Lonnie shakes her head. “He’d never heard of her. Apparently, Kenny never mentioned word one about a girlfriend, let alone one that was missing the better part of a week.” She raises an eyebrow as they enter the packed church.
The air inside Pleasantville Methodist is thick and warm, tinted amber by the rows of stained glass windows on both sides of the church, the sun pouring in from the east, spinning a mélange of colors into gold. Folks are waving hand fans, Johnson’s Funeral Home advertising on one side, a grim promotion on this morning in particular. Jay and Lonnie take the two remaining seats in the back-left pew, sliding in beside Ben and Ellie, who are squished against the congregants on the other side. It smells of hair lotion in here, Love’s Baby Soft, and aftershave, all of it together making Jay wish he had one of those hand fans himself. He feels his armpits grow damp. He has to reach over and touch Ben’s leg to keep his son from fidgeting. After the opening prayer, Morehead, in his deep blue robe, the edges trimmed in gold braid, looks out across his congregation. “I think by now some of you have heard the news about Alicia Nowell.” There are a few gasps in the sanctuary, cries of Oh, no. “The young woman, her body was found early this morning along the railroad tracks behind Demaree Lane, just a block from here.” Here, his voice breaks, a wave of something unexpected washing over him, choking his words. He pauses, trying to gather himself. A few of the women in the church hold up their hands in support. That’s okay, they say. Take your time. Morehead nods his gratitude for the encouragement of his church family. “I’d like to call up one of our own now, a man raised in Pleasantville, a good, god-fearing man, who telephoned me first thing this morning asking if he could say a few words to his people. For you are his people,” he says, nodding at the chorus of amen that follows. “Let’s welcome Brother Axel Hathorne to Pleasantville Methodist.” He steps aside, ceding the pulpit to Axel, who rises from the front-right pew, Jay’s view of which is obscured by the hats of the women in the congregation. Axel, four inches taller than Morehead, towers over the plain white pulpit. He is a gentle giant, utter humility written in his hunkered stance. “I spoke with Maxine and Mitchell Robicheaux earlier this morning,” he starts, his voice dry and slow. “Beyond the pain this brings to their family, I also know this stirs up old wounds for the people of Pleasantville, in particular the families of Deanne Duchon and Tina Wells.” He nods toward the girls’ families in the front row. Jay can’t quite see them from here, but he does see the four Hathorne sisters, Ola, Delia, Camille, and Gwen, well-kept women in their fifties, all as striking as their mother, Vivian, seated beside them. Jay is surprised Sam isn’t here. Or Neal. Axel, in the same suit he wore to last night’s debate, lowers his head solemnly, looking at the families. “I want to make the same promise to you that I made to Alicia Nowell’s parents this morning. Whether I’m in city hall or not, whether I have to camp out in Chief Tobin’s office, I will find who did this to your daughters,” he says before stepping down.
After Councilwoman Johnetta Paul has a turn at the pulpit, dabbing her eyes throughout a tone-deaf declaration of commitment to the people of her district, shamelessly working in a few key phrases from her stump speech, Jay slips out of the church for a quiet moment on his own. He wants to see it for himself, the place where Alicia Nowell was found. He walks west on Tilgham, crossing Demaree to walk through a patch of tall grass and weeds, the thick strip of untended land between the neighborhood proper and the railroad tracks. There are four stakes in the ground, strung with yellow police tape meant to secure the scene from pedestrian traffic. Standing in waist-high weeds, Jay wonders why she was left here and not in the field where the other two girls were discovered. He can hear the church music playing. He can see the back of Pleasantville Methodist, the staff parking lot with a row of Fords and the Sunday school van. The hymn washes over the whole scene. Jay finds it easier to talk to god out here than inside any church. Away from the heavy robes and stiff pews, it’s just him and blue sky. He strings together a few words for Alicia Nowell, a prayer whispered to the wind.
At the close of service, Jay meets Lonnie and the kids in front of the church, where a crowd has gathered under a cloud of hickory smoke. An enterprising neighbor has set up a barrel pit in the bed of his pickup truck and is selling hot links and brisket. There’s a line forming, men loosening their ties and women dabbing their foreheads with eyelet handkerchiefs. It must have jumped fifteen degrees since the day started, a warm one for November, even in Houston. Ben asks his dad for a few dollars. Jay pulls a ten from his wallet, telling Ben to get something for his sister too. “I’m not hungry,” Ellie says. Pastor Morehead, composed now, comes down the church steps to greet his parishioners. He goes out of his way to say hello to Jay, who introduces him to Lonnie and Ellie. “You a ballplayer?” he says to Ellie, asking about school, her grades, then asking Lonnie where she worships. Jay waits until he’s moved on to say to Lonnie, “You should see what else you can pull on the original suspect.”
“Hollis?”
Jay nods. “He’s not at Sterling anymore, and he’s moved around in the last few months. I just wonder if there’s some clue in your old files as to where he might be. Relatives, previous employers, something. Maybe if you get a chance tomorrow, you could comb through your notes, see if anything jumps out.”
“Maybe,” she says, sounding stiff, distant. Jay turns to her. “I’ve got a job interview tomorrow.” She shrugs, rolling her eyes to take the sting off it.
“At a paper?”
“At a restaurant.”