Chapter 54

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When Griggs and Charlie arrived, the uniformed policemen had blocked the church off to outsiders. They came in and found the man flat on his back, looking toward heaven with dead eyes. Pinned to the chest of the deceased, a note: THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU CROSS THE MOB.

Griggs was pacing. Waiting for the technicians to get their evidence, waiting for the photographer to get his photos, waiting for the word on what to look for or whom to chase.

Charlie was the curious one. Always looking around. Always asking questions. Always driving the techs crazy.

Since the note suggested that organized crime was involved, Detective Utley in homicide had pushed the case over to Griggs and the joint task force. Which struck Charlie as unusual—Griggs and Utley never got along.

Maybe Detective Utley got smart. Realized he didn’t need to fight so hard to make more work for himself.

When Griggs had seen the note for himself, he remarked, “That’s peculiar.”

“What?” Charlie was distracted by the charts and graphs strewn about the body.

“The mob wouldn’t leave a note like this.”

“I see what you mean.”

Griggs spent his pacing time trying to figure it out. If the mob killed this guy, they would not leave a note. In fact, if the man’s death was some sort of message, the death itself would have been the message.

More likely, the real killer was not in the mob, but was trying to point the finger away from himself or herself. But of course, that brought the risk of getting the mob after you, too.

Griggs wished Charlie would turn his Star Trek-like mind to the problem. But the kid was mesmerized by the various papers around the body.

“Look at this,” Charlie said. Now he was by the desk, looking at some lump of metal and plastic on a wooden base.

“Some kind of trophy?”

“An award.” Charlie pointed with a pinky, careful not to touch. “The engraving says Prophet of the Year 1988.

“Prophet, huh?” Griggs snickered. “I guess he shoulda seen this coming.”

“A prophet doesn’t claim to be psychic. It is a different thing.”

“Of course it is.”

“Of course, I can’t imagine a genuine prophet would be in any kind of organization that hands out awards.” Charlie squinted more closely at the trophy. Turned to one of the techs. “I think I see blood.”

The man came over and shined a tiny flashlight on the trophy.

Charlie turned back to the charts and graphs on the floor. “These must be related to the end times.”

Griggs stopped his pacing. “How do you figure that?”

“I think he was trying to study the biblical prophecies as they relate to the end of the world.”

“For all the good it did him.”

“One thing does not have anything to do with the other.” The kid turned to the shelves of books. “A lot of end-times books here, too.” He found a series of identical thin spines, all labeled 107 Reasons Jesus Is Coming Back in 2007. Charlie gasped. Whirled around. “I know who this guy is.”

“Of course,” one of the techs said. “The victim is a Daniel—”

“Reverend Daniel Glory,” Charlie cut in, eyes widening. “He claimed to have calculated the exact day of the Rapture.”

“Right,” the tech nodded. “It was in the news.”

Now Charlie was pacing too. “He said that Jesus was coming on October 17.”

Griggs was intrigued. “What, Wednesday?”

Charlie nodded, looking down at the markings where the body had been. “He was, of course, wrong.”

“I kinda figured.”

Charlie nodded. “The Bible says that no man will know the day or the hour. Even Jesus Himself does not know the day or the hour of His return.” He went over to Griggs. “History is littered with false prophets and heretics who thought they could pinpoint the return of Jesus.”

“You mean, like the Y2K scare?”

“Not exactly. There have been false claims going all the way back to the church of the Thessalonians.”

“Who are they?”

Charlie shrugged. “They are the Thessalonians.”

“Oh, that clears everything up.”

“It was one of the early churches. The apostle Paul wrote letters to them—two of them are in the Bible. One of the letters chided the Thessalonians for believing the false reports that the Second Coming had happened. And that was, what, like 50 AD? And then every few years since then—at least once in every generation—someone has risen up and claimed they were the ‘last generation.’”

“Uh-huh.”

Charlie knelt by the charts and graphs. “What is this?”

“Why, what did you find?”

“This looks like some sort of schematic…” Charlie squinted, fighting the urge to grab the sheet. He didn’t want to move anything before the forensics team said it was okay. “…for the Sphinx?”

“What, in Egypt?”

Charlie looked up, puzzled. “I think so.” He looked down at the papers on the floor again. “He seems to have based some of his research on this. I don’t know that I think much of that notion.”

Griggs deadpanned, “I’m sure the deceased is all broken up over it.”

“Wait a second.” Charlie stood, an idea hitting him. “Let’s hit control-alt-delete.”

“What?”

“Let’s rethink this a second. We may have found the killer’s motive right here.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Glory claimed he knew when Jesus was coming back. He made a big deal out of it. He wrote a book. His church held their special Kingdom Come event.”

“And he was wrong. So?”

“He turned out to be wrong—and before the week is out he’s lying dead in his office, on top of a bunch of his charts and graphs.” Charlie stood and looked at Griggs. “I think there’s a connection. There almost has to be.”

Griggs stood over the spot, staring at the charts and graphs. They made no sense to him, but the kid usually knew what he was talking about. “Maybe. But then what about that note?”

“Trying to cloud the investigation.”

“Yeah.” Griggs frowned. “But why leave a note at all?”

“Hey!” A tech came in from the hall, another object in a plastic bag. “Letter opener. Appears to have blood.” 

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