“I'll have a glass of dry white wine,” she said without looking up.
“And you, sir?”
Gideon looked up with a smile and replied, “I'll have the same. Thank you.”
When the waiter was out of earshot, Gideon spoke softly. “I must say, Mrs. Pryce, I was surprised when you contacted me. I've been trying to reach members of the board of trustees and senior ministers from New Testament Cathedral for three weeks now, but no one has been willing to speak with me. It seems a veil of silence has dropped over the entire church. It's almost as if you all have something to hide.”
Cynthia smiled but did not speak. The waiter returned with the two glasses of wine and took their orders.
“Mr. Trumanâ”
Gideon interrupted, “Please, call me Gideon.”
“All right then, Gideon, you mentioned secrets. How much do you know about Hezekiah Cleaveland's personal life?”
“At this point not very much,” Gideon replied. “Only what's written about him on the church's Web site. As I said, no one has been willing to talk with me. That is, no one until now.”
“Are you familiar with a
Los Angeles Chronicle
reporter by the name of Lance Savage?”
“Isn't he the reporter who was found dead in his home a few weeks ago?”
“That's correct,” she said with a pleased expression. “Do you know anything about the story he was working on when he was murdered?”
“I don't. Did it have something to do with Pastor Cleaveland?”
Cynthia's response was interrupted by the waiter arriving with a small platter of intricately displayed sushi. When he bowed and left, she continued, “I'm not going to play games with you, Gideon. I happen to know the content of the story Lance Savage was working on.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because I was the source of his information,” she said with a tinge of pride.
“Go on,” he said, his words punctuated by a slight gesture of his hand.
“Before I say more, I'll need some assurances from you. What I tell you can never be attributed to me. I must remain anonymous. It will be up to you to prove or disprove what I say.”
Gideon silently calculated the cunning of his prey and concluded that, if the information was as titillating as she seemed to believe, it was worth agreeing to her terms.
“That sounds reasonable. However, I must tell you that if what you say is in any way fabricated, I will be very displeased that you have wasted my time, and believe me, Mrs. Pryce, you don't want to lie to someone like me.”
She smiled and said, “I can assure you that everything I'm about to tell you is absolutely true. And please, Gideon, call me Cynthia.” Cynthia picked up her leather purse from the floor. From it she retrieved a folder containing a stack of papers and handed it to Gideon. “These are copies of e-mails I printed from Hezekiah's computer six months before he was killed. They are correspondences between him and his lover.”
“When you say âlover,' I assume you are referring to his wife, Samantha?” Gideon asked innocently.
“I'm afraid not. Hezekiah's lover was a man. A young man named Danny St. John.”
Gideon took the folder, leaned forward, and asked suspiciously, “Are you saying Pastor Hezekiah Cleaveland was gay? Who else knows about this?”
“I'm not exactly sure. The only people I am aware of are Lance Savage, Phillip Thornton from the
Los Angeles Chronicle,
and my husband, Percy.”
“How about his wife? Does she know about this?”
“That I don't know.”
“Are you suggesting this has something to do with his murder?”
“I suspect it does. I don't know that for a fact, but think about it. In the week before the story was scheduled to run in the
Los Angeles Chronicle,
there were three deaths. All of them were people associated with Samantha Cleaveland. Lance Savage, the Reverend Willie Mitchell, and Hezekiah Cleaveland. It all strikes me as very suspicious.”
“Who is Willie Mitchell?”
“Reverend Mitchell was a senior minister at New Testament Cathedral. He was also one of the largest individual donors to the new cathedral construction project and a man who would do anything Samantha told him to do. It was an open secret that he was in love with her, and she used that to control him.”
“How did he die?”
“Poor man shot himself in the head on the night Hezekiah was killed,” Cynthia answered with as much sympathy as she could muster. “It was such a tragedy.”
“Do the police think there's a link between Hezekiah's murder and Mitchell's suicide?”
“No.”
“So what makes you think there is?”
“Reverend Mitchell was madly in love with Samantha. So why would he kill himself after the man he believed stood between him and Samantha was now out of the way? It doesn't make sense.”
Gideon still had not opened the folder that lay on the table. “Is Danny St. John a member of New Testament Cathedral?”
“No. He's a social worker who works with the homeless at an agency in downtown Los Angeles. I've never seen him before, but Lance told me he is quite beautiful. You should pay him a visit. You might like him.”
Gideon ignored the poorly veiled reference to his orientation and opened the folder. The first e-mail was dated February twelfth two years earlier. It was sent from Hezekiah's New Testament Cathedral e-mail address to a Google address for Danny St. John.
Hello, Danny,
I'm between meetings and wanted to tell you how much I love you. I think about you so much sometimes, it's hard for me to concentrate. I was just counseling a couple whose marriage is falling apart, and all I could think about was holding you in my arms and kissing your body from head to toe. I love the way you taste, the way you smell, and the way you make me feel. I can't wait to see you tomorrow night.
Love you,
Hez
Gideon continued reading randomly through the stack of e-mails. They ranged in tone from completely innocuous to sexually graphic. Some were innocent communications, while others spoke to the undeniable emotional and physical bond between one of the nation's most powerful religious leaders and a young, naive social worker. After a while Gideon looked up from the papers at Cynthia, who had been studying him the entire time he read. There was silence at the table as they each planned their next move.
Gideon went first. “So, what do you want out of this? Our network has a firm policy that we don't pay for stories.”
Cynthia had anticipated that these would be the salivating journalist's next words and reverted to her best minister's wife impression.
“I'm not seeking any type of financial remuneration,” she responded indignantly. “I don't want anything but for God's will to be done. My heart goes out to Samantha. Who knows what diseases he may have given her? Also, what if this Danny St. John killed Hezekiah in a jealous rage? She needs to know for her own safety.”
“Why didn't the
Los Angeles Chronicle
run the story?”
“It was scheduled to be their lead story on the Monday after the Sunday Hezekiah was killed. Obviously, Hezekiah being killed was a much bigger story than him liking to suck dick. And, afterward, I'm sure they realized there would be a significant backlash if they were thought to be maligning the dead.” From the expression on Gideon's face, Cynthia realized her choice of words didn't fit with the preacher's wife image. “I'm sorry if I offended you.”
“Not offended. Just a little surprised.” Gideon took a mental note of the multifaceted woman and continued. “If this is true, it has the potential to be one of the most sensational stories of the year. Have you spoken to anyone else in the media?”
“No, I haven't. I wanted to speak with you first.”
“Why me?”
“Because I believe you will handle the story in a way that will do the least amount of harm to New Testament Cathedral. You strike me as ethical, sophisticated, and talented enough to make the story about the man and not the ministry. Good people sometimes do stupid things. Hezekiah's behavior was certainly stupid, but the ministry he built is not. Millions of people around the world rely on New Testament Cathedral for hope, direction, and comfort. I think you can understand how important that is and will report the story in a way that will allow those of us who remain to continue to share the love of God throughout the world.”
“That's a nice speech, Cynthia, but isn't your husband the next in line to become pastor if Samantha doesn't work out?”
Cynthia pulled her most offended expression from the depths of her gut and responded, “Yes, but that has nothing to do with this. I only want what's right for New Testament.”
“Save the pious bullshit for your television audience. You seem to forget I'm a reporter. I knew everything about you and your husband ten minutes after you called me. I'm assuming your husband, Percy, isn't quite as ambitious as you are. What really happened, Cynthia? He didn't have the balls to throw Samantha under the bus and take over New Testament Cathedral after Hezekiah died? You had done all the dirty work by leaking the story.” Then, to test her sensibilities even further, he added, “I wouldn't be surprised if you also had to fuck a few guys, or even girls, at the
Chronicle
to keep this story on track.”
Cynthia leaned back in her chair unfazed as Gideon continued. “You would be the first lady of New Testament Cathedral today if Hezekiah hadn't gotten himself shot in the head the day before the story was scheduled to run. But you don't give up easily, because here you are, trying your damnedest to convince me to pin Hezekiah's death on his widow or his lover.”
Cynthia looked him directly in the eyes as she reached for the folder between them. “I'll take those if you're not interested,” she said with a wicked smile. “I'm sure I won't have a problem finding someone who is. Maybe Anderson Cooper, “she said wryly.
Gideon quickly placed his hand firmly on the folder. “Hold on. I didn't say I wasn't interested. I'm going to investigate the story, but on my terms. No one, including you and your husband, are off-limits. If I find out that your role in this was anything other than what you've said, it will be my decision whether or not to include it in my story.”
Cynthia smiled slightly. “You don't frighten me, Gideon Truman,” she said mockingly. “The role I played is exactly as I've described it. Just remember, if you call on me to corroborate any of this, you're out of luck. Based on your obviously brilliant skills of deduction, it shouldn't be too difficult for you to figure out why. I'll deny we ever met and sue you personally for libel if you ever try to drag me into this.”
“It seems to me you've already dragged yourself into it, Cynthia. Can you get me an interview with Samantha? She won't take my calls.”
“Don't worry about that. She knows you want to interview her, and she'll contact you when she feels the time is perfect for her to milk Hezekiah's death for her own benefit. By the way, when you do meet with her, don't forget to ask about his other extramarital affairs.”
“What do you mean, other? Have there been more?”
“Of course there have been others, but none like this one. Who cares how many choir girls he's fucked over the years? That will all be eclipsed by the lovely Danny St. John.”
Chapter 4
Reverend Percy Pryce's office was the third largest in the New Testament Cathedral administrative suite. The room's dominant colors were hues of grays and black, with a smattering of color in the form of autumn-toned pillows on a black couch, a green vase glimmering from the light pouring through the wall of glass, and a burst of fresh-cut flowers, which were delivered like clockwork each Monday morning to every office in the executive suite. They sat on the table near to Percy's desk.
Percy could smell the sweet fragrance of Cynthia's perfume still on his hands as he removed his coat and sat behind his large black lacquered desk. The fog that ecstasy brought slowly began to fade as the realization of his deeds came to the forefront of his mind. Once again the unsuccessful attempt he and Kenneth Davis had made to pay Lance Savage $175,000 in exchange for not running the incendiary story about Hezekiah played like a recording in his brain. The violent struggle with Lance Savage, which had left the living room of the little bungalow in shambles. The image of the reporter's crumpled body lying dead on the floor among the litter of one-hundred-dollar bills was ever looming.
His hands trembled slightly as he relived the scene. His palms felt moist and his mouth dry when the intercom buzzer sliced through the silence. “Excuse me, Reverend Pryce,” exclaimed the disembodied voice. “Reverend Davis is here to see you. Should I send him in? He said it will only take a moment.”
Percy took a deep breath and rubbed his dewy hands together. “Thank you, Carol. Send him in.”
Kenneth entered like a whirlwind, closing the door behind him. “She's out of control. We have to do something.”
Percy looked up and calmly replied, “We only have ourselves to blame for this. We all knew who Samantha was long before Hezekiah was killed. We voted her in as pastor, and now we have to live with the decision.”
“How can you be so calm about this? That woman is going to destroy this ministry with her ego.” Kenneth walked anxiously toward the desk and continued. “This morning she announced that she is going to be functioning as the COO. She certainly knew how to run Hezekiah, but she doesn't know anything about running New Testament Cathedral.”
Percy remained calm. “I think you're wrong. Samantha is a smart woman. The public loves her, and she raises more money than all of us put together. Some people think she's been running the church from day one and Hezekiah was only the front man.”
“That may be true, but what about the spiritual needs of our members? You know as well as I do that if they can't write a check for ten thousand dollars or more, she won't want any part of them.”
Percy paused and turned toward the window. He looked out over the grounds of New Testament Cathedral and replied mournfully, “I must admit that I worry about that too, Reverend Davis.”
Kenneth sat down on the couch and, along with Percy, looked out the window. “And so you should. She's going to run this place like a coldhearted corporation. It will be all about money and her fame, not about saving souls.”
The two men sat quietly, each searching the horizon for answers. Percy finally broke the silence. “Have you heard anything from the police about Lance Savage? Every time someone knocks on my door, I jump, thinking it's them coming to arrest me.”
Kenneth moved anxiously to the edge of the couch. “I've told you to forget about that, Percy. There is no link between us and his death. As far as the police are concerned, Lance walked in on a burglar robbing his home and was killed.”
“I just can't stop thinking about him lying there,” Percy said nervously. “He's dead because of us, Kenneth. I don't know if God can forgive us for that. I don't know if I can forgive myself.”
“It was an accident. You know it. I know it, and so does God. You didn't intend to kill him.”
“Cynthia knows when something is bothering me.”
Kenneth stood and walked behind Percy's desk. He spun the chair toward him, kneeled down in front of Percy, and placed his hand on his knee. “Have you said anything to her about this?”
Percy looked startled. “No,” he replied emphatically. “I could never tell her I did something like this.”
“Good. Let's keep it that way. As time passes, you'll learn to manage your feelings better, but for now don't say a word to anyone. Trust me, it will get easier. If you need to talk about it, call me. Understand?”
Percy nodded his head in affirmation, then turned away.
Kenneth continued, “The only thing we need to worry about now is Samantha and New Testament. We have to figure out a way to prevent her from being appointed as permanent pastor. Everyone knows you should be pastor, Percy.”
“You sound like Cynthia. That's all she's been talking about since Hezekiah's death.”
Kenneth stood up, sat on the desk and said, “You should listen to her. She's right.”
“She might be, but there doesn't seem to be anything that can be done about it now. It's unlikely the trustees are going to reverse their decision. Once she starts bringing in money, they won't have any choice but to make it permanent. They're no match for her. No one is.”
“You underestimate yourself, Percy. Cynthia believes in you. I believe in you, and so do thousands of other members of this congregation. You just have to have faith.”
“I think I'll need more than faith to go up against Samantha. Right now I'm more concerned about Catherine. She's talking about leaving.”
“Like I said earlier, Samantha is not stupid. She'll learn quickly that she can't run this place without Catherine. I'll try to talk some sense into her later this week.”
“I don't think she'll listen, but it's worth a try.”
“I think you, Catherine, Naomi, and I should meet. Let's put our heads together and see if there's anything we can do about this,” Kenneth said.
Percy looked sharply at him and said, “You seem to have forgotten what happened the last time the four of us put our heads together to solve a problem.” He stood up and walked away from the desk. “It was bribing Lance not to run the story. What were we thinking? It only made matters worse. Now the man's dead, for Christ sake.”
“It was a good plan, Percy. He just got greedy and wanted more. It would have worked if you hadn't gotten so angry. We could have offered him more money.”
“We should have never offered him any money at all,” Percy said bitterly.
“You know we had no other choice,” Kenneth rebuked. “A scandal like that would have brought this entire ministry down. At least that crisis was averted.”
“Yes, it was averted, but at what cost? Two men are dead, Kenneth. Was it worth it?”
“How could you ask that? Of course it was worth it. You forget how many millions of people this ministry touches. You forget about all the people whom we've led to Christ. Was it worth it?” Kenneth repeated as his voice escalated. “Hell, yes, it was worth it, and deep down I believe you agree.”
Â
Â
“Today my guest is the new pastor of the mega church New Testament Cathedral in Los Angeles and one of my dearest friends, the fabulous Reverend Dr. Samantha Cleaveland.”
The audience of the nationally syndicated
Renee Adasen Show
was filled with well-dressed, smiling middle-class women who had collectively waited years for tickets to the talk show. The cantilevered seats held a sea of peach, blue, yellow, and spring pastels. Everyone stood to their feet and applauded when they heard Samantha's name.
Renee raised her voice over the applause and swung her arms in a sweeping motion. “Please help me welcome Pastor, Reverend Dr. Samantha Cleaveland.”
The claps became louder and were accompanied by hoots of approval and gasps of admiration when Samantha walked onto the platform from behind a series of backlit blue panels and screens.
“So, you're so . . . gosh,” the host said enthusiastically. “You're such an amazing woman. For those of you who don't knowâI can't imagine who that would beâSamantha . . . I can call her Samantha because we're friends.” The comment was greeted with laughs from the audience and a broad smile and a touch of Renee's hand by Samantha.
Renee continued in a more somber tone. “Anyway, there has been no modern-day tragedy since the King and Kennedy assassinations, at least not one that I can think of, that has moved the country like your story, Samantha. For those in our audience who don't know this, Samantha's husband, the Reverend Dr. Hezekiah T. Cleaveland, was brutally assassinated. I don't know any other way to put it, but he was assassinated in front of you and the entire congregation of New Testament Cathedral in Los Angeles. I mean you literally held him in your arms as he was dying.”
The cameras panned the audience. Women clutched their chests and dabbed tears from their eyes. A closeup of a woman shaking her head, with her hand covering her mouth, filled the screen for a brief moment. The camera cut back to the two beautiful women sitting in modern, comfortable chairs covered in butterscotch-toned leather.
Samantha wore a simply cut black two-piece suit and a white blouse with an oversize collar that revealed only enough cleavage to remind everyone that she was a voluptuous woman. Renee wore an apple red knit dress with a round neckline that dipped slightly to the left, similarly revealing enough flesh to remind viewers that she, too, was a desirable woman.
The women faced each other at a slight angle. Their perfect legs crossed at the knee, with one spiked heel of their handmade Italian shoes planted in the carpet, causing the tip to point graciously toward the audience.
“I know everyone would like to know.... I know I would. What was going through your mind at that moment?” the host asked unapologetically. “When you first heard the gunshots? I can only imagine how terrifying that must have been for you.”
Samantha's expression, on cue, faded from that of a radiant television personality to grieving widow within seconds. “Renee, let me first tell you how much your support has meant to me through this very difficult time,” she said sincerely.
Renee reached out, held her hand, and said, “That's what friends are for. I know you would have done the same for me.”
The audience responded with loud yet respectful applause.
“So tell us, Samantha, what was going through you mind that day?”
“Renee, much of it is still a blur. It was a beautiful Sunday morning. Hezekiah and I were always our most happiest on Sundays. I was with him in his office before the service started, and like I always did, I straightened his tie, kissed him, and told him how much I loved him before he went out to the pulpit. I took my seat on the front row, and I remember thinking how lucky I was to be married to such a wonderful manâ”
Renee interrupted, “Did you sense anything was wrong or that something bad was about to happen?”
“I had no idea. Everything seemed perfect. Hezekiah was about halfway through his sermon when I heard the first shot. I thought one of the overhead lights had burst.” Samantha put the tip of her freshly manicured finger to her lips and paused before she continued. “Then I saw him lean forward and put his hand on his chest. That's when we all heard the second shot. There were screams coming from everywhere. It was horrible,” she said with an air of introspection. “Just horrible. I honestly don't remember anything after that.”
Renee dabbed a tear from her eye. She again reached across and took Samantha's hand and asked, “Do the police have any clue as to who may have done this?”
Samantha looked even more mournful and said, “So far they don't have any suspects. They think it might have been someone who had been stalking him for at least a year, but they're not sure. The Los Angeles Police Department has been wonderful. I have every faith that they will find the person or persons responsible for my husband's death.”
Renee paused before continuing. “Yeah,” she said, “I mean, for many people Hezekiah was an icon, but for you he was more than that. He was your husband, your partner, your lover. It must be surreal for you. . . . Is it disbelief? It's hard to believe still? It's still hard to believe he's gone?”
Samantha shifted uncomfortably in the chair and said, “It is, Renee. Some nights I turn over in bed and reach for him, only to find that he's not there. Anyone who's lost a loved one knows the grief is almost unbearable. It's as if you've lost a part of your own soul. I miss him more than you can imagine.”
Renee pressed on. “Now, the entire thing was caught on tape?”
“Well, yes. It was Sunday morning service. There were cameras everywhere.”
“Unfortunately, the tapes were leaked to the media and have been played . . . seems like nonstop since it happened. How does it feel when you see it now?”
“I haven't seen it. I haven't turned on a television or radio since it happened. I'm too afraid of hearing his name on the news or accidently seeing the footage.”