Fatal Connections

Chapter 34

I looked around the room for a way to photograph the front and rear of the church's seating area. Way up front and off to the side, a discreet door with a small curtained window presented a possible viewpoint. Assuming, of course, I could manage to find my way to that location.

I looked around for other options, but short of parading down the aisle, cellphone aloft and snapping, or dangling from the roof to take photos from behind the big picture window, I didn't have many ways to photograph people surreptitiously that would result in anything more than close-ups of arms, shoulders, legs, and torsos.

So I slipped inside. Fortunately, the door was recessed enough to allow me to position myself just behind the last row. The speaker had changed. Now, a man sporting a buzz cut and what looked like a naval commander's uniform was doling out what sounded like the usual platitudes. They were pillars of the community. Church volunteers. Nobel Prize winners. I wasn't really paying attention. While some of the congregation seemed unmoved, others were openly weeping.

This might not be the best view, but it might be all I can get. My phone was already set to vibrate, with the flash off. Seizing the moment, I entered the sanctuary, took two snaps of the last three rows on each side, ducked back out, and moved into a hallway. If anyone noticed, they didn't have time to stop me. As I searched for the room behind the windowed door, I checked the photos. Not bad, considering I had had zero time to aim the camera and focus.

I set off in the direction that seemed likely to lead to the desired vantage point. But I suspected there'd be yet another door to open before I reached it. I checked each possibility as I went and found one labeled with a name and the word "pastor" beneath it. It seemed likely a pastor would want the kind of direct access to the pulpit that windowed door would provide. Worth a look. By then, my hand went toward the door knob as if each were magnetized.

The faint sounds of the service continued to drift through the air, muted by padded doors and distance but still barely audible. I tried the knob. Yes, the door was locked. I guess Christian goodness is only so reliable, even in church. So I fiddled with the bump key and entered the inner sanctum, my ears straining for the continuing drone of the mourners.

It was an office, pretty much like any other, although it struck me as exceptionally plain. The furnishings were all natural wood and muted colors. Almost unnaturally plain, given the sleek, modern look of the rest of the church.

I didn't see the door with the window, but I did see another door. So, I crossed over to it, opened it, and entered a smaller room. A large closet, really. Those robes they wear were hanging all askew from hangers that dangled from a thin, cylindrical clothing rack. They were set apart from a full complement of silk suits for all occasions mixed with high-end casual wear but much more neatly arranged. I had never been in a pastor's office before, but I couldn't imagine that very many of them would have a closet like this one.

Either the offerings were really good or the minister, pastor, or whatever he was ended up with a big chunk of what remained after they built this modern marvel of church architecture. Or somebody was moonlighting. Big time.