Cry From The Grave (Chapter 48)

Cry From The Grave

Chapter 48

     For reasons Ballack could not fathom, one of the prescriptions in Dean Hibbler's will was for a full memorial service complete with Holy Communion. While the atheistic doctor's maneuver baffled Ballack, it at least gave he, Tori, and Crabolli time to sneak off to their places in the church during the prayers. Tori took over on the Beverly Overton watch, escorting the nurse to the front pew in the right transept and sitting down behind her. From across the way, Missy Crabolli kept her hateful vigil firmly fixed on their target. Ballack joined Krieger in the back, looking out over the congregation of about one hundred, heads bowed as Nick Fisher's melodious voice carried offerings of peace to their waiting hearts and tuning their cadenced responses.

     "For our brother, Dean," began Fisher, "let us pray to the Lord Jesus Christ who said, 'I am Resurrection and I am Life.' Lord, you consoled Martha and Mary in their distress; draw near to us who mourn for Dean, and dry the tears of those who weep."

     The congregation murmured their affirmations. "Hear us, Lord."

     Ballack turned to Krieger. "By the way, I promised Missy that she could cuff her."

     "You and your promises," Krieger smirked. "But okay. She's earned it."

     Fisher continued to intone the liturgy. "This is never easy," Ballack whispered to the commander.

     "What?" replied Krieger, in a response so soft that Ballack had to strain to hear it. "Making an arrest in church or going to a funeral?"

     "I'd rather make a thousand arrests on holy ground than attend another one of these," said Ballack.

     "It comes for everyone, Detective. It's coming one day for my dear wife. The wound that will never completely close."

     Ballack had no response. Fisher continued the responsive prayer, finally concluding with "Comfort us in our sorrows in the death of our brother Dean. Let our faith be our consolation, and eternal life our hope. Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to you our brother Dean, who was reborn by water and the Spirit in Holy Baptism. Grant that his death may recall to us your victory over death, and it might be an occasion for us to renew our trust in your Father's love. Give us, we pray, the faith to follow where you have led the way, and where you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, to the ages of ages. Amen."

     Despite the incongruity of the prayers when matched with Hibbler's lack of faith, Ballack could not deny the beauty of those words.

     The mourners came forward for the Eucharist, and as they did so, the organist softly played a pedestrian version of "The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, Hath Ended." Ballack kept a firm eye on Beverly Overton as the last of the congregation drifted back into the pews, Suzanne Lamotta being one of them. She looked back into the open doors to the narthex and gave Ballack the briefest of waves as she took her seat.

     The organ ceased and Fisher gave the slight nod to Beverly, who arose from her pew, crossing the nave to a solitary microphone near the altar. Ballack noticed the organist had moved, as well, to a piano set up near Crabolli's location. The first dampered notes rang delicately throughout the church, a comforting melange. He couldn't calculate why, but the moment Beverly approached the microphone, Ballack was overcome with a sense of peace. For closing this case? Because of what she would sing? He could not tell.

     He closed his eyes and the one only they knew as Bowie gave her final euphonic statement.

     The sands of time are sinking,

     The dawn of heaven breaks,

     The summer morn I've sighed for,

     The fair sweet morn awakes;

     Dark, dark, hath been the midnight,

     But dayspring is at hand,

     And glory, glory dwelleth

     In Immanuel's land.

     The King there in His beauty

     Without a veil is seen;

     It were a well-spent journey,

     Though sev'n deaths lay between:

     The Lamb with His fair army 

     Doth on Mount Zion stand,

     And glory, glory dwelleth

     In Immanuel's land."

     Without knowing why, even Ballack could sense something had gripped him. Something about the words, the music, had penetrated his heart. It had not loosed his unbelief from its moorings, but there was something in the tundra of his soul that had mysteriously thawed by a trace.

     "O Christ, He is the fountain,

     The deep, sweet well of love!

     The streams on earth I've tasted

     More deep I'll taste above.

     There to an ocean fullness

     His mercy doth expand,

     And glory, glory dwelleth

     In Immanuel's land."

        

     The key change came, as expected. Ballack, eyes shut, heard every word. He traveled back nearly twenty years. And the solitary wish rose from within, that his brother might be--against all hope--in a place like that of which Beverly Overton sang. Like waves from the ocean upon the rocks on shore, the words thundered within the walls of the church as she finished with a crescendo.

     "The bride sees not the garment

     But her dear bridegroom's face;

     I will not gaze at glory

     But on my King of grace;

     Not at the crown He gifteth

     But on His pierced hand:

     The Lamb is all the glory

     Of Immanuel's land!"

     And with the final note, Beverly Overton put her head down, looking neither to the left nor the right. With Tori and Crabolli shadowing her from the far aisles, she made her way to the rear of the church where Krieger held the doors open and Ballack waited beyond them.

     "There's no press?" she asked him.

     "I'll text the journalist later," Ballack replied as the women approached. He looked at Krieger.

     "Detective Crabolli?" The commander said. "Go ahead."

     Surprisingly calm now, Crabolli produced a pair of handcuffs and secured the wrists with her one good arm. "Beverly Overton," she said with a pacific voice, "you are under arrest for the murders of Dean Hibbler, Rory Giles, and Helen Smith." She paused before continuing. Beverly had opened her mouth to speak to Ballack.

     "Do you believe, Detective?" she asked.

     He looked up at her from his wheelchair. "I don't, but I can hope, can't I?" He smiled. "Thank you, though, I'm glad you were able to sing."

     "Why do you enjoy the words when you don't believe them?"

     "I was wondering the same about you, Mrs. Overton," Ballack replied. "But truthfully, you caused me to remember Pascal. 'The heart has its reasons that reason cannot know.' A fleeting ray of hope, but hope nonetheless."

     With a sweater thrown over the handcuffs to block them from view, they walked toward the street, where Krieger's car was waiting in front of the hearse. Crabolli continued to drone the Miranda rights in Beverly's ear as Ballack and Tori stood at a distance.

     "Hope from someone like her?" Tori quietly asked him.

     They watched as Krieger eased their captured Bowie into the back of the car and Crabolli followed.

     "A singing killer. It's possible, just not probable," Ballack responded, "and not the first option if you're looking for illumination and peace."