Tribulation House: Reloaded

Chapter 64

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Griggs and Charlie were in Griggs’ office burning the midnight oil. Sitting on either side of the desk, the two were reading through transcripts provided by their friends in the FBI. Trying to connect the dots. One man was dead, and another man was putting the squeeze on failing businesses—but they could not find the connection.

But it had to be there. It had to be.

Charlie looked up. “What about that note?”

“Which note?”

“The one on the body claiming to be written by the mob. If Massey’s boys killed the Reverend, why leave the note?”

“There were two people in that room.” Griggs pulled up the sheet and looked at it. “Someone clubbed him in the back of the head with the blunt object—”

“The trophy.”

“—and somebody stabbed him in the chest with the letter opener.”

“It can’t be one person?”

“Why wipe your prints off one object, and then leave them on the other?” Griggs shook his head. “No, there’s something weird about this. If we find Cleaver and Lamb, maybe they can answer our questions.”

“You know, it was not necessarily written by the mob.”

“What?”

“The note.”

“I know. We’ve been through that.”

“No,” Charlie said, sitting back in the chair, “I’m saying that the person who wrote the note was not necessarily claiming to be in the mob.”

Griggs sat up. “Okay.”

“The note just said, ‘This is what happens when you cross the mob.’”

“Right.”

“So maybe this was written by a person who was not in the mob, but wanted to make a statement about the mob.”

Griggs squinted. “Okay?”

“That’s really all I had.”

“So—we haven’t really learned anything from this conversation.”

“Nope.” Charlie looked back down at the transcript. Murmured, “A difference that makes no difference is no difference.”

“What did you just mumble?”

“Oh. A difference that makes no difference is no difference. I read it in a Star Trek novel.”

“Uh-huh.”

They didn’t speak again for a long time. Finally, Griggs needed a break, ordered a pizza. The kid asked for pepperoni, but Griggs was placing the order, so they got sausage and black olive.

As soon as it arrived, Griggs opened the box on his desk. The smell of sausage poured out. “Have a slice?”

Charlie looked up from the folder, rubbed his eyes. “Sure.” As they were chomping, Charlie got that geek sparkle in his eye.

Griggs braced himself for whatever it was.

“I was thinking about Carl Kolchak.”

“Who’s that?”

“He’s a newspaper reporter.”

“Here in Kansas City?”

“No, on TV. He worked for a small news service in Chicago, and every week he seemed to run across monsters.”