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Authors: James Patterson
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church, it didn’t seem wrong to privately ask for mercy to shine down on this innocent soul.
After the choir finished, Aaron Winslow stepped up to a microphone. He looked very elegant in a black suit. He spoke about Tasha Catchings as someone who had known her most of her life could: her little-girl’s giggle; the poise she showed being the youngest in the choir; how she wanted to be a diva, or an architect who would rebuild this neighborhood; how, now only the angels would get to hear her beautiful voice.
He didn’t speak like some gentle minister exhorting people to turn the other cheek. He kept it hopeful, very emotional, but real. I couldn’t watch him without thinking that this handsome man had been on the battlefields of Desert Storm, and that only the other day he had put his life at risk to protect his children.
He said, his voice soft but powerful, that he could not forgive, and he could not help but judge. “Only saints don’t judge,” he said, “and believe me, I’m no saint. I’m like all of you, just someone who has grown tired of having to make peace with injustice.” He looked toward Chief Mercer. “Find the killer. Let judgment be in the courts. This isn’t about politics, or faith, or even race. It’s about the right to be free from hate. I am convinced that the world doesn’t break in the face of its worst possible deed. The world mends itself.”
People rose up, and they clapped and they cried. I stood with them. My eyes were wet. Aaron Winslow brought such dignity to these proceedings. It was over within an hour. No blazing sermons, only a smattering of amens. But a sadness none of us would ever forget.
Tasha’s mother looked so strong as she followed the casket out, her young daughter being carried to her final rest.
I walked out to a chorus of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” feeling numb, and broken.
Chapter XXVIII
O UTSIDE , I WAITED FOR CINDY , and I watched Aaron Winslow mingle among mourners and weeping schoolmates. There was something about him I liked. He seemed genuine to me and he definitely had a passion for his work, and these people.
“Now, there’s a man I could share a foxhole with,” said Cindy, coming up to me.
“And just how do you mean that?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. All I can say is I came out here yesterday to talk with him, and I left with the hairs on my arms standing up at attention. I felt like I was interviewing Denzel Washington, or maybe that new guy on NYPD Blue.”
“You know, ministers aren’t the same as priests,” I said.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning it’s okay to go in foxholes with them. Just to get out of the line of fire, of course.”
“Of course.” She nodded. Then she mimicked an exploding mortar shot, “
Pow!”
“He is impressive. His speech made me cry. Is that what you meant to show me?”
“No,” she said with a sigh, coming back to the matter at hand. She dug in her black shoulder bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I know you told me to butt out… I guess I’ve just gotten used to covering your ass.
“Right,” I said. “So what do you have for me? We’re a team, right?”
As I unfolded the paper, to my shock I found myself staring at the same lion, goat, and snake rendering I had just given Kirkwood to identify. Professional restraint couldn’t keep my eyes from opening wide. “Where did you get this?”
“You
know
what you’re looking at, Lindsay.”
“My guess is that it’s not Tyco’s new toy craze.”
She didn’t laugh. “What it is, is a hate group symbol. A white supremacist thing. A colleague at the paper did research on these groups. I couldn’t help looking into it after our meeting the other night. This is used by a small, elite group. That’s why it was hard to find out about.”
I stared at the image that I had seen over an dover again since Tasha Catchings had been killed. “This thing has a name, doesn’t it?”
“It’s called a chimera, Lindsay.
After the choir finished, Aaron Winslow stepped up to a microphone. He looked very elegant in a black suit. He spoke about Tasha Catchings as someone who had known her most of her life could: her little-girl’s giggle; the poise she showed being the youngest in the choir; how she wanted to be a diva, or an architect who would rebuild this neighborhood; how, now only the angels would get to hear her beautiful voice.
He didn’t speak like some gentle minister exhorting people to turn the other cheek. He kept it hopeful, very emotional, but real. I couldn’t watch him without thinking that this handsome man had been on the battlefields of Desert Storm, and that only the other day he had put his life at risk to protect his children.
He said, his voice soft but powerful, that he could not forgive, and he could not help but judge. “Only saints don’t judge,” he said, “and believe me, I’m no saint. I’m like all of you, just someone who has grown tired of having to make peace with injustice.” He looked toward Chief Mercer. “Find the killer. Let judgment be in the courts. This isn’t about politics, or faith, or even race. It’s about the right to be free from hate. I am convinced that the world doesn’t break in the face of its worst possible deed. The world mends itself.”
People rose up, and they clapped and they cried. I stood with them. My eyes were wet. Aaron Winslow brought such dignity to these proceedings. It was over within an hour. No blazing sermons, only a smattering of amens. But a sadness none of us would ever forget.
Tasha’s mother looked so strong as she followed the casket out, her young daughter being carried to her final rest.
I walked out to a chorus of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” feeling numb, and broken.
Chapter XXVIII
O UTSIDE , I WAITED FOR CINDY , and I watched Aaron Winslow mingle among mourners and weeping schoolmates. There was something about him I liked. He seemed genuine to me and he definitely had a passion for his work, and these people.
“Now, there’s a man I could share a foxhole with,” said Cindy, coming up to me.
“And just how do you mean that?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. All I can say is I came out here yesterday to talk with him, and I left with the hairs on my arms standing up at attention. I felt like I was interviewing Denzel Washington, or maybe that new guy on NYPD Blue.”
“You know, ministers aren’t the same as priests,” I said.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning it’s okay to go in foxholes with them. Just to get out of the line of fire, of course.”
“Of course.” She nodded. Then she mimicked an exploding mortar shot, “
Pow!”
“He is impressive. His speech made me cry. Is that what you meant to show me?”
“No,” she said with a sigh, coming back to the matter at hand. She dug in her black shoulder bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I know you told me to butt out… I guess I’ve just gotten used to covering your ass.
“Right,” I said. “So what do you have for me? We’re a team, right?”
As I unfolded the paper, to my shock I found myself staring at the same lion, goat, and snake rendering I had just given Kirkwood to identify. Professional restraint couldn’t keep my eyes from opening wide. “Where did you get this?”
“You
know
what you’re looking at, Lindsay.”
“My guess is that it’s not Tyco’s new toy craze.”
She didn’t laugh. “What it is, is a hate group symbol. A white supremacist thing. A colleague at the paper did research on these groups. I couldn’t help looking into it after our meeting the other night. This is used by a small, elite group. That’s why it was hard to find out about.”
I stared at the image that I had seen over an dover again since Tasha Catchings had been killed. “This thing has a name, doesn’t it?”
“It’s called a chimera, Lindsay.
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