Exceptional a madman enjoys the limelight Along the Jericho Road : Iwaka Moon by Writingfundimension

Background A priest is in the midst of a personal crisis when a killer lures him into a twisted world of moral corruption, cover-ups and revenge. Father Brian's dog, Alyx, stood upright on his back legs and boxed the air with his front paws when the priest entered the kitchen. The Sheltie's tail swept the floor furiously and his dark brown almond-shaped eyes shone with joy. The priest stooped to gather the dog into his arms. "I'm home now, little buddy, and I'll bet you're as hungry as I am, huh?" In apparent perfect comprehension of the question, Alyx wiggled his butt as a signal to be let down. He pranced across the kitchen tile, nails clicking like miniature castanets, and halted directly in front of the cabinet where his food and treats were stored. Seating himself in a pose suggestive of a satin sphinx, he waited on his master's pleasure. Father Brian retrieved the dog's ceramic food and water bowls from the Fleur-de-Lis elevated pet feeder he'd purchased because it claimed to aid in a dog's digestion. Once his food and water was in place, Alyx stepped to his food bowl, paused as if to give thanks and dipped his head to eat. Mrs. Findley, the housekeeper, nearly laid an egg when she first saw the dog 'contraption'. The woman believed dogs belonged outdoors in pens, and was appalled at Father Brian's silly waste of money. Alyx, sensitive to her animosity, hid in the den on her cleaning days. The priest thanked heaven it was his housekeeper's day off. Her questioning of his whereabouts would likely have ended in the exchange of cross words. Between the horrific scene earlier at Debra Padget's house and the second call from the killer, Father Brian's emotional state was already taut as piano wire. He crossed to the gas stove, lifted the lid of the stockpot filled with simmering posole, and stirred its contents slowly. A deep inhalation of the sensual aroma of the loosened elixir quickened the need to satisfy his hunger. But the burst of pleasure evaporated when his cell phone rang from where it lay on the countertop. Father Brian reacted as if he'd suddenly come upon a coiled rattlesnake. Only after determining it was a caller known to him, would he touch it. His greeting was interrupted by Norma, the parish secretary. "Father, turn on Channel 14 right away! They're interviewing Sheriff Oleson from Debra Padget's home." He patted the surface of the countertop looking for the remote to the kitchen's small television and finally located it underneath an oven mitt. Quickly, he located the station, his curiosity piqued by how much the sheriff would reveal about Debra's murder. "That snotty, hot-pants T.V. anchor is making our Sheriff look like an incompetent boob. I'm going to call the T.V. station and complain," Norma's voice shook with indignation. "Do what you think is right, Norma," Father Brian answered into a dead phone line.  The televised interview was winding down, and Father Brian leaned in close to the screen as the camera panned the crowd of onlookers. He had only seconds to scrutinize the faces, but with near-certainty, he believed he knew the identity of one that radiated pure malevolence.   ********** Sheriff Oleson aroused strong reactions in both men and women when he entered a room. His every movement invited comparison to the liquid grace of a cheetah. Military training and the discipline of martial arts contributed to his uncommon demeanor. But, the fact he felt no need to prove himself to anyone made up the larger part of his confidence. When in uniform, he was the epitome of a 1950's Hollywood lawman: His favorite screen hero was Marshall Will Kane in the movie High Noon. He kept his hair styled pretty much the way he had most of his life, the natural wave tamed with styling gel and sideburns trimmed to an inch below the hairline. There was a little more gray - after all he was 52 - but not nearly as much as some of his colleagues. As he brought his car to a stop in front of St. Matilde's, he debated the need for a jacket as the weather had turned wet. There was just enough wool in his uniform to put off a nasty smell when damp. But he decided to sprint to the front door and minimize the amount of rain it would absorb. St. Matilde's rectory was on the historic registry of Granite Mountain. Its white wraparound porch had a cement floor that was freshly painted each year. Planters ran the full length of the wood railings, and still held the mottled remains of the summer's geraniums. Burgundy wicker furniture was stacked beneath the roof's overhang and securely fastened with heavy tarp.  Father Brian answered the door before the sheriff's second knock. Through the open door, the detective got his first look at the impressive foyer with its crystal chandelier and marble floor covered with Persian rugs faded enough to be the real deal. "Come in, Sheriff," he said with a tight smile that did not trespass the corners of his mouth. Detective Oleson stepped inside noting the priest had changed his clothing after leaving the crime scene. Although he looked younger in jeans and sweatshirt, he still emanated an invisible barrier of formality. Once inside, Derek checked his shoes to be sure they were clean of mud. Only then did he offer his hand in greeting to the priest and say, "Thanks for taking the time to speak with me, Father. I know this morning was rough on you. Even after twenty years  of this work, I've never gotten used to the emotional impact of violent death." "I appreciate your understanding, Sheriff," the priest responded while gesturing down a hallway leading to the left. "My study is a good place for us to talk and eat. I've got the fireplace turned on, but if it's too warm, just let me know. I'll set a tray and be along in a few minutes." The tightness in the detective's chest and shoulders relaxed a little as he settled into the comfortable cushions of the plush tapestry sofa. His stomach grumbled impatiently now that he'd teased it with the possibility of food. Carrying a mahogany tray, the priest entered the room and set it down on the glass-topped table in front of the couch. "I must warn you that I use a variety of chiles in my posole, Sheriff. I wheedled the recipe from one of the hispanic grandmothers at my parish back in northern New Mexico. The first time I ate it, I learned the hard way that you don't drink cold beverages to still the heat - only makes it worse." "Thanks for the warning, Father. I like spicy foods, personally. Seem to have a cast-iron gut when it comes to that." The silence that followed attested to the delicious quality of the stew. It was spice hot, but the flavor of the pork and hominy balanced the heat with richness. When the sheriff finished his portion, Father Brian offered another. "Really delicious, Father Brian, but I'd prefer to get a few questions out of the way. Since you witnessed the 'breaking news', you can appreciate that I have some pressing business back at the Station. "Ah, yes, the informant. I understand. A mystery I'm sure you'll solve in short order." Sheriff Oleson took a small black notepad from the attache case he'd brought with him, leaving the top of the case open. He flipped the pages of the notepad then abruptly stilled his movements and fired a question in the priest's direction. "You dropped quite a bombshell, Father Brian, with your news of another call from the killer. What makes you so sure that's who it was?" "He referred to details only the killer would know, Sheriff. Besides, I will never forget the man's voice." "What did he say this time?" Father Brian stared into the bottom of his bowl, appearing to gather his thoughts. His mouth trembled, and he swallowed several times before answering. "He implied, Sheriff, that Debra Padget might still be alive if she had never met me." Characteristically, Sheriff Oleson offered an uncensored, blunt assessment of the suggestion. "The maniac's trying to confuse you, Father Brian. Wants you to doubt yourself so you can't aid in the investigation." The priest nodded in comprehension - his troubled spirit absorbing the crumbs of consolation the detective offered. "Father, I noticed several interesting details in Debra's house that I believe may aid us in determining the psychology of her killer. But I need you to confirm my suspicions." "Of course, I'll do whatever I can to help your investigation." "Do you remember if Debra Padget owned a pink rosary?" "Yes, it was rose-quartz and part of her retirement gift from the parish. In fact, she always kept it hanging from the newel post of her bed." The priest briefly closed his eyes and when he opened them he added, "I don't recall seeing it this morning, Sheriff." "I don't either, but I need to confirm with the CSU's whether they might have found it and placed it into evidence." "Another detail is troubling me." He paused to make direct eye contact with the priest. "I'm not a religious person, Father; but it seemed very odd to me that a woman as devout as Debra Padget would have no religious artwork in her home." The priest blinked rapidly then slowly shook his head in denial of the fact as presented by the Sheriff. "Debra had pictures of our Lord and the Blessed Virgin all over her house, Sheriff. And over her bed was a valuable cross, I believe it was solid gold." The Sheriff's cell phone went off, and when he registered the caller was Detective Jana Burke, he excused himself and stepped into the hallway.  "Yes, Detective Burke." "We've got a situation I think needs your immediate attention. The guy we picked up from the crowd at the crime scene claims he's Debra Padget's killer. And Detective Newstead is demanding he be allowed into the interview room along with the arresting detectives. Things are getting pretty heated, Sir." The sheriff slammed his hand against a nearby wall. "Damn that pain in the ass. I'm on my way, Detective. Let everyone know that I'll be the one to conduct the interview. Jana, smart move to call me." He came back into the den, and explained his reason for interrupting the interview. "I'm sorry, Father, but I've got to get back to the station A.S.A.P. I'll give you a call to schedule another time. I've got a few more things to cover with you." "No problem, Sheriff.  Ah ... before you go, I think I'm ready to take you up on your offer." "My offer?" "Yes, you suggested a police presence outside the rectory.  At this point, I think it would be wise."   ~~ to be continued ~~   Recognized Author Notes Terms: CSU: Crime Scene Unit Iwaka: ee-wak-kah Sioux for babble. Posole: Mexian soup/stew made with pork, hominy, garlic and chiles. Sheltie: The Shetland Sheepdog, or "Sheltie: as it is commonly called, is essentially a working Collie in miniature. A rough-coated working dog, he is alert, intensely loyal, devoted and keenly intelligent. **One of Hollywood's great leading men, Gary Cooper, played Marshall Will Kane in the western classic, High Noon. Thanks to Tillom for the loan of her artwork.

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