The other agent looked up. “The churches?”
“Especially Trinity Baptist. That’s where Newman could have come into contact with both Willard and DeVries.”
“I thought you’d been there before.”
“I have. But it was dark, and I was only in Mikkelsen’s office.” Mark remembered the eerie sight of the candlelight vigil that had greeted him when he’d been leaving. “It wouldn’t hurt to get a closer look at the property. Outbuildings.”
She shrugged. “All right. I’m going to send out assignments on these property searches first, and then I’ll be ready to go.”
In the meantime, Mark recalled, there was one person who might be able to start filling in some background on the Reverend and Laura Mikkelsen.
“Drive around the property,” Mark ordered.
“Such as it is,” Sloane murmured. They’d taken her car because, he was discovering, she liked being the one in the driver’s seat.
There wasn’t much to see. The white-clapboard church was a sprawling structure, indicating additions had been added over the years as the needs of the members had changed. Built in 1938, according to the conversation he’d had minutes ago with Barbara Hunt. Modernized over time, the woman had noted, but most of the fund-raising went toward youth activities.
There was a double garage detached from the main building, with another smallish outbuilding set a distance away, not large enough to house much more than the mower and lawn tools that Hunt had said were kept there.
Sloane circled back and pulled in to the parking lot. “So this woman you talked to hired Mikkelsen?”
“She was on the selection committee, yes. She said he had an impressive résumé of church leadership in various communities, mostly in the state.”
“Is it usual for these guys to move around a lot?”
Mark had little experience in the area. “No idea. But he left his last position because the congregation had voted to dissolve.”
They got out of the car. Started up the walk that would lead to the offices Mark had visited before.
“Think this guy will give us any problems about looking around?”
“I doubt it.” He stabbed at the doorbell with one index finger. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if his wife insists on being our tour guide.”
As it turned out, his prediction was wrong. The Mikkelsens were both out, they were informed by Cindy Long, the harried secretary. The pastor and his wife were at a Tri-County Ministry meeting, and the woman wasn’t sure when they’d return.
“They seemed quite proud of the facilities here when I spoke to them.” Mark gave her a smile meant to disarm. “Thought I’d come back to get a tour. Do you think it’d be possible for us to look around?”
The woman looked uncertain. “I really don’t have time to show the place to you. I have the Sunday bulletin to put together and a hundred other things that Laura left for me to do.” As if hearing the complaint in the words, she added piously, “I’m always happy to be of whatever sort of service I can be, of course.”
“Is the church open? Because we can just peek in ourselves.” Sloane spoke up for the first time. “There’s no reason to pull you away from your work. We’ll be in and out.”
“We-ell . . . that would probably be fine,” Long decided with an air of relief. “The church is always open during the day, for anyone who needs a quiet place for solace and contemplation. You’re welcome to go inside. We’re especially proud of the old stained-glass window that was found downstairs and restored. It’s hanging in the vestibule. But don’t go in the basement, please. It’s cordoned off because the foundation isn’t in good shape, and the steps are something of a hazard.”
“No problem.” They both remained in place as the woman hurried back to her office.
“Split up?”
“Yeah,” Mark responded. “You take the social hall and living quarters. I’ll check out the church. Look for an electrical room or anything that would serve as a janitorial closet.” They’d gone over Newman’s office in the school with the permission of the superintendent and turned up nothing. “I wonder if the basement is confined to the church or if there’s an entrance somewhere around here.”
“I’ll find out.” Sloane moved away.
Losing no time, he headed toward the church. And the basement he’d been warned away from.
Two doors dotted the hallway. One was a large coat closet that also held a couple of mops and a bucket. The other was locked. Sending a glance over his shoulder, Mark took out his wallet and extracted a credit card. He was able to fit it in the seam between the door and jamb, but no amount of jiggling could pop the lock. Intrigued, he put the card away. The space could be no larger than the closet he’d just looked in. He wondered what Mikkelsen considered valuable enough to lock up.
At the end of the hall, he ascended a half set of stairs and pushed at a door that swung inward to the vestibule of the church. To his right were more steps, with cords roping across them and a No Entrance sign attached. Mark stepped over the barrier and made his way cautiously down the stairs.
The place was in as bad shape as the secretary had indicated. It was more cellar than basement and looked as though it extended only beneath the church. The walls were cracked and crumbling in places. It took just a few minutes to ascertain that he was probably the only person who had been down here in years.
He made his way to the stairway and climbed up to the vestibule again. Where Laura Mikkelsen confronted him.
She made an imposing figure in her long, dark dress, arms folded across her wide chest, chin jutted like an army general ready for battle. “Mrs. Mikkelsen.” Mark stepped over the cords. “The secretary mentioned that we wouldn’t have the pleasure of seeing either you or your husband today. I’m happy she was proven wrong.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Long also told you that no one was allowed in the basement.”
“I thought maybe there was a restroom down there.”
She half turned and pointed in the opposite direction. “That way and well marked.”
Mark’s gaze followed the direction she was indicating. Sure enough, there was signage on two doors behind her. “I know what you’re up to, Agent Foster.” The woman’s lips were tight. “We’re aware that poor Herb Newman is sitting in the county jail with the sheriff refusing him even the most basic consideration.”
“That’s not true, ma’am. Mr. Newman has been afforded all his legal rights.” Which included access to counsel and a speedy arraignment. The judge had sided with the prosecutor’s argument that the man was a flight risk and set bail at a level Newman still hadn’t been able to meet. Hence his continued guest status at the Allama County jail.