Good Friends, Family, and Murder: The Atkinsons, #4

By K. Toppell

            The University of North Carolina may be the Southern Part of Heaven, but Chapel Hill becomes the doorway to hell when one of Henry Atkinson’s closest friends is murdered. Then Carolyn is shot, and Henry and his lethal cousin, Shelley, deliver lessons of their own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Printabilities, LLC
• Release date: Feb 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9780999375563

K. Toppell

Dr. Toppell graduated from the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill in 1963 with a degree in History and Political Science and from Emory University School of Medicine in 1968. He then enjoyed 48 years of practice in Pulmonary and Critical Care Medicine in Houston, Tx. with some time out for lectures in American History.  He now lives in Plano, Tx. where he reads, writes and enjoys life with his wife of fifty-one years.      

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The sun’s rays slid between the shutters and met the wooden floor in a dull rectangular patch. A table on its back and a chair on its side broke the edge of the patch. The man in the chair had the thousand-yard stare of a war-weary soldier. Marty Sheehan had fought his last battle. His voice would no longer fill a sanctuary or warm a room. His smile would never again brighten his face. The bullet had entered next to his ear in a perfect circle, now matted with blood. Brain matter and bone had spewed from a large, irregular exit wound behind his eye.

The church deacon looked on in horror, unable to take it all in. Reverend Sheehan. He can’t be dead. He has to lead the services. He’s supposed to give the sermon.

The terrified lay leader of the congregation backed out of the room and bumped into Rabbi Berenson, the reverend’s friend. A rabbi, here in the church. A damn rabbi. What to do with him? He shook himself and grabbed the rabbi’s arm, pulling him back from the office.

The deacon pulled his phone from his pocket and called 911. The rabbi listened with a curiosity that quickly turned to abject sorrow. His friend Marty Sheehan, the Reverend Martin Sheehan, was dead. How could this be? He was there to celebrate with Marty, not attend his funeral.

Don’t touch anything. Deacon Jones was shouting even though they stood inches apart and hadn’t moved from the hallway.

Of course, that brought everyone within the sound of his voice. He began to talk fast, as if he had to get the terrible words out as quickly as possible. The rabbi walked him back to Marty’s office and kept onlookers out. The police arrived within minutes, took over the scene, and asked them to keep everyone inside until they could be questioned.

They questioned Deacon Jones first, while the rabbi turned to getting the congregants back into the sanctuary. They returned to their seats, confused and curious. After a few minutes, the rabbi stepped to the pulpit.

My name is Zvi Berenson. I came here to celebrate the tenth anniversary of my friend Marty Sheehan becoming your pastor, your minister. Marty was one of my closest friends for many years. We played racquetball together, we drank together, and we argued. We argued over politics and women. We argued over people and societal changes. We argued and grew to love one another. We were in each other’s weddings. Our wives recognized the special relationship that Reverend Sheehan and I had.

The rabbi paused, hoping to calm the tremor in his voice before continuing.

When Reverend Sheehan asked me to be a part of this celebration, I was excited to share in another of life’s highlights. Marty was there when I was ordained. As a rabbi, I stand in front of my congregation and try to interpret a portion of the Torah, the narrative of my people. The word Torah" means instruction, and a rabbi is an instructor. Study of the Torah leads to answers to the many questions our people have of God.

Today, I stand before you with no answers. The inexplicable has happened. The Reverend Sheehan is dead, the victim of a brutal murder. My dear friend is gone, and I don’t know why. I know that he would ask you to reach inside yourselves and pray to God, our God. He would want you to follow your heart, to love the person on each side of you, and to love your family.

Rabbi Berenson’s eyes moved over the stunned congregation.

I came here to celebrate with my friend Marty. Instead, we will pray together you and I, as we celebrate him. Rest in peace, my dear friend. The rabbi’s eyes were moist as he turned and took a seat on the pulpit.

CHAPTER TWO

There was a long silence when the rabbi sat down, a silence without the punctuation of coughs or whispers. When the deacon came back into the sanctuary, he stood before the congregation.

I want to thank Rabbi Berenson for his words of comfort. Let us continue the service as he leaves to mourn his friend in private.

The rabbi looked up at him with surprise and stepped down from the pulpit. A uniformed police officer was waiting for him outside the sanctuary. He was brought to an office that had been set up for interviews and where a burly detective was busy writing up notes.

Good morning, Rabbi. Thank you for coming. Please sit down.

The rabbi was taken aback. Not have a seat, just sit down.

Rabbi, I understand that you were coming out of Reverend Sheehan’s office when Deacon Jones saw you. Is that right?

Berenson was looking around the room. The bookshelves were filled with Bibles, Christian theological discussions, dissertations, and collections of sermons. He was picturing Marty reading and annotating, arguing with the authors, and smiling when something caught his eye.

Rabbi, am I disturbing you? The irritation was obvious in the detective’s voice.

No, no. I was thinking about my friend Reverend Sheehan. How much I would like to be talking with him right now. I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?

Were you coming out of Reverend Sheehan’s office when you ran into the deacon?

No. I was coming down the hall to his office.

The deacon says otherwise. Why is that?

I don’t know. Maybe you should ask the deacon.

You’re from New York, aren’t you, Rabbi? The question was hard edged, aggressive.

Yes, I am. That’s where I became friendly with Reverend Sheehan. Is that a problem, Detective?

What were you doing in his office, Rabbi?

I wasn’t in his office. I told you that. As a matter of fact, the deacon was backing out of the office and bumped into me.

I’ve known Deacon Jones for a long time. He’s never lied to me.

I didn’t say he lied. I told you that he was coming out of the office and bumped into me. He may have been so shocked that he got confused. The rabbi was becoming uncomfortable with this man and his tone, which seemed to be combative, not inquisitive.

Rabbi, you and I are going to call it a day for now. Don’t try to leave town. One of our officers will be around to assist you for the next few days. I’ll have you come to the station for some more questions soon. He got up to leave the room. Perhaps you should use the time to get a lawyer. The detective pushed back his chair and walked out.

Zvi Berenson was stunned. He sat there in disbelief. He’d come for a celebration. He would stay for a funeral. He wanted to talk to his old friend Marty, but that wasn’t possible. The rabbi needed his wife, Shayna. He left the office to see if he could make a call. He found the uniformed policeman who was there to assist him, standing at the door.

You going somewhere, Rabbi?

Actually, I was looking for you. Can I use the phone? I need to call Reverend Sheehan’s wife.

Sure. Use the one in there. But the reverend’s wife is here. She was in the congregation.

As the rabbi picked up the phone, Meagan Sheehan burst into the room.

Zvi, what happened? They won’t let me see Marty. She grabbed him and held tight, crying, unable to speak.

The cop in the hallway peered in and quietly closed the door. Berenson broke away from Meagan and reopened it. He didn’t trust the cops here. He led his friend’s widow to an armchair and pulled the desk chair over.

Meagan, I’m so sorry. I haven’t seen him either. I was going to his office so we could enter the sanctuary together. I never got into the room. He straightened up just in time to see Marty Sheehan’s shrouded body being taken down the hall on a stretcher. A chill ran down his spine. A chapter of his life rode with the remains.

He reached over to Meagan Sheehan. She was hugging herself as if she could hold back the waves of wailing and tears that were racking her body. He lost track of time as an unspoken flood of distress washed over them. She struggled hard to regain control, some sense of equanimity. He asked if she wanted him to call her parents. She nodded wordlessly. He dialed the number, gave her the phone, and stepped out of the room. Their keeper was still there.

You two really close, Rabbi?

Her husband was my best friend. My wife and I love these people. He walked down the hall to give the new widow some space. Do you have any close friends, Officer?

Of course, I do. What do you mean by that?

Then think of them now. Think of what you would do for them if you and I were to switch places. They both fell into a quiet vigil.

CHAPTER THREE

Henry pulled the boat ashore. Another attempt to get along with his father-in-law down the drain. Carolyn kept asking him to try. So, he tried and went fishing with the old man.

Be quiet, you’re scaring the fish.

Fred, I’m just baiting the hook.

I don’t care, you’re too damn loud.

How can I be loud when I’m baiting a hook?

I don’t know. You’re just special that way. Now be quiet.

And on it went. When Henry’s phone rang, there was instant cursing from Fred and relief from Henry. Gotta go, Fred. Sorry. Let’s do it again sometime.

Wait till I’m dead, will ya, Henry?

There was no more conversation until they loaded the boat into Fred’s truck. Tell Carrie you’re invited to help me eat these. He held up his string of fish, as much to invite the couple as to remind Henry that he hadn’t caught anything.

The traffic was easy, the lights were in his favor, and he made it home in less than an hour. Carolyn was in animated conversation on the phone. She hadn’t heard him come in and jumped when he kissed her on the cheek.

Hold on, he just came in. Honey, it's Zvi Berenson. She stood and gave the phone to her husband.

Zvi, good to hear from you. It’s been too long. He switched hands and sat down.

Henry, Marty Sheehan was murdered this morning. I was here to help him celebrate ten years with the church.

Oh, my God. How’s Meagan?

Carolyn sat next to him on the couch.

She’s distraught, as expected. I just asked the police to take her over to her folks’ house. I spoke to them as well.

Do the police have anyone under arrest or under suspicion?

Actually, Henry, that’s why I’m calling. A detective is implying that it’s me. He’s got a uniformed officer with me continuously.

Jesus. What the hell is going on there? Henry was raising his voice. Do you have an attorney?

I want you, Henry. Will you take me on?

"Zvi,