The Guilty Part 27

The next three articles were all follow-ups to the story of the tragic fire that had claimed the lives of four of Hico's newest residents, as well as the life of one of the state's most beloved religious servants.

According to Sheriff Chip Youngblood, experts determined that the fire was electrical, and may have been exacerbated when one of the Roberts children foolishly attempted to extinguish it with water. According to the local energy supplier, there was a small spike in the Roberts family's electrical usage around the time the fire was believed to have started.

The county held a small, private ceremony for the burial of John Henry Roberts, his wife and their children. A photo ran of the burial. There were about twenty people in attendance, including several reporters from local papers.

The funeral service held for Pastor Mark Rheingold, however, was a very different story. The proceedings were held in Rheingold's old church in Houston, a ten-thousand seater that was filled to capacity for the ceremony. Ushers were needed to corral the crowds. At least four people were confirmed to have fainted. Another tried to drown himself in the hopes of meeting Mark Rheingold in heaven.

268.

I came upon hundreds of photos of Mark Rheingold taken during his various pilgrimages in various newspapers, pamphlets and photo-ops. Rheingold was a thin man, not skinny but lean, with the lithe physique and stretched facial muscles of a jogger. His jet-black hair was always slicked back in a neat coif and his suits, like his wife's jewelry, were decent but not gaudy. Every photograph bore the pastor's thousand-watt smile. Though I did wonder why a man of G.o.d needed veneers.

Cards and flowers arrived from all fifty states and thirty foreign countries. Numerous politicians paid their condolences in person. Rheingold's closest friends and pastorial acquaintances read pa.s.sages from his bestselling books. Rheingold's wife and young son remained stoic in the front row. The governor of Texas declared the day one of statewide mourning.

The following year, Rheingold's wife was given her own daytime talk show. His ten-year-old son published a book called Never Too Young to Follow the Lord, Never Too Young to Follow the Lord, containing prayers containing prayers and motivation for grade-schoolers.

There was very little reporting on the burial of the Roberts family. A grainy photo showed the four caskets being lowered. Two larger ones, for John and William. Two smaller ones for Meryl and Martha. John was noted as the grandson of Oliver P. "Brushy Bill" Roberts. Everything else was journalism-by-the-numbers.

One line from the article, though, threw me for a loop.

The Roberts family was buried in a closed-casket service presided over by Reverend Bert Brown. During his concluding remarks, Reverend Brown asked the heavenly father that the bodies of these four souls be looked after in heaven, and that any earthly remains not in these coffins find that everlasting peace.

Any earthly remains not in these coffins...

269.

I immediately picked up the phone and dialed information for Hico, Texas. An automated voice answered.

"What listing?"

"I'd like the main number for the Hamilton County coroner's office."

"One moment, please."

Muzak played in the background. I tuned out the newsroom chatter. Frank Rourke walked by the mail drop, turned and eyed me for what seemed like minutes, then kept walking.

"h.e.l.lo, sir?"

"Yeah, sorry," I said. "Who is this?"

"Well, my name is Helen, but I'm afraid there is no coroner's office in Texas."

"Do you mean Hamilton, Texas, or Texas as a whole?"

"I'm afraid that would be Texas as a whole."

"Then who's in charge of supervising wrongful death cases?"

"That would be the Justice of the Peace, sir."

"Then can I be connected to the office of the current Justice of the Peace?"

"Ab-so-lutely."

A minute pa.s.sed as the line rang. Another woman picked up, her voice cheerful.

"Office of Justice Waverly, this is Brenda, how may I a.s.sist you?"

"Hi, Brenda," I said, trying to make my voice sound as young as possible. Brenda sounded to be either in her late fifties or late teens. An aunt type. And aunts loved their young nephews. "My name is Henry Parker, and I'm with the New New York Gazette. I'm a junior reporter." I'm a junior reporter."

"Oh, a junior reporter all the way up there in New York?

That's wonderful. How can we help you, Henry?"

270.

"If it's possible, I'd very much like to speak with Justice Waverly."

"Oh now, Justice Waverly is eating his breakfast and he doesn't like being disturbed during breakfast. Do you know that man can eat an entire stack of blueberry pancakes in one sitting? I swear I ain't seen nothing like it ever."

"That's fantastic, Brenda, really, but it's incredibly important I speak with him. We've had four homicides here in New York. And I think they might be related to an old case involving deaths in Hamilton County. Hico, to be exact."

There was silence over the phone as the word homicide homicide seeped into Brenda's thoughts. As much as she wanted to protect Justice Waverly's breakfast routine, a good old gal like her couldn't bear to let such atrocities simmer.

"Now, Henry, Justice Waverly will get mighty upset if I barge in there, make him get all messy and syrupy and this isn't an emergency of the important kind."

"Oh, I promise, Brenda, this is an emergency of the most important kind."

Brenda sighed as the Good Samaritan in her kicked in.

"Hold on just a sec."

Rather than put the line on hold, I heard a clang as she placed the phone down on her desk. I heard the sound of a door being opened, then the voice of a man none too happy about being interrupted. There was a brief spat, the sound of someone yelling with food in their mouth, and then more footsteps as Brenda returned to her desk.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Parker? Justice Waverly will be right with you."

"Thanks, Brenda, you're a doll." Brenda giggled politely.

I heard a click as the line was picked up by another party.

"h.e.l.lo?" a deep, male voice intoned.

271.

"Is this Justice Waverly?" I said.

"Brenda, I have it, hang up now." I heard a click as Brenda hung up her end. "Mr. Parker, Brenda tells me you're calling all the way from New York, that right?"

"Yes, sir. Justice, sir. I'm with the Gazette. Gazette. I appreciate I appreciate your taking my call."

"I didn't take no call, Brenda threatened to give me that terrible puppy-dog look all day if I didn't. She tells me you said something about a homicide up there in the big city."

"That's right."

"Well, if I'm not mistaken, you New Yorkers have quite a few homicides every year and you don't go calling me for all of those. So what makes you think my office can help with this one?"

"Well, sir, if I might answer a question with a question," I said, "were you the Justice of the Peace of Hamilton County in 2004?"

"I most certainly was," Waverly said. "I have been justice of this county for ought seventeen years."

"Then you probably recall notable criminal investigations during that time."

"I have a mind like an eagle, son. What are you getting at?"

"Well, Mr. Eagle, sir, then you'll remember the deaths of John Roberts, his family, and Pastor Mark Rheingold just a few years ago."

I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end. And I knew I'd just pulled a big, dangling thread. I waited thirty seconds for a response. Waverly was still on the other end, but it was clear he wasn't dying to talk about the fire.

"Justice Waverly, are you still there?"

"Yes, Mr. Parker, I'm here."

"So you do remember those deaths?"

"I didn't say that."

272.

"So you don't remember the alleged electrical fire that killed five people, including the most famous pastor in the state of Texas."

"I didn't say that, either."

"Justice Waverly, I'm not the police," I said. "I'm a reporter trying to find out why four people have been murdered and how they might be connected to a fire that killed five people several years ago."

"I don't know how any of your murders are my concern, Mr. Parker. Now if you'll excuse me I have a meeting in just ten minutes and I still haven't had my coffee."

"Fine by me," I said. "Because my next call is to the FBI. I know Mike Sellers down at the Houston branch pretty well.

And one thing he hates hates is red tape and bureaucratic doublespeak. So I hope you're not stringing any of that tape up for is red tape and bureaucratic doublespeak. So I hope you're not stringing any of that tape up for me."

I had spoken to Deputy Michael Sellers once, over e-mail.

He had given me a terse no comment, though complimented me on a previous story about the treatment of prisoners at Rikers Island. I figured that brief correspondence was as good an opportunity as any to name-drop.

I heard a pounding sound, like something hitting wood.

Sounded like Justice Waverly was getting frustrated and taking it out on his poor desk.

"No, now I wouldn't want that," Waverly said. "I'll answer any appropriate questions in order to help whatever story you're writing. But I won't go into tangential matters that are none of your business. So to answer your question, yes, I do remember the deaths of the Roberts family and the tragic pa.s.sing of Pastor Rheingold. He was a pillar of this community."

"Would you say the Roberts family was a pillar of the community?"

273.

"Shoot," he said. "John Roberts just moved his family down to Hico a few years back. He had some relatives down here got along pretty good, but I can't say they had as much influence as Pastor Mark."

"I read the news reports of the fire. You're sure it was electrical?"

"G.o.dd.a.m.n right I am," Waverly said. "And I hope G.o.d's green ears don't hear you insinuating we didn't give that fire a thorough investigation."

"No, I'm saying you're awfully defensive."

There was silence on the other end again. Then Waverly spoke.

"We turned that house inside out. There was nothing left.

Not a doll, not a picture alb.u.m, nothing. An entire family was destroyed in one night, I a.s.sure you it was a monumental tragedy. We didn't find any reason or need to pry more than we already had."

"So you're admitting the investigation wasn't handled as thoroughly as it could have been."

"I'm saying injury was bad enough without adding insult."

"Unless the insult and injury would have been to your town."

"I'm sorry, Parker, you've lost me there."

"Let's see if you can follow--at the Roberts's funeral, the priest made a statement making it clear there were remains unaccounted for. That one or more of the coffins the Roberts family was buried in wasn't full. Do you follow that?"

"I have nothing to say about such idiotic rumors. And if you don't mind me saying, I don't see how this has any relevance to your murders in New Yawk. Yawk. " "

"I'll get to that," I said. "Now whose remains were never found?"

274.

"This has nothing to do with you," said Waverly.

"Whose remains, Justice? I can be on the phone to Mike Sellers in thirty seconds, and based on your lack of cooperation he can have those graves dug up in less time than it takes for you to stir your cream and sugar."

"You arrogant p.r.i.c.k," Waverly spat. "Just who do you think you are? Do you have any idea who we are, what this town is? We have a thousand residents. You live in a city of millions, where n.o.body gives a s.h.i.+t about anybody else.

Do you have any idea what something like this could do to our county?"

"Without the legend of Brushy Bill Roberts, your town dies," I said. "That's a fact. And by covering up a murder investigation, it will do the same thing."

"Who said anything about murder?" Waverly said. There was concern in his voice. It was trembling. He knew something.

"Whose remains were never found?"