Relentless (18 page)

Deacon Burton turned around catching glimpses of the folks sitting behind him as he patiently waited for Sonya's boss. He paid close attention to the color, make, and model of every car pulling into the parking lot. Fortunately no familiar faces or cars had transported anyone to his discreet spot situated outside the city limits. He'd set up a meeting with someone he hoped would be able to help him sort out the truth about Minister Simmons and Bishop Jones. Yet, he needed to be discreet because he didn't have sufficient facts.

The waitress poured Deacon Burton's third cup of coffee. He stirred in the cream and sugar for over two minutes before realizing it. A male voice behind him drew his attention to the parking lot once again.

“That's a nice-looking Porsche,” another patron said. “That must be a custom paint job. Look at how that baby shines.”

Deacon Burton watched the man get out of the Porsche, tug at the lapel on his suit jacket, and take what appeared to be confident strides toward the building. Burton began stirring his coffee again, wondering if he'd made a mistake calling Maxwell Montgomery. Reaching out to the attorney seemed like the right decision, but that was several days ago. This was now. He didn't fully understand everything and maybe what he thought he was sure about wasn't right at all. He felt a nervous poking at his gut telling him something was terribly wrong. Anyway, it was too late. He'd arranged the meeting.

Maxwell was standing in the doorway of the restaurant looking around. Deacon Burton stood up, holding a spoon in his hand. “Mr. Montgomery, I'm over here, sir.”

Maxwell came to the booth and offered him a firm handshake along with a greeting.

“Thanks for meeting with me, Mr. Montgomery.” Deacon Burton sat and finally placed the spoon onto the saucer.

“Call me Maxwell.”

“Okay then, Maxwell it is.”

“Since we're getting introductions out the way, what made you call me?”

Deacon Burton believed in truth but wouldn't let Maxwell know Sonya was his niece. She'd already told him how mad Maxwell had been with her about Greater Metropolitan. Deacon Burton wasn't going to take a chance and jeopardize his niece's job. For that reason he decided to withhold the truth. He wasn't outright lying or that's what he told his soul to keep it quiet. His spirit knew better.

“First, let me say, I came to you because I didn't want to go directly to the police and cause any scandal for the church. Your reputation is very well known in the church community. Since I don't condone illegal activity in the church any more than you, I felt you could help me figure out what to do.”

“I can appreciate that. What do you have to tell me?” Maxwell shifted in his seat and maintained eye contact as the deacon continued.

“A few weeks ago, I ran into a young woman outside the church late one night.” Deacon Burton started there and told Maxwell about Jill's accusations and his conversations with Minister Simmons and Bishop Jones. When he'd finished painting a very vivid picture for Maxwell, he sat tall in his seat and pushed out a heavy sigh, causing his shoulders to hunch.

“It's extremely hard for me to tell you these things. I feel disloyal to Minister Simmons and certainly to Bishop Jones. I've served with the bishop for years. I've prayed with both of them and labored side-by-side to win souls for the Lord. And now, I'm coming to you, an outsider, accusing them of something so ugly and wrong.” The deacon glanced at his cup of coffee and pushed it to the side.

A waitress stopped at the table and before she could say anything, Maxwell dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Mr. Burton, if what you're telling me is actually happening, you've done the right thing by coming to me. Maybe this will set your mind at ease. I was already investigating your church and your bishop. With what you've told me, and the information that I've already confirmed, the case against Bishop Jones will be a strong one.”

“I can't help but feel badly about how this will impact Greater Metropolitan.” Deacon Burton looked across the parking lot at the shimmering specs of light dancing on the hood of Maxwell's car. “One thing is clear, my commitment to God has to come before any loyalty to man.”

“Are you involved in this in any way, Mr. Burton?”

“Of course I'm not. If I were, would I have called you?” The deacon slid his right hand from the back of his neck, forward, over the top of his bald head. “My hands are clean. I'm not involved.”

“Perhaps you are and you don't realize it. If what you're saying is true, then there is a potentially long list of charges that could be brought against the bishop and other leaders at the church, such as money laundering, illegally dispensing pharmaceutical drugs without a license, sexual harassment, and possibly several others.”

“Wait, I never said that Bishop had any personal dealings with the woman,” Deacon Burton lashed out not wanting to embellish a single factor or unsubstantiated speculation. The church was already in enough trouble without the devil throwing extra punches.

Maxwell must have sensed the restlessness, because he said, “That's fair. I won't put words in your mouth. Let's stick with what you know, the illegal money filtering through the treasury. Being a deacon, I imagine you have a tremendous amount of responsibility and have to support the ministry in a variety of ways.”

“I would agree,” the deacon said.

“Did you sign any documents? Did you validate any of the church's financial statements?”

Deacon Burton placed both hands flat on the table, lowered his head and mumbled, “What a mess.”

“What did you say?” Maxwell questioned.

Deacon Burton's gaze shot up to Maxwell. “Nothing,” he uttered waving off the comment. He drew on his faith and spoke. “I'm the chairman of the deacon's board. I've signed a lot of financial paperwork on the church's behalf. I've signed loan documents. I've verified sources of revenue, yearly tithing totals for loan purposes, and countless other things. I've been a deacon at Greater Metropolitan long before we built the new church.” Deacon Burton lifted his left hand from the table, twisting his wedding band encrusted with three diamonds. Maxwell watched him twirl the ring in silence. “It sounds like you've probably signed incriminating documents without knowing what the information actually represented.”

“I can't go to jail. I have a family, a wife and two children. I'm responsible for them. I need to be able to take care of my family. Mr. Montgomery, I mean, Maxwell, I can't go to jail.”

 

 

“Unfortunately, ignorance of the law isn't a defense. It does not absolve you of any criminal activity.”

Deacon Burton grabbed the spoon sitting idle in front of him. “I can't believe this. This can't be happening to me. I've done nothing wrong.”

“I might be able to help you. If you've really done nothing wrong then you shouldn't have any problem working with me to provide information that will help build the civil case against Bishop and Minister Simmons. If you are willing to do that, I can help you walk away with immunity.”

Deacon Burton scanned the restaurant once more for familiar faces, glanced to his left and then his right briefly to assess cars in the parking lot. He strummed his fingers on the top of the table. “How can I help?”

Maxwell took copious notes with his pen seeming to sail smoothly across the paper as Deacon Burton answered questions and spoke freely about what he'd found out. He included the large amounts of tithing. The last detail the deacon shared was what he'd learned from his one and only conversation with Jill. Now, Maxwell knew about the selling of prescription drugs, possible sexual harassment, and the bishop's alleged involvement. Deacon Burton didn't leave out what he believed to be Simmons's part in the whole ugly scandal that seemed to be boiling. Fumbling with the slip of paper in his pocket, finally, his decision was made. Deacon inched the slip of paper, covered by his palm, across the table in front of Maxwell. “Call her. Maybe she can help you figure out this puzzle.” Maxwell handled the piece of paper with Jill's name and number on it delicately when he'd tucked it inside his suit jacket. He hoped it would lead to more answers and ultimately an ironclad case.

Maxwell huffed into the phone. “I'm waiting on that revised case law for sexual harassment. I'd like to get it this morning,” He continued riffling through papers on his desk without finding what he wanted. He searched files, paperwork, law books, and the notepads coming up empty. He glanced across the room. Maybe he'd left it over there. Canvassing the conference table as if he was digging for gold rewarded him with a small piece of paper. It was the one Deacon Burton had given him with Jill's phone number. He'd already added her name to a list of possible witnesses. But he wanted to hold on to the piece of paper written in her handwriting.

Maxwell sat at his desk and tugged the cuffs on his shirt. Just as he was about to put pen to paper, a knock at his office door interrupted him. “Yes,” he said shifting his sight from the paper to his door.

Sonya cracked the door and peeked around the edge of it. “I've got the law book and the information you requested.”

“Come on in, you're just in time. I need to get finished with this.” Maxwell stabbed the legal pad with the point of his ink pen. Sonya placed the book in front of him, pointed out the specific legal verbiage, and abruptly turned to leave.

“I apologize for snapping at you earlier. I have to get this information in order to finish up what I'm doing.”

“Don't worry about it, Mr. Montgomery. I know how you are when you have your teeth dug into something. Let me know if you need anything else.”

Maxwell spent the next two hours fine-tuning his strategy. He'd just finished up his list of questions when Sonya informed him that Jill was waiting in the outer office. Maxwell rubbed the palms of his hands together and moved the books, notes, and papers on his desk over to the conference table. Now, he was ready. He stepped into the outer office, introduced himself to Jill, and ushered her into his office. “Have a seat, Ms. Smith.”

“Jill is fine.” She sat slowly in the chair situated in front of Maxwell's desk.

“Jill it is. Call me Maxwell,” he said. “I appreciate you agreeing to speak with me. We can accomplish more in person than we can over the phone.”

“I have to tell you, I don't feel comfortable being here,” she said wringing her hands.

“Relax, this is informal,” he told her.

“I can't relax. I don't know what else I can tell you. I told you everything I know over the phone. I'm pressed for time. I have to get my kids from the babysitter in less than an hour.”

“Then we better get moving if you have a time constraint. Shouldn't take long for you to give me the information I need.”

“I don't know what else you want from me.” Jill leaned forward slightly and massaged the lower part of her back gingerly.

“I want you to pursue sexual harassment in a civil court case against Minister Simmons and Bishop Jones.”

“Oh no, Bishop Jones didn't do anything to me.”

Maxwell heard what she said and allowed it to fuel his contempt. Decades of deceit and people were willing to squander their freedom to protect this man. He couldn't or wouldn't believe that Jill or Deacon Burton was telling the truth about Bishop Jones's lack of involvement in the shady dealings. They were lying and Maxwell knew it.

“Stop trying to protect a guilty man. Do the right thing. Come forth and tell us about those guys.

“I can't do that. I can't get involved.” She turned sideways and leaned her weight onto the arm of the chair.

“You're already involved. You've purchased illegal prescription drugs. You've taken money to broker a relationship between your drug supplier and Minister Simmons.”

She appeared stunned and lowered her gaze. “How do you know this?” she stammered.

“I have my ways,” he said twirling a pen between his fingers.

“Excuse me, Mr. Montgomery, I have a stabbing pain in my back and it's crawling up my spine. Do you mind if I stand?”

“Not at all,” Maxwell answered watching her rise carefully from her seat, wincing. He preferred to think her sudden surge of pain was meant to distract his line of questioning, but his inclination said no. Her pain was real. It seemed to ravage her body with each passing second.

“I haven't forgotten my role in this. You probably think I'm a shiftless nobody addicted to drugs who's willing to do anything to get a hit.” She walked around the chair and braced herself by firmly planting both hands on it. Honestly, Maxwell didn't have an opinion about her and resisted responding. “I bet you come from a two-parent household with plenty of money. You probably went to a private school and never had kids tease you because you didn't have decent clean clothes.” She grimaced in pain as she struggled to stand straight. “I'm all my children have, and I've done what I absolutely had to do in order to provide for them. We don't have a big, fine house and money in the bank, but my kids are clean, and taken care of. I love them and, most of all, we're together. And that's the way it has to stay. If I testify about the sexual harassment, Minister Simmons is bound to tell about the pills.” Jill's voice elevated. “I can't risk it, because the department of children and family services will end up in the picture. I could lose my kids.” Maxwell' was distracted by the boulders of tears forming in her eyes.

Maxwell stood and pulled tissue from the dispenser on his desk and handed it to her. “I understand your concern. However, I don't think you've considered the money that could be gained from a civil suit like this one. You could end up not having to worry about money ever again. Taking care of your children financially would no longer be a problem, and then you could afford the best medical care.” Maxwell handed her more tissue.

“I grew up without my father. He just walked out on us. My mother died when I was young. I just can't take the risk of my children being caught up with some crazy child protection agency that will split them up. I won't lose my kids. If you try to force me into this, I will deny everything.” She wiped her flowing tears and blew her nose. “I won't lie on Bishop Jones. I just won't do it. I won't participate in any way.”

Maxwell could hear the tenacity in her voice. Jill's only concern was keeping her children, and that was one area he was not willing to touch. If only his parents had shown such commitment to their children, perhaps the Montgomery's of Chester, PA would have turned out differently. He dwelled on his family and their fractured relationships briefly before casting it aside. He had more pressing matters to handle than poking around old wounds. However, without Jill's participation on the civil angle, the bishop would only have to contend with criminal charges. Building criminal cases wasn't Maxwell's arena, but he'd gladly make an exception for Bishop Jones. Although Maxwell didn't trust any prosecutor with a case this important, he didn't seem to have much choice. He'd just have to package the evidence in such a concise way that no one could fumble the litigation, or so he hoped.