Before He Sins

“I’m curious,” she said. “Agent Ellington would have been a valuable asset for this case. Where did you send him off to?”

McGrath shifted uncomfortably in his seat and briefly looked out the window of his office, to the early morning darkness outside.

“Well, before I tasked him with this other assignment, I obviously had no idea this case was going to be this bad. As for where he is currently working, with all due respect, that’s none of your business.”

“With the same respect,” she replied, doing her best not to sound too defensive, “you took away a partner I work well with, which leaves me on my own to work this case out.”

“You are not on your own,” McGrath said. “Harrison and Yardley are more than efficient. Now…please, Agent White. Get to work.”

She wanted to press the issue further but didn’t see the point. The last thing she needed was for McGrath to be pissed at her. The pressure was already on and it was far too early in the day to be dealing with a disgruntled boss.

She gave a curt little nod and took her leave. Still, as she walked toward the elevators, she pulled out her phone. It was too early to call Ellington so she opted for a text.

Just checking in, she typed. Call or text when you can.

She sent the text as she stepped into the elevator. She rode down to the garage where her car was waiting. Outside, the morning was still dark – the kind of thick darkness that seemed capable of hiding any secrets it wanted.

CHAPTER EIGHT

After grabbing a cup of coffee, Mackenzie headed back out to Living Word. She knew that it was a large church, so singling out anyone with possible information from within its staff or congregation would take forever. She figured that if the news had gotten out and phone calls had started to make the rounds, there was a very good chance that those close to Pastor Woodall would be at the church – perhaps already setting up little memorials or just coming to the church to be closer to God as they grieved.

Her intuition paid off yet again. When she arrived at the scene, Woodall had been removed from the doors. And while there were still several local police and members of the bureau present, there were also other people scattered here and there, held back by yellow crime scene tape that bordered the edge of the concrete walkway that led to the front doors.

A few of them were openly crying. Several were wrapped in the embraces of other onlookers. She took note of one man standing by himself, his head turned away from the scene. His head was lowered and his mouth was moving just slightly as he offered up prayers. Mackenzie respectfully gave him some time to finish his prayer before she approached him. As she neared him, she saw what looked to be an expression of anger on his face.

Excuse me, sir,” she said. “Do you have a moment?” She finished her question by showing her ID and introducing herself.

“Yes,” the man said. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, as if trying to swipe away the last remnants of sleep or a bad dream. He then offered his hand and said, “I’m Dave Wylerman, by the way. I’m head of the music department here at Living Word.”

“There’s a music department?”

“Yeah. We have a rotating ensemble of about fourteen musicians that make up three worship bands.”

“So you’ve worked closely with Pastor Woodall in the past?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’m in meetings with him at least twice a week. Outside of that, he’s become a dear family friend to my wife, my kids, and I over the past decade or so.”

“Can you think of anyone who might have been capable of doing this? Anyone who might have some sort of a grudge or grievance against Pastor Woodall?”

“Well, it’s a big church. I don’t think there’s a single person that works here that knows everyone that attends. But as for me, no, I can’t think of anyone right off the top of my head who was angry enough with him to do this…”

The early morning darkness had hidden Dave Wylerman’s tears to this point, but when he looked up into her eyes they were quite clear. He looked troubled, as if he were struggling to figure out how to say something.

“Do you have a moment to talk in private?” Mackenzie asked.

“Yeah.”

She waved him forward to follow her. She stepped away from the concrete entryway to the church and headed back to her car. She opened the passenger’s side door for him, figuring it might do him some good to get off his feet and feel relaxed. She got in the driver’s side and when she closed her door, she could tell that Wylerman was struggling to keep himself together.

“Has the rest of the church body been informed?” Mackenzie asked.

“No, just the elders, myself, and a few of those close to Pastor Woodall. But calls are being made. Everyone will know within an hour or so, I’d imagine.”

Good, Mackenzie thought. They’ll personally receive the news from someone they know rather than hearing about it for the first time on the news.

“So, correct me if I’m wrong,” she said, “but it looked like you were struggling with something back there by the church. Is there something you can tell me that you didn’t want to share in front of everyone else?”

“Well, as you know, it’s a big church. On any given Sunday, if you count both services we hold, there’s anywhere between five thousand and seven thousand people that attend. And with such a large group, we require several elders to handle the business and concerns of the church. Here at Living Word, we have six – well, we had six. One of them had started to sort of raise some concerns among the others before he left. I don’t think he would have it in him to do something like this but…I don’t know. Some things he had been insinuating…it sort of caught everyone else off guard. Other elders…employees…”

“What’s his name?”

“Eric Crouse.”

“And what sort of things?” Mackenzie asked.

“He kept spouting off about how things left in the dark will come to the light and how that light could be blinding. That maybe being burned by the light is exactly what Living Word needed.”

“And how long had he been behaving this way?”

“About a month or so, I’d say. From what I understand, he left of his own accord about two weeks ago but there was talk before that among the other elders and Pastor Woodall about releasing him. But the thing of it is that everything Eric was saying was scripturally accurate. Things Jesus said, things that most people that attend Living Word believe. But…and I know this is going to sound dumb…it was the way he said the things. You know? Like, he had some hidden context to them. More than that, he never spoke like that before. He was an elder, sure, but never one to just spout off scripture or starting giving these hellfire-and-brimstone-type talks.”

“So if you don’t think he was capable of murder, why are you mentioning him? Was it just the sudden personality change that alarmed everyone?”

Wylerman shrugged. “No. Some people started to notice that Eric was doing everything he could to avoid meetings or small groups where Pastor Woodall would be in attendance. They’ve never been best friends, but always got along. Then all of a sudden, when he started talking about all of this light shining in the darkness stuff, he also seemed to distance himself from Pastor Woodall.”

“And you say he left the church two weeks ago?”

“Yeah, give or take a few days. I don’t know if he’s attending somewhere else now or what. And what’s strange is that it’s almost as if Eric knew Pastor Woodall’s schedule. He had just gotten back from a retreat a few days ago.”

“A retreat?”

“Yeah, it’s this little getaway he takes twice a year. It’s a really quiet little island off the coast of Florida.”

“And how long had he been back?” Mackenzie asked.

“He and his wife got back home five days ago.”

Mackenzie thought about this for a moment, cataloguing it in her mind. She then turned matters back to the man Wylerman had mentioned – the former elder, Eric Crouse.

“Would you happen to know where Crouse lives?” she asked.

“Yeah. I’ve been in his house a few times for small groups and prayer.”

Mackenzie wasn’t sure why, but something about this creeped her out. The timing of Eric Crouse leaving Living Word was nearly perfect for the type of suspect she was looking for. To imagine this grieving man clasping praying hands together with a man who might have been responsible for three deaths over the last few days was unsettling.

“Can you tell me where?”

“I will,” Wylerman said, “but I’d really rather you not tell him that you got the information from me…or anyone else at Living Word, for that matter.”