Smiling Madonna - Chapter Thirteen

about me being
perhaps the
real target of
the attack

“Yes, well, it was a very interesting place, very attentive care-taker,” explained George, “but unfortunately he had to help us a lot. A pump off the basement bathroom acted up and a plumber had to come out and deal with it. Then today, as we were packing up, we found the two right tires deflated.”
“That’s… interesting, isn’t it,” offered Travis with no real understanding of how this could happen.
“Yes, it is…”
“How do you imagine it happened?” asked Travis.
“I have no idea,” said George. “The community is divided about what it means. Two of us think it’s nothing to be concerned about – just a coincidence that two tires went flat on our rental vehicle. Two of us think it’s actually something that is part of something related to the murder. We have a case number to give to the Seattle PD.”
Travis agreed that was a good idea and he and George hung up, to go take care of things in their respective areas of responsibility. George first phoned Officer Chang and left a message, then called someone he hadn’t been in touch with for four years.

Tuesday, the day of the morning meeting about scheduling cars and visitations, George had gone to walk George and Kenya at the Simpson house and talked with Sheila briefly.
“George, Travis told me something that is very disturbing,” said Sheila.
“Yes. You mean about me being perhaps the real target of the attack in your… I’m sorry, in your garage.” George choked out the last words, realizing that he was afraid, but also that all this was happening at Sheila’s home. Taking another look at Sheila, George saw the statuesque older woman’s eyes a little more red around the edges, and more tension in her hands which were just beginning to fight arthritis.
“I’m sorry Sheila. I apologize. I think I have been treating this a bit too pastorally – like just another concern and I haven’t connected up what this all means for me, much less for you and your house and your home.”
Sheila and George had been standing outside on concrete path between the empty autumn garden and dog run and the house. The path to the garage broke away fro the one they were on just a couple paces away.
Sheila asked George, “Did you know I’ve had someone over or I have gone out every evening since the murder?”
“No, I hadn’t realized that,” answered George quietly.
“I find I have used my coupons at many places over the intervening month and I have a vacancy this Wednesday. Would there be any chance I could come by for a meal that evening? I know it is typically your community night, but I wonder if I might impose on you this week.”
“I will have to ask the other men, but I think that this week we could do something. You are not everyone by any means! I’ll ask this morning and get back to you later today. Is that alright?” said George.

At the meeting, all four men were requesting a car on the Thursday. When they realized this they each both argued for their priority and began trying to figure out alternative methods. George was one of the first to say he really needed to use a car, since he had an appointment on Mercer Island in the morning. Eventually, the biggest fight was between Jack and Stephen over who needed to come pick the other up from one thing to go to the next, which in Seattle, is partly about parking and partly about cross town travel. Both grown men agreed to make it happen smoothly. Tim agreed to take the bus over to the university district if George could pick him up at 1:30 to make his downtown meeting at 2pm.
Later that day, George was on his way over to the bank to withdraw some money for the community purse. When he drove by the Green Café for a cup of coffee he realized he had forgotten his wallet at the house. Turning the truck around at the first opportunity, George saw a blue Toyota slow down and pull over to let him complete his u-turn at a four-way stop near Stone Way. Passing again by the Green Café, he realized that the blue Toyota was behind him again, going back the exact opposite direction they had each been traveling moments before.
The cool air blowing from the air vent in the truck felt suddenly cold as it blew over George’s neck and lip. Not really noticing, he turned the fan to low, and drove slowly back towards the house. There are really three ways to get back to the community house from this point. One passes Sheila Simpson’s house, the other goes around near the church, and another goes on the main road around the lake, then cuts back a little.
George second guessed himself several times, then he chose the third option. If someone was following him they would reveal it clearly by going the third way. It was not the way he normally went for all kinds of reasons. He drove on, reaching over to the radio, to turn off the Kate Bush song that had been in heavy rotation lately.
Slowing down at the corner, to get a better look at the blue car in the rear view mirror, George thought he saw someone inside that he vaguely recognized, but couldn’t place. The blue car made the same turn and then at the first street made a left turn again.
Was the car following him? Or was it a coincidence, maybe him turning around jogged someone else’s memory. Perhaps they had forgotten something as well. It could have happened that way.

band names: dip llama

Smiling Madonna - Chapter Eight

It is my job to
come over and
talk, especially in
painful situations

Author's note: As more details of locations and people emerge, let me say that none of these churches, monks, pastors, members of congregations, nor this police branch actually exist in reality.

“Sargeant Keith Chang beginning the interview in room three, Greenlake precinct, on October 17^th, 1988. Please state your name and occupation for the record.”

“My name is George Anderson. I am one of the pastors at Green Lake Lutheran Church.”

“Pastor Anderson, what did you see the morning of the fifth of October?”

“When I arrived at the Simpson home—“

“Excuse me, you mean the home of Sheila Simpson, correct?”

“Yes. When I arrived at Sheila Simpson’s home, I walked up the sidewalk and turned into the driveway, like I always do. Immediately, an officer called out to me and asked me what I was doing.”

“For the record, I, Keith Chang was the officer. Go on, please”

“Then you asked me some more questions and I told you that I usually walk this way to Sheila, er, Mrs. Simpson’s home, especially when I come to walk her dogs.

“I then told you and the other officer that it is my job to come over and speak with Mrs. Simpson and other parishioners, when they ask for me. Especially in stressful or painful situations.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I walked through the garden and around the front to the door, went in and spoke with Mrs. Simpson.”

“Were you at the house earlier in the day?”

“I was not. I had been called to visit someone in the hospital and switched dog walking duties with Henry.”

“Henry Isaacson is the name of the man who was killed.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you know why anyone would want to hurt Henry?”

“No. I can’t imagine. He was a great member of the congregation. He was involved in community activities, including reading at the library with kids. I can’t think of any area of Henry’s life that was not a wonderful witness.”

“Can you think of any reason someone would want to kill you?”

“What?! No!... Are you saying that you think that Henry’s death was meant for me?”

“We have been examining all the information and this is one avenue we need to follow up on. So, if you would: Can you think of any reason someone would want to hurt or kill you?”

Some few moments passed.

“I can imagine that it is possible someone from one of my past congregations has a grudge against me, but they are far away and it’s an old thing. Not enough to want to track me down and try to hurt me.”

“What was the source of this grudge?”

“I chose to go one way with a decision and they didn’t like it.”

“What does that mean?”

“There was a vote in the congregation about using the endowment funds in the struggle to stay relevant and meaningful and I campaigned and enlisted the help of long time members to overthrow the ‘old guard’ control. I then led the charge to use the funds to spend on ministry that the congregation had been saying it had wanted to do for twenty years.”

“You think that there are some people who would actually want to hurt you for doing this?”

“You must not have be as active a church-goer as I initially took you for.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Of course they were upset enough to hurt me. It might be slightly astonishing to think that anyone would still be that angry now, but I can come up with a scenario, based on what I know of that congregation’s history that might support a few people I can name for you who would choose to, even plan to be violent to me.”

“Damn. Maybe I am glad I’m Catholic.”

“Yeah. That would explain it.”

“Okay, You’re free to go.”

George finished up the interview and stood. As he did he realized that this was a revealing interview. Not only did the Sergeant learn a lot about church politics and the emotions connected with those, George himself learned how seriously he was involved in the investigation of Henry’s murder. And that little thing about himself being the intended target…

Stephen, Jack and Tim all listened as George recounted the interview around the dinner table. Wednesday night was “open” night. This meant sometimes they agreed to be silent, sometimes the brothers listened to an audio book and tonight, as on a couple dozen Wednesdays a year, they talked.

“How did the police get the idea that you were the real target of the attack again?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t exactly feel it was the time for me to ask questions,” said George.

“What was it that the sergeant said, after you described how you couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to kill Henry? Something about hurting you?”

“Yes… Actually, he asked if I could think of anyone who would want to kill me… I was surprised, obviously, then he clarified that they were looking into all the reasons why this thing happened.”

“But the officer asked again, why anyone would want to kill you. Right?”

Reluctantly, George answered, “Yes…”

“I think the police department is concerned, because they can’t figure out why Henry would have been killed. And you were the one who might have been the intended victim, since you were the one who initially was scheduled to be there that morning.” Jack paused, then asked the three others, “Does that make sense?”

Tim spoke next, “Yes, I’m afraid it does. But what does that mean? Did the police say anything about their investigation going on from there?”

“And who could be so mad and crazy to want to kill you, George? You haven’t done anything like in San Jose here. And I heard from you as well as other places in the synod that the parish in Bellevue was sad about you leaving! Is there anything else you can think of?”

“I can’t imagine. I haven’t done anything except…

“No way, then any of us might be a target.”

“You’re kidding! You guys aren’t thinking that George is a target because of this community!”

“When do we get to go away for a few days, again?” asked Tim.

“In two days,” said Stephen, “two days, until we retreat.”

Smiling Madonna - Chapter Seven

you are
a despicable person
you've no right
to shake my hand

“You are a despicable person! You have no right to come up to me and shake my hand. You have behaved abominably and with malicious intent. I do not recognize your presence.”
“I was standing in an aisle in a big beverage store near the Seattle Center.” The previous speaker was talking to someone else, while she was pushing his shopping cart with a small child in the seat facing her. George realized it was a parishioner of his who was doing the talking. Then he recognized the child, it was a girl George and Travis had baptized a few years back. The person that George knew was not in the habit of speaking that way. Kay always seemed very measured in her interactions. The situation slightly alarmed him, what would cause such an outburst of ill description to pour from her?
Then all of a sudden George was the person standing at the shopping cart. And it was his child sitting staring at him in wonderment at the words and language he had used.
The last thing he remembered before waking was that he had avoided making eye contact and was relieved to see the antagonist leave the building. Then he pushed the cart ahead, talked with his daughter and slowed in front of a display of holiday foods. Then George woke up.
He looked at the clock, the red lights showed 4:23. George couldn’t throw off the feelings of the dream encounter. He had seen the actual store before, had walked by it, but had never gone in. What was that about: a sticky, broken nutshell texture in the heart of the emotions against that man in the store? George felt his stomach tightening, and sweat on his neck turning cold, even as he woke, revulsion and something else.
Returning even more to his room, George’s body creaked and did actually crackle as his feet reached for the floor, He was thankful that the community had agreed good beds would make them better monks - and human beings – at least as far as being able to live together.
George dressed and went down to the chapel, knowing he would not be able to get back to sleep. Since he had a whole hour before his regular schedule, he brought his prayer beads. An old friend, who had joined a monastery in England long after they had met, had rolled the clay into large pea-sized salmon colored balls, pierced and strung them for him, unfired. George spent the next hour inhaling to the words, “Have mercy on me,” and exhaling “Jesus Christ, Son of God,” dropping one bead after another through his increasingly dusty fingers.

“Tim, that is… I’m sorry you feel that way,” Stephen said.
Jack jumped into the fray, “I understood we were here to talk about the death of a friend the other day.”
“I am here to talk about everything that led up to that!” said Stephen, his face turning red and an artery almost looking like you could see it pulse, standing out on his neck.
“What?” Tim and George both asked, while Jack sat up in his chair at the end of the table and opened his mouth and left it hanging there.
“I mean… I want to talk about,” taking a breath to calm himself, said Stephen, “how Henry was always trying to help, and how he was part of our whole community – not this one, but Green Lake Lutheran. Henry was always involved, not like Ted, who’s only gotten involved recently. And Ted is only around to grouse and complain. Henry was one of the people the whole ministry is going to miss.
“There are whole lists of things that no one else knows how to do at the church, groups that met and Henry unlocked the door, meetings that enjoyed coffee that Henry made, things that the janitors didn’t have to worry about because Henry took care of it!”
George imagined the waves the murder was wreaking on the church community. They were spreading out further than he’d first thought.
“Stephen, you are right. There are going to be long term adjustments that will have to be made, just for the church to be able to function… Is there anything else you want to mention?” George asked when Stephen did not seem to be going further.
“No, really. I just wanted to make sure this community, this house, at least was prepared for what this murder really means for us and the people of the congregation. I am a little worried about how the synod is going to view us after this.”
“Mmmm,” said Tim. “Yeah, I didn’t think of that.”
“Yeah, well my status as a rostered person is up before yours unless our community is recognized somehow,” said Stephen.
George, finally began to see where Stephen had been coming from – his concern about ‘falling off the roster-‘ not being recognized any more as a pastor. They hadn’t heard from the bishop in all of this. George wondered if the bishop’s office had heard from anyone.
There was some more discussion about how to handle the situation, the “this” that hung over like a cloud heavy with lightning and rain. Finally, it was Jack who suggested one way to help the brothers be better able to handle things better.
“What if we were to move up our quarterly retreat to two weeks from now?”
“Whoah!”
“What? How can we do that?”
“Before you immediately discount that option, look at your schedules. We’re going up to the Horse Ranch on Highway 2, so it’s a matter of finding out if the big house is being used during the week in the pre-ski season. It might be open and Sally Ames, the manager has been really helpful in making things welcoming for us. She might be able to get back with the information about if it’s even possible within a day. We could ask and find out if the site is open, while we check our schedules.”
“This must be something that comes in handy with the shelter, Jack” said Tim.
“Flexibility?” Jack asked.
“That, and coming up with out of the box options,” Tim was the first one to smile out of the whole discussion.
“I am not sure if it’s going to be possible for all, never mind. I’ll check.”
“What were you going to say, George?” asked Stephen.
“I was thinking in terms of the congregation. I forgot for a moment that I was free to take time off where and when wanted to,” he said.
“Okay, then, I’ll find out and we’ll check our schedules,” said Jack.
“Thank you, Jack. Would you be prepared to lead a program on the first day, with some of the material you were going to present tonight?”
“Sure, I’ll look forward to it.”
“Then we will have something to look forward to working on, not just separate meditations, or our own perniciousness to occupy ourselves,” said George.
“Good. Yes,” agreed Tim and Stephen.

“George, how are you doing?”
“Good, Estella.”
“Have you been using the things we talked about since last time?”
“Yes, but it’s been hard.”
“What about the exercises have been difficult?”
“No, it’s in the rest of my life.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, you’ve perhaps heard about the woman in whose garage a man was killed the other week?”
“Yes.”
“He was a parishioner of mine, and she is a close friend – the benefactor of my community, actually.”
“Oh. I can see how that would disturb your prayers. So what did you do about it?”
“About the disturbance you mean? “
“Yes.”
“Well… I guess I chose to focus on the activities I felt I needed to get through in order to make it to today.”
“And how did that work for you?”
“It was less than what I hope for regularly.But I was able to include some of my dreams in the meditations.”
“So you did pray, and you did some of what we talked about?”
“Yes.”
“So let’s focus on that today.”
“Okay. I especially enjoyed the time I spent on the Jesus Prayer with the meditations on the images of the Divine…”

After the spiritually renewing and relaxing meeting with Sr. Estella about his life in prayer, when George got home, he was utterly unprepared for the phone call.
“Hello, Community House, how can I direct your call?”
“Hello, is this the pastor who walks the dogs?” Not even waiting for complete confirmation of the right person, she plowed onward, “I was at the store this morning, and I heard a man talking about how he was terribly upset with how you were handling the situation in the parish – about the murder. You know I was the one who called about the red truck that other week…” There was a slight pause.
“Anyway, the man was saying how he was going to make it his business to get you and your community out of the parish. He said he was angry about your whole involvement in the life of the congregation and he-“
George interrupted, “Excuse me. Excuse me! I need to ask you if there is something you want to tell me. I cannot keep listening to your side of the story. I lay myself open to all kinds of things, including accusations of gossiping! I will not be party to that, or any other destructive group behavior.”
“I… I just want to say watch out at the retreat.” Then she hung up.
“How could she even know that the dates of the retreat had been changed? Wait, she didn’t say that. She said watch out at the retreat. She didn’t necessarily know anything about any change in dates, or the location of the event, just that such a thing was happening,” George mused to himself. “Still, it was weird. People who got the parish newsletter already knew about he retreat. They just didn’t know it would be happening earlier than announced – even more reason not to worry about it, since it was now an unexpected event.

next week: more dreams and a meeting

Smiling Madonna - Chapter Two

"Right.
It’s…
the man is dead."

The community dinner they had agreed to keep on Wednesday evenings did not include the congregation. Green Lake Lutheran could have been tempted to get more clergy working for them without paying anything. That was one drawback to having the congregation issue the calls – is it possible for people to resist an ever present temptation like that? Hopefully there wouldn’t have to be a test case situation.

George, Stephen and Timothy were all at Simpson House, when Jack arrived. Jack worked the furthest from home. He had a 45 minute commute to a shelter in South Seattle, Harbor Island actually, near the old Lockheed shipbuilding plant. Today, Jack had the monthly administrative meeting, so he had an evening off, having finished the reporting for the board and staff and had given them out. Tomorrow was another day, but tonight he could rest.
Stephen had made meatloaf for dinner. You might think that wasn’t something to look forward to, but Stephen’s meatloaf could be served in a lot of family restaurants to improve their menus. He always used fresh herbs and mixed the meatloaf in an upper and lower section. Each part had some vegetable mixed in, zucchini, carrot, celery, summer squash or garden tomato. Tonight was not a good night to miss dinner.
That was the reason George hurried over to Sheila Simpson’s house. Not that she wasn’t a good friend who asked him to come over quickly, but also he hoped it would be a brief meeting, so he could have some of the meatloaf. When he arrived, he saw why it wasn’t going to be a quick meeting.
There were three police cars parked outside the original Simpson house. Two cars had the normal SPD logo, and one said, “Scene Investigator/Medical Examiner.” George’s blood ran cold for a moment as he registered what that meant.
Without thinking he crossed the street and walked up the narrow walled driveway that led both to the steps to the garden entrance of the house and the partly underground garage. George had walked that way a thousand times, including earlier today, to walk Sheila’s dog and check on her. He didn’t do that everyday, she had other people checking on her and walking her dog. Wednesday was his day to do it, it was the least he could do considering all she had done for the new ministry they were trying to begin. It was also something they had worked out together that would be appropriate, not taking advantage of his or her time, or other resources.
George had walked this way to get the dog this morning. Getting the leash from the garage and then climbing the steps to get the yard and the dog-run. It was just before climbing the steps that he saw the legs of someone laying on the garage floor, police officers taking pictures, and standing around looking at the contents of the old cement wall garage.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” an officer called out at George. He had inadvertently frozen at the bottom of the steps to the garden…
“I, uh… What happened? Who is it?”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step back,” said the man. He stood up and George noticed his flashlight and gloves he was wearing.
“I was just going to see Mrs. Simpson. She called…” said George.
“And who are you?” said the other officer, who had moved between George and the entrance to the garage. The officer was a tall and wide Chinese man, perhaps from Taiwan.
“I’m her pastor. One of ‘em,” George responded, always catching his shared pastoral role a moment late.
“Give me your name?” said the asian officer.
“Sure, George Anderson. I’m one of the pastors at Green Lake Lutheran Church down the street. Mrs. Simpson has been a member of that congregation for a long time.”
“And how long have you been there?” The officer, George realized, must have some knowledge of how a church worked. He’s probably a Protestant, thought George.
“I’ve been there for almost eight years.”
“Right. And Mrs. Simpson called you?” George noticed the name on the uniform, Chang.
“Right. It’s… the man is dead.” George asked for confirmation of his statement.
“It looks that way… You had better go inside. We may want to ask you questions later. Make sure you give your information to the detective inside.”
“Thank you, officer Chang.”
The officer gave George another inspection as he turned and climbed the steps. The driveway walls never impeded the officer’s gaze, starting at the sidewalk at three feet and rising only two more feet when they met the cement of the garage.
George had the feeling he was being measured all the way to the garden door.

“Excuse me, can I speak with Mrs. Simpson?” George asked another police officer who stood outside the sitting room.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Mrs. Simpson’s pastor, George Anderson.”
“She is expecting you, but you’ll have to wait over here until the detective is finished with his initial interview.”
George took a seat at the shaker style table and chairs that filled half of the dining room across the entry from the sitting room. Both room led further back into the house to another sitting room on one side and through a pantry to a large kitchen on the other. George had helped in the kitchen, played cards in the front sitting room, and once help celebrate a birthday with Shelia’s great-grandson in the cozy back room.

“How are you doing, Sheila?”
“Oh Pastor, how could this happen? I’m just sick. Henry was always such a great help with Kenya and George, this is horrible and terrifying! … How could this happen?”
“Sheila, I’m so sorry. What happened? Or what do you think happened?”
“I don’t know. I got back from a lunch with Stein and Judy, and lay down for a while in the back room with the local symphony recording from last year. The next thing I know I was sitting up, Kenya was barking, and I felt a bit strange. It was probably being disturbed from a deep sleep.”
“Right.” George was again thinking about ‘witness tampering’ and the problem of stories by ‘eye-witnesses’ when Kenya began barking again from outside. The barking reminded him that he was here as Sheila Simpson’s pastor most of all.
“Sheila, have you had any water, or juice, since you awoke?”
“What? No, I suppose not.”
“One of the things people forget in times like this is to take care of themselves. You need to keep yourself together, partly by trying to stay hydrated. It works better with your medicines too.”
“Can I get you some water from the kitchen?”
“Yes, please. Thank you Pastor George.”
George moved into the cream and black tiled old kitchen. The officers had receded into the front of the house and the garage. George caught a glimpse of the uniformed people still walking in and out of the driveway. Filling a glass from the faucet, he carried a tall glass of water into the back den.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything I can do for you today, to help with the rest of the day?” George found that this question was usually responded to in the negative. If not, only one in three requests required any amount of his time – and Ms. Simpson was not one to put undue requirements on her pastor – one of them. Speaking of which…
Travis rang the doorbell and entered the house – the officers had apparently left the door open.
“Hello!”
Immediately surrounded by two detectives in front of him and one uniformed officer from behind, Travis shrank somewhat.
“Hello,” said Travis, re-shouldering his role as pastor to the distressed widow. “My name is Travis Stephenson. I am one of the lady of the house’s pastors.”
“Did she call you too?” one police officer asked.
“Too? Uh, no she actually, I came on my own accord to ask after her.”
“There is already a pastor back in the den with her.”
“Great! What a relief. May I see Ms. Simpson as well?”
“Yeah, sure, sure. Go on ahead. We’ll get your information before you leave.”
“Hello,” Travis said as his head, then the rest of his body popped in and then entered the den a moment later.
“How are you, Sheila? George.” The last recognition was a nod and look of recognition and question, meant to say – How are things going, really?
“Pretty okay,” said Sheila.
“Good,“ said George, “as well as can be expected under the circumstances.”


band name: inci-pid