Covenant A Novel

The expansive office, dominated by a huge chrome crucifix on one wall and by towering windows on the other, seemed to make Kelvin Patterson more diminutive than he actually was. He turned and smiled regally as the receptionist closed the door behind Tyrell and Lopez.

“Detectives,” he greeted them.

Patterson was wearing an expensive silk shirt and dark trousers, and a navy blazer hung from a chair nearby.

“I understand you have a big night ahead, Pastor,” Tyrell said.

“It is a big night for America,” Patterson replied. “Much hangs on how the crowd views us tonight.” Us, Tyrell thought quietly as they followed him across to his broad mahogany desk, complete with bronze eagle and the Stars and Stripes. “What can I do for you?”

“The Evangelical Institute,” Tyrell said. “You own it?”

“It is owned by the alliance.”

“And it is used as a rehabilitation site for drug addicts.”

“The hospital provides a place for the poor to gain access to free health care, food, and accommodation,” Patterson said as he picked up his tie. “Only a small part of the hospital is dedicated to long-term patients.”

Tyrell nodded. “Your staff there, how are they recruited?”

Patterson tucked his tie under his collar and began tying the knot.

“We advertise for volunteers. Why do you ask?”

Tyrell ignored the question.

“What background checks do you have in place when recruiting them?”

“All of our procedures follow recruitment laws,” Patterson replied without elaboration.

Lopez sensed her moment instinctively when Tyrell let a silence hang in the room.

“Do you have records of all members of staff?”

Patterson began fastening his cuff links. “The hospital’s records are very thorough.”

Tyrell spoke quickly, giving Patterson no room for thought.

“Where do the funds come from to finance the hospital itself?”

“From our congregation. We have almost thirty million members across the United States.”

“It is more blessed to give than to receive,” Tyrell ventured.

Patterson appeared surprised, and smiled. “It is indeed.”

There was a long pause when neither Tyrell nor Lopez said anything, simply looked around the sumptuous office.

“I don’t mean to pry, Officers, but what are these questions referring to?” Patterson asked. “Has a member of my staff committed a crime?”

“No,” Tyrell said, “a member of your staff has not committed a crime.”

Another long pause. Patterson appeared bemused. “What then?”

“There was a patient in your hospital by the name of Daniel Neville,” Tyrell said.

“There are so many,” Patterson said. “I have no knowledge of individual patients.”

“You weren’t informed of the circumstances surrounding his death?” Lopez asked in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” Patterson said, “but the AEA manages dozens of charitable organizations. I was informed that a death had occurred, and that a police officer was present at the scene.”

“Daniel Neville,” Lopez continued smoothly, “claimed that he was taken to a laboratory where tests were conducted on him and other patients.”

Patterson’s smile did not slip as he reached out for his jacket.

“One does not end up in a drug rehabilitation center for no reason. Many of our younger patients have issues facing up to their addiction, and construct fantasies to justify it.”

“So there were no experiments conducted on institute patients?” Tyrell asked.

Patterson frowned as he slipped into his jacket.

“None that I know of.”

“We need to be certain,” Tyrell said, and let the bombshell drop. “It would help us to understand what happened to the bodies we found yesterday morning.”

Patterson froze in motion. “Bodies?”

Lopez produced a series of photographs of the dead men they had discovered and handed them to Patterson. The pastor stared down at the images in his hand as though he were handling poisonous insects.

“Poor souls,” he said finally.

“All three of these men were found with high levels of crack cocaine in their blood, indicative of overdose. The problem is that one died from hypothermia induced by a medical procedure, and the drugs were administered after death, not before.”

Patterson did not look up from the photographs for a moment, leafing through them.

“What are you suggesting?” he asked, still without looking up.

“You have carried out experimental procedures into consciousness at the institute, is that correct, Pastor?” Lopez asked.

Patterson stared at her for a long beat, caught up in the tangle of unexpected questions.

“Yes, we have a history of such work.”

“We consider this to be a homicide investigation,” Lopez said. “Daniel Neville provided enough information for us to follow leads connecting his experiences with the fate suffered by these three men, and those leads have led us here.”

Patterson’s eyes widened. “Here?”

Tyrell took the photographs from the pastor.

“We believe that these men died while undergoing a medical procedure administered by one of your staff.”

“Which one?” Patterson gaped in astonishment.

Tyrell handed him another printed image. “Do you know this man?”

The pastor looked down at the image and shook his head.

“No. He is a member of my staff?”

“We believe he was,” Lopez said. “His name is Damon Sheviz.”

“I understand that your alliance has been heavily involved in experiments involving human volunteers,” Tyrell said.

Patterson slowed his button fastening, leveling a calm gaze at Tyrell.

“It is my opinion that churches around the world have been too long hoarding their finances and trying to force their followers to believe in the unbelievable, to have faith in emptiness. There can be no knowledge without study.”

“How are these experiments conducted?” Lopez chimed in.

“We use non-invasive means,” Patterson said. “Hypnotherapy, meditation, the study of near-death experiences in cardiac-arrest patients,” Patterson replied warily. “Where are you going with this?”

Tyrell took the plunge.

“We believe that Damon Sheviz is harvesting live victims to conduct illegal experiments involving the genetic creation of a chimera between a human and an unknown species.”

Patterson’s eyes flickered.

“That’s …” he began. “That’s ridiculous. Such procedures do not even exist.”

“Actually, they do,” Tyrell went on. “We have gathered detailed files on this man, and we have people working on finding out where he is obtaining the equipment necessary to conduct these experiments.”

“But he wouldn’t be able to do things like that without other staff members knowing about it and stopping him,” Patterson said.

“I didn’t say that the procedures were conducted here,” Tyrell said, and then decided to take a chance. “We also need to know about Casey Jeffs.”

Tyrell caught another tremor of apprehension in the pastor’s demeanor.

“Who is he?” Patterson asked.

“A janitor who works at the institute. You said that you run checks on your members of staff?”

“Of course, all members are carefully vetted.”

“Mr. Jeffs was tried for homicide,” Tyrell pointed out. “Isn’t that something that would have been a cause for concern?”

Patterson remained rooted to the spot as he spoke.

“Perhaps, but if Mr. Jeffs is one of our rehabilitated patients, then his employment will be a part of our rehabilitation program.”

“For sixteen years?” Tyrell inquired.

“I wouldn’t know how long Mr. Jeffs has been in treatment or employment,” Patterson said quickly.

“Of course,” Tyrell replied. “We have evidence that Casey Jeffs has received private clinical treatment for most of his life without apparent financial means. Do you know anyone who may be providing this support to him?”

Patterson stared directly into Tyrell’s eyes. “No, I’m afraid not.”

Tyrell forced a bright smile onto his face as though nothing untoward had passed between them.

“Thank you for your time, sir.”

Tyrell turned and walked to the office door, letting Lopez through first before looking back into the office to where Patterson stood as though stranded.

“Pastor? Daniel Neville.”

“Yes?”

“You said that you did not know him.”

“That’s right.”

“You also said that many of your younger patients create fantasies to cover their addictions,” Tyrell said quietly. “I did not tell you that Daniel Neville was young.”

Patterson’s eyes quivered in their sockets.

“Most all of our addict patients are young males,” he said. “That is a demographic of substance abuse.”

Tyrell turned and closed the door behind him.

“He’s covering something,” Tyrell said as he walked away with Lopez. “The only other route we’ve got is Senator Isaiah Black.”

Lopez stared at him as though he’d turned blue.

“You can’t just stroll into a senator’s office, Tyrell. They’ll call District or headquarters to confirm your identity and Powell will string you up by the balls long before we get through the damn door.”

“Look, if we can get Isaiah Black to give us an angle on Patterson, then we’ve got a lead we can follow. He might have heard or seen something. I can’t just tell Powell that we think Patterson’s covering something up; it isn’t enough to convince Commissioner Devereux to reopen the case.”

“This one’s cold, Tyrell, maybe we should do what Powell says and let it go until forensics turn in their data.”

“It ain’t over till it’s over, Lopez. Sometimes you just gotta do what you don’t want to.”

“That’s right,” Lopez said. “And I’m tellin’ you it’s too far. At least get a subpoena or something?”

Tyrell stopped, looking down at her for a long moment.

“Look, just do some digging into this Casey Jeffs and see what you can come up with. The money for his treatment had to come from somewhere. Patterson and Jeffs may be connected and we need to know how.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Lopez replied disconsolately.

“You’re losing it for this, aren’t you?”

“You’ve only just noticed?” Lopez asked. “We’re chasing a pastor around a church while talking about surgeons conducting insane experiments on abductees, trying to turn them into frickin’ angels. The hell you think I’m doing?”

Tyrell nodded, rubbing his temples again and feeling a slick sheen of sweat lacing his skin with beads of oily liquid.

“I know it’s crazy, but that’s what the evidence is telling us. You think that by following me everyone else will think you’re nuts too?”

Lopez sighed and spoke softly in the deserted corridor.

“Where I come from, there’s a place up on the foothills above the town called Pateon Cemetery. The people who have family members interred there have to pay a tax for the land. Anyone defaults, then the officials dig up the remains and put them on display in the Museo de las Momias, the Museum of the Mummies.” She looked briefly at the floor as she spoke. “Nobody goes there at night because there’s all kinds of bad shit goin’ down. Disembodied voices, things movin’ about on their own, you name it. So no, I don’t think we’re nuts, but Powell sure as hell will and I’m not willing to put my career on the line for this. It just isn’t big enough.”

Tyrell gave her a long look before speaking.

“Powell isn’t going to start blowing sunshine up your ass for playing the good girl,” he muttered. “Look where playing by the rules got him.”

“Yeah, and look where breaking the goddamn rules got you.”

A deep silence filled the corridor.

“Cheap shot, Lopez,” Tyrell observed finally.

“I’ll let you know what comes up on Jeffs.”

With that, Lopez turned and left him standing in the corridor.