Gerald gave me a suspicious look and went inside.
The bishop and I strolled down the path. On the right bees buzzed around delicate pink flowers of mountain laurel. On the left, rhododendron bushes were ablaze with bunches of raspberry-red blossoms. Blue-eyed grass and bluestar bordered the path, offering purple and blue flowers. They must’ve had beehives somewhere on the premises.
“I will be blunt,” Bishop Chao said. “The death of Pastor Haywood was a devastating blow. On a personal level, he was one of my dearest friends. His contribution to the Church and to the people of Atlanta cannot be overstated. Whoever killed him tore a gaping hole in our city. I will help you in any way I can.”
“Thank you.”
“In seeking answers, I have a responsibility to his congregation and to the city at large. He meant a great deal to a great many people. He was beloved, yet he was murdered with such shocking violence and for unknown reasons.”
She had put a lot of emphasis on that “unknown.” Atlanta viewed Pastor Haywood as a saint. She had just warned me that if I found out any unsavory secrets that led to his murder, the responsibility for ruining the memory of the holy man would rest on my shoulders. Interesting.
I had to stay in character, so it was my turn to reach for fancy quotes. “‘For each one will bear his own load.’”
Bishop Chao glanced at me. “Galatians 6:5.”
“My load is to discover who killed Pastor Haywood. His sins, whatever they were, are his load. Your load is to deal with the consequences of his loss. Think of me as a tool. I do not take sides. It’s not up to me what people do with my findings.”
“I see,” Bishop Chao said. “Perhaps this is a conversation I should have with the Knight-Protector.”
Oh, Nick would just love that. “Perhaps.”
If Pastor Haywood had done something sordid, the blow to the Church would be devastating. Questions would be asked. Did the bishop know, and if she didn’t, why not?
Bishop Chao sighed. “So how can I help you, Knight Ryder?”
“Shortly before his death, Pastor Haywood was approached by a man about a ‘holy artifact.’”
The bishop frowned. “Really? What kind of holy artifact?”
“My source isn’t sure. They were preoccupied with cookies at the time. I do know that Pastor Haywood left in a car the next day and returned several hours later.”
“Nathan?” Bishop Chao asked. “Are you sure?”
“Why is that unusual?”
“He got carsick. He preferred to walk or ride a horse. Also, many of the people he ministered to didn’t have a vehicle. He didn’t want to set himself apart.” She smiled a sad little smile. “He really did get terrible motion sickness though. He vomited twice on the way to his own ordination. We had to coax him back onto the bus, because he declared that since Jesus walked, so would he. And that was thirty years ago.”
Magic fell. Both of us paused, adjusting to the sudden absence of power. Technology had temporarily gained the upper hand. It wouldn’t last, but meanwhile I had fewer tools at my disposal.
“So this artifact must’ve been very important to him?”
“Yes. I can’t imagine what would make him get into a car, especially with someone he didn’t know. I don’t understand why he didn’t call me. He always called me about things like that.”
“Was it common for Pastor Haywood to authenticate artifacts?”
Bishop Chao sighed again. “It happened. Nobody likes to talk about it, but holy items are a big business. Especially Christian relics. Ninety nine percent of them are fake, but that one percent can perform miracles.”
Not all miracles were benign. A few years ago, the rod of Aaron was found in Egypt. When cast down, it created an enormous unkillable serpent that devoured several dozen people before the army finally managed to drown it.
“Nathan had the gift of discernment,” the bishop continued. “But he was selective with his expertise. Five years ago, the Catholics asked him to authenticate nail clippings from a saint, because they wanted an independent expert. Unfortunately, the clippings didn’t belong to a saint. They don’t know where they came from, but they induced madness in the devout. Nathan lost three days to delirium. After that, he was very careful.”
“And you’re sure the request didn’t come through the Church?”
“Absolutely. I will check, but since the clipping episode, all such requests are forwarded directly to me.”
So, either they approached him on their own or she was lying. If she was lying, she was an incredible actress, because she seemed genuinely surprised.
“You have to understand,” she said. “Nathan didn’t care about money or prestige. Whatever they showed him had to be truly extraordinary.”
“Who are the most prominent relic hunters in the region? Who would have the kind of reputation that would lure a man like Pastor Haywood away from his church?”
Her face twisted with disdain. I might as well have asked her who were the best pimps in the neighborhood.
“I would have said Waylon Billiot, but he died three or four years ago. Besides him Darryl Knox and Dakota Mooney. Darryl and Dakota used to be married. They had some kind of falling out, and rumors say Dakota shot him in the a… upper posterior. Now they can’t stand each other. There is also Mark Rudolph, who is extremely unpleasant. I’ll ask Gerald to give you a list. It may take him a couple of hours.”
“Thank you,” I told her. “I’ll come by later in the day and pick it up.”
“These are not nice, reasonable people, Knight Ryder. They are the kind of people who cross an ocean filled with monsters, climb into dark tombs filled with horrors, and then sell what they find to the highest bidder. They will shoot you for a dollar. If they decide that you are interfering with their business, they will retaliate.”
“Thank you for your advice.”
“Keep me in the loop,” Bishop Chao asked. “Please.”
“I will,” I promised.
Tulip trotted down the deserted street. Behind me towering poplars and oaks shielded the tall walls that guarded the houses of Tuxedo Park. Ahead lay urban ruins. After leaving St. Luke’s, I’d turned south and then east, on West Paces Ferry Road. Soon it would cross the New Peachtree Road, and I would turn right again, heading south to Jesus Junction.
Jesus Junction, otherwise known as the safest place in Atlanta, sat at the intersection of three roads, Peachtree, East Wesley, and West Wesley. It was a place where three churches formed a rough triangle: the Cathedral of Christ the King, the mother-church of Catholic Archdiocese of Atlanta, Second Ponce de Leon Baptist Church, and the Cathedral of St. Phillip, home to one of the largest Episcopalian congregations in the country. A good chunk of Buckhead lay in ruins, but Jesus Junction stood untouched, a beacon of safety among the chaos, the houses of worship protected from magic’s teeth by the faith of its congregants.
Pastor Haywood had worked with the Catholics before, and among all the Christian denominations, the Catholic church bought the most relics and offered the highest prices. If I were selling holy artifacts, I’d tap the Catholics first.
I had just passed the Atlanta History Center when I heard the jingling. It was an odd, disconcerting sound, as if someone had sharpened some metal coins and was now shaking them in a sack. I’d heard this before.