Wounds (3 page)

“If I can.”

“May I ask your name?” Carmen spoke as Bud removed a small notepad from his suit coat. They often worked this way: one asked questions, the other took notes, only talking if something important was overlooked.

“Missy Robinson.”

“And you're the receptionist?”

“Just part-time when school is in session. It helps pay the tuition. Since it's Easter break, I'm putting in eight hours a day.”

“So you're a student?” That surprised Carmen.

Missy picked up on it. “About a third of the students are female.”

“But don't people go to seminary to become priests?”

Missy grinned. “This is an evangelical seminary. Some of the students will become pastors, some will go to the mission field, others will teach.”

“Which are you?” Carmen let the curt question hide her embarrassment.

“I'm in the academic track. My undergraduate degree is in archaeology. I want to do field research in biblical archaeology for a decade or so, then gain tenure as a professor somewhere.”

Carmen swallowed. She was so out of her element. Time to bring things back to center. “I assume Mr. Dunne . . .
Dr.
Dunne told you why we're here.”

The receptionist's expression drooped, as if sadness had just tripled gravity's pull on her face. “He did.”

“Did you know Doug Lindsey?”

Her head moved from side to side. “Not really. He is a third-year M.Div. student.”

Carmen frowned. “Emdiv?”

“Master of Divinity,” Missy explained. “It's a three-year degree track. It's the program you enter if you want to be the pastor of a church or a missionary.”

“That's different from what you're doing?” Carmen tilted her head to the side.

“Again, I'm in an academic track. Let me try it this way: You go to the doctor because you're sick. He examines you and gives you a medication to take. The doctor has a doctor of medicine degree: an MD. The people who did the research and designed the medication you take probably have PhDs. Their education is different from the doctor's. Things overlap of course, but the MD is a professional degree. The doctor learns a lot of science, but he or she also learns examination techniques, ethics, and things that will help the doctor serve the patient.

“The PhD,” she continued, “may have a degree in chemistry, pharmacology, biology, or something similar. Their education is geared to pure science, while the doctor's is aimed at creating a professional health-care provider.”

“So the M.Div. student learns, what? Preacher stuff?”

“Theology, Bible, preaching, counseling, administration, and the like. That's why it takes three years to get the degree. A full-time student can earn an MA in theology or biblical studies in about two years, counting the time it takes to write the thesis. At least, that's how it's done here.”

“So you didn't share many classes with Mr. Lindsey?”

“No.”

“What about socially?”

She shook her head. “Sorry.” She paused. “Shall I call Dr. Poe now?”

Carmen gave a quick look to Bud. “Questions?”

He shook his head. “No questions for her.”

She nodded to Missy. “Then yes, give him a call.”

Ellis Poe squirmed in his seat. Having two detectives in his office made him uneasy. He tried to think of the last time someone other than students or faculty had invaded his space. Well, he knew of one reason for being ill at ease—a reason he didn't want to talk about.

“You keep it dark in here.”

Ellis watched Detective Rainmondi smile with the comment. He stared at the woman, his heart flopping in his chest like a dying fish. His skin turned cold and clammy. His mind accepted the fact, but his heart refused to believe it.

“Was it something I said?” Carmen's words chilled the air.

“What? Um, no. I'm sorry. I just lost myself in thought. What did you say?”

“I said you keep it dark in here.”

“I seldom use the overhead lights. I can turn them on if you like. It's just easier to focus on my work when the lights are dim. I'm weird that way.”

“We're all a little weird in some way, Dr. Poe.” The woman detective sat in the same chair Allen had used a few hours before. She seemed comfortable and in charge. Ellis wriggled in his seat and felt like a paper wrapper in the wind.

“I can't tell you how horrible I feel about all this.” Ellis cleared his throat. “Over the years I've lost students to auto accidents and one to illness, but never murder. You're certain it's murder?”

“We're proceeding under that assumption.” She paused and studied him. Ellis could almost feel her gaze crawling over his face. “I expected to see Dr. Dunne, but the receptionist said he went to visit Doug Lindsey's family.”

“Yes, that's right. Can I offer you some coffee?”

The detective introduced as Bud Tock looked ready to say yes, but the woman waved him off. “No thanks. We were just at the Lindsey home and didn't see him.”

“I'm not surprised. He told me he was going to pick up Loren first.”

“Loren?”

“His wife. She's a doctor. It would take him some time to drive to the hospital in San Diego, pick her up, then drive to east county. Doug lived in La Mesa. But I guess you know that since you were just there.”

“We know. Dr. Poe, do you know of anyone who would like to see Doug dead?”

The bluntness of the question made his heart stutter. “No. Doug was a good student and seemed well-liked.”

“Had he ever been in a confrontation on campus?”

“No. Of course not. As I said, he was a fine student. Not top of his class or prone to higher academics, but a good student in his own right.”

“Do you know if he used drugs or alcohol?”

“I suppose it's possible but not likely. I'd be very surprised if he involved himself in any of that. He studied to be a pastor.”

“Pastors are human too.”

“I won't argue with that, but I stand by my statement.”

The woman detective nodded but looked unconvinced. “What about his sexual orientation?”

“That's enough!” Ellis couldn't help snapping at her. “Now you're being ridiculous.”

“Why?”

“I imagine you deal with all sorts of unpleasantness in your job, Detective, but that doesn't mean that every victim of a crime has a substance abuse problem or is involved in some sexual misadventures.”

“Misadventures?” A sardonic grin crossed her face. “I haven't heard that word in a long time.”

“Doug did nothing or said nothing that would make me think that he was anything other than a sincere Christian looking to serve the church.”

“There's no need to get defensive, Dr. Poe.” Carmen's face grew stern, and it made Ellis shift in his chair. “You're right. We see a lot of unpleasantness—stuff that still curls my hair, which isn't easy to do. We have to ask these questions. It's part of the investigation.”

“Still, you go too far.”

“I haven't gone far enough. Your problem is that you confuse a question with an accusation. Knowing what young Mr. Lindsey wasn't involved in may be as important as what he was.”

The chastisement landed like a velvet punch. “I'm sorry. I'm probably overreacting.”

“No problem. It's good to see people stand up for one another. Now, I need to ask a few more questions.”

Ellis nodded.

“When did you last see Mr. Lindsey?” The detective leaned back in the chair.

“Tuesday. Monday and Tuesday were exam days. The students have the rest of this week and all of next week off.”

“Spring break?”

“We still call it ‘Easter break.' Secular schools have migrated away from the religious titles. We're not so inclined.”

“Of course. So you spoke to him two days ago?”

“I didn't really speak to him. He handed in a paper and wished me a happy Easter. That was it.”

“Did he seem troubled? Worried?”

Ellis let his mind drift back in time. “No. I didn't sense anything unusual in his behavior.”

“So he was a good student?”

“Better than most. As I said, higher academics weren't his forte, but his study skills were good and he was dedicated to doing well.”

“And he wanted to be a minister?”

That they were using the past tense gnawed at Ellis. Every past participle stung. The detectives stared at him, waiting for his answer. They gave no sign of being disturbed. Another body, another murder—a routine day for them.

“Dr. Poe?”

Ellis forced himself back into the moment. “Yes. Students declare their intent when they enter the seminary. That information is shared with the professors. It helps us understand our students. Doug wanted to enter the pastorate.”

“And his behavior was consistent with that goal?”

“As far as I could tell, yes. Look, Detective, if you're hoping that I can tell you I had concerns about him, or that he was a troublemaker, then you're going to be disappointed. Doug came to campus, did his work, seemed comfortable with the other students, and did nothing to raise a flag with me.”

“So no disciplinary actions were ever taken?”

“None that I know of.”

“Would you know if there had been?” Her expression never changed and it unnerved Ellis.

“If it were serious, I would have known. Word would have reached me from the administration or other professors.”

“You shared information on your students?”

“Only if it might affect other instructors or their classes.” Carmen Rainmondi looked disappointed. “I know it would make your life a lot easier if Doug had a history of trouble, but he doesn't. At least as far as I know. I wish I could be more helpful.”

The woman stood. “We appreciate your time.” She handed him a business card. “That's my office number and my cell number. If you think of anything that might help us in our investigation, then call.”

Ellis said he would, then stood. The two detectives left, and Ellis returned to his desk chair and wondered who would want to kill a seminary student. Then his mind went where he knew it must . . .

How had Carmen Rainmondi reentered his life?

She hadn't recognized him. No surprise there. It had been nearly thirty years since their eyes last met. There had been no conversation, no dialog, no encounter . . .

Just two people standing on different borders of the same nightmare.

He leaned forward and lay his head on his desk, trying to lock the door to the cellar of his mind, but some beasts cannot be caged.

The image slipped to the forefront of his brain: the smoke, the overturned car, the wide-eyed, brutal, furious-insane driver, and the helpless woman. He could still smell the acrid scent of spilled gasoline on asphalt, of oily smoke. He could still see the overturned car, its tires spinning. And he could still hear the man's curses and the sounds—the aching, marrow-chilling, horrible sounds of him as he—

Alone in his office, Ellis plugged his ears with his fingers, a useless act against noises that came from within his own skull.

He saw it happen.

He saw what the killer did.

He watched a woman die and he did nothing.

Nothing.

A helpless woman's blue eyes had looked to him for help and found only a quivering, spineless, seventeen-year-old kid.

And now, twenty-eight years after the fact, he saw those blue eyes again—the same, yet different—as the detective sat before him asking questions about another murder.

Ellis began to weep into the silent room.

4

Y
ou're kidding.” Tock looked up from his desk. “Seems a little quick to me.”

Carmen set the handset in the phone's cradle. “That was the man himself. He hasn't finished the autopsy, but he said there's something we should see.”

Tock sighed and looked at his watch. “It's already after six and I promised to be home early.”

“That's the surest way to guarantee you'll be stuck on overtime. How much more do you have on the book?” Carmen eyed the file Tock was working on. “The book” was verbal shorthand for the homicide file. She and Tock would add information as they worked the case.

“Not much. Maybe another ten or fifteen minutes.”

“I'll swing by the ME's and fill you in tomorrow. Go home to your wife.”

Tock looked conflicted. “Is this where I offer a weak and contrived objection?”

“Yes, and this is where I insist I don't mind, then leave you thinking what a wonderful partner I am.”

“My wife and kids thank you.”

An image of Tock's family flashed in Carmen's mind like a picture from an old slide projector: a blonde, thin woman in her mid-thirties, an equally blonde eight-year-old stepdaughter, and a dark-haired boy of four who already looked too much like his father. Carmen had been to their home on several occasions, usually at some party thrown by his gregarious wife. Tock had never told his wife about his and Carmen's short affair, and Carmen never felt compelled to fill in the blanks.