3:32 PM

8
May 5, 1986 3:32 PM

     The White Sands Baptist Church had no neighbors. It was set off on a piece of land which was not connected to the rest of the town except the highway which passed to the South into some barren wasteland with salt and gravel mines.
     But the church itself looked very nice and inviting, owing to it being flush with born again folk from the surrounding areas.
     The pastor, Ben Damand, was well known through most of the state for his rather flamboyant services, in which he could be counted on to sweat, and cry, and shout at invisible demons. Sometimes he could be found on the floor, in convulsions, overcome with the spirit of the Lord.
     Ginger Spitz, his most avid follower, and sometime business manager was never very far away from the action, and sometimes had to intervene to narrate what was happening if he got lost in the middle of the act. The whole thing was broadcast on local television on Sunday mornings, and Wednesday afternoons.
     The Sheriff found himself, with great misgivings, ringing the buzzer on the gate outside the property, when who should ring back but Ginger herself.
     "What can we do you for?" she said.
     "Hey, is this Ginger?"
     "Yes, who's this?"
     "Sheriff Donnelly. I came down to ask if we could sit down and chat, the reverend, too, if he's around."
     "What's this about, Sheriff?"
     "Don't worry. You're not suspected of anything, I just want to chat with the both of you, follow up on some things."
     "Can we arrange a time to come down, Sheriff? We're a bit busy here."
     "Oh, sure, but, as you know, Sam Jones was shot in his driveway a few days ago. I'm no longer in charge of the investigation, and I want to go back the agent in charge and tell him that I talked to you, otherwise he's going to get awful sore and probably order the whole church searched and possibly have some of your records carted away."
     There was a pause.
     "Now, I don't want any of that to happen, that's why I'm asking you, politely, if we can sit down and chat right now, and then I can say we talked."
     "That sounds alright, then, Sheriff. Why don't you come on inside."
     The gate buzzed and swung open. The Sheriff rolled inside.
     Inside the huge church with its perfect climate control, the Sheriff saw the reverend practicing his Sunday sermon. 
     "Sheriff!" said Reverend Damand. "So good of you to drop by. We all heard the terrible news about Sam and we've been praying on it a lot."
     "A lot," Ginger echoed.
     "I was talking to Trudy, who you know was Sam's assistant at his practice. She said you and Ginger had been down to their practice once or twice giving him some trouble."
     "Did she say that?" Ginger said.
     "We did indeed, Sheriff. We believe in the right to life, and we had a slight disagreement with the doctor about his practice of medicine. But you know, I mean I hope you know, that we would never do more than try to convince him, to change his heart...am I being suspected for this murder?"
     "No! Not in the least, reverend. But I'm trying to sort out how it happened, and I've been asked by the FBI agent who has taken over this investigation to follow up on some people that might have given the doctor some grief, and see if they have any insight into why this might have happened. I mean, can you think of anyone in your congregation that, you know, said anything to you, maybe even kidding, about killing the doctor or anything like that?"
     The Reverend paused.
     "Yes, there was one guy who I never really liked. He had an instigator vibe to him, and he was always talking about going in and wrecking the place."
     "What was his name?"
     "Caleb, I think. Or maybe it was Joseph. He's not a member of our congregation. He was a seminary student. To be honest, he organized the whole protest to begin with. He said it was a class project to work on community building and he asked if we wanted to participate in a protest against Sam's practice, who he said was an abortionist. I admit, I was eager to join, because I happen to think abortion is wrong. But I told him, in no uncertain terms, that I would not do anything more than show up and sing songs. Other than that, I was not interested. He seemed to lose interest in it, and we moved on."
     "Anybody you can think of might know where this Caleb or Joseph is?"
     "I think I might have his number in my Rolodex."
     "You do! Why if you could grab it for me that would be of tremendous help."
     "I will, Sheriff."
     The Reverend disappeared.
     "How's Myra?" Ginger offered.
     "Fine. Just fine."
     "I've been missing her cherry pies."
     "I'll have to tell her. She'll be happy to bring you one, when she baked a couple."
     "Wouldn't that be nice!" Ginger said. "Just thinking about it makes my mouth water."
     The Reverend re-emerged, with a little card with a number on it.
     "Does that do it, Sheriff?"
     "Yeah, but Reverend, why if this boy was telling you these things you didn't think to get us on the phone tell us about it?"
     "Well--"
     "Now, this is serious, Reverend. I know you don't truck in this kind of stuff, you ought to put a stop to it, and you ought to call us so we can have a chat. I don't mean to blame you for it. It's not your fault. But if it is this boy, well, I got to think you could have intervened by picking up the phone and letting us know that the doctor was in danger."
     "You're right, Sheriff."
     "So if anybody else in your congregation or anybody else you come across starts talking about wrecking anybody's anything or harming anybody what are you going to do?"
     "I've got to call you."
     "That's right. And you know what? I bet you're going to sleep better at night not having the worry about what they might be up to."
     "You're right."
     "Okay. And I sure well tell Myra about that pie."
     "Thank you. See you!"
     The Sheriff walked out the double door into the bright sunshine and put on his hat. He went to his car and started writing down his notes, before he looked at the radio. He ought to radio this one in.
     "This is Sheriff, anyone there to pick up, over."
     There was a loud scratch and then Agent Danley's voice came over. "I'm here Sheriff, what do you got?"
     "I need you to look up a phone record. Might be the perpetrator."
     "Sheriff, I could kiss you. Alright, give it to me slowly."
     The Sheriff read the numbers over the phone.
     "I'm coming back that way in just a moment, Agent Danley."
     "I hope to have an address by then."
     The Sheriff sat in the car, hearing the birds chirp, before he switched on the ignition and threw on his sunglasses.