Relentless (13 page)

Bishop waited patiently in his office. As the night rushed in, silence hummed throughout the office. Church events had concluded an hour ago. His secretary had been gone for hours, and the janitor had just left. Bishop Jones was alone, as it should be for his upcoming meeting. He'd gotten Jill Smith's contact information from Simmons. When Bishop Jones called to make the appointment with her, he was careful not to fully reveal his intent. Hopefully Simmons hadn't clued her in. He wasn't sure and couldn't worry about unknowns. About ten-fifteen, the phone rang.

“Bishop Jones, I'm at the side door.”

“I'll be right there,” he said rushing out to let her in.

They didn't speak much on the way to his office. It was awkward but necessary. Once they reached his office, he offered her a seat and closed the door.

“Why did you want to see me?” she asked seeming to squirm in the seat.

Bishop sat in a seat next to her. “Can I call you Jill?”

“Sure, that's fine, but can you tell me why you wanted to meet with me so late or do I already know the answer?” she stated.

“Whoa, sister,” Bishop said drawing away. “I'm not Minister Simmons.”

The worry in her face didn't vanish. “Then what do you want?”

“For you to stop your dealings with Minister Simmons. He has a family, and there's no place for you in that picture.”

Fear appeared to sweep over Jill. She became visibly restless. “I will,” she mumbled until Bishop interrupted.

“I'm not here to judge you, but I do plan to get my message across.”

She began crying. “I didn't want to do any of this, but I had no choice.”

“We always have choices.”

“Not me. Without the minister's help how am I going to get my medicine?” she screamed out.

The outburst shocked Bishop and he was initially unprepared to respond. Careful not to cross the line, he refused to touch her even in a comforting way. She was vulnerable and he wasn't getting caught in that age-old trap. He'd seen too many colleagues get crushed in those situations. The best he could do was hand her a tissue. “What's this business about your medicine?”

“I have chronic back pain and my doctor won't give me what I need anymore.”

“Why not?”

“He says I'm already on too many other medications and the one that works for me is too addictive. So, he won't prescribe it. Minister Simmons lets me have a supply every month and it helps a lot. I wouldn't be able to function without it. I couldn't take care of my kids without the relief I get from the medicine,” she replied becoming overly emotional again.

“I wasn't aware of your situation.” Her explanation caused him to pause. Maybe she wasn't just a wayward woman looking for a quick fix and wad of cash. He had children. It wasn't difficult to have compassion for her, but he had to set his personal feelings aside. One thing about him, he knew how to separate emotion from achieving goals. There had been countless instances in his ministry when he'd felt sorry about having to make moves that were unpleasant for others. “Maybe I can help you?”

“How?” she asked, sniffling. Reluctantly she said, “I'll do whatever I have to do.” She leaned toward him and he stood to move farther away.

“Well, I want you to do what's pleasing before God,” he said gripping the chair's arm. “Let's think about how the church and I can help you.”

“My medicine; I need to keep getting my medicine. Can you help me with that? That's all I want. That's all I need,” she said, much calmer.

“Then you'll get your medicine. However, it will be done legally and under a doctor's supervision. The church will help you find a doctor who will assess your medical needs.”

Jill wiped at her eyes with the back of both hands and cleared her thoughts. “I can't pay for it.”

“I know, and that's what the church is for, to help those who can't help themselves. We'll cover the cost,” he said walking to his desk. The notion snipped at his heart thinking about his grandson's situation.

“Really, thank you. Thank you so much,” Jill responded after blowing her nose.

“Ms. Smith, I have to be very clear. You are to stop seeing Minister Simmons. The pills and whatever else you're doing together has to stop right now,” Bishop Jones stated firmly as he stood stabbing his forefinger down into the top of his desk. “I've spoken with Minister Simmons, and I've told him the same thing. Do we understand each other?”

“I hear you, Bishop, loud and clear.”

“Good, I'm glad we have an understanding. I'll have one of the church mothers call you about setting up the doctor's appointment.”

“No, Bishop, I don't want anyone else to know about me and this pill thing.”

“Don't worry. Everything will be done in the strictest of confidence. The church doesn't want to judge or punish you. We just want to help you.”

It was midmorning and Maxwell had been shut up in his office for several hours scouring city records, statements from the landowners, Garrett's copious notes, and several law books. His meticulous consideration of every aspect of the case against Bishop Jones was an absolute necessity. Normally, Maxwell relied on Sonya to provide most of the research, legal precedents, and statutes used to build a case. Not this round. He didn't trust anyone to be as thorough on this one as him. He stopped writing his brief to review what he'd come up with so far. His finger moved down the paper, guiding his eyes carefully over every word. He turned the page with so much force it made a popping noise. He read the sixth page, planted his elbows on the desk, and lowered his forehead into the palm of his hands.

Minutes of taunting quietness passed as Maxwell thought about what this case meant to him, how much he had invested and how much he had lost along the way. He slowly dragged his hands over his head. He massaged the back of his neck squeezing hard at the ball of tension resting there. He started to pick up the pencil again. Instead, he picked up the cup of coffee sitting on his desk and hurled it across the room into the wall.

Sonya knocked on the door rapidly and then yelled out. “Mr. Montgomery, are you okay?” Maxwell didn't respond. Just as he wiped at his forehead with a handkerchief, Sonya opened his door. “I'm sorry for barging in, but I heard a loud noise, and you didn't answer. Is everything okay?”

“My coffee cup had an accident.”

Sonya followed Maxwell's gaze to the wall behind the door. “Oh, my goodness, I'll get some paper towels and clean it up,” she offered, letting her gaze shift from the mess on the floor to Maxwell and then to the mess again.

“That can wait. Come on in and close the door, please.”

Sonya walked closer and stopped in the middle of the floor. “Yes, Mr. Montgomery.”

“Have a seat. I want to ask you something.” Maxwell nodded his head toward the chair in front of his desk.

“I haven't been back to Greater Metropolitan. I promise,” she announced. “I have not.”

“Relax, Sonya. You're not in trouble. I'm curious about something else. Why did you start attending Bishop Jones's church in the first place?”

Sonya looked down briefly, rubbed her palms together and told Maxwell the truth. “I used to attend Rising Star. When I realized you were investigating the pastor, I started asking around about a good church that was involved in the community and really cared about its members. I kept hearing about this wonderful ministry and dynamic pastor. Greater Metropolitan is big and very well known in the community. It has lots of young adults and a decent singles' ministry. Believe me, those are hard to find,” she said feeling livelier. “They have a rocking choir, too,” she added. “A close family friend invited me to visit. I went one Sunday and three months later I became a member.” Sonya quickly let the enthusiasm in her voice and the gleam in her eyes fade away when she noticed the frown plastered on Maxwell's face. “Joining seemed like a good idea.”

“Was there anything you liked about Bishop Jones, specifically, as a pastor?”

“I like his messages, and he was always down to earth.” Sonya wasn't sure why Maxwell was questioning her. She'd left the church. Wasn't that enough? She crossed her legs, rested her elbow on the arm of the chair and hoped her answer hadn't antagonized her boss. His silence suggested more explanation was warranted. “I also liked how fondly he spoke about his family, especially his wife.”

“So, you think they have a decent marriage?”

“From what I can tell, they've been together a lot of years.” Sonya stared at her boss. “Mr. Montgomery, the truth is I don't know what you have on him, but Bishop Jones seems like a good man and a great preacher.”

“People aren't always who they appear to be. We can't just overlook the wrong he's done.”

Sonya maintained visual contact as she spoke in a low voice, “May I ask you a question?”

“Sure, what is it?” Maxwell swung his chair side-to-side a couple of times, tapping two fingers on the desk and glaring right into Sonya's eyes.

“Why are you so determined to bring down Bishop Jones? What has he done that's so terrible?”

Maxwell looked away from Sonya briefly. “He's done terrible things to a lot of people. You obviously don't know much about his background.”

“No, I guess I don't, but I know we all make mistakes and if God can forgive us, why can't we forgive each other?”

The word “forgive” pulled Maxwell right up out of his seat. He walked toward the windows and turned the handle opening one of the glass panels. He stood there for a few seconds allowing the cool breeze of early summer to rush in and wash over him before responding. Glaring out the window, Maxwell had something to say. “He's not only hurt individuals; Bishop Jones has also destroyed many families without caring two hoots about them.” Maxwell moved over to his desk, sat on the corner of it and picked up a stress ball, which he hadn't held in quite a while.

“I don't know anything about that, but he's human. Humans make mistakes.”

“I'm not buying it. Church leaders have to be held to a higher level of accountability and integrity. And, in order for someone to be forgiven, they would have to acknowledge their indiscretion and then ask for forgiveness.” He tossed the ball into the air and snatched it down, quickly smashing it as flat as possible between both hands.

“I'm not used to this coming from you. This case seems so personal for you. You're always so matter-of-fact about things.” Sonya shifted in her chair.

“Let's just say you know one man, and I know another,” he said slamming his fist on the desk.

“I don't understand, and I'm not trying to pry. It's just that your attachment to this case seems more intense than normal.”

“For the record, Bishop Jones had a very direct impact on a family I once knew very well. He was Pastor Jones back then. The family was totally committed to him and the church. They trusted him. You know how he repaid their trust?”

“No.”

“Well, Jones took their hard-earned money and squandered it away in an investment scheme. The church treasurer invested his children's college fund; even put his house up for collateral to help finance the venture. When it failed some people lost everything they had. The treasurer took the rap and ended up losing his house, self-respect, and he even his freedom. He spent five years in prison for fraud and his wife did six months.”

“That's awful.”

“Jones didn't serve a single day in jail even though it was his program.”

Sonya didn't respond. The imprint of Maxwell's fingernails covered the stress ball. “The man's children suffered the most. And, I know for a fact they are still feeling the devastation today. So, yes, I have a personal interest in this case.”

There was a knock on the office door.

Maxwell and Sonya stood as he invited the person in. Sonya walked toward the door, but the visitor came in before she got there. “It's just me, Garrett. Hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

“No, not at all. Sonya and I were just discussing Bishop Jones and his redeeming qualities.”

Garrett nodded hello at Sonya and responded to Maxwell, “I didn't think you considered Bishop Jones to have any redeeming qualities.”

“Sonya was just trying to reform my thinking about Jones. She certainly seems to think he has some good in him somewhere.” Maxwell stifled a laugh by coughing into his fist as he held his head down and peered up at both Sonya and Garrett.

“Well, I'm not a fan of Bishop Jones, but he has gotten something done in the community that other folks couldn't seem to make happen,” Garrett said. “I hear he's serious about getting young people off the street. We all know that's desperately needed.” Garrett raised his hands into the air, with palms up, scrunched his face and said, “I can't say for sure, but maybe he does care a tiny bit about the community. He has definitely sponsored projects for the youth. That's a fact. Now his funding methods may be questionable but you have to admit, he's done some work.”

Sonya turned her head toward Maxwell. He saw her and intently restrained his comments.

“On that note, I'll leave you gentlemen to hash that one out alone.”

“Ugh,” Maxwell moaned while shaking his clutched fists in the air. “I've heard quite enough about the admirable Bishop Jones and his good deeds.” Maxwell brushed his hand through the air making a sweeping motion to dismiss the dialogue.

Sonya pointed to her wrist. “Don't forget, you have a client coming in at one-thirty.”

“Oh, shoot, thanks for reminding me.” Sonya closed the door behind her and it wasn't too soon for Maxwell. He'd heard enough about Jones to gag. The bishop might fool Sonya and maybe even Garrett, but Maxwell knew better. He mellowed believing the truth would soon come out and Jones would be history.