“You can help me when I’m dead. I’ll be okay, boy. Get them flowers.”
Titus went and retrieved the flowers from his Jeep. He stood back from the crowd gathered around Gene’s grave lest someone think his flowers were for Gene. The clouds gathered like young men on a corner getting ready for a fight. The first drops of rain began to fall and splattered on the brim of his hat. Titus could hear the sobbing of Gene’s family begin to ebb.
As the crowd dispersed, Titus made his way to his mother’s grave. He stood at the foot of Helen Crown’s final resting place, waiting for his father to come over and join him. Titus saw Reverend Jackson talking to his father. Even from a distance he could tell his father wasn’t happy about the conversation.
Titus made his way over to the two men.
“So, I think that’s for the best,” Reverend Jackson said. His voice was deep as a coal mine.
“What’s for the best?” Titus asked.
“Oh, hi, Titus, good seeing you even if it’s under these sad circumstances, brother,” Reverend Jackson said.
Titus ignored the pleasantries. “What’s for the best?” he asked again.
“Reverend Jackson thinks that since it was just me and Gene doing the church garden and now Gene’s gone, we should raze the garden so the church can sell the land,” Albert said.
Titus had never heard his father sound so defeated.
“The land right over there, behind the graveyard, you want to get rid of the garden and sell that, to who? Who’s going to buy a quarter acre near a cemetery?” Titus asked.
“Titus, the church just thinks it’s for the best. There are many, many things we can do with the money from the sale of that land,” Reverend Jackson said.
“Like get you a new car?” Titus asked. Reverend Jackson and Albert both stared at him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Beg all you want; you won’t get it. My father and Gene and Mrs. Jojo Ware built that garden from nothing long before you came in here with your five hundred suits. How many families have they kept from starving? How many people have they kept from robbing the 7-Eleven to get enough money to feed their families? And now you want to sell it? I wish Jesus was real so he could chase you down the aisle with a goddamn whip,” Titus said.
“Son, watch your mouth!” Albert said.
“Nah, Dad, this crook needs to watch his. How about this? How about at the next church meeting I come and make a motion to have a forensic accountant go over the books and audit all the church’s accounts? See if we really need to sell that land.”
“Well, for a member that doesn’t attend regularly, you sure seem to have a lot to say about how I run my church,” Reverend Jackson said.
Titus stepped forward, brushing past his father until he was towering over all five-foot-six of Reverend Jackson.
“This isn’t your church. You just stand in the pulpit,” Titus said.
Reverend Jackson stepped backward, stumbled, and almost fell against a headstone. “Deacon, we’ll talk about this later,” he said. He weaved his way among the stones as the rain began to intensify.
Titus went back to his mother. Albert joined him.
“Titus, I know you … ain’t a fan of the church, but you didn’t have to talk to the pastor like that. I think … maybe he’s right. You was even worried about me the other day,” Albert said.
Titus laid the flowers across his mother’s grave.
“That building over there ain’t the Church. All that is sticks and stones and vinyl siding. The Church is what you and Gene was doing. I might not believe in it, but I can recognize it. Don’t you ever let that con man convince you otherwise, Pop.” Titus put his arm around his father.
“You remember Mama’s favorite Bible verse?” Titus asked.
“Psalm thirty-seven, verse twenty-five,” Albert said quietly.
“‘For I have been young and now am old but I have never seen the righteous forsaken nor his seed begging for bread.’ You’re the righteous, Pop. Because of you, a lot of people have never had to beg for bread,” Titus said.
They stood there together side by side for a long time. Any tears they shed were hidden by the rain.
TWENTY-ONE
The rain was coming down in sheets by the time Titus turned down the road to their house. He had his lights on and his windshield wipers on high as he pulled into the driveway.
Titus put the Jeep into park. As the wipers moved back and forth in a robotic staccato rhythm, Titus saw a flash of color on their front door between the blades.
A flash of red that was streaming over the panels of the fiberglass door. Titus shut off the wipers. For an instant, before the rain splashed across the windshield, he thought he saw the source of the red streaks.
“Pop, stay in the car and call 911,” Titus said.
“What … what is that on the door?” Albert asked as he squinted.
“Pop, lock the doors when I get out.”
“Titus, what is that?”
“Lock the doors, Pop,” Titus said. He climbed out of the Jeep and drew his gun. The rain was coming down sideways, but as he got closer the door became clearer. Titus used a tactical grip, right hand over his left wrist, as he aimed at the door. He moved to the corner of the house and secured the backyard. There was nowhere for anyone to hide there unless they buried themselves in the woodpile. He went back to the front door. He holstered his gun and put both hands on his hips.
A white lamb, its throat cut with one smooth slice, had been nailed to their front door. The nail was really a tent spike. It went through the poor creature’s eye and out the back of its head and into the door. The blood had stopped flowing from the wound, but the wind had driven the rain up into the porch and mixed with the lamb’s vital fluids and spread them across the door.
Titus swallowed hard.
The Last Wolf had been to his house. He’d left him a message. But not the one he thought he’d communicated. He thought he was frightening Titus. He was mistaken. Hanging that lamb from his door told Titus the Last Wolf was anxious. He might even be spiraling. When organized killers became volatile, they made mistakes. Like this lamb. Titus was willing to bet it came from River Oak’s petting zoo. He knew they had security cameras. This poor creature had lost its life, but, much like sacrifices in the years of antiquity, a blessing might soon manifest from its spilled blood.
The fact that his home had been attacked, that a man who had killed children, boys and girls, had killed Cole Marshall, had killed a baby sheep just to make a point, had literally brought the fight to his front door, well, that fact had to be shoved aside for the moment. He had to use this. He could be angry and afraid another time.
* * *
Twenty minutes later the yard was full of vehicles, both police and personal. Red and blue lights blazed through the rapidly encroaching darkness. The lamb had been placed in a biohazard bag. Douglas, Carla, and Davy were canvassing the neighborhood, asking folks what they had seen or heard. Pip and Trey were helping Titus clean the door. Steve was off, but he’d called. They had all come by or checked in with him. He definitely appreciated that.
“You don’t have a Ring camera, do you?” Trey asked.
Titus shook his head. “My pop doesn’t like tech stuff and, frankly, I didn’t think we needed it.”
“Well, Cory over at River Oak confirms someone broke in and grabbed one of their lambs. He noticed the fence had been cut this morning, so he did a head count,” Pip said as he put his cell back in his pocket. The rain had subsided, but the air was still saturated with moisture. Titus felt like he was walking through a mist.
“Get the lamb to Richmond. Go ahead and dust the door for prints, but I doubt they left any. Somebody take my pops over to my brother’s house,” Titus said.
“Um, about that. He says he ain’t going nowhere,” Trey said.
“Yeah, he’s pretty adamant,” Pip said.
Titus sighed. “I’ll talk to him. And who’s watching Dayane?” Titus asked.
Pip and Trey exchanged a glance.
“Guys, don’t tell me no one is on her. And what about Elias?” Titus said.
“Boss, soon as we heard about Mary’s Little Lamb, we all came over to check on you and your dad,” Trey said.
“I appreciate that, Trey. But Dayane is our way to the killer. Following her and finding Elias are the ways we finish this. Let me go talk to my pops,” Titus said. He tried not to be too hard on them. Not every leader got a team that cared for him the way most of his deputies did. For that he should rise up and be grateful. But that didn’t mean they could forget the case. He was glad for their concern, but he was still alive. The dead needed their full attention.
“Pop, you need to go over to Marquis’s house for a little while,” Titus said. His father was sitting on a stump near the woodpile while the deputies went about their work in the front yard.
“Titus, I’ve slept on my side of the bed for thirty years. This crazy man ain’t gonna make me change that,” Albert said.