By My Hands (34 page)

Tuesday, March 31, 1992; 2:00
P.M.

ANNA ST. JAMES GREETED ADAM and Rachel as they
entered the spacious house. Rachel was still taken aback by the
captivating view of the Pacific Ocean. She couldn’t help but wonder
about the eccentric genius in whose grand house she stood.

“Come in,” Anna said cheerfully. “Martin is
expecting you.”

Adam gave Anna a friendly hug. “You remember Dr.
Tremaine, don’t you?”

“Of course. Who could forget a pretty face like
hers?”

Rachel felt herself blush.

“Where is Martin?” Adam asked.

“In his study. He wants you to go on down.” Anna led
them to a narrow staircase. “Go ahead. I’ll bring something cool to
drink.”

As Rachel and Adam started down the stairway, he
remarked, “This is an honor. He doesn’t let just anyone come down
here. It’s his sanctuary.”

“How many times have you been here?” Rachel
asked.

“This is only my second time, even though I’ve been
to his house dozens of times.”

At the end of the stairway was a corridor lit by
bare fluorescent bulbs. The walls were a plain white. It was
obvious that Anna’s decorative skills were confined to the living
quarters above. There were two doors in the corridor; one of them
swung open.

“Adam, come in,” Martin said, “and bring Dr.
Tremaine with you. I have something to show you.”

“I don’t mean to be critical,” Adam said, “but
wouldn’t it be a lot more pleasant if you had a few windows?”

“I come here to work,” Martin said, “not to gaze out
windows. Now, let me show you what I’ve come up with.”

Stepping to the desk, Martin unfolded a small folder
filled with paper. “I haven’t been able to do much to find your
Healer. I traced his movements the best I could, but came up with
little more than you already had. So, I directed my attention
elsewhere—to the kidnappings. First, I compiled the dates of each
kidnapping and then correlated those with the dates of the
healings. Best I can tell so far, the kidnappings are confined to
San Diego. Police records from the other cities fail to show any
missing persons whose disappearance coordinates with any
healings.

“I checked the police records here,” Martin
continued, “but to no avail. I’m sorry to say this, Adam, but San
Diego’s finest are as baffled as anyone else.”

“Wait a minute,” Rachel interjected. “You mean the
police actually let you look at their records?”

“No,” Martin replied simply.

Rachel paused before asking, “Do I want to know how
you were able to obtain official police records?”

“No,” Martin replied again. “I don’t think you want
to know, and I know Pastor Adam doesn’t.”

Rachel looked to Adam for a response and saw a brief
look of concern.

“So, where are we?” Martin asked rhetorically. “We
know that the kidnappings are directly related to the healings;
that much is obvious. Since the kidnappings occur only in the San
Diego area, we may surmise that the kidnapper resides here or near
here; this too is obvious. We can also surmise that the kidnapper
has hospital connections. Someone in your hospital, Dr. Tremaine,
is aiding the kidnappers, or is the kidnapper.”

“That’s a pretty big leap in logic,” Rachel
said.

“Not at all,” Martin said flatly. “First, we should
note that each abduction occurred in a home or near a home.”

“So?” Rachel said.

“So, it means that the kidnapper knew the address of
each family abducted.”

“But,” Adam interrupted, “the Lorayne family wasn’t
abducted at home.”

“No,” Martin agreed. “They were abducted
on the
way
home.”

“And from this,” Rachel said, “you assume that
someone on the hospital staff is responsible for these people
disappearing?”

“Exactly. Or, at the very least, helping the
kidnapper. After a little creative research, I can say not only
that there is a hospital connection, but also tell you the most
likely suspect.”

Martin paused. He was obviously enjoying his
lecture.

“Who?” Rachel asked anxiously.

“Not yet, my dear Doctor,” Martin said firmly. “Not
yet. First, we must finish the foundation before we build the
house.” Pulling another stack of papers from his desk, he said,
“Feeling confident that the hospital had an inside person involved
in all this unpleasantness, I did a little more research. I checked
the bank statements of all the significant employees.”

“You what?” Rachel interjected. “Are you telling me
that you copied private bank information?”

“Of course.” Martin was taken aback by Rachel’s
outburst.

“Whose bank records?” Rachel asked.

“Anyone who might have access to personal
information on those who were healed.”

“Including me?” Rachel asked.

“Certainly,” Martin replied. “But don’t worry,
you’re clean. Which is more than I can say for one of your
coworkers.”

“What gives you the right to pry into my private
affairs?”

“Not what,” Martin replied evenly, “but who.
You
gave me the right.”

“I did no such thing!”

“Did you not come to my home and ask for my help?”
Martin asked.

“Yes, but I . . .”

“And was it not your concern to gather information
on the mysterious happenings at your hospital?”

“Yes, but again, I don’t see how that gives you the
right to—”

“When you and Adam came to me to ask my help, you
made no restrictions on my activities. You wanted information. I’m
attempting to give that to you.”

“But what you’ve done is illegal,” Rachel
objected.

“Technically, yes. But let me pose a question for
you, Dr. Tremaine. If these families—these eight people—are alive,
then shouldn’t we do all we can to rescue them?”

“Well, yes. But—”

“And while I don’t approve of electronic burglary, I
don’t approve of leaving people in captivity when it may be in my
power to aid their release.” Martin accentuated his message by
pointing a bony index finger in staccato fashion. “Am I to
understand, Dr. Tremaine, that you would prefer that we allow those
hapless people to remain imprisoned—especially considering the
great danger they’re in—while we waste days trying to find a more
legal avenue?”

“No, I guess not.” Rachel felt confused and angry.
Her privacy had been invaded; yet, it had been done for a noble
effort. Turning to Adam she said, “Surely you don’t approve of
this.”

Adam didn’t reply at first, but after a moment’s
silence he said to Martin: “You know that I can’t approve of
illegal information gathering.”

“I know. But then again, I didn’t ask for your
approval, did I?” Martin’s words were firm but respectful.

“Well, no.”

“You didn’t break the law, Adam; I did. The real
question is: Are you going to turn your back on this information
and on those who can benefit from it?”

Adam was silent for a moment. He was caught in an
ethical conundrum. As a Christian and a pastor, he was spiritually
bound to be ethical in all his dealings; but here right and wrong
melded into an indistinct whole. He looked at Rachel who merely
shrugged her shoulders.

“I suppose,” Adam said, “that I can refuse the
information and feel guilty for not acting, or I can use the
information and feel guilty about its acquisition. I’ll go with the
greater good.” Then turning to Martin, he said, “You mentioned
danger.”

“Sure, Adam, think about it. Why would anyone kidnap
several families whose only commonality is that they have
experienced a miraculous healing?”

Adam shook his head, unable to come up with an
answer. He looked to Rachel whose eyes widened in
understanding.

She raised a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes
and, without opening them, quietly said, “Someone is using them for
guinea pigs.”

Adam’s mind was suddenly filled with grotesque
images of David Lorayne strapped to a table, while an unseen man
with a rusty scalpel slowly cut open his chest.

“Who is the hospital contact?” Adam asked
bluntly.

“My best guess is the man who has added $300,000 to
his checking account since the first healing—William Sanchez.”

“William Sanchez?” Rachel was nonplused. “Do you
mean Bill Sanchez of security?”

“The very one.”

Rachel was surprised. She had not considered the
possibility of an “inside” man. The fact that he was the head of
security disturbed her all the more.

“Anything else?” Adam asked.

“No,” Martin replied. “I’ll keep working on finding
your Healer, but, to be honest, I don’t have a great deal of
information to work with.”

“Thanks, Martin.” Adam shook his hand and then, to
Rachel, said, “I think we had better be going.”

“Oh, no,” Anna said as she appeared in the door.
“I’ve just made some refreshments. Please stay and visit a while.
We so seldom have friends in our home.”

Rachel thanked her and numbly ascended the
stairs.

“NOW WHAT?” Rachel asked Adam as they drove away
from the St. James home two hours, four cups of coffee, and half a
cake later. “Should we go to the police?”

Adam took Ardath Road to the I-52 on-ramp. “Perhaps,
but I don’t think it would do much good. The only evidence we have
is that someone has been paying him large amounts of money. The
police can question him, but without evidence of his involvement in
a crime, they can’t hold him. Let’s not forget what you’ve said,
that he’s a former police officer himself—wounded in the line of
duty at that. How about confronting Dr. Morgan with the
information?”

“I don’t know,” Rachel said reluctantly. “He can be
pretty irascible. Besides, Sanchez isn’t the one we’re after. We
want the guy who’s paying him. Still, we need to tell someone.
What’s that FBI agent’s name?”

“Special Agent Norman Greene.”

“Let’s go to my place and call him. I’m sure he
could do something.”

“Okay, but then I have to go.” Adam said. “I’ve got
a big day on television tomorrow.”

Adam felt uncomfortable being alone in Rachel’s
home. He had long ago established a policy of never being alone in
a woman’s quarters. Not so much because he feared temptation, but
that he feared misunderstanding. Churches often attract hurting
people who sometimes transfer affection to a kind authority figure
like a pastor. Adam knew of several ministers whose careers had
been hampered or even destroyed by unfounded allegations.

However, Adam trusted Rachel. She displayed no
neurosis that might make a visit to her home professionally
dangerous. After all, he was there only to make a phone call.

The interior of Rachel’s apartment was far different
than Adam expected. What it lacked in furniture, it made up for in
plants. There were scores of them throughout the unit. Some hung
from the ceiling, others sat on shelves, or on the floor.

Noticing Adam’s distraction with the plants, Rachel
said, “Plants make the perfect companions: they don’t talk too
much, eat too much, or get their feelings hurt.”

“Do you mean I need to sprout roots to be your
friend?”

“Not at all,” Rachel said smiling. “You’re
different. You’re not like anyone else I’ve ever known. There’s a
quality about you that I find . . . attractive.”

“Please, you’re making me blush.”

“I’m serious.” Rachel sat on the couch and motioned
for Adam to sit next to her. “Not only are you intelligent, but you
seem to care for those around you. Take that Jehovah’s Witness
woman today. We doctors tried everything we could to change her
mind. You managed it in less than fifteen minutes. You really amaze
me.”

“Thanks for the kudos, but shouldn’t we be making a
phone call?” Adam was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“In a minute,” Rachel said. “I wanted to say first
that, well, I’m sorry for blowing up at Martin’s house. He was
doing what he thought was right, and I shouldn’t have spoken to him
that way.”

“Your privacy had been invaded. Anyone would have
felt the same way; I know I would have.”

“Perhaps, but I’d like to apologize anyway.”

Adam looked at the woman on the couch with him. Each
time he saw her he was more attracted to her. He suspected that he
was falling in love. For most people that would be good news; for
Adam it presented a problem. It wasn’t that he feared a
relationship with a woman—he had very nearly married twice—but
Rachel was different. She was outside the faith. He was attracted
to her, but she was an unbeliever; his life was dedicated to belief
and those who believe. Yet, he couldn’t dismiss her; she had
touched his soul. The bottom line was that Adam was confused. He
needed time to think. And pray.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, Rachel moved
closer. Magnetically they brought their lips together. They kissed,
slowly and gently. Adam’s heart throbbed so hard he was sure it was
audible to Rachel.

Breaking the embrace, Rachel stood and said, “The
phone is on the end table. I’ll be back in a few moments.”

Numb from the unexpected kiss, Adam merely nodded
his head. Pulling Agent Greene’s card from his wallet, Adam dialed
the number. After identifying himself to a receptionist, his call
was forwarded. Adam glanced at his watch: it was 4:50.

“This is Agent Greene,” a resonant voice said over
the phone. “What can I do for you, Reverend?”

“I have some information that you may find
interesting. However, I’m a little embarrassed to say that I can’t
tell you how I obtained the information.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

Adam repeated the information about Sanchez’s bank
account and the correlation between his deposits and the
abductions.

“That’s a pretty incredible accusation, Reverend.
I’m not supposed to ask you how you got it?”

“That’s right,” Adam said. “I’m trying to protect a
friend who may, for a noble purpose, have bent the rules a
little.”