Chasing Deception Page 4

  “Why?”

  “You see, I’ve been to a couple of their services and there is something not right about them. While they’re a little more charismatic than Patty and I are used to, that’s not what bothers me. There’s something wrong with their pastor, Jeremiah something. I’ve been in counseling long enough to know a controlling personality when I see one, and this guy is very controlling. I don’t trust him, Jimmy. I just don’t trust him.”

  “Uncle Phil, you know I’m not supposed to write about my family or friends. Reporters have to keep their distance from their stories. It’s the first thing they teach you in journalism classes.”

  “This is your cousin, Jimmy. You’ve known him since you were two. I’m not asking you to write a story about him. You don’t even have to tell him what you’re doing. Just find out about the church. If this Jeremiah fellow is as bad as I think he might be, then your investigation would help a whole lot of people.”

  Jim momentarily debated with himself over what to do. He decided to look into the group. Besides, I’ve been objective with every other story I have ever written. This one won’t be any different.

  “Let me see what I can find out.”

  “Thanks, Jimmy.”

  They talked for several more minutes, which was much longer than he usually allowed for the few personal calls he received at work. Glancing at his watch, he noticed he had about a couple minutes until the mayor was scheduled to call. He said good-bye to his uncle, hung up and skimmed his email while waiting for the mayor’s call. Three minutes later, the phone rang again.

  “Courier, this is Jim.”

  “Hi, Jim, this is Marilyn Dewhurst. My meeting got out early so I thought I’d call sooner rather than later. I’ve got about 25 minutes for you.”

  “Thank you, Madam Mayor. I doubt I’ll need that much time. I just have a couple of questions about Measure B and its ramifications. Now I know you haven’t said much about Measure B in the past. Where do you stand on the issue?”

  “I really think it is something for the voters of Emerald Valley to decide. I haven’t said anything because I want people to make up their own mind on the matter.”

  In the three times Jim had interviewed the mayor at length she had never been this coy about any subject. Jim’s suspicion was rising. “Come on, Marilyn, you’ve always got something to say. Is there something wrong with Measure B?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Measure B, per se. I mean, I can understand what the backers are trying to do and I agree with them in principle. But I don’t like their method.”

  “What are they trying to do?”

  “I can’t tell you this on the record.”

  “Sure, we’ll call you ‘a city official’.”

  “No, Jim, I mean you can’t print what I’m about to tell you. Not unless you get someone else to say it. It’s either that way or I don’t tell you anything.”

  Two requests for anonymity in one day meant he was on to something fairly juicy. Jim made a split-second decision to agree to her terms.

  “OK, off-the-record is fine. So who’s pushing Measure B and why?”

  “You may have already figured this out but the main backers of Measure B are Councilman Holcombe and his wife. And they wrote the measure because they want to close down New Creation Fellowship.”

  “Why would they want to do that?”

  “Do you have Councilman Holcombe’s campaign literature from the race four years ago?”

  Jim rummaged through the Holcombe file in the lower right desk drawer until he found the pamphlets and mailers.

  “Yeah.”

  “The answer to your question is in there.”

  Jim was momentarily thrown by her cryptic reply.

  “OK. You said earlier you support the principle of closing down New Creation Fellowship. Why is that?”

  “Mr. Mitchell, I have been a Christian all of my adult life. I was invited to a couple of services at New Creation Fellowship. I even spoke with Pastor Jeremiah Harmon at length. I learned one thing from my interaction with Mr. Harmon and his followers. I don’t quite know what their group is all about, but I know they are not Christian. I am positive about that.”

  “What? Then who, or what, are they?”

  “I’m sure you will find that out before I do. Well, Mr. Mitchell I have to go. Remember, you didn’t hear any of this from me. I need to stay above the fray on this one. Have a nice day.” The mayor quickly ended the interview by hanging up.

  With a newfound enthusiasm for this story, Jim quickly walked over to Melissa’s desk and filled her in on the details, practically whispering the mayor’s off-the-record comments in order to keep them from colleagues for whom nosiness was as natural as breathing. Jim was intrigued when she took the news completely in stride.

  “You don’t seem very surprised.”

  “All of the pastors I talked to said pretty much the same thing. None of them were willing to go on the record with it, so that’s why it isn’t in my notes. There’s something off about Pastor Jeremiah and his flock. I don’t know what it is, but something is amiss.”

  “Well, it’s high time Miss Jenkins we figure out what ’xactly is going on ’round here.” Jim’s John Wayne impression provided a much-needed laugh.

  They made plans for covering the worship service the following evening. Jim finished writing his notes while Melissa completed a photo request form to get a photographer assigned to the event. They spent the rest of the day working on stories for the next week.

  5

  11:32 a.m. Friday, May 23

  Jeremiah Harmon skimmed over the handwritten notes for his next sermon. He usually jotted his notes on a yellow legal pad, which he then transferred to his desktop computer. He added in a reminder to spice up the message with a couple of anecdotes. And while he spoke for about 20 minutes, his outlines were always one page long.

  Preaching isn’t about following an outline. It’s about connecting with people.

  His verse for the week was Luke 4:18-19, but he knew he wouldn’t discuss the passage directly. The people attending his church were recovering alcoholics and drug addicts. He learned a long time ago that many of them had been rejected by normal churches and were looking for something different. Instead of seeking Bible verses, they were looking for simple life lessons. Besides, the last thing he wanted was for his members to be reading the Bible on their own.

  It would just confuse them. They need me to explain the truth to them.

  Jeremiah liked the fact people depended on him for guidance in turning their lives around. He prided himself on how many people regularly waited long after a service to thank him personally.

  Jeremiah looked at the clock on his computer: 11:37 AM. His day was going smoothly so far. He always spent Friday mornings writing his sermon, while his afternoon was consumed reviewing paperwork. As he finished with the outline, he picked up the phone and buzzed his secretary.

  “Rose, could you get me a cup of coffee?”

  In a few moments, she entered the office with his coffee, lightened with two teaspoons of creamer. As she set the coffee on his desk, Jeremiah noticed her flowery perfume and silently enjoyed her figure.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, Pastor Jeremiah?”

  “Have dinner with me tonight?”

  Her cheeks reddened. “Sorry pastor, I already have plans with some friends.”

  “That’s OK, Rose. Maybe some other time. You’ll run out of excuses eventually.”

  —

  The secretary replied with nervous laughter and quickly turned to leave the room. Rose had rebuffed his advances twice before, and she hoped he wouldn’t ask again. The pastor was a single man, and while he had been discreet, he did not hide the fact he was looking for a companion. He had dated a few women, but nothing serious had come of the brief encounters. Rose had heard the rumors the pastor had even slept with one woman, but she knew it wasn’t true.

  Pastor Jeremiah may be lonely, but he wou
ldn’t take advantage of someone like that. He’s here to help people, not hurt them.

  As she was about to walk away, Jeremiah asked Rose to bring in the invoices that had come in since the previous week. She had offered to enter the information into the computerized accounting files, but he insisted on doing the work himself.

  —

  While Rose was getting the paperwork together, Jeremiah looked over the verses in the Bible open to his right.

  Luke 4:18-19

  The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, for he has appointed me to preach Good News to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim that the captives will be released, that the blind will see, that the downtrodden will be freed from their oppressors, and that the time of the Lord’s favor has come.

  At the top of the page he typed: Being a captive = Being handcuffed to the past. Jeremiah made sure he talked in terms his people could understand. And since so many of them had been incarcerated as a juvenile or adult, they knew the chaffing and pinching that came with being placed in handcuffs. He saved the changes and printed the document.

  Rose brought in the new paperwork and placed it on his desk. She left the invoices in their sealed envelopes, none of which had return addresses. Rose thought the envelopes contained payment for some sort of private rehabilitation services Pastor Jeremiah provided. And she only knew that based on part of a phone conversation she overheard a few months back when he accidently left his office door open. Rose may have thought the whole situation was pretty odd, but Jeremiah reminded the former heroin user how happy he had been to provide her a job when he knew few others would do the same. He seemed pleased the subtle hint had prevented her from questioning his actions.

  —

  Jeremiah waited until she left the room before he opened the first envelope and smiled at the size of the enclosed check.

  The pastor leaned back in his chair, coffee cup in hand, and grinned. He was making good money, people listened to his every word, and he even dated some fairly attractive women. He enjoyed more than dinner and a movie with a couple of them, but he had been able to keep news of his encounters concealed from the congregation.

  “Gerald, you’re doing pretty well for yourself.”

  He suddenly jolted from his reclining position, reflexively gripping his mug harder. His left hand was shaking as he placed the cup on his desk. He glanced at the closed door, anxiously wondering if Rose had heard what he just said. Satisfied his secret was still safe, he took a deep breath.

  Your name is Jeremiah Harmon. There is no Gerald anymore. You buried him three years ago.

  6

  6:34 p.m. Saturday, May 24

  Jim arrived at the Cottonwood Shopping Center an hour before the service to gather some more information about the people attending this “church.” He occasionally passed the run-down center on his way to cover a story in neighboring Pomona. The church occupied a former single-screen discount movie theater Jim went to almost every weekend when he was younger. Back then the center was in much better condition, but today half of the 15 units were vacant. The businesses still in operation included a shoe repair shop, a model railroad store, an insurance broker, a Laundromat, and Glenn’s Burgers, which had the best cheeseburgers around when he was in high school. There was also a gas station on the corner of Cottonwood and Grove avenues. He parked his car under a streetlight, set the alarm and walked toward the burger place.

  A wave of nostalgia rolled over Jim as he opened the door. Jim instantly spotted Glenn Wilkinson, who he noticed had mostly maintained his trim figure but much of his brown hair had turned gray since he had last visited the once-popular hangout. The faded colors of the seats revealed their age, but floors and tabletops were clean. Wilkinson’s standards for cleanliness apparently had not changed in the ensuing years.

  Jim introduced himself to Wilkinson and reminisced about the “old days.” The reporter then asked him about what he thought of the people who attended New Creation.

  “I think they’re fine people. They pay for their food, throw away their trash and they don’t cause any problems. Before the church moved in, it was getting a little scary to do business here. People started coming in looking for free food every once in a while. When Pastor Harmon brought his church here, those problems stopped. Two years ago, I told my little sister not to bring her nine-year-old daughter in here after dark. Now, they come in every Thursday night. That’s what I think about New Creation Fellowship, Jim. They’re just plain, nice people.”

  Jim realized Wilkinson wasn’t going to say anything about the church that wasn’t glowing, so he thanked him for his time and went to his table to enjoy his avocado-and-bacon cheeseburger and deep-fried mushrooms. He chose a window seat that gave him the best view of the parking lot. He noticed most of the sporadic arrivals were lone individuals in older compact cars. No one drove a really nice car. There were Hyundais, Toyotas, Fords and Chevys in the large but sparsely filled parking lot.

  It was just before 7 p.m. when cars poured into the lot. With still half an hour before the meeting was to start, Jim watched many of the latest arrivals come into Glenn’s Burgers. As they sat down around him, Jim pretended to read a copy of Saturday’s Courier while picking up snippets of conversation from his fellow diners.

  “-hate how my parole officer is riding me about getting a better-paying job. What does he know about my job? He’s never been-”

  “I started drinking when I was 11. My dad actually taught me how to pound back warm beer. By the time I was 13, I got drunk almost every day-”

  “-that’s when he started hitting me. And I didn’t know any better. I just stayed because he was getting my drugs for me-”

  He also suspected many of the people at New Creation were probably still taking the drugs and alcohol they had vowed to kick. He noticed the subtle signs of drug use in a group of people seated nearby: shifty eyes, talking very fast and fidgeting more than usual. He had learned to spot these signs when his cousin Vince was trying to break an addiction to cocaine and some more exotic drugs about half a dozen years before. Jim was the one who convinced him to enter the detox center, drove him there and helped fill out the paperwork. When he was released, Jim made sure Vince got connected to a post-rehab therapy group. He even went with him to a few meetings, but Vince dropped out three weeks after he joined. He went back into the drug scene and got into a bar fight one night. He wasn’t even drunk or high that night, just angry. Vince was arrested and tried on assault and battery. Jim didn’t visit him during his nearly two years behind bars. He wondered if Vince would be at tonight’s service. Maybe Vince is really turning his life around this time.

  Normally hyper-observant, Jim was lost in his thoughts, which were disturbed as someone sat in the booth seat across from him. Jim’s slight shock from the disturbance quickly faded once he realized the “intruder” was Melissa, who was sipping the medium Diet Coke she had just purchased from the counter.

  “When did you get here?” she asked, eyeing the burger wrapper and paper mushroom tray that hinted at the nutritional content of his meal.

  “About six-thirty.”

  “Scoping out the scene for suspicious characters?”

  “Something like that.” He returned her grin with a corresponding smile.

  “Ready to go?”

  “Sure.” Jim picked up his tray and dumped the trash as they left Glenn’s and turned right to go toward the old theater.

  They passed several clusters of people talking as they approached the front of New Creation Fellowship. The theater’s former clear glass front had been replaced by darkly tinted panes, making the place resemble any other office. Inside, a counter and barstools occupied the space where the snack bar once resided. While the popcorn, hot dogs, soda and candy were long gone, there was coffee and lots of it. Four commercial-sized coffee urns lined the wall, one of which displayed an unlined index card with “DECAF” written in block letters with a black Sharpie. One thing Jim had learned about addicts is that they replac
e one habit with another. Beer drinking became coffee guzzling. Cigarette smoking was a close second, and many in the three huddled groups outside the building were puffing away.

  Looking around the lobby, it was not too difficult to spot Pastor Jeremiah Harmon. He was the guy in the T-shirt and pressed jeans who was jumping from conversation to conversation. He worked the room like any veteran politician and he had the intense charisma to back it up. Just by watching him for a few minutes, Jim and Melissa could feel the energy he exuded. They waited until he finished a conversation with a college-age man before approaching him.

  Jeremiah’s eyes lit up with recognition when he saw them approach. “Hello Melissa! I’m so glad to see you writing about some of the great things we are doing here at New Creation. You said you had a photographer coming, correct?”

  “Right.”

  “Very well. I just want to make sure your photographer doesn’t disturb anyone while they are worshipping. Worship is a very important part of our services at New Creation and we need to respect that spiritual environment.” Jeremiah’s tone was calm, but there was a certain forcefulness behind his words.

  Jeremiah shifted his attention and energy.

  “Now, you must be Melissa’s colleague.”

  “Jim Mitchell.”

  “Glad you could join us, Jack.” Jeremiah simultaneously shook Jim’s hand and clasped the reporter’s right arm with his other hand.

  “It’s Jim, Pastor Harmon.”

  “Sorry, uh, Jim.” There was a split second of awkward silence. “Well, I have to talk to a few more people before the service starts. If you have any questions feel free to grab me afterwards.”

  Jeremiah flitted off to the next person waiting to talk with him.

  Jim looked at his watch: 7:12 p.m.