Chapter 14

4:00 pm Saturday: Cheri hadn’t specified the warehouse. Tossing a mental coin, I went to the one on the right side of the road, and banged on the wall. They were big sheet metal things, and I made an impressive noise. No response. I crossed the street, raised my fist and—listened. I heard music inside. I banged. The music stopped. I banged again. Silence. I banged a third time, longer and harder.

"Christ, I’m coming!" The voice inside got louder. "Keep your shirt on. Damn it, who is it?"

"Open up!" I shouted.

There were thirty seconds of silence. I was raising my fist when the voice said, "Oh, all right, come in." A steel garage-type door opened up, and standing at the threshold was a tall, thin, worn-out looking forty-year-old man with hair grown shoulder length and love beads around his neck. He had his hands jammed tight into the pockets of his tight blue jeans. He stood studying me coldly. "What do you want?" he asked finally.

"I’m going to ask you some questions," I replied grimly.

"What makes you think I’ll answer them?" he sneered.

I leaned close, but didn’t lower my voice. "You were Mary Cole’s friend, weren’t you?"

That had an effect. He glanced up and down the street. "What makes you think, um, I was her friend?" he asked softly.

"You interested in Astrology?"

He nodded. "Okay, come on in," he said, and shut the door behind me.

The inside was lit with candles. The walls were blankets or strands of beads hung from the ceiling by ropes. David lead the way through what seemed to be a maze. At last we seemed to reach his living room. There were blankets and carpeting spread across the concrete floor, and large pillows scattered around. In one corner was a reading lamp beside a stereo. Their cords ran under the "wall" behind them and disappeared from sight. There was incense burning in an ashtray onto of a speaker cabinet. Books were everywhere, including the Bible. David bowed onto a pillow, and I did the same.

"Where did you find it?" he asked.

"Why?"

"I’d have liked to had it. You wouldn’t give it to me?"

"No."

"All right." He bit his lip. "We weren’t real friends, you know."

I nodded. "I can see why." I pulled out the scrap of paper. " ‘Whorescope,' – cute - ‘by David Moore. Day one: You will sleep with a dark handsome stranger, but won’t notice him in the crowd.’" I folded it and put it away. "She might have found that offensive."

He muttered, "She thought it was funny."

"Then you were friends," I said. He looked startled, then nodded. "Then help her," I hissed intently. "Help me catch her killer."

Something had amused Moore. "Help her? She’s dead." He spread his hands. "You don’t know anything about me, do you?

"No, should I?"

He smiled. "A long time ago, another life ago, I wasn’t like this." He leaned toward me. "I was a priest," he whispered, and leaned back. "A lot of things have changed since then, but I still remember some of the pitches. There ain’t nothing I can do for her. It isn’t the first death you have to fear, see, that comes to all men. Oh no, it’s the second death you have to fear. The second death." His smile wavered. "Most of us have already died that one. That’s funny, isn’t it? Most everyone is dead already." He sat there with a sick half smile on his face until I asked.

"All right, what is the second death?"

"Since you insist," he sighed. "When sin comes between man and God, that’s the second death. Anything that comes between a soul and God is sin, and every sin comes between the soul and God. Mary Cole died a long time ago, let me tell you, and you’ll never find her killer. That death was suicide, man, just like everybody else’s. Suicide."

Well, then, let’s confine ourselves to the first death, shall we? That wasn’t suicide, and that means there’s a killer to contend with. You want to see him punished, don’t you?"

" ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.’ "

I lost all patience. "Are you still a priest, or nothing but a fraud? You can’t pretend to care about someone and still hide behind platitudes. I didn’t know the girl, but I’ve met two men who did: hard men, cold men, and she touched them both. Or am I wrong? Did she affect you too?" He hung his head. "She affected someone else, though. Someone without control, someone with such…passion in him that he was driven to murder, to kill Mary Cole!"

Moore turned his face away. " ‘He who sows the wind,…'" he murmured, then turned back to me. "I shouldn’t do this. But, ask your questions, then get out. I don’t need this."

"Where was Mary from?"

"Knoxville. That’s all I know about her past. She was from Knoxville."

"Did any of her family, friends, anyone like that, know about her work?"

"No, I don’t think so."

"Did she have any enemies?"

"Apparently, at least one."

"Right." I thought. "Who lived in that house before her?"

He smiled lopsidedly. "Now that’s a good question. I think it was an old man lived there all his life. When he died, they rented it to Mary."

I stood. "Okay. Thanks. If I think of any better ones, I’ll drop by." He nodded absently, and got to his feet.

"I’ll let you out the back way," he said, and led me out.