Sanctuary

By John W. Stewart

This is a fictional Christian thriller about a fire investigator, Will Johnson, with the State Police. He is also parttime sniper for the SWAT team due to his previous training as a sniper. After working a fire where three bodies were found on a holiday weekend, he’s called out with the SWAT team. He ends up killing the kidnapper but his bullet goes though him and kills the victim.

While on leave due to an Officer Involved Shooting, he packs his bags, leaves Pawleys Island heads to his farm in Woodruff, in the upstate of South Carolina, where he grew up. He needs to find his place of refuge, his sanctuary, like God told the Israelites.

Once in Woodruff he hides out at the farm for several weeks before going to town. The Police Chief, Maria Larroquette, and Johnson butt heads. He’s not sure why until his Major ask him to help her out in a fire with a missing teenage girl. He learns that several more girls are missing. Now, they need to find these missing girls, the kidnapper, and who set the bomb. After finding the missing girls, they still need to identify the unidentified girl.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664246140

John W. Stewart

John W. Stewart (1934–2023) was the Ralph B. and Helen S. Ashenfelter Associate Professor of Ministry and Evangelism Emeritus at Princeton Theological Seminary. Ordained in the Presbyterian Church, Stewart served as pastor at churches in Pennsylvania and Michigan and authored numerous books and articles on Presbyterian history.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

July 1, and I’m on call for the week for the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division’s Arson Unit, better known as SLED. It’s a Friday morning at 4:30 when the phone rings. Yeah, I say, this is Johnson.

Will, this is Jolly. I’ve got a call for you. You awake?

Yup, Captain. What’s up?

Captain Kirkland, with the Dillon County Sheriff’s Department just called. He’s got three dead in a house fire. They need your help.

Are the bodies still there?

Yeah, they don’t want to move them until you can check it out.

Okay. Tell him I’ll be there in about an hour and a half, and I’ll meet him at the scene. And make sure he doesn’t let the firefighters tear up my fire scene.

Captain Jolly gives me the address. I write it down and make a pot of coffee while I’m getting dressed. I suck down one cup and fix one to go. I head for the truck and check my gear really quick, even though I always have it ready. I wait until I get to Highway 17 before I hit the blue lights and wait until I get in traffic to get the siren going. I have to leave Georgetown County and pass through Horry and Marion counties to get to Latta, a small town in Dillon County. With it being early and not too much traffic, I should make it on time.

Fatal fires are gruesome, to say the least. Once you’ve been exposed to the distinctive smell of burnt human flesh, that’s something you will always remember. Sometimes, it seems like the odor absorbs into my skin. I shower and scrub several times before the stink goes away. It seems like I have to add extra detergent to get the smell out of my clothes. I even disinfect the inside of the truck when I get home.

Over the years, I’ve probably worked several hundred fire deaths. I worked two while still a firefighter at Clemson, and I’ll never forget my first full year with the Arson Unit.

It was 1987. I worked 33 fire deaths in the first three months of the year. All of them involved multiple deaths, and one had five family members. Early on, every time the phone rang in the middle of the night, I’d wake up in a cold sweat just knowing I’d have to look at another dead body. I ended the year with 67 fire death investigations.

I always pray and hope that the deceased were overcome by smoke inhalation long before the flames reached them. I’ve had a few small burns in my life. I’d hate to know what a continuous burn feels like.

As I turn onto Prichard Road, I see red and blue flashing lights. When arriving, I see there are several police cars, an ambulance, and one fire truck still at the scene. I walk over to where Kirkland is having a smoke and a cup of coffee. He sees me coming and pulls another cup out of his car and hands it to me.

You might need this, he says.

I take a sip of coffee. It’s already getting cool. Good morning Captain Kirkland and thank you for the coffee. What do we have?

I’m sorry to get you up so early on a weekend Johnson, but I’ve got three crispy critters in there. The sheriff told me to call SLED and let y’all handle it. There’s an older couple with a down syndrome adult child. I think it might be an accident, but the family has prestige and money and I don’t want any repercussions.

Give me the details.

While I’m finishing off the coffee, I learn that the couple were in their late sixties and the son was in his early twenties. They had him late in life. The oldest victim, Mr. Mason had been a college professor and was on the school board, in addition to being on county council for many years. His wife was a Special Ed teacher.

The fire was reported by a truck driver at 2:36 a.m. Kirkland has already gotten a statement from him and everything checked out. He was on his way to make a delivery when he saw the flames. Already the house was totally involved by then, with flames coming from both the roof and the rear right side. By the time the county fire department arrived, most of the roof on the rear had collapsed.

I go back to the truck and put on my fire boots and load the camera with a roll of 36 exposure color film. The sun is coming up, but it’s still dark inside the house, so I grab my big light and begin my investigation by photographing the scene, starting outside at the front and moving around in a clockwise manner. It’s a one story wood frame house with white vinyl siding. The electric meter is on the left side and the power company has cut the overhead wires to disconnect power. I photograph the cut line. As I move around, there’s a propane gas tank on the right side. I photograph it. I see that the fire department has shut off the gas value. It’s 48 percent full.

I climb the front porch and see the front door has been forced. Hey, Kirkland! I yell. Who forced the door?

He yells back, One of the firefighters got here before the trucks and tried to make entry. I’ve got his statement. He said he tried the door, and it was locked.

Thanks. I photograph the busted door, noting that the deadbolt lock is still in the locked position. I take a shot of the door lock.

I walk through the house, photographing and making notes on my pocket recorder. The first room I enter is the living room. There is light fire damage that entered from the dining room. I move into the dining room, which is on the right side of the living room. It is burned slightly more than the living room. The fire entered this area from the kitchen, which is on the far-right side of the house. Behind the dining room is a large kitchen. There is heavy fire damage in this area. Most of the rear wall and roof has burned away. I can smell death in this room.

I go back to the living room to move down the hallway photographing as I go. I look for a smoke detector, but don’t find any. There are three bedrooms and a bath off the hallway. The further I move toward the rear, the worse the fire damage is. I take a look in each of the two bedrooms on the left side of the hallway. There is heavy smoke damage and light fire damage. In the first bedroom, the bed is unmade and the covers pushed down, like someone was sleeping but got up. I photograph it and find a stuffed teddy bear lying on the floor beside the bed, covered in soot.

Moving on to the second bedroom, I find heavy smoke and light heat damage. I look in the closet, and it’s empty. This must be a spare bedroom. I take a few photos. The hall bathroom is on the right side across from the first bedroom. It has only slight fire damage that entered from the hallway. Again, I take only a few photographs of this room.

Entering the last doorway, I find it’s the master bedroom. This room is on the right side of the hallway near the rear of the house. There’s an attached bath on the right side. The stench of death is more profound here.

The rear wall is mostly burned away and so is the roof. The drywall on the ceiling has fallen on the bed. I lift a piece of the drywall and see two bodies.

I’m fairly sure by now from the burn patterns that the fire originated in the kitchen. I walk outside to tell Kirkland we can move the bodies out of the bedroom. I reload my camera with another roll of film.

Before we go back in, I ask Kirkland, Where’s the coroner?

You know old Doc doesn’t come out to many scenes anymore. He just relies on us to do his job.

Okay, just asking before we move them.

After the drywall is removed from on top of the two bodies in the master bedroom, I photograph them in place. I have Kirkland and a couple volunteer firefighters help me remove them. We reverently place the bodies in black body bags, and I say a quiet prayer for Jesus to accept them into his fold. The bodies are photographed again by me after they are moved. The firefighters carry them out to the waiting ambulance. The bodies aren’t burned much but have a lot of heat damage. They probable died of smoke inhalation. The autopsy will determine the official cause of death.

After they’re removed, we search the house for the son. Again, several firefighters assist me in removing some of the debris from the kitchen. While moving a piece of the collapsed roof, we find the third body.

His face and most of his extremities are burned away. Hopefully, we can get a positive ID from dental records. I photograph this body in place and then remove all the debris from on top of him and about two feet all around. I photograph him again as I pray. We then place him in a body bag.

After the third body is removed, I tell Kirkland they can take them away. I ask Kirkland to check with the local dentists to see if any of them have any dental records for the boy and have them sent along with the body to the autopsy.

Back inside the kitchen, several firefighters help me remove some of the bigger pieces of the roof and wall. From the burn patterns, I determine that the fire originated near the stove. I photograph everything before and after I move it. I examine the electrical system and find no electrical failures. I then photograph the gas stove. I find an aluminum skillet on the front left burner. The skillet is melted down. While examining the stove, I find what is left of the control panel. I photograph it before I move anything. I’m able to determine that the front left control knob is in the high position. I find what’s left of a bag of French fries and a melted down plastic container of cooking oil nearby. I photograph each item in place before and after I move them.

It looks like the boy got up during the night and turned on the stove to cook. For whatever reason, he walked away long enough for the oil to catch fire, or he accidently spilled oil on the lit burner. The classification is accidental. I go back outside and tell Kirkland what I’ve found. After getting a pad and tape measure out of my truck, I sketch the fire scene and include where the three bodies were found.

It’s after 1:00 p.m. by the time we finish the scene. Kirkland and I go back to the Sheriff’s department, and I make copies of both his report and the fire report. I call my Captain to update him. I’m covered in soot and debris, not to mention sweat and that awful smell of death. I use the shower in the restroom to clean up and change into a clean uniform. After we finish, we go to a pizza joint in town and have lunch. Kirkland tells me the coroner is going to send the bodies to the Medical University of South Carolina, MUSC, for the autopsy. They’re going to do the autopsy tomorrow. Kirkland plans to attend, I wish him luck with that. I’ve seen my share of autopsies.

CHAPTER 2

While at lunch, Kirkland and I catch up. I order a diet Coke and Kirkland orders a Pepsi, and we decide to share a pepperoni and sausage pizza. We’re both about the same age. He’s divorced with two boys, dating a local girl and thinking about proposing. His oldest boy is going to Tech, and the youngest is a senior in high school. I tell him that I’ve still not been able to talk Lisa in to marrying me and that Erin, our daughter, is a sophomore at Clemson. We continue talking until the pizza arrives. Most of the conversation quits then.

After lunch, I promise him a written report in about a week, unless I’m out all weekend. I tell him I’ll need the autopsy findings before I write my report. I ask him to email it to me as soon as he gets it, and he thanks me again for coming so quickly. We shake hands and wish each other a happy Fourth.

I’m on my way home and only ten minutes into the drive when I hear a call on the radio.

All units in the vicinity of Marion County respond. There’s a hostage situation. Two officers down. SWAT team is on the way. All available units respond immediately. Call and give us your current location and ETA.

I’m almost in Marion County. It’s the only way for me to get home. I don’t want to go. Maybe if I ignore the call no one will know where I’m at. I’ve already called the Captain. Maybe he doesn’t have his radio on. It’s Friday, but he’s on call to answer the Arson line. If I’m lucky I can get through the county before anyone knows I’m here. I hear a lot of talk back and forth from other agents calling they’re on the way.

Then I hear, SLED 36 to SLED 147. Repeat, SLED 147 respond. Caption Jolly knows I’m close by. I just can’t answer him. After a few minutes, he calls me on my cell phone. I don’t answer.

By this time, I’m crossing into Marion County. My phone rings again. This time I see its Major Mitchell. I can’t ignore him.

Hey, Rick, I say. What’s up?

You are. Why aren’t you answering your radio and phone?

Rick, you promised me you wouldn’t send me on any more sniper call outs.

Will…. Yeah, I promised, but the closest sniper is coming out of Lexington. In case you haven’t noticed, this is the end of the week before the Fourth. Everybody that can has taken the day off. Not to mention that two officers are down, and the shooter has taken a woman hostage. One of the officers is dead. The other is on his way to the trauma center in Florence, and they don’t know if he’ll even make it to the hospital. I need you. They need you.

After a long silence, Rick asks, You still there?

Yeah…. Rick, I just can’t shoot anyone else. You know how I was the last time.

Yeah, I know. You were a space cadet for a while. I don’t want to make this an order because I know how you feel. But I’m begging you. Think of the hostage. Think of how many lives you’ve saved with that rifle.

After holding my breath for several seconds, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Give me the address. I can’t promise you that I’ll pull the trigger, but I’ll go.

He gives me the address. I’m only minutes away.

How do you want me to handle it? I ask.

The sheriff is there and in command. He’ll brief you and do whatever needs to be done. Take the shot if he tells you too. It’s been cleared by the chief.

God help me, I pray.

He will. And Rick hangs up.

I arrive at the scene a few minutes later. I call HQ and let them know I’ve arrived. I switch my radio to the Marion County frequency and ask where they want me. They tell me to meet the sheriff at the command post. I stop about a hundred yards out and just survey the scene. Police cars are back about a hundred feet surrounding a double-wide mobile home. There’re two cars closer. There’s only one tree in the yard, and it’s on the right side. There’s no grass growing in the yard, just dirt. I get out of the truck and open my gun safe and pull out my rifle. I use the scope to check things out. The two police cars that are nearest the trailer are shot up. I can’t see any movement inside the trailer. I spot the sheriff at the back of the line of cars.

I get back in my truck and ride down to the sheriff’s car.

Hey Sheriff Boozer. I’m Will Johnson. What do you have?

I remember you, Johnson. Thanks for coming. He pulls his hat off and wipes the sweat from his balding head. I’ve got one dead deputy and another heading to the hospital. He probably won’t make it. The guy inside the trailer is a dope addict, and he has a woman with him. I’m not sure who the woman is at this time. We think it might be his ex-wife.

I see the man in the trailer as he quickly moves from the front-right window to around the house, checking to make sure no one is sneaking up on him. When someone gets close, he fires a round. It sounds like a high powered rifle.

Okay, Sheriff Boozer. I ask, How do you want to do this?

He’s shot two of my deputies. I want him out of there before he kills someone else. I don’t want to lose any more men and I don’t want that woman dead either.

I survey the area. There’s not much of a rise, mostly flat land. There’s a county road about seventy yards from the trailer and just slightly elevated. I point that way. I need a spotter, and I need a clear shooting area between the trailer and over there near the road. Get the cars between me and the trailer out of the way while I set up.

I back up about fifty feet and drop my rear tires into the ditch. I open the tailgate and pull out a blanket and lay it on top of the truck cover. I get a couple of sandbags to support the rifle. I place my rifle on top and grab the binoculars. A young deputy who looks like he’s too young to wear a badge walks up.

I’m your spotter, the kid says. What do you want me to do?

Climb up here with me. Once he gets up, I hand him the binoculars. Find the guy for me. I need to have a clean shot. No one can be in front or behind him. You got that?

Yes sir.

After I scope the distance and adjust my sights, we sit, wait, and watch. Several more SLED agents pull up and are dispersed around the trailer. I keep my eye on the scope looking for the target. I check my watch. More than an hour has passed since we set up, and neither of us have seen the target. What’s your name junior?

Mike Davis.

Mike, get on your radio and called the sheriff. Tell him to get on his loudspeaker and start talking. See if he can get the target to come to the window.

He does as I ask and a few minutes later, the sheriff calls out over his loudspeaker to the guy. We watch and wait. I can barely hear what he’s saying, and I still don’t see any movement inside the trailer. The sheriff tries to talk him out, but to no avail. The guy won’t even answer.

We’re still just sitting and waiting when I see another Crown Vic pull up with blue lights flashing. An exceptionally large man gets out and walks over to the sheriff. I’d know that man anywhere. Major Rick Mitchell has arrived.

Mitchell gets on his loudspeaker and starts his bull. He can talk a black snake away from a hen house. He doesn’t get any response, so he pulls his car a little closer. Keeping the engine block between himself and the trailer, he crouches in the apex of the door and gets back on his loudspeaker. I can hear him.

Hey, Bubba, Mitchell says. You need to come on out, and you won’t get hurt. The place is surrounded, and the sheriff is upset with you shooting his deputies. I’m with the state police, and I’ll make sure you’re treated fairly. Come on out, and let’s talk about it.

The door opens, and the guy in the trailer fires a round toward Mitchell’s car. He closes the door just as fast and moves back in. Mitchell tries one more time to talk him out. Let the hostage go and throw your gun out the door, and I’ll personally come in and walk you out to keep these guys from shooting you.

There’s no reply.

Mike touches my leg. I see the curtains move on the front-center window.

I change my position. My bones are stiff from lying still so long. I see the curtains move again.

Okay, Mike. I say, I need a clear shot. Check the inside of the trailer if you can. See if you spot the hostage.

He’s at the window looking out.

I see him. Can you see the hostage?

I can’t see anything but him.

I hear my radio burp. Johnson, take the shot.

I say a quick prayer of forgiveness and squeeze the trigger. The guy goes down.

Tell them he’s down, I say.

We watch as the SWAT team enters with rifles at the ready. The leader comes back out and waves Mitchell in.

We get off the roof of my truck. Mike and I walk over to the trailer together. I see the SWAT team hustle out. Mike sounds excited. Me, not so much. Mitchell meets me coming out of the door.

Don’t go in there, Mitchell says. It’s a crime scene now.

I push past him. The first thing I see is a woman tied up on the couch with a bullet hole in her chest. I look at the window. The guys dead under it. I roll him over and see my bullet went right through him. I look out the window for the angle of my shot.

I look over at Mitchell. One shot. Two dead. Are you happy now? I shove my rifle at him. Here.

I walk out the door. Mitchell follows me. Where do you think you’re going?

I keep walking toward my truck. Home.

You can’t leave. You’ve got to give your statement.

You know where to find me.

CHAPTER 3

I walk back to the truck and get my gear off the roof and throw my blanket in the bed of the truck. I check to make sure it’s secure in the bed, and when I’m sure I’ve got everything, I close the tailgate and lid and lock it. I see Mitchell walking my way. I don’t wait for him.

I get in the cab and crank it up. I just sit there, staring toward the trailer. As tears run down my face, I say, Lord forgive me for I have sinned.

I wipe my eyes with my bandana and bounce the truck out of the ditch spitting dust and head toward home. I drive past Mitchell and keep going.

He yells at me to stop. I ignore him.

I drive about five miles, my heart breaking. Then I notice an old white clapboard-sided church. I wheel in and look at the sign. Bethesda Baptist Church, all are welcome.

I throw the truck in park, get out, and lock the doors. The doors to the church are closed, but I walk up the three brick steps and try anyway. It’s unlocked. I push open the door and walk to the altar, where I fall on my face and knees weep.

After a time, I’m not sure how long, I raise my head and see the stained glass window at the back of the sanctuary. It’s Jesus on the cross. I stare at it for a long time. Then I say, Jesus, forgive me for I have sinned. I continue to hold my eyes on Jesus like I’m waiting for an answer. I feel a hand on my left shoulder.

I hear this deep bass voice. Yes, my son, what is the nature of your sin?

I’m stunned. I know I hear a