chapter 2: Distrust

The sunlight streamed into the town of Gracetown with reluctance as Parker's death became the talk of the town. The warmth of the town was lost as people began to exchange suspicious glances and people huddled into corners frantically whispering about strange occurrences.

Deep in the sheriff's office, Cassidy was looking down at a cup of coffee that had gone cold at this time. At this hour, her thoughts were a flurry — the events from yesterday: there was the dead body of that girl, someone running off into the woods, and a nagging instinct that there was even more that was likely even worse than this.

Deputy Mark Taylor entered her office as she was assessing the situation. Anna shot him a level stare as he set two large folders down on the desk, one of which contained a few snapshots of the crime scene.

"We have just received a preliminary report from the Coroner," he said and placed the file on her desk. "The cause of death is blunt force trauma, which may be consistent with her resistance. She has scratches and bruises on her arms."

Cassidy clenched her jaw and turned to the next image, the last step shaping into a memory. All the photos had evoked the same sense of dread. "Is there no chance they would have recovered any DNA evidence?"

"Not as yet," Mark responded, sweeping his arms across the table. "But on the other hand, we have come across a fragment of cloth near the vicinity. It looks like a piece of jacket cloth. Forensic experts are examining it."

Cassidy nodded, picturing all the likely suspects in her head. "What about Solomon Hayes? He appeared anxious when I asked him last night."

"Is that the Reverend you are referring to?" Mark raised an eyebrow. "You think he had a part to play in this?"

"I am not saying that," cautioned Cassidy. "But as someone with a record, he is also familiar with the area. Such trails should be pursued."

At that moment, they were interrupted by someone knocking on the office door, after which Joan Parker almost instantaneously came in. She was nervous and in her late 40s looking exhausted as if she hadn't slept a wink in a long time. Joan was Sarah's mother.

"Officer Grayson, I would like a word with you," Sylvia Parker said her hands trembling and her voice very shaky.

Cassidy rose from her chair, inviting Joan to be seated. "Mrs. Parker, please accept my condolences. We're doing all that we can to determine what happened to Sarah."

With her hands clutching her purse, Joan nodded in response to something. "You don't understand. I… I know who did this."

Cassidy and Mark considered each other in a shared no-it-can't-be moment. "Who do you think it was?" Mark asked, looking grave. What is it that you really know? Surely you do not mean what you just said.

Joan's gaze shifted nervously to the door, as if she feared being overheard. "Reverend Hayes. He… he's been over-familiar with the children always calling them 'his wards.'" Her voice trembled. "Sarah told me how she always felt it was inappropriate for him to contact her. I should have paid attention…"

Cassidy moved closer squaring her shoulders and looking directly at Philip. "What did Reverend Hayes do that could have been noticed by Sarah? Any reason that can lead him to harm her?"

Joan shook her head, her grief and wrath visibly intermingling on her face. "No, but it is . . . it is the ach stalking. It is as if he knows everything I'm doing. People say he's changed, but I never believed it. You once said you were a sinner, so you will always be a sinner."

Cassidy frowned and took a deep breath which she then used to utter her next line. "I appreciate your worry, Mrs. Parker. All I promise is we shall examine it. But until we have proof of what we heard, we shouldn't point fingers at anyone."

Tears spilled down from Joan's eyes as she spoke. "Commanding sheriff. You can't let him off the hook. Sarah is looking for some justice."

Turning sideways as Joan was leaving, Mark lazed across now towards Cassidy, his hand on his chin scratching back and forth. "What do you think. Do you think that she has a reason to accuse people or do you think this mother just lost her child and is looking for people to blame?"

Cassidy's eyes closed as she let out a breath; she was now looking outside the window.

"I have no idea, Mark. But it is something that cannot be overlooked. Arrange a meeting with Reverend Hayes. I want to get his explanation," Collins said.

---

On that same day, Cassidy and Mark made their way to the church, the pressure of the inquiry quite intense. The church was located on the outskirt of the city, rather forlorn looking, and enclosed within a cluster of tall oak trees that overshadowed the worn path to the church's doors.

"Sheriff Grayson," he greeted them and raised his head. "That was you that I was expecting."

Cassidy made minimal movements as she signaled for the sheriff to remain in his seat. "Reverend Hayes, it's a pleasure. Sarah Parker is the focus of our inquiries today, and we do have some questions with regards to her."

This time, however, Solomon clenched his jaw and anger began percolating in within him "Poor child. Her loss is a tragedy. But tell me why am I the one under suspicion?"

Cassidy allowed herself to meet Solomon's glare with a stare of her own. "We are rather conducting routine interviews, talking to every one who might know something. Do you recall Mrs. Parker saying that Sarah reported to her that she found you rather... unpleasant?"

Solomon's eyes enlarged, and he appeared shocked. "Unpleasant? I never laid my hands on those children. I tried my best to communicate with them and guide them. I will never ever lay a hand on one of them."

Mark did so, but he understood perfectly well that they were facing a serious issue and so he lowered his voice. "Reverend, I understand that. We are however not here by coincidence, you have your background in this town and so you are a factor. If there is something, anything, that can help us in our search for Sarah's killer, please share it with us."

Solomon slumped forward a little and felt the power of the Bible exert have some calming influence on him. "I've done things I shouldn't have done, sheriff. A disgrace I was. But any such resemblance to my background would be off."

"My church members are probably the best witnesses to my commitment. If there is anyone in this city who can testify to that, it's them."

While saying this, Cassidy studied him and observed the depth of enthusiasm in his voice. "Did anyone out there have animosity towards you? Someone who wanted you to take the blame for something?"

"No one I can think of," Solomon replied, shaking his head. "But Gracetown has a long memory. Yes people will see me and shake my hand on Sunday. Yes, they will be welcoming. But they will always be suspicious. They know what I used to do and who I used to be."

Casey stood up. "Mr. Reverend, thank you and we appreciate your time. We will contact you I am sure."

Mark was still inside and turned round to take another look up. "Do you trust him?"

With a gesture she released a cloud of breath. She felt something was amiss but did not know how to articulate it. "I do not. But until we have information of a more pertinent nature, we are limited to only conjectures."

Later that night, cassidy walked to her desk in her office with the goal of finding out more information about Solomon. In that regard, she sought the documentation that was provided during his criminal subterfuge: violent conduct, affiliation with other gangs, murder, and even attempted murder. They all however never took place, or had never been presented in court because 'he had found God.'

Her phone vibrating brought her back to the interwar period. Somebody texted her from an unknown number with just this: 'They all have secrets, Sheriff.'

"Even the ones who sit in the first row of the church."

Cassidy's heart raced. She fixed her eyes on the screen. She was reading the text again and again, her emotions going wild. Was this something to be careful about? A menace? Or perhaps the first clue about the reality that lay beneath the surface of the town?

It was apparent: somewhere out there someone was in possession of the facts but was not ready to divulge them and had her in their sights.

A sense of dread washed over her. There was one nagging thought. The probe had barely begun and it was obvious that Gracetown was not as innocent. As innocent as she had hoped.