“Is this the home of the Reverend James Rogers?” Detective Mitchell asked the woman who answered the Oklahoma City number.

            “Yes, however the Reverend is out now. This is Paula Rogers.”

            “Mrs. Rogers, this is detective Sam Mitchell from the Los Angeles Police department. Do you have a daughter named Veronica?”

            “Monica!” she screamed. “Where is she? What’s wrong?”

            “Mrs. Rogers, we have a young lady in the Los Angeles County Jail and in her phone book we found this number and...”

            “Oh, my God! We haven’t seen her in... over two years. What happened?”

            “The lady I’m referring to was charged with drug possession after the police searched the business where... we believe she worked.”

            “Where she worked? Oh, that’s good to hear. At least she had a job!”

            “Ma’am, this was an outcall prostitution service. This was not a good job she had, Mrs. Rogers. Also, she was in possession of nine ounces of heroine. Now...”

            “We tried so hard! And we did file a missing person’s report and the Reverend made several phone calls.”

            “Well, that’s... that’s very considerate of you both but...”

            “She was always wild.”

            “I see, Mrs. Rogers. When do you expect the Reverend home?”

            “Can I get your number, Officer? I’ll have him call you back.”

            “Ah, yes, ma’am, thank you. Brilliant suggestion.”

            Fifteen minutes later Detective Mitchell’s phone rang.

            “Detective Sam Mitchell.”

            “Yes, Detective. This is the Reverend James Rogers, founder of the Church Of The Final Days. My wife just called me about this conversation you had with her about Monica. Now Mrs. Rogers is a fragile woman and...”

            “Reverend, I apologize if I startled your wife, but we do have a young lady here who...”

            “Yes, Detective, she told me. Monica was always wild and things only got worse when she quit attending our services. Then she started hanging out with the wrong crowd...”

            “Reverend, I need to know if you and your wife could come out here to see if this young woman is your daughter and if she is, we can discuss her rehabilitation.”

            “Salvation first, Detective, then rehabilitation. Mind you, some preachers have it all backwards on that matter, but they’re wrong, Detective. Dead wrong! Anyway, yes, we will be there tomorrow.”

            “Thank you, Reverend.”

            The following morning Detective Mitchell took the Reverend and his attractive wife to a small room where Monica was sitting, staring at the ceiling.

            “What the hell are they doing here?” she shouted as they entered. “I thought I was getting a lawyer!”

            “Now you listen to me, Monica!” The Reverend demanded. “You...”           

            “Shut up! Get ‘em out, cop! Now!”

            Thirty minutes later the Reverend and his wife were in Detective Mitchell’s office. “Now I know this has been quite a shock to you,” Mitchell said, “but...”

            “We’re both saddened, Detective,” interrupted the Reverend, “not shocked. When she rebelled against the teachings of our church we expected problems...”

            “Our church? Your church? The Days...”

            “The Church Of The Final Days. Yes, that was her church of choice. And why would a child even consider another church when her father...”

            “Stepfather!” Mrs. Rogers instantly clarified.

            “Yes, well...” the Reverend growled. “And please, Paula, don’t interrupt me!”

            “She’s your stepdaughter?” Mitchell asked.

            “Yes, Detective,” the Reverend explained.” Her real father is a man named Rodney Collins. He’s serving life for murder in the Oklahoma State Penitentiary. I adopted Monica when I married Paula.”

            “How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”

            “She just left one morning,” Mrs. Rogers immediately responded, “about two years ago. It was a Sunday, I remember, because we were getting ready for services. I saw her walk past my room with a suitcase and I asked her what she was doing and then she just started screaming at me again about how Rodney was framed and that the Reverend...” She paused, noticing her husband staring at her. “I’m sorry, dear. You tell him.”

            “Thank you, Paula,” the Reverend said with a frustrated expression stretched across his face. “As I was saying, Detective, I adopted her and tried to make sure that she wouldn’t end up like Rodney did.” The Reverend pointed a finger at his wife. “Now she loved that man, and I did too, but he became a drunk who never wanted to change his ways. Now about this immoral house of prostitution?”

            “We had credible information about heroin trafficking there so...”

            “Detective, why in God’s name would you even need information about heroin trafficking before going in there to arrest those people?”

            “There are certain procedures we follow, Reverend, and…”

            “We tried to be a family,” Mrs. Rogers mumbled, crying. “But Monica... she never forgave me for marrying the Reverend. You see, I was single and lost and when the father of your daughter is ...”

            “Please, Paula. Let me handle this.” The Reverend demanded. “So what are the charges, Detective?”

            “At this point only possession of heroin. She had no needle marks so...”

            “Oh, God, Detective!” Mrs. Rogers moaned. “I’ve already lost her father. Now they’re both in jail, Rodney and Monica!”

            “Paula!” the Reverend shouted, then turned back to Mitchell. “We’ll hire a lawyer. Now if there’s nothing else, we’ll be at our hotel.” He walked to the door, pulling his crying wife with him.

            Later that day Mitchell became curious about the strange family and the murder conviction of Monica’s father. He called Charlie Braden, an old friend at the Oklahoma City Police Department, and asked him to send some information about Rodney Collins and his trial.

            Within hours Mitchell was reading the trial transcripts in which Collins had claimed he was at his trailer house, alone and drunk, when the murder occurred. He and the victim, Michael Farley, were friends who served together in Vietnam in the same Marine unit. After the war Farley had become an unpopular fanatic who published a paper that degraded local personalities and politicians.

            The trial was brief, the evidence against Collins was minimal and the gun used was never found. The prosecutor had convinced the jury that Collins knew Paula was having an affair with Farley and his motive was pure jealousy. Yet Collins’ attorney, Terrell Wood, seemed to have surrendered his client, offering no reasonable defense, relying instead on his final plea to the jury that there was insufficient evidence against Collins. Collins was convicted of murder. There was no appeal.

            Mitchell then recalled Charlie’s closing comment: “Something stinks about this, Sam, because word is the Reverend hired Wood to defend Collins and paid the tab. Now not only did Wood seldom, if ever, take on criminal cases... with this exception, he also did work for this Church Of The Final Days.”

Detective Mitchell returned to Monica’s cell.  

“Why’d you bring ‘em here?” Monica shouted. “I begged you not to even call ‘em. Get me a damn lawyer!”

             “Monica, listen to me! I don’t want to see a young girl like you screw up your life. I know that wasn’t your heroin. Besides, there are some questions I have about your father... and your stepfather... and your mom.”

            “What’s there to know about ‘em other than they’re all screwed up? Just like you!”

            “Look, Monica,” Mitchell growled, “If you don’t want to talk or even help me get that junk dealer, I’ll leave now and proceed with the charges against you. Or you can...”

            “Rodney’s innocent. I got my suspicions concerning the Rev.”

            “What?”

            “You wanted to know about my screwed up family? Well, first of all, the Rev’s got a lot of shit to hide and I can’t prove he’s behind this, but it sure looks funny... and I know he don’t miss Michael Farley... or Rodney.”

            “What else do you know?”

            “I know that the whole thing is nothing but one big fucking joke! All of ‘em! Why the hell do you think I left? Everybody screwing everybody, lying, covering their asses.”

            “What about your mother?”

            “Paula? Whew! She don’t have a clue. Never has. Not the kind of woman that shoulda had a child... if you get the picture!”

            “And your dad, Rodney?”

            Monica studied the Detective’s handsome face, then smiled. “He’s okay. Just a useless drunk screwed up from Nam... but wouldn’t never kill an old Marine buddy, even though they had their arguments.”

            “Over what?”

            “Mom was fucking both of ‘em, but I don’t think Rodney really cared... or couldn’t do nothing about it. See, he was just a dumb, lonely mechanic, or tried to be, but he wasn’t no murderer.”

            “So your mother was having an affair with Farley?”

            “Hell, she’d flop down with anyone who’d offer her a smile and ten minutes of security. That is till after the trial when she decides we’d be better off with the Divine Reverend Rogers.”

            “Did Rodney and the Reverend know each other well?”

            “Sure. We’re all one big family with lots of secrets. Him and Farley and the Rev were close friends in Nam, drinking buddies, but when they come back home, the Rev wouldn’t have nothing to do with ‘em no more. See, he’d seen the Light, got the call from God and went into preaching, trying to hide his past.”         

            “What was he trying to hide?”

            “Rodney told me that he and Farley had to cover for his Divine Dumbass when the Rev lost it several times in Nam and beat up a few Vietnamese whores... pretty bad... Rodney thinks one even died. I mean, you seen the Rev? Fat slob! I guess he always had to pay for it... but... anyway, Rodney told me that when the Rev started his TV show three years ago, he was probably real afraid Farley might tell all about their little Nam secrets... just as the money was starting to roll in. Of course, now there was four of us that knew, thanks to dear Rodney sharing all this crap with me that night.”

            “Didn’t he also fear that Rodney might expose this?”

            “The Rev knew Rodney was just a dumb drunk and weren’t no real threat. But a few weeks after Rodney told me all this, Farley gets murdered. Rodney got real shook up... but a week later the cops come over and arrest him. I know he had nothing to do with it. Strange little puzzle, ain’t it, cop?”

            Mitchell, stunned, finally asked, “What did your mom know? And how did she react to all this?”

            “Let me paint you a little picture again, cop. She’d been fucking the victim, and the accused... and God only knows who else... and before the trial even starts she’s working the Rev in. So here I come along and tell her all about what Rodney’d told me and... well, the whole thing just pushed her over the edge. So she told me to never repeat Rodney’s drunk story to anyone, ever... but I figger she told the Rev.”

            “And?”

“And so Rodney goes to jail, just like a dumb, harmless dog thrown in the dog pound, and the Rev’s safe cause no one could bring up his past. ‘Cept me, of course. See, he’s glad I run off ‘cause his doomsday TV show’s becoming a big hit, the money rolls in, and he slips by without even a scratch... and Paula’s saved from more crap she can’t deal with. Besides, why the hell should you care?”

            “Number one: If Rodney Collins is innocent, justice needs to be served. And number two: I still want to know who owned that heroin the police found in your purse.”

            “Number one, Rodney is innocent, but less you know the law and got money, you get screwed, just like he did. And number two, I guess I’ll just do my time cause I ain’t no rat. I got some moral fiber in spite of my... parents... all of em.”

            “So why did you just tell me all this?”

            “Just for entertainment, cop. Like I said, it’s all one big fucking joke. They’re all screwed up!”

            Hours later.

            “Detective Mitchell, this is Paula Rogers, Monica’s mother.”

            “Yes, I’m glad you called. I was...”

            “The Reverend went home, Detective, but he left me a list of lawyers and some money to pay for one, and I wanted to ask if you’d help me choose one.”

            “Yes, maybe so, but first I’d like to ask you about...”

            “I don’t want to talk about our past, Detective, if that’s what you’re planning to ask about. If Monica talked to you, she probably told you how she sees it. But she’s young and she doesn’t really understand these adult things. Besides, the Reverend thinks our personal lives are... well... personal secrets. He was real upset at me yesterday, but I was instructed to find her a good lawyer.”

            “Does the Reverend always hire the lawyers and pay for them, Mrs. Rogers?”

            “Well... when we need one. He does like to help.”

            “How kind. Who paid for Rodney’s lawyer?”

            “Pardon me, Detective?”

            “Who paid for Rodney Collins’ lawyer, Mrs. Rogers? Did the Reverend?”

            “Well, maybe... he may have. But whoever it was, God bless them.”

            “Mrs. Rogers, Rodney may be innocent. Does that bother you?”

            “Detective, I’ve tried to kill myself three times in the last two years over all this, God forgive me. I don’t think you understand my situation. I’ve lost her father, now her. Please don’t make me lose him.”

            Mitchell was speechless.

            “Detective? Will you help me decide on a lawyer or not?”   

            Mitchell spent the next two days stretching his role as a narcotics detective on a drug case to that of a man on a personal quest for the truth. In his pursuit, he’d managed to stall Paula Rogers from hiring an attorney by continually discussing options, allowing himself a little more time to question Monica. It was obvious, however, that Monica was becoming an emotional roller coaster, one minute laughing at his questions, the next demanding a lawyer. He decided to change tactics.

            “Monica, I’m going to see Rodney. Any messages you want me to give him for you?”

            Her attention immediately shifted from the ceiling to Mitchell’s intense eyes. “What are you talking about?”

            “I think he’s innocent, too.” He leaned into her. “But I’ll need your help... your testimony... maybe we can get him a new trial.”

            “Me? Back to Oklahoma to testify? I’d be dead, dumbass. You don’t get the picture.”

            “Monica, you’re a victim... just like Rodney. We’ll protect you. Trust me!”

            “Trust you? One day you’re threatening me with prosecution, next day you’re trying to be the newest father figure in my life. I don’t need another one.”

            “Listen, Monica, we need each other, like it or not. Now I need to get to the bottom of this mess, and you need to get free of these charges and start a new life for yourself.” Mitchell pounded his fist on the table. “Now you help me!”

            Monica stared at him. He stared back.

            Finally she conceded. “What do I gotta do?” she slowly mumbled.

            Mitchell pulled her out of the chair and hugged her. “Thanks, Monica! Thanks!”

            An hour later Mitchell was on the phone with Charlie Braden.

            “Go see Collins and tell him I want to meet with him to discuss a new trial... with his daughter’s testimony to support him this time. She’s already agreed.”

            “I’ll do what I can.”

            “Thanks, Charlie. Bye.”

            As soon as Mitchell hung up, the phone rang again.

            “Detective Mitchell.”

            “This is Paula Rogers, Detective, and I think you’ve been stalling me. The Reverend just called, asking me about a lawyer and...”

            “She won’t need one, Mrs. Rogers. Monica has agreed to testify against the man who hid the heroin in her purse when the bust occurred. She’s also agreed to testify at a new trial for her father, Rodney. I hope to visit with him soon to take his deposition. We plan to put him, Monica, you, the Reverend and others on the stand. And Terrell Wood.” He waited for a response. “Mrs. Rogers, do you have any comments about any of this?”

            “Oh, dear God! Not another trial. I’ll... the Reverend... No! Oh, God!”

            “Mrs. Rogers?” Mitchell heard a dial tone. He waited an hour before calling back, only to discover she’d checked out.

            The next day Charlie Braden bolstered Mitchell’s hopes for bringing justice to an innocent man by informing him that the meeting with Rodney Collins had been arranged for the following week. Then three days later the phone rang and fate changed everything.

            “Detective Mitchell.”

            “Sam I... well, I’m calling you from the hospital at the prison. Collins just died. Heart attack.”

            “Oh, my God!”

            “Sam?”

            “I’m here, Charlie. What do you think?”

            “We’ll know for sure after the autopsy, but when I saw him a few days ago he was a real nervous wreck, looked terrible, tired, couldn’t hardly even talk. It was a heart attack. That’s what I think.”

            “Keep me posted about the autopsy.”

            “No problem. We tried, Sam. You okay?”

            “Yea... thanks.”

            Detective Mitchell rocked back and forth in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

            Monica made no comment for several minutes after Mitchell informed her about her father’s death. She sat, looking up, crying one second, smiling the next.

            “I wanted to tell you first. I’ll notify your mom and the Reverend, although they might already know.” Monica said nothing. “And... I’ll do anything I can for you, Monica. After your testimony next week, you’ll be free of any charges. We’ll help you get a job, maybe go back to school... whatever you need.”

            She looked deep into his eyes. “See? He got away with it and my mom don’t have to face it all no more. Neither of ‘em has any balls. They deserve each other.”

            “Monica, I can still look into all this but I will need your help.”

            “Let it be. Hell, everyone’s happy now. He’s gonna stay on TV and get richer, she’s gonna be standing there by his side, looking real pretty, feeling secure and cared for and I’m gonna be freed. Plus, Rodney and Michael Farley don’t have to put up with this screwed up world no more. No, let it be.”

            Her words of truth echoed through his head as he stared down at her, an honest and simple child in a world of distorted human complexity.

            “Thanks anyway, Detective... just for trying.”

            “Monica... my wife, Shelby, and I would be willing to offer you a place to stay so you get back on your feet. I’ve told her about you. She’s a fine lady and you’d make good friends. Think about it.”

            “I might.” She smiled. “You got cable?”

            The following week Monica moved into the Mitchell’s home. There was never any conversation about the past, only talk of the future. Monica planned to go to Beauty College. She’d always envisioned having a shop of her own someday.

            The autopsy report confirmed that Rodney Collins died from a heart attack. And Mitchell put the episode behind him. Then a week later the unresolved feelings that had haunted him returned. The phone rang.

            “Detective Mitchell.”

            “Yes, Detective, this is Reverend Rogers. I would like to tell you that my wife, Paula, and I are most grateful to you for helping our daughter through this difficult period in her life and... I... we are more than willing to offer any degree of financial assistance to you and your wife.” Mitchell said nothing. “And, in case you’d like to know, Detective, Paula was quite upset by Rodney’s sudden death. And I’m sure it was difficult for Monica, as well.”

            “Anything else, Reverend?”

            “No. Not really. Yes, there is, Detective. You harbor ill feelings toward me for some reason. I can feel that... and I don’t know why.”

            “Well, let’s start with Monica, move onto Rodney Collins and Michael Farley... and then there’s you wife, of course... for starters. Is everyone just a puppet in your show, to be controlled or eliminated? And Terrell Wood, that fine defense attorney you so graciously offered Rodney. Do you have a conscience, Reverend?”

            “Detective, with God as my witness, my conscience is clear on all these matters. Those you’ve named are some of the people, both living and dead, with whom I’ve had deep relations and I’ve tried, to the best of my ability, to offer them whatever help I could. Mr. Wood, furthermore, was thoroughly convinced he could easily win this case for Rodney on the sheer lack of evidence alone. There was very little, as I’m sure you know. Unfortunately, he was, wrong. Dead wrong. He failed.”

            “Let’s cut the crap, Reverend. Important pieces of this puzzle are still missing, buried among the secrets, mysteries and lies surrounding you and I intend to...”

            “Those are aspects of everyone’s life, Detective! Do you know all the answers? Can you solve all the mysteries? Have you any secrets? And have you ever made a mistake? Well, Detective?”      

            “Do you miss Farley and Collins, your war buddies, Reverend?”

            “Vietnam tied us forever to each other, Detective. God forgive us, we killed together, we lied for each other and we all did things so deplorable we knew we could never discuss with anyone, ever. Now I alone must carry the burden of our collective guilt.”

            “I’m sure, Reverend! And without even getting a scratch, right?”

            “I beg your pardon, Detective?”

            “You heard me.”

            “Yes, I think I did. God bless you and good day.” The Reverend hung up.

            A month passed. Monica spent her days in courses at a local beauty college. She and Shelby Mitchell had become close friends. Sam bought her a used Mustang. Yet he still struggled with his anger over the situation. Then came the phone call.

            “Detective Mitchell.”

            “Sam, get ready for this!” Charlie Braden said, breathing deeply. “Yesterday we picked up a guy we’d been looking for, a suspect in a murder case, a Nam vet named Kenny Ketchum. In his car we found a loaded pistol and a long list of names of other Nam vets, guys he was planning to shot, one by one. The Reverend’s name is on that list. So is Collins’. This guy’s a real loony, Sam, spilling his beans for the tenth time as we speak. He refuses a lawyer, demands we execute him immediately, saying he deserves to die because he’s been on a one man mission to give all the Nam vets on his list what they deserve... then he was planning to shot himself once he finished his task. You there, Sam?”

            “Yea, Charlie. Go on!”

            “Okay. So where was I? Oh, yea, so Ketchum was on his way over to the Church yesterday to do the Reverend in when he, and get this, runs into a police car. Strange fate, huh? So on this list in his car are the names of five Nam vets who’ve been shot in the last few years... but they’re scratched out, like that part of the job’s been done. Farley’s name was one of those five, scratched out! And, to sew it all up, the pistol he had matches the slug they pulled from Farley’s head... and the others. Sam? Are you still there?”

            “Ah... yea, Charlie.”

            “Sam, this guy shot Farley. He admitted it... everything. It all fits. Case closed.”

            “Thanks, Charlie.”

            “Don’t feel bad, Sam. This one got me too. It’s all too weird. But... well, you just never know until... until something just falls from the sky and fills in all the missing pieces of the puzzle. The story should be on CNN within the hour. Check it out.”

            Mitchell hung up, then brought a TV into his office.

            An hour later the phone rang again.

            “Detective Mitchell.”

            “Detective, this is Reverend Rogers. Have you, by chance, seen the report on CNN?” There was a long silent pause. “Detective, I hope this puts your anger towards me to rest, and Monica’s, as well. These are the final days, the days of uncertainty and mystery, and we should be grateful to God that today He’s shown us the answer to at least one of these many mysteries... the one that has haunted all of us.”

            Mitchell was silent, tense.

            “Detective, two weeks before Rodney Collins’ death I hired an extremely competent legal firm to look into the prospects for a new trial for him. I will honestly admit to you, however, with God as my witness, that I always believed he did, indeed, shoot Michael Farley. I hated myself for believing that, but like most of us I knew no better at the time... in fact, until less than one hour ago. But we all know the truth now. Still, I was wrong, Detective. Dead wrong! And so were many other people... and, forgive me for reminding you, Detective Mitchell... so were you... and so was Monica.”