemed to know a lot about cars. He wound up starting a business repairing and refurbishing classic cars mostly from the fifties and sixties. She ran into Maggie one night at Skipper’s Bar and Grill. “She was with Colin, which surprised me. I remembered she didn’t like him while we were in school.”

“How long ago was that?” Cal asked.

“God! At least five years ago. In fact, I remember her saying they were celebrating five years together that night. I bought them beers.”

The captain took notes while they talked, an old habit of his. He ripped the sheet of yellow lined notepaper and handed it to Lorraine. “If any of this gets too weird for you, let Cal take care of it. He’s our lead detective anyway.”

“She’s up to it Bill. I can vouch for that,” Cal said.

Robinson was about to say something but thought better of it. Over the years he learned to trust Jackson’s judgment. The man had always been supportive and had seemed genuinely happy when he made captain. He wasn’t a threat.

Thirty minutes later the detectives arrived at Curcio and Wright’s rented home to take a look around. The county’s forensics team was just wrapping up. Gina Stankowski, the lead investigator greeted them. “I gotta tell you two that we didn’t find anything obvious that would point to a prime suspect. We did find a .32 snub nose revolver with an odd marking on the handle, though.”

“Where is it?” Cal asked.

“It’s already bagged. Ballistics will likely show it was the murder weapon.” She glanced at her notes. “The marking is a boat anchor. Never saw that before.”

Lorraine grinned. “A boat anchor. How’s that for ya?” 

Gina rolled her eyes. “We’ll run the prints and whatever DNA evidence we collected and see if we can come up with any names. I bagged their cell phones too. We found one laptop, but it has dust on the cover.” She smiled. “The word on these two is they were partiers who were known to occasionally smoke pot, but according to the neighbor they stayed away from cocaine and meth.”

“Were they into selling or just using?” Lorraine asked.

“You might want to talk to one of the patrol officers, probably, Danny Carnton. He said to the best of his knowledge Wright used to sell coke but not for quite a while.”

“Well, we checked the records before we left the station. Wright hasn’t been arrested for anything in years.” Cal said.

The two-bedroom house where the deceased lived was small. Cal was a bit surprised that except for seriously unwashed floors and dust, it was well kept. The rooms were neat, everything in its place. “What do you make of that?” He asked Lorraine.

She shook her head. “I’m not surprised. Maggie was a neat freak. She hated clutter. She had an apartment on East Main Street years ago. When we were still hanging out I spent a lot of time there. Had to take my shoes off at the door.”

“I noticed the box near the front door with all those shoes, sneakers and sandals in it. I guess she kept that rule.”

Lorraine got quiet for a moment. She seemed to be looking off into space. “Maggie was good people. I never understood what she was doing with Colin. She went to college for about two years, you know? She was studying to be a nurse.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. She lost interest I guess.”

The victims’ cell phones and laptops were already at the lab. “Maybe we should split up,” Cal said. “You get in touch with her co-workers, family and friends and I’ll go to Wright’s garage and talk to his employees, okay?”

She nodded. “Meet you at the station around three.”

Two weeks after they visited the crime scene, Lorraine sat in the waiting room hoping she would be called soon. The doctor would probably offer a verdict on her condition. She scrolled through her phone for a while but then she felt guilty for not going over her notes on the double murder case she and Cal were working. She pulled the folder out of her bag. There were no obvious suspects. It was unlikely that the murders were drug related. Neither Colin nor Maggie had been using drugs according to the toxicology reports, other than marijuana, which was no longer illegal.

Further, Cal’s interview at Colin Wright’s garage had turned up nothing except that Colin had discontinued his drug dealing about three years ago. One of the mechanics, a Dean Phillips, told Cal that it seemed that Wright somehow got religion. He and Maggie had started attending a nondenominational church around that time. According to Phillips, Wright had even discontinued his practice of misleading customers about how many parts he’d had to replace to beef up the repair cost.

Her interviews with Maggie’s family members were equally confounding. While Maggie’s mother, Ava, didn’t care for Colin, she had to acknowledge that he treated Maggie well. Maggie didn’t have many friends, but the two women she spoke with, both also co-workers, were unaware of any problems that she may have had that would lead to her being killed, especially so violently.

The nurse opened the door to the inner office. “Ms. Vaughn?”

Lorraine followed the nurse into an exam room. The woman checked her vital signs and left, saying Doctor Pennetta would be in to see her soon. She was surprised when he walked in less than a minute later. “The test results were inconclusive. Sorry about that, Lorraine. I want to refer you to a hematologist who specializes in lymphoma. Her name is Lynn Huang and she’s very good.”

“Okay.” She barely whispered her response.

“Don’t be so glum. An inconclusive test is a hopeful result. You aren’t showing any symptoms of the disease, so it might be something much easier for us to deal with.” He paused. “No guarantees, but if it helps, I’m optimistic that you’ll be fine.”

Her spirits brightened a bit.

Dr. Panetta smiled. “How’s the double murder case going?” There really were no secrets in Clancy County in the social media era.

“No solid leads yet. And you know I couldn’t tell you if there were.” She smiled.

“That should keep your mind off what we’re dealing with here. Somebody from Doctor Huang’s office will be in touch.”

Lorraine grabbed a couple of Jersey Mike’s subs for lunch. She remembered Cal’s favorite, a number 11, Mike’s Way, no onions.

“What did you bring me?” Cal asked, eyeing the bags Lorraine was carrying.

“Guess. What do you have for me?”

“Not much. I was reviewing the victims’ phone records. It seems like Marguerite made and received an unusual number of phone calls with Michael Dale.” He checked the report. About 500 in six months.

“Isn’t that the pastor of that church?”

Cal took a bite of his sandwich, savoring the combination of meat, oregano and the vinegar/oil mix. “Holy Trinity Church? Yeah that’s him. And there’s more. They texted a lot too. And the topics were anything but holy,” Cal said, a smirk on his face.

“Maggie was having an affair with her minister?”

“I called the number. Pastor Dale said, ‘I was wondering when you’d call. I’ve been counseling Margurite for a while. Well, I guess I have to say, I was, now.’ Anyway, I set up an appointment to see him this afternoon at three. I need you to come with me if you can.” He looked into Lorraine’s eyes, not wanting to ask what was on his mind but eager to know.

“The results were inconclusive. I have to see a hematologist for more tests.” She took a bite of her cheese steak. After a sip of Coke she added, “I can go with you to see Pastor Dale. Actually, I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. This guy Wright’s phone included a lot of transactions on a betting app. The guy liked to bet on basketball and baseball. As far as I can tell, he didn’t pick many winners.”

“Did he spend a lot of money, making bets?”

“Sometimes, yeah, but I wouldn’t say he was out of control. Both of their bank accounts were stable, I guess.”

“Let me see them.” Lorraine quickly ran through each account. “I’m not so sure they were that stable. He seems to withdraw as much as he puts in. And Maggie was transferring cash to his account pretty regularly.”

“Hmm. There’s also something strange in Wright’s phone records. He calls numbers that are never repeated, mostly on Thursday nights and Friday mornings. Could be he was working with a careful bookie.”

Lorraine took the last bite of her sandwich and chewed it slowly. “Obviously, he was calling someone who used a burner phone. But how did he get the numbers? Had to be someone he knew and saw a lot of.” She wiped her mouth and asked, “Are there really still bookies in the world?”

“Oh yeah. Not like in the old days, but they’re still around, Cal said. “I think I need to pay another visit to Wright’s garage.”

The pastor’s office was very tidy. The walls were adorned with a huge Cross and framed posters with scripture taken from both the old and new testaments. Paster Dale, a tall, balding man, was dressed casually, wearing jeans and sneakers. His white sweatshirt was emblazoned with the words “Jesus Forgives.” Cal knew Michael Dale had been serving his church for a long time. He introduced him to Detective Vaughn. 

“How can I help you, detectives?” Dale asked.

“You mentioned when we spoke that you were counseling, Ms. Curcio,” Cal said. “What was that about?”

“Well, as I’m sure you know, Detective, I’m bound by confidentiality even after a member of the congregation’s death.”

Cal and Lorraine agreed not to let on yet, that they were aware of Dale’s affair with Ms. Curcio. Cal looked at Dale and waited to see if the man would add anything. However, Dale just sat back in his chair and waited. “I realize that. But we are eager to know anything that might point us in the right direction. The woman was murdered and brutally. We not only want to get justice for her family, but it’s entirely possible that whoever did this could do something like it again. Can you help us?”

“I wish I could, but there isn’t much I can tell you. I will only say in a general way that Margurite was concerned about Mr. Wright’s penchant for gambling.”

“How bad was his gambling problem?” Lorraine asked.

Dale shrugged. “Well, I have no personal knowledge of this, of course. I only know what Margurite told me. He was into online betting but, apparently. his bigger problem related to placing bets with unsavory types. She said he owed a lot of money. More than he could pay.”

“Did she tell you who these people were?” Cal asked.

Dale hesitated. “No. I asked, but she said he wouldn’t tell her. He didn’t want her to get mixed up with his issues.” He picked up his wire-rimmed glasses and started cleaning them. “Do you think his gambling problem might be connected to the murders?”         

Lorraine was watching Dale closely. “It’s too soon to draw any conclusions.” She wasn’t sure what Cal would say to her later, but she decided to go ahead and ask the pastor another question. “Did your counseling sessions ever include discussions about her romantic life with Mr. Wright? Intimacy issues for example?”

“I’m afraid that would put us into an area that breached confidentiality, Detective Vaughn.”

“I understand. I’m not asking you to reveal anything she may have said. A yes or no answer to the question would suffice.”

Dale moved his hands from the arms of his chair and clasped them together. “In my experience, questions like that never end with a simple yes or no. I will only say that I can’t think of a thing that would be helpful to your investigation.” He turned to Cal. “Please keep me posted on your progress. Margurite was a treasured member of our congregation.”

Cal nodded. “One more question, Reverend. Where were you on the evening of the murders?”

“At home with my wife. Anything else?”

 Cal always preferred to move slowly, especially in the early stages of an investigation. “If we need anything else, we’ll be in touch.”

“Would you mind if I said a little prayer asking for the Lord’s blessing that you solve the case quickly and for God’s mercy on the soul of the man who did this?”

Cal looked at Lorraine. She offered a quick eyeroll. “We have another appointment, Pastor Dale, but your prayers will always be appreciated.” With that the detectives stood and walked toward the door.

“I’ll pray for you both,” the pastor said as they walked out of his office.

At 49 years of age, Michael Dale was bored. As a young man, studying to be an ordained minister, he had dreamed of becoming a televangelist. In his first role after graduation, he found work as an assistant pastor in Louisville, Kentucky. The church’s pastor dissuaded him from pursuing his goal by taping one of Dale’s sermons and playing it back for him. “You can be a fine preacher, Michael,” he said, but your voice is too high pitched for television.”

Dale didn’t like it, but he had to agree. For nearly fifteen years he satisfied himself with focusing on delivering thoughtful sermons and providing counseling to church members in need of guidance. He had married Lena Milton soon after he was hired to serve Holy Trinity Church in Madison. She was unable to conceive, which from Dale’s perspective, was a blessing. Now, a man of the cloth for twenty-five years, he was mostly going through the motions. Margurite Curcio was a welcome distraction for him. She was an eager lover, who introduced him to marijuana. She was his long-delayed walk on the wild side. He had not counted on her falling in love and taking their relationship so seriously.            

On the drive back to the station, Lorraine asked, “Was I wrong to bring up a question about romance?”

Cal thought about it for a long moment. He slowed the car to stop at the traffic light. When he came to a full stop he looked at her. “Let me ask you, why did you bring it up?”

“I was hoping he might say something revealing about his relationship with Maggie. Inadvertently, a sign of guilt. We know there was more than counseling going on in those sessions.” Lorraine pressed her forefinger to her lips. “I’ll bet Mrs. Dale knew something wasn’t kosher. Maybe we should talk to Mrs. Dale. She isn’t bound by confidentiality.”

“Well, if his wife knew about the affair that might give her a motive. Some women would do that, but I’d leave his wife alone for now. Let’s get a list of the people who attend church there and talk to some of them first.”

“Are you asking me to take care of that?”

Cal smiled. Would you mind? I want to see what if I can learn more from the guys who work in Wright’s garage.” The next morning, Cal Jackson showed up at Wright’s Auto Repair and Restoration. He brought with him a dozen donuts and a large cardboard container of coffee.

“Uh-oh! It’s Dick Tracy and he brought donuts. Isn’t it usually the other way around?”

Cal smiled at the remark. The guy making it was Dean Phillips, the man he’d met with on his first visit. Dean seemed to be in charge. “Morning, just thought you guys might like something for breaktime. Can we talk?”

Dean directed him to the break room and took a seat after grabbing a chocolate cream filled donut. “What can I do ya for?”

Cal looked at his notes. “It occurs to me that you’re still in business. Colin Wright was the only owner of record.”

“Well, we never updated the record. I own 30% of the shop. I have the paperwork if you want to see it. Strictly above board.”

“I’ll take a copy when I leave. When did this happen?”

“Why do you want to know?” Dean asked.

Cal knew enough to go slowly. “Well, we’re investigating a double homicide. We don’t have any leads yet. Right now, we consider everything to be relevant, okay?”

Dean who was a big, powerful looking man in his early forties, gave Cal a long look. “Are you saying I’m a suspect?”

“With no leads, everyone is a suspect, me included.” He smiled. “What’s more likely is that you, and maybe some of the other guys, who work here might know something that could point us in the right direction.”

“Oh, okay. I bought a stake in the business late last year, about seven months ago.”

“Did Colin come to you or was it the other way around?”

Dean looked around. Just then one of the mechanics walked into the room. He said, “I heard a rumor that there might be fresh donuts.” He pointed to the box and carefully placed two of them on a paper plate. He poured a cup of coffee and turned to leave.

“Keep the other guys out of here until the detective and I are done, Matt,” Dean said. The man nodded and walked back into the shop.

“You asked me whose idea it was for me to buy into the business. It was Colin’s. He was in a bind. He owed me about eighteen grand. I had started pressing him for it,” Dean said. He took a bite of his donut. “He said he didn’t have it, but for another twenty thou, he’d give me 10% of the business. I wound up giving him a lot more than that to get it up to 30%.”

“I see. How much more?”

Dean scratched a bald spot on the top of his head. “In total? It was over a hundred grand. I borrowed some of the money from my sister who happens to be loaded.”

“Did Colin tell you why he wanted to bring you into the business?”

Dean laughed. “He didn’t have to. He had the fever. He was making big time bets he couldn’t afford.”

Cal wrote down what he was hearing. “Who or where was he placing bets with?”

“Ha! Casinos in Mississippi and, he had a bookie.”

“Did he give you the impression he was financially in over his head?”

“Not in so many words, but yeah, it was obvious he was in some kind of trouble.” Dean looked out the window. “It seemed to me like the bigger his bet was the less likely he was going to win.”

Cal, who promised himself he wouldn’t eat any donuts, gave in to the temptation and took a glazed donut. “What can you tell me about his bookie?”

“Not much. I do know a young guy used to come around every Thursday afternoon like clockwork. He never said much other than, ‘Hi where’s Colin?’ As soon as the kid saw him he’d hand Colin a note, always a red colored sticky note and leave.”

“They didn’t talk?”

“Maybe they did, but it was never long and none of us ever overheard anything.”

“Did Colin ever say anything to you about the note?” 

“Nope. But he left early one Friday, and the note was still sitting on his desk. I was curious so I took a peek. It was a phone number.”

“Do you have the note by any chance?” Cal asked.

“No sir, I left it on his desk.”

Cal spent the rest of the day pouring over lab reports. There wasn’t much that could steer them in the right direction. But his eyes grew big when he saw the list of identified DNA samples that the lab had provided. Reverend Dale’s name was on the list. It didn’t indicate the DNA source, but Cal quickly called the lab and asked them to do additional tests. He also wanted to know where in the house it was found.

Of course there were other names, but when he compared them to their list of family members friends and people known to have provided the deceased with services, nothing immediately noteworthy surfaced.

Cal went home early that day. Divorced, he lived in a small but comfortable condo not far from the station. He had picked up a pizza on his way home and a pint of Hagan Das, cherry vanilla                     for dessert. He fell asleep watching the Braves game. His wife, Pauline, left him four years ago for an old high school flame with whom she’d reconnected. A sad but common tale in the age of social media. He had one son who was a career enlisted man in the Air Force. They weren’t close. He’d tried dating, but he didn’t enjoy it. He just wasn’t interested and thanks to his ex-wife’s behavior, trust was an issue. Even worse, he still loved her.   

Lorraine had spent the better part of her day talking to members of the pastor’s church. She was able to reach three people, two women and one man.  Initially, she said she was interested in learning more about Maggie in hopes of developing a lead that might help her solve the case. She made sure to mention that at one time, she and Maggie were close. The first woman she spoke with, Janna McLish, was about Maggie’s age. She claimed not to know her well. They had done some work together a few years ago planning a church bazaar. She said she noticed that recently, Maggie’s spousal equivalent (her words) had stopped attending church services. She had no idea why and certainly didn’t ask.   

The man, Jason DeMastri, was the one who gave Lorraine the names and contact information of the congregation’s members. She and DeMastri had dated a few times. That there was no chemistry became apparent quickly. DeMastri owned a small independent insurance agency.  

“How well did you know Marguerite Curcio?” Lorraine asked.

“I’d seen her at church, and she came to my office a couple of times with Colin. I knew him better.”    

“You did?”

“Yeah, I got him business insurance and coverage for his classic car,” DeMastri said. “He did a refurb job on my ’52 Pontiac, too. You rode in that car, remember?”

Lorraine remembered. “Jason, can you think of any reason anyone would want to hurt either one of them?”

DeMastri took his time answering her question. “I hate to speak poorly of the dead, you know?”

She nodded; a consoling look on her face. “When I heard about it, my first thought was he finally got sick of her flirting with every guy she met. She was a terrible flirt.”

“I don’t remember that about her,” Lorraine said.

“Maybe she was a late bloomer. It’s been known to happen.”

“But that wouldn’t explain how he was killed,” Lorraine said.

“I guess not.”

The last woman she spoke with, Janet Cerv, was an older woman, a widow in her 80s. Lorraine noticed right away that she was outspoken, having no fears about expressing her thoughts. She said she knew Maggie and didn’t care much for her. “She was the type to flit around, always wanting to be noticed,” Mrs. Cerv said. “She liked men, if you get my meaning.”

“Any men at the church in particular?” Lorraine asked.

The woman gave the detective a long and cold stare. “She had a thing for Pastor Dale if you ask me, and I think it was mutual, but what do I know?”

“What made you think that?”

“I’ve been attending that church for years, long before Pastor Dale arrived. I never miss a Sunday sermon. And I don’t miss anything else either. I saw the way they looked at each other and the way they clasped each other’s hands and held on too long. I have spoken to him many times and he never so much as patted me on my back.” Mrs. Cerv said, tapping her cane for emphasis.

Lorraine had to take a deep breath and look down at Janet Cerv’s orthopedic shoes, doing what she could to avoid laughing. What the woman had to say was helpful but possibly tainted a bit by a touch of jealousy. “Do you know Mrs. Dale well?”

Mrs. Cerv was indeed still sharp. “You probably think I’m just a cranky old woman. Yes, I know Lena Dale. She’s a lovely lady and if you ask me, a long-suffering woman.”

“You’ve spoken to her about your suspicions?”

“Of course not dear. That wouldn’t be proper.” She scratched the back of the hand that held her cane. “I did bake a pie for her about a month ago. We chatted about this and that. She didn’t come right out and say so, but she did say she was concerned that her husband was working too hard. ‘He spends so much time attending to the needs of some of our more needy members,’ was what she said.” She sniffed the air pointedly to emphasize her point.

“I see,” Lorraine said, completely in control of herself now. “I am so glad we had a moment to chat. You’ve been very helpful, Mrs. Cerv.”

A week later all the lab work, including electronics, was in. After Lorraine’s conversation with Mrs. Cerv, it didn’t surprise the detectives that the pastor’s DNA was semen, and it was found in Maggie’s bedroom.

Captain Robinson called for a meeting. He had been on vacation for a week. Now he wanted a progress report. Lorraine was unavailable. “Are you two making any headway? I got a meeting this afternoon with the mayor and he ain’t gonna be satisfied with, we’re following every lead. We know Wright had a gambling problem and we suspect that minister was having an affair with the Curcio girl. What do we know beyond that?”

Cal spoke up. “The texts between them were racy enough. And we just confirmed the affair this morning with DNA evidence. Not that we needed it. Also, we suspect that the pastor’s wife knew about it. We’re going to pay her a visit today.”

“Why not go directly to this guy, Dale?” The captain asked.

“I think he’ll be more in the mood to talk straight when we tell him what we have and that his wife knows,” Cal answered.

“Maybe. What else you got?”

“I had another conversation with Dean Phillips, the guy at the garage. He thinks one of his workers, a young guy, knows the bookie’s runner. I’m going to talk to the kid today.”

“That’s all well and good, but have you got a theory of the case?”

“Working on it, Captain.”

“By the way, where the hell is Detective Vaughn this morning?”

“Doctor’s appointment. She’ll be in later this morning.”

“How many doctor’s appointments is that this month? Are you sure she’s not interviewing for another job?” The captain shook his head, wishing he was still sitting on the beach.

“If she says she had a doctor’s appointment, that’s what she was doing. I trust her.”

“So you’ve said. What’s she doing when she’s actually working?”

“I asked her to visit Mrs. Dale today.”

Robinson nodded his head. “I want to see you both in my office this afternoon at five o’clock. I’m expecting a full report, including an assessment of what you think happened to these people. The mayor is frantic.” Social media was rampant with wild assumptions and theories of the crime.

Lorraine spent that morning getting a needle biopsy of a lymph node in her neck. Doctor Huang was not convinced that she had a form of lymphoma. The biopsy would give her a definitive answer. Since it was performed under local anesthesia, aside from worry, Lorraine felt well enough to go to work that afternoon. She and Cal agreed it would be better not to schedule a time with Lena Dale. Better to just stop in. Certainly, they didn’t want to alert the pastor that he might not be in the clear.

She was aware from her conversations with members of the congregation that Lena spent Thursday afternoons volunteering at a hospice. She pulled into the facility’s parking lot, walked in and introduced herself to the receptionist. The woman became wide eyed when she asked to speak with Lena.

“What do you want to see her for?”

Lorraine surveyed the woman. She was short, rotund, middle-aged woman, with very short hair and oversized glasses. “Call her and ask her to come up to the front.”

“Is she in trouble?”

Lorraine waited, her lips tight. She was in no mood for a discussion. The bandage on her neck was irritating her skin. Moments later, Lena Dale appeared. She was well dressed, perhaps a bit too expensively for a minister’s wife. “How may I help you, Detective?”

Lena Dale grew up in Columbus, Ohio, near the college her husband had attended. Her parents were well off. They gave her a new BMW 4 convertible when she graduated high school. She never wanted for anything, always dressed in finer things, including top of the line accessories. She took a job in a fast-food restaurant the summer before her senior year in college because her mother insisted she learn about how the less fortunate live. She never questioned how her mother managed to connect fast food to social status.

Working the drive through window one night she met Michael Dale, who pulled up and asked for a couple of hamburgers. It was love at first sight for her. Naturally, her parents were not thrilled, but Lena, while attractive, was certainly not a classic beauty. When her parents realized that no amount of reasoning was going to change her mind, they did what they’d always done, gave in and blessed the marriage.    

Lorraine gave Mrs. Dale the once over and said, “We need to talk. Is there a room where we can speak privately?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Dale led the detective to a small, well-lit conference room with a tiny round table and two chairs. “What’s this about?”

Lorraine shrugged. “I believe you have an idea of what this is about, Mrs. Dale.”

“I assure you, I do not. Now, how may I help you?”

“We are working a double homicide here in Madison.”

“Something to do with poor Marguerite and Colin? I’ve been praying for them morning, noon and night.”

“Were you aware that your husband was spending a lot of time counseling Ms. Curcio?”

“I was aware that he was helping her. I guess you’ll have to define a lot,” Lena said.

“May I call you Lena?” The woman nodded her assent. “I’m not going to fence with you, Lena. We have strong evidence that your husband was having an affair with Ms. Curcio.”

“What kind of evidence?” The woman didn’t flinch, but her eyes became cold.

“Hundreds of phone calls plus certain DNA evidence we found in Ms. Curcio’s home,” Lorraine said. 

Lena’s cool reserve was dissolved. She shifted in her chair and reached for a tissue. “A woman always knows, detective. Until this moment I didn’t want to believe it.” She blew her nose. “Are you suggesting my husband had something to do with her murder?”

“It’s a possibility. He told us he was at home with you on the night of the incident. Can you confirm that?”

The woman looked down at her hands. She wiped away tears. “Yes, we were home, watching a baseball game.”

“Are you certain of that?” Lorraine asked.

“Yes, I am quite certain, Detective.”

“Do you recall what time that was and how long the game lasted?”

“We were together all evening. I don’t remember such details, Detective. We didn’t hear about the murders until later that evening.”

“I see. How did you hear about them?”

“Michael got a phone call from Jerome Nichols, the assistant pastor. He heard it from his brother-in-law, who I believe is a police officer.”    

Lorraine decided to end the interview. She would have to verify Lena’s story.

While Lorraine was quizzing Lena Dale, Cal was at Dean Phillip’s garage, questioning Jimmy Simons, the kid Deane had mentioned. The young man was nervous. They were seated in the breakroom. “This won’t take long, Jimmy,” Cal said. “I just need to know the name of the guy who came to the garage with notes for Colin.”

Jimmy looked at Dean, who gave him a smile and said, “Tell him what you know.”

“I don’t want to get my friend in trouble.”

“We’re not interested in him. We want to talk to whoever he was working for,”
 Cal said.

Jimmy, who had a bad case of acne, took his Titans’ ballcap off and placed it on the table. “Are you sure? I mean can I trust you?”

Cal smiled. “Trust me, Jimmy. Unless your friend is somehow involved in a double murder, he has nothing to worry about.”

“Ok. His name is Cade Grant.”

“Good, where can I find him?” Cal asked.

Jimmy played with the bill of his ballcap. His eyes darted around the room. He put the cap back on his head and turned in his chair as if he was ready to leave. 

“You want a Coke?” Dean asked, sensing the kid was about to create a problem for himself.

The kid nodded and said, “Yeah.” Dean pulled a can from the mini fridge, pulled the tab and handed it to Jimmy, who took a quick gulp. “He works a Snyder’s Super Market, the one on Central Avenue. He’s there now, I guess.”

Cal drove to the market and quickly located the store manager, who sent for Grant right away. While they were waiting for the young man, the manager said, “He’s a good kid. Works hard. You want him for taking those bets, right?”

Cal ignored him. When Cade arrived, he recognized that Cal was surely a cop. He turned to run, but Cal had considered that, so he arranged to have several uniformed officers waiting outside. They corralled the kid with ease. The kid was heavyset and not especially agile. The manager led them to a cramped storage space that didn’t have any chairs. “This ok?” He asked. Cal nodded. As he was leaving, the manager said, “Don’t be stupid, Cade.”  

“Cade, this can be a very short conversation. You can go right back to work.”

The kid snorted. “I got nothing to say to you or anybody else.” He turned to go. Cal stopped him by grabbing his shirt collar and yanking him backward.

“I guess we need to do this the hard way. He motioned for the patrol officer who had been standing nearby. “Bring him to the station. He’ll be more comfortable talking there.”

Cal got to the station before the officer arrived with Cade. The officer escorted young Mr. Grant to an interview room where Cal was waiting for him. “Take a seat, Cade. You want something to drink?”

“No.” The young man was wearing his supermarket uniform and an orange University of Tennessee ballcap.  

“I really can make this easy for you. If you cooperate I’ll let you walk out of here a free man. If you don’t I’m going to arrest you on suspicion of participating in a bookmaking operation just for starters. Do we understand each other?”

“What do you want?”

“The name of the man you’re working for.”

“At the grocery store?” Grant looked genuinely confused.

Cal, who was standing next to the kid’s chair, leaned into him. “You have another job as a runner for a bookie. I want his name and everything you know about him.”

“If I tell you I know somebody, you’ll really let me go?”

“If you’re straight with me, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

The kid asked for a bottle of water. He stared at his finger nails. The forefingers of each hand were painted orange. “His name is Michael Dale. I think he runs the church on Second Avenue South.”

“You mean the pastor at Holy Trinity Church?” Cal asked. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.

“Is that what he is?” Cade asked. “All I know is I meet him in the church parking lot whenever we have business to attend to.” An admin stepped into the room with a bottle of water. “Can I go now?”

“Not yet.” Cal had Cade walk him through his routine with Dale. Every Thursday afternoon, Cade picked up a new phone number, written for him on a piece of paper. He then made anywhere from four to as many as a dozen stops to give that number to customers. The customers called that number to place their bets. On Fridays, using a list Dale prepared for him, he would visit the bettors again to collect cash, or a marker indicating the amount they wagered during their phone call to Dale. He met the pastor in the same lot on Friday evenings and gave him what he’d picked up. On Mondays, if there were any winners, he picked up envelopes filled with cash and delivered them to the lucky bettors. Losers who used markers were usually required to cover their bets. If they were regulars and reliable, some of them were allowed to run a tab.

“Did the guy who owned the car repair shop use markers?”

“Mr. Wright? Oh yeah. He was into Mr. Dale for about $15,000. But then he had a winning streak including a ginormous bet he won. Mr. Dale owed him around eighty grand.”  

“How do you know that?” Cal asked.

“Well, Mr. Wright was real happy. He never said anything like this before but that one time he told me to tell my boss he had eighty Gs coming.”

“Did you tell Dale what Wright said?”

“Yeah. He told me to tell Mr. Wright that he would have his money soon, but in the meantime, Mr. Wright could bet up to $10,000 every week using markers.”

Cal squinted at the kid, wondering whether he was telling the truth. “What did Wright say when you told him?”

“He looked pissed, man. He said, ‘You tell the reverend I ain’t betting again until I get paid. Tell him he’s got ten days to pay up.’”

“Did you relay the message to the reverend?” Cal asked.

Cade nodded.

“What did he say?”

“I remember his face turned red. He told me not to go to the repair shop again.”

“When was that?” Cal asked.

“It was the 4th of July weekend, so it would have been Monday.”  

Cal was still writing down what the kid was telling him. “It’s Wednesday. Are you scheduled to meet the preacher tomorrow?”

“As far as I know, but he sends me a text with the time on Thursday mornings.”

“Sit tight, kid,” Cal instructed.

He walked from the interview room to the captain’s office, picking up Lorraine on the way. 

Cal updated the captain on the situation. “I’d like to use this kid to set up a sting. If we can catch this guy Dale in the act, I think we might get to the bottom of the murders.”

The captain stroked his chin. “We can confirm that the pastor is a bookie, but does that actually tie him to murder?”

“It goes to motive,” Cal said. “Look, this guy was having an affair with Marguerite Curcio, and he was probably in some financial distress because Wright finally picked a winner, one big enough that Dale wasn’t going to be able to pay the guy. At least not right away and the kid says Wright was putting the screws to Dale. I’m guessing that Marguerite Curcio was also turning up the heat on this clown, threatening to expose him if he didn’t leave his wife.”

The captain nodded. “Okay, set it up. At a minimum, we can verify the kid’s story. Get a search warrant. I want to get a look at the church’s books,” he said. “But I doubt you’ll be able to sweat this guy Dale to cop to a double murder.” He paused. “On the other hand, Dale might be able to give us something useful.”

The sting operation went very well. Cade had been truthful. He met Dale in the parking lot the next day. As instructed, he took the slip of paper from the minister. Cal instructed Cade to skip a well-known client who preferred using markers. Instead, he wrote a note with Cade’s help using a marker to place a $500 bet on the Braves” Just to amuse himself, using invisible ink, he added a secret message. “You’re under arrest.”

At around 6:30, Thursday night, Cal called Dale. Using the regular customer’s name, he called Dale and placed his bet, recording the call. He had no trouble recognizing Dale’s voice. Dale, however, didn’t notice anything unusual. On Friday morning, he and Lorraine waited in a car that gave them a view of the church parking lot. They were able to personally confront Dale immediately after Cade handed the slips to the pastor.

“Good morning Pastor Dale. I have a recording I want to play for you,” Cal said. The man’s face went white. He listened, rubbed his face and in a near whisper said, “I want my lawyer. I’m not saying anything else.”

“You’re under arrest for suspicion of running an illegal gambling operation,” Lorraine announced. She read him his rights and placed him in handcuffs. As they were heading to the car, his wife showed up, carrying a brown bag holding her husband’s lunch.

“Michael? What’s going on?” He didn’t even look at her. He just kept his head down.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Dale. Your husband has been arrested for illegal gambling. You may want to call a lawyer,” Lorraine said.

The woman turned to her husband. “Michael! What have you done?”

“Nothing. Just get my lawyer to meet me at the police station.”

Trusting a sudden instinct, Lorraine decided to stay with Mrs. Dale. “I’m going to talk to Mrs. Dale for a while. I’ll call when I need a ride.”

But Cal decided to send Dale to the station in one of the patrol cars that had just arrived with the search warrant. He joined Lorraine, who wasn’t entirely happy about it. “We have a search warrant Mrs. Dale.” Lorraine showed it to the woman, but she was obviously frightened by what had just happened. She didn’t even look at it. “Let’s go to your husband’s office.”

In the office they found the church’s financial records as well as several notebooks that clearly demonstrated that the minister was taking bets.

While they were searching, Mrs. Dale spoke up. “I can save you some time. I know what you’re looking for. My husband has been acting like a bookmaker in his spare time. I only found out about it a couple of weeks ago. Our accountant, the church’s I mean, confronted Michael about certain irregularities.”

“What do you mean?” Lorraine asked.

“There was money missing. Not that much really. Maybe $35,000. Michael assured him that it wasn’t a problem. He said he would cover it before the end of the month.”

“Did he?” Cal asked.

“I don’t think so. He told me what he was doing when I confronted him about it. He was very worried. Apparently some man placed a huge longshot bet, and it came in. The man was threatening Michael if he didn’t pay up.”

“How much?” Cal asked.

“I don’t know for sure, maybe $75,000?”

Lorraine patted Mrs. Dale’s shoulder. “Who was this man?”

Mrs. Dale lowered her head and looked at the floor as if the answer was somehow inscribed on the carpet. “I don’t know,” she said, finally. The detectives looked at each other. The woman was lying.

“Could that man be Colin Wright?” Lorraine asked.

“You people make me sick. Take whatever it is you think you need and please leave. This is the house of the Lord in case you forgot.”

Lorraine looked at Cal again. He shook his head. “I’ll take that as a yes, Mrs. Dale,” he said.

“That is your privilege, I’m sure. You have no idea what you are talking about. I do not know who the man was. Michael didn’t tell me.”

The detectives took another look around the office. Cal picked up the reverend’s calendar. He started for the door and stopped suddenly. “Do you have an office, Mrs. Dale?”

“What?” She looked stunned for a moment. “Why, yes. Why on earth would you want to know that?”

“Lorraine answered. “We’d like to take a look at your office too, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, I do mind. That is an invasion of my privacy. I know my rights.” She took a closer look at the search warrant. “Your warrant doesn’t include my office.”

“You are right. You might want to get in touch with that lawyer now,” Cal said.

As soon as they returned to the station, Cal called the accountant who handled the books for the church. He explained the situation. The accountant said, “Look I didn’t do a deep dive. But I wouldn’t be surprised if the discrepancy was more than $35,000. I always thought there was something screwy about that guy.”

Michael Dale was sitting in the interview room, reading the Bible, which he requested as soon as he got there. Cal walked in and sat opposite the man. Where were you on the night of July 16th?”

“That was the night of those murders, right?” The pastor asked. “I think you asked me that last time we met.”

“That’s right. Tell me again. Where were you?”

“Lena and I were home watching a ballgame, as I recall.”

“A ballgame? Who was playing?”

“Listen, I’m not saying another word until my lawyer gets her,” Dale said.

“That is your prerogative, of course, but if you were just watching the game, who was playing?”

“The Braves.”

“Who were they playing?”

“Cardinals, I think. I watch a lot of games, ya know?”

“Yeah, me to. What was the final score?”

“I don’t remember for sure, but I think it was 6-5.”

The detective looked at his notes pondering his next question. “Was your wife with you the whole time?”

“Wait. Was that a Wednesday night? It was. No, I got that wrong. Lena runs a Bible study class on Wednesday nights. We watch a lot of games together. She wasn’t with me that night.”

“Okay, so Lena wasn’t there. Did you watch the game you just described without her?”

“Yep.” He crossed his arms.

“So, you watched the game, but Lena wasn’t there. Is that right?”

Dale nodded, an annoyed look on his face. He absentmindedly flipped the pages of the Bible.

“What time did she get home?” Cal took the Bible from Dale. “You can get back to this when we’re done.”

“Usual time, a little later maybe. The meeting runs seven to nine, so probably just before ten.”

“So, she can’t vouch for your whereabouts that night?”
Dale grasped the implication immediately. He held up his right hand like a crossing guard signaling a driver to stop. “I’m done talking.”

But Cal kept talking. “We have you cold on the gambling thing and it looks like you’ll be charged with embezzling church funds.” He paused to see if Dale would respond. The man just sat there, looking at his hands. “There is a much bigger problem now, if you’re interested.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re a murder suspect. A double homicide, in fact.”

“What? Are you crazy? I had nothing to do with that!” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I am an imperfect servant, but I am a Christian. Your suggestion is outrageous.”

Cal considered the man’s reaction for a moment. Something about his demeanor gave him pause. Dale’s face had become beet-red. His eyes had held Cal’s very steadily. Was he a good actor? “You want a cup of coffee while you wait for your lawyer?”

“No.” He reached for the Bible. Cal let him have it.

He went back to his desk. Lorraine was busy seeking a search warrant for Lena Dale’s office. He described his interview with the pastor and said, “Any luck with the search warrant?”

“It should be in my inbox,” she said pointing to her laptop.

“If you’re going to bring it to her, maybe you can interview her about the night of the murder. See what she has to say about her husband’s whereabouts that night.”

Lorraine printed the search warrant and picked it up. “I asked her about that, but I’ll go over it with her again. She checked her notes. “She said she watched the game with him.”

“Well, he says she didn’t.” The partners smiled. They could feel it. They were getting close.

When she arrived at the church with a patrol officer, the woman’s lawyer, Joan Shilling, was with her. The lawyer read the warrant and nodded that it was acceptable. She led the officers to Lena’s office, and they proceeded with the search. Lorraine didn’t expect them to find anything useful. Mrs. Dale almost certainly had enough time to remove anything that might incriminate her husband.

“Can we talk for a few minutes, Lena? I only have a few questions.”

“As long as my lawyer says it’s ok.” Shilling nodded her assent. The three of them sat in the church’s kitchen. The table was dirty. It looked like it hadn’t been cleaned for a few days.

“Detective Jackson met with your husband. I don’t want you to be alarmed. He asked him some questions about the night of the double homicide.” She waited.

“What do you want to know?”

“Your husband says he was at home that night watching the ballgame. Can you confirm that?”

“I can. The game had just ended when I walked in the door.” Lorraine noted that the woman’s story had changed, but she didn’t mention it.

“Where were you?”

“My Bible study class. We have one every Wednesday night from seven to nine.”

“Where is the class held?”

Lena thought about it for a moment, tapping her fingers on the table. “Candy Stinson’s home.”

“May I have her address, please?”

Mrs. Dale was losing her patience and suddenly she seemed a bit nervous. In a halting voice, she gave Candy Stinson’s address to Lorraine.  

“What time did you get home?” Lorraine asked.

“Just before ten I think.” She huffed and added, “Why are you asking me where I was?”

The detective ignored her. “So, you can’t confirm your husband’s whereabouts between the time you left for class until just before ten.”

“Well, he always watches ballgames and that’s what he told me he was going to do that night.” She huffed again with more emphasis this time. “Now will you please tell me why you are asking so many questions?”

Lorraine smiled. “I will, Lena. One more question. What time did you hear about the deaths of Ms. Curcio and Mr. Wright?”

“As I told you once before, sometime that night. I don’t recall exactly when. I only know it was after I got home from Bible study.”

“I’ll be in touch.” With that, the detective left and returned to the station.

When she got to the station, Dale’s lawyer, who had been talking to his client, was now in conference with the assistant district attorney. A court date for the arraignment was set for the next morning. He was hoping, given his client’s otherwise excellent standing in the community, to get him released on his own recognizance.

Aware that there was a possibility that much more serious charges might be brought in a matter of days, the DA was non-committal.

Lorraine and Cal spent the better part of the evening going through what the search warrants revealed.  It didn’t take a forensic accountant to establish that there were at least a couple of seriously irregular entries in the church’s books that he felt sure would be useful in supporting the charges related to fraud. Lorraine had majored in accounting and worked in the field for a few years.  That part of the case was immediately turned over to the squad charged with investigating fraud and other financially related crimes. 

There was one surprise, however. Lena Dale must have overlooked, or thought she had destroyed, a letter Marguerite Curcio had sent to Michael. The letter expressed her undying love for her pastor. She also threatened to expose him to his wife and the church community if he didn’t leave her immediately. She wrote, “I’ll give you three days to make it happen. Our love is strong enough to withstand any challenge. You know that, Michael.” The letter was dated June 12th, Three days before she was murdered.

After reading the letter, Cal said, “I am beginning to wonder if Mrs. Dale might be a suspect.”

“Right,” Lorraine said. “But why would she kill Wright? Did he walk in on her murdering Marguerite?”

Cal nodded. “I wonder if she knew that Wright was putting the screws to her husband over the money Dale owed him.” He opened a Snickers and took a bite. “If Wright was threatening to expose him if he didn’t get his money, and Lena knew about it, offing the two of them would solve all their problems and save her marriage.”

“Two birds with one stone,” Lorraine said.

“We have a possible motive. At this point we can’t rule out the possibility that they teamed up.”

“We have the gun but not the knife,” Lorraine said. “We need to find a way to prove one of them owned that gun.” Lorraine picked up Cal’s candy bar and, laughing, she took a bite. “Yeah. And at the moment, they have alibis.”

“Do they?” Cal asked. “With murder charges pending, I’m pretty sure the DA is going to request no bail. Tomorrow I’ll interview Dale and lay it out for him. What’s your next move?” He looked up at Lorraine who did her best to conceal a smile. She knew that Cal was well aware of what she should do. He was trying hard not to act like her boss. She appreciated it.

“I’m going to investigate their timelines. Michael’s should be easy in terms of the ballgame. I’ll also check to see if his phone pinged a cell tower in a place where he shouldn’t have been.”

Cal nodded. She went on. “I’ll check out her story, too. I’m guessing she led a Bible study class, but her timeline might not hold up.”

The following morning, they got together with the captain. “Well?”

The detectives exchanged glances. “I spent a couple of hours with Dale this morning at the county. He was denied bail over the strenuous objections of his lawyer. I gave it to him straight. Told him either him or his wife, or both of them, were going down for the two murders.”

“How did he react?” The captain asked.

“Angry denial. I mean he took off like a rocket. Used some language I didn’t think ministers even knew. He swore he was home watching the Braves. His wife was at Bible study.” Cal laughed. “He promised to pray for me. Said I was being controlled by Satan.”

The captain looked at Lorraine. “What do you have?’

“Well, if Dale left the house that night, he didn’t take his phone with him. And during the game he texted with a buddy of his about what was happening; like in the fifth inning some player committed an error that allowed the Cardinals to score.” She checked her notes. She picked up the baseball that sat on the captain’s desk and glanced at the autograph. “I think he told the truth about watching the game.”

“What about his charming wife?” The Captain asked. He gave Lorraine a look. She carefully placed the ball back on his desk.

“Oh, she ran the Bible study all right. They got started about fifteen minutes early, very unusual according to the hostess.” She took the last bite of the Snickers bar. “Now here is the interesting part. Mrs. Dale seemed to rush them through the lesson. The meeting ended at 8:30. She apologized but said she had a lot of work to do and was going to her office to finish up a few things.”

“What about her phone?” Cal asked.

“Negative. It appears to have been turned off. Its last known location was the church.”

The captain seemed lost in thought for a moment. “Good work, Lorraine. Pay another visit to Mrs. Dale. Let’s see how she responds to the apparent hole in her timeline. Where was she between 8:30 and ten?” He turned to Cal. “That .32 snub nose found at the scene. So far there is no record of its ownership and there were no prints found on the gun. Okay, but maybe if we talk to some folks who have known the right reverend long enough, they’ll remember him owning a gun like that.” He paused. “It had a marking on it. An anchor?”

“Right. You know that would work best face to face. Dale was born and raised in Toledo, Ohio. His father was a minister up there. We know he attended a divinity school in Columbus. You okay if I take a trip?”

“Line up some interview candidates first. Maybe say he might be in trouble, and you’d like their help in clearing him. Something like that.” He tapped his note pad with his pen a few times. “Let’s not book any flights unless we have to. The mayor checks our expenses like he’s a state auditor.”

Cal smiled at the obvious. “Got it.” He called the divinity school’s record office and identified himself. He asked for a list of the preachers who graduated the same year Michael Dale did. There had been 26 men in his class. The registrar was able to give him contact information on 16 of them. He started making calls. He decided to wait to see if his initial search would bear fruit before delving into Dale’s his high school classmates. Maybe he would get lucky.

He spent several hours on the phone before taking a late lunch break. Based on preliminary conversations, he was able to Identify four men who had known Dale well while they were training. One of them, Mark Bell, had shared an apartment with him for about six months. Cal sensed that he would have to speak with the man in person to get what he was looking for.

He was in luck. Reverend Bell was currently serving as the pastor for a church in Fairfield, Alabama, a town of nearly 10,000 residents. A suburb of Birmingham, it wasn’t more than a three-hour drive from the station. After a brief discussion with the captain, Cal called Bell and arranged to meet him for dinner that night.

Lorraine had to see Dr. Huang before she dropped in on Lena Dale again. She was very nervous because she expected Dr. Huang to give her a verdict on her condition. She wished her sister could have joined her, but she lived in New Jersey, so it wasn’t an option. If the news was bad, her sister would certainly rush to her side. No use alarming her if it wasn’t necessary.

Dr. Huang offered Lorraine a sweet smile when she entered the exam room. As practiced as she was reading people, Lorraine couldn’t tell what was coming.

“I’m very happy to tell you that I think we’ve identified the problem,” the doctor said with more than a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. First I’m pleased to tell you that you do not have lymphoma.”

“But?”

Huang smiled. “No but. For now, you appear to be fine. Whatever signs that led other physicians to look for lymphoma are no longer present. Just to be safe, I’d like to see you in six months just to confirm things.”

“Wow!” Lorraine leaned forward and added, “Are you sure?”

“Medicine isn’t an exact science, but I’m as confident as I can be that you can get on with your life. I’ll check on you in six months.”

Lorraine drove to the church with her radio on, singing along to a Lauren Daigle tune, “Thank God I Do.”

When she arrived at the church, she parked and sat in her car to give her a chance to get her game face on. This time she had called ahead to make an appointment. She felt she had underestimated Lena for a while, feeling supportive of her at first. Now she had to consider the possibility that the woman was capable of cold-blooded murder.  

Lena Dale greeted her coolly and walked her back to the kitchen. Lorraine noticed that the table had been cleaned. “I hope you realize that your constant presence is upsetting our entire congregation,” Lena said. “My husband hasn’t done anything actually illegal. The money he took was really just a loan. I assure you we can repay every dime. You are only embarrassing yourselves, if you ask me.”

“I’m not asking you, Lena.” Lorraine pulled out her notebook from her bag and sat down. She didn’t bother to point out that bookmaking was still illegal. “I’m afraid we have serious business to discuss.”     

“What now?”

“There is a problem with your timeline on the night of the murders. Your Bible study class ended at 8:30. According to your husband you didn’t get home until 10:00. That’s an hour and a half unaccounted for.”

“You are mistaken. As I told you the last time we spoke, the meeting ended at nine and I stayed in the office until sometime after 9:30.”

Lorraine gave the woman a long, hard stare. “I checked with the hostess. The meeting ended at 8:30. Would you like to try again?”

Mrs. Dale’s face crumbled. She was obviously fighting back tears now, trying to maintain her composure. “If I’m mistaken, I apologize. Maybe we did finish a bit early. But that only means I was in my office longer that night.”

“I see. You know the couple who clean the church?’

“Of course. Mr. and Mrs. Katt. A lovely couple,” Lena said.

 “Yes, Mrs. Katt. I spoke with her a couple of days ago. She told me she and her husband happened to stop by that night to pick up something they had forgotten when they cleaned the night before. That was around 9:15 p.m. Mrs. Katt told me no one was there.” She paused. “There were no cars parked in the lot.” On some instinct, Lorraine had bluffed Mrs. Dale. She had no idea who cleaned the church. 

“Fine. Maybe I wasn’t there. That doesn’t prove anything,” Lena said.

Lorraine pulled out a copy of Maggie Curcio’s letter to the pastor. “We found this in your office. Your fingerprints and DNA will confirm you saw it and certainly, read it.” She let that sink in for a moment. “Mrs. Dale, the only question here is whether one of you, or you and your husband, together, committed these murders. Now would be a good time for you to come clean.”

Cal’s meeting with Mark Bell was interesting. He had been the pastor of his local church since he finished divinity school. A rotund, bespectacled man, married to his high school sweetheart, he had lost touch with Michael Dale, but he had fond memories of him. “What is it you really want to know, Detective?”

“You mentioned that he had some odd hobbies for a man of the cloth. Can you elaborate?” Both men had ordered a club sandwich. The server brought them to the table.

The pastor said a quick prayer of thanksgiving and took a huge bite of his sandwich. “I’m starving,” he said as he chewed his food. “One thing I remember about Michael was his penchant for handicapping games. Said he learned it from his father. He loved to handicap college sports. That was his specialty, especially football and basketball and sometimes major league baseball. He would make his own sheets for betting purposes. He was quiet about it, but a lot of us would fill out our picks and bet a few bucks just to pass the time.”

Cal nodded. “Did the college know about it?”

Bell let out a hearty laugh before taking another bite. “If the dean knew about it, he didn’t let on.”

Cal took out a photo of the gun and handed it to Bell. “Have you ever seen this before?”

Bell took a close look. He rubbed his forefinger over the area that showed the grip, as if he was touching the actual pistol. “The Cross. I’ll never forget that. He had it made special.” He closed his eyes for a moment, silently saying another prayer. “I asked him once, why he had that thing. You know what he told me?”

Cal interrupted him. “It’s an anchor. What do you mean Cross?”

“Take a closer look,” Bell said.

Cal could see it was shaped like a Cross if you were looking for one. He nodded his head. “Yeah, I see it now.”

“It’s an ancient Christian symbol. It was used during early Christian times when we were persecuted. It disguised our faith,” Bell said, happy to educate his dinner companion.    

“Okay, why did Dale have the gun?”

“He said a gambler like him needed protection.”

On his drive back to Nashville, Cal wondered why Dale would have left the pistol at the scene of the crime. The markings were a dead giveaway if anyone in his congregation also knew about the gun. He would pay Dale a visit in the morning. The case was beginning to come together now. He sent a quick text to Lorraine asking if she was available to talk. She didn’t answer so he just drove.

When Lorraine described the situation to Lena Dale, the woman’s face froze. “Well, I can assure you that I had nothing to do with it. Furthermore, I don’t believe for a second that my husband did either.”

“Mrs. Dale you can’t account for your whereabouts at the time of the murder. You obviously had a motive for killing Ms. Curcio and your husband had one for murdering Mr. Wright. I know he’s your husband, but if he put you up to this, I might be able to help you.”

“This very disagreeable conversation is over, Detective. Our lawyer will take it from here, thank you.”

The following morning, Cal paid another visit to Michael Dale. The man looked haggard. He obviously hadn’t been sleeping or eating much. He sat slumped in his chair in the county jail’s interview room. “Michael, I have some bad news for you. Does this look familiar to you?” He showed him the photo of the gun.

“What about it?” Dale asked. “You want to know if it’s mine? It is. It’s locked in a safe at the church.”

“When was the last time you saw it?” Cal asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe six months ago?”

Cal let out a sigh of exasperation. It was deliberate. “We didn’t reveal every bit of evidence we found at the Curcio-Wright crime scene. This gun was found at the scene. So, it can’t be in your safe.”

Suddenly, Dale sat upright, fully alert now. “That’s crazy! It must be a duplicate. My gun has been in that safe for years.”

Cal had no trouble persuading Dale to tell him exactly where the safe was located. Dale gave him the combination too. “I’m going to send somebody out there to look for it. I hope you’re right.” He paused for a moment. “Who else has access to that safe?”

Dale’s eyes narrowed. He shuffled his feet. “Then he whispered, “Nobody. I’m not sure Lena even knows about it.” He swatted a tear from his cheek.

Cal walked Dale through the evidence that was piling up on him and his wife. The gambling debt he owed to Wright, his affair with Marguerite, the woman’s letter demanding that he leave his wife, and the hole in Lena’s timeline. The fact that ballistics proved that Wright was shot with the gun in question. The brutal way Marguerite Curcio was killed suggested her killer was enraged. Dale just listened. His face turned pale and his eyes got watery again. Forty minutes later, Cal got a call. An officer had opened the safe. There was no gun and no sign that the safe had been tampered with.  

“I didn’t do this, Detective. I swear to you I didn’t. If I had done it, do you think I would have been stupid enough the leave a gun like that with its ancient Cross marking at the scene?”

“That would make your wife, Lena, our prime suspect.”

“The thing with Maggie. It started as a fling for me. I couldn’t even admit it to myself. I loved her. I would have left Lena if I could. I was trying to figure out a way to pay Colin Wright off, first. Anyway, I would never have hurt her,” he said. He took a deep breath. “Did I cause her death?” The thought obviously upset him.

“Thinking like that isn’t going to help anybody,” Cal said.

Dale nodded and returned to the subject at hand. “Even if Lena was involved, it doesn’t figure that she would have killed Wright too.”

“Does she know about the money you owed Wright and the finagling of the church’s books?”

Dale hung his head in resignation. “The gambling thing, yes, but I’m not sure about the missing money from the church treasury.”

Cal gave Dale a long look. “My partner has this theory that you and your wife, or maybe just Lena, figured you could kill two birds with one stone by getting rid of Curcio and Wright. Marriage saved and debt erased.”

“I can’t believe she would do something like that. Were there any prints found on the gun?”

“No.”

 The captain set a meeting that afternoon to go over what they had with Corrine Markson, the assistant district attorney. Cal and Lorraine reviewed what they had. She listened carefully. “I would prefer we get a confession if possible, of course. I believe Mrs. Dale worked alone. As you said, the brutal way she murdered Ms. Curcio indicates a jealous rage. The murder of Mr. Wright may well have been a consequence of him having arrived at a very unfortunate time.”

“Or, maybe she saw an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone,” Cal said. He grinned at Lorraine, an acknowledgment that he had stolen her line.  

“Yes, that is also possible,” Markson said. “I believe we have enough circumstantial evidence to charge Lena Dale with murder, but we can’t place the gun in her hand, and we don’t have the knife that was used to kill Marguerite Curcio.”

“You think maybe if we charge her, she will take a deal?” The captain asked.

Markson shrugged her shoulders. “It’s worth a try.”

Late that afternoon, about an hour after Michael Dale was granted bail, Cal and Lorraine went to the Dale residence, which sat on church grounds, to arrest Lena Dale for murder. The couple was sitting in their living room. There were two glasses of orange juice resting on the coffee table. A full bowl of buttered popcorn sat between them. Neither seemed surprised by the visit.

“Lena Dale, you are under arrest for the murders of Marguerite Curcio and Colin Wright,” Lorraine said. She read Lena her rights. When she finished, Pastor Dale asked if he and Lena could have a moment to pray. Lorraine looked at Cal, who nodded his assent.

The couple picked up their glasses and said, “Lord Jesus, receive our spirits.” They both quickly drank. Death came very quickly.

On the table, inserted between pages of a Bible, was a neatly typed letter of apology addressed to the church’s congregation.