<< Go Back

Relative Truth: A Megan O'Connell Mystery Book 2

By Joan Hetzler

Order Now!

Chapter 1

The cacophony of city sounds floated high up to the silent newspaper's editorial office in Manhattan. Two people sat across from each other at a desk as one waited, not too patiently, for the other to answer.

Glenda’s short cropped grey hair vibrated as she tapped her pen staccato on the desk. Her wrinkled business suit wrapped her middle-aged spread in a tight embrace. Megan sat in the visitor’s chair. Her dark brown hair swung free to her shoulders as she lifted clear grey eyes to gaze back thoughtfully at her boss.
As the silence stretched into minutes, Megan said, “I don't want the assignment."

"Other reporters would kill for this story."

"Perhaps, but I've decided no more heartrending stories of war victims, whether it's in gang territory, at sidewalk cafés for tourists, or burning sands indented with the tread of army tanks."

Glenda leaned forward and glared. "I thought you went home to Atlanta to get this 'burn out' stuff out of your system. Although how you did that when you got embroiled in solving a murder mystery is beyond me."

"But that’s just it, I ‘got’ it out of my system. I left exhausted, stressed, and waking up with nightmares. Helping my old college friend, Lisa, outwit her blackmailer and catch a killer made me shake my depression. I stopped feeling as helpless as those I write about.” Megan paused and added in measured tones. “It made me question what I’m doing here as well.”

Glenda assessed Megan for a moment. "You're not required to accept an assignment that’s dangerous, but it's understood that's part of this job and will seriously—and I do mean seriously—impact your usefulness as a reporter to this paper. We don’t need puff articles. We need war stories."

Megan turned to look out the window at a forest of steel rising across her horizon. For ten years those skyscrapers had been a backdrop to her triumphs and failures. As though on a movie screen, she saw vivid memories flow across their flat neutral walls....herself accepting prizes at awards dinners for her feature stories....huddling behind a stone wall as mortars rained overhead flashing like lightening in the night sky....kneeling beside a bloodied child lying on a dirty cot as medical workers covered his face and parents wailed beside him....war zones and danger zones of the globe she had sweated in, froze in, and prayed in flashed past her mind’s eye. God had protected her as she turned the world’s drama into words to edify and entertain her readers.

She looked back to Glenda. "I understand what I've been willing to do in the past. And I’m grateful to this newspaper for the chance to tell the hard truth to a sometimes complacent readership. Now, I feel…..well….. I feel God is calling me to do more than just observe and chronicle another person’s pain. I think He wants me to take an active role in fighting those who cause the pain."
Glenda snorted and rolled her eyes. "God! Really, Megan, your religious beliefs are impacting your value as a reporter."

Megan stood and looked, not unkindly, down at Glenda. "But not as a person. I'll put in my two week notice now and send a written confirmation....”

“...wait!” interrupted Glenda. “Don’t make a hasty decision. You’ve a real gift for conveying a clear picture of a situation. I think you just need more time to get over that last trip to the Middle East.” She began to shift through the papers cluttered on her desk, “I have an assignment in a safer place.....”
Megan smiled. “No thanks. It’s not a question of safety. I feel called elsewhere. I can’t explain it. I just know it.”

Glenda tried one last inducement, “But this story is about your God—at least your church.”

Megan raised her eyebrows. “My church?”

Glenda shrugged. “Close enough. Your friends’ church. Don’t they go to that big megachurch, Community Grace, or whatever they call it, in Atlanta? You tried to convert me when I went down to the media convention near that church.”

“Evidently, I didn’t do a good job on that. I don’t remember trying to convert you.”

“Ahhhh, you told me about the church and mentioned I’d like to visit it as it was so media savvy.”

Megan sat back down. “True. That church is a great example of how social media, TV, and radio can reach out to people with the Gospel. I also hoped you might meet some warm and friendly people on your trip and get a good feeling for the church.”

“Who needs warm and friendly? I’m a New Yorker. Back to the story. Your warm and friendly megachurch pastor just got arrested for murder this morning at a hotel here in New York.”

Megan paused swinging her foot gently back and forth. “Arrested for murder? Whose murder?”

“Some deacon from another church that used to work with Pastor Lancaster until that warm and friendly megachurch kicked the deacon out.”

Megan frowned and tried to sift the truth through Glenda’s cynical prejudice against all things God-related. “Why were they in New York?”

“Some sort of national church conference. This story has ‘you’ written all over it. You can interview the church members and see if it shakes their faith to have their pastor murder a rival.”

Megan raised one eyebrow. “Innocent till proved guilty. Remember?”

Glenda grinned. “Just testing you, kid. Do you want the story? Maybe you could use your contacts to get an interview with....” she glanced at a paper on her desk, “Pastor Bobby Lancaster. We’ll have an exclusive with your contacts.”

Megan smiled to herself. She suspected the last item motivated Glenda more than the other story angles. But she hesitated. Is this story God’s will? Maybe this would be a way to help mitigate any hostile media coverage—by telling the truth?
Glenda’s pen tapped another staccato refrain. “So? Here’s your good deed you want to do.”

Megan prayed a silent prayer. No direct answer came to her but rather a sense of peace. “Yes, I’ll accept the assignment.”

“Good. I’ll forward you the basics. Keep in touch.”

Megan smiled at Glenda’s wry humor. Glenda required daily, sometimes hourly, reports. But as Megan walked back to her desk, a feeling of weariness came over her. She had keyed herself up emotionally to quit and now—nothing. Had she just put off the inevitable? Or would she feel the old crusading spirit to write about innocent victims of violence again?”

Megan sighed, sat down at her desk and quickly read over Glenda’s notes on the murder. The scenario was simple enough on the surface but below the surface it made no sense. Pastor Bobby and his former assistant pastor, now known as Deacon Payne, had argued loudly on the floor of their church denomination’s annual convention the previous day. In fact, they represented two sides of a deep division in the church that threatened its existence. This morning a hotel maid found Deacon Payne in a private meeting room lying on the carpet dead from a crushing blow to his head. The police had not yet stated their reasons for the arrest.

Megan had heard many differences of opinion in church meetings, some heated, but it was beyond her comprehension that a genuine Pastor would be enraged enough to kill someone. She pondered this assignment. Would Pastor Bobby give her an interview? Surely his attorney would counsel him to say nothing to a reporter. Why did he do it? Did he do it? The police would need something more than proximity to the scene of the crime. They needed probable cause. What did they have?

Before seeking answers through official channels, Megan reached for her cell phone and touched a number on speed dial. As she waited, the last image she had seen of her former college roommate while in Atlanta came to mind. Lisa had been heartbroken because of the betrayal of the man she loved and, at no little personal sacrifice, had chosen to go public to help prosecute a blackmailer and murderer. Since then Lisa had returned to her Christian faith and found acceptance and spiritual support at Community Grace church.

A humorous voice answered. “Hey stranger. Where have you been?”

“Working. I’d love to catch up and talk, but right now I’m calling for information. I’m sorry to break the news if you haven’t seen it, but do you know about Pastor Lancaster’s arrest?”

Lisa’s normally bubbly voice became subdued. “Yes, but he didn’t do it.”

“Do you know what evidence they have on him?”

“Well….” Lisa hesitated.

“I’ve been assigned to write an article on why he did it.”

“What about innocent before being proved guilty?” Lisa asked angrily. “Those newscasters will crucify him, to use an appropriate phrase, just because he’s a pastor and a well-known one.”

“That’s why I’m trying to find out the truth.”

“I know he didn’t do it, and I don’t want to say something that might create the wrong impression.”

“You know I’m keeping an open mind. I’m not looking for a victim.”

Lisa paused for a moment and then said reluctantly. “Well, I’m on the prayer chain, and I can only repeat what his wife said to one of the other women when asking us to pray for him.”

“What was that?”

“His Bible was lying on the floor under the body, and it had blood on it.”
“That sounds pretty circumstantial. Anyone could pick up a Bible or touch it after the blow to the Deacon.”

“There may be more, but that’s what she said. Also, there was a terrible argument on the floor of the convention yesterday between them.”

“What was it about?”

“Truth, ironically. Pastor Bobby preaches that the Bible is unchanging truth. Deacon Payne says we can believe whatever we want, and there is no such thing as objective ‘truth.”

“Yes, relativity is a pretty common thread running through some congregations nowadays, especially among the younger church goers. I would have thought Pastor Bobby, being fairly young himself, would agree that personal interpretation is a sound basis on which to build a theology.”

“Just the opposite. He tells us to look beyond our own minds to the mind of God.”

“Mmmmm. These are not new theories. Why the anger?”

“Deacon Payne was very aggressive about it. He was pushing for changes that would force us to hire people who don’t share our beliefs, even non-Christians. How could we have a church if those running it are atheists?”

“No wonder they had an argument.”

“Yes, the whole denomination is debating these issues, but most agree with Pastor Bobby—at least so far.”

Megan said thoughtfully, “So the reasoning is that Pastor Bobby wins by knocking off his rival? That’s more the style of the mafia not a Christian pastor. Who would believe such a thing?”

“The New York Police Department.”

“Yes. Very unfortunate it had to happen in a city where he has little support and contacts,” Megan paused and added almost to herself, “unless that was planned.”

“Yes, it’s very depressing, all of it.”

Megan detected the tremor in Lisa’s voice. Lisa was still a fragile believer who had only recently returned to her Christian faith. After a broken engagement and then a disastrous love affair, she had left the church discouraged and hopeless. Lisa had finally started to trust again, but Megan suspected much of that trust centered in her new church family, especially their charismatic preacher.
Megan said gently, “Remember who is really in charge.”

“God’s in charge. But why this?”

“I don’t know, but you’ve given me a clearer picture of the dynamics than I would get here. Do you think Pastor Bobby would let me interview him? Maybe he would like his side heard?”

“Maybe… I don’t know.”

“Is there anyone I could ask with access to him right now?”

“His wife, probably, but I don’t know her that well, only to say hello.”

“Could you find a mutual go-between?”

Lisa was silent for a few moments and then said, “I’ll try. Why are they giving this story to you? I’ve never known you to write up crime stories. You’re usually travelling to hotspots where there’s a war or something political or some natural disaster.”

“No more, kiddo. I’ve refused. This will probably be my last article for the paper unless another reporting job opens up here in the states.”
“What? After how hard you’ve struggled to get there? You’ve made it. You’re a huge success at what you do.”

“After returning from Atlanta, I’ve thought a lot about what I want to do, and this isn’t it.”

“So what is ‘it’?”

“I’m not sure. Something where I’m helping, not just describing tragic circumstances and consequences. Something positive.”

“Have you thought of another job elsewhere? What about Atlanta?”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking of moving back to Atlanta.”

Lisa’s natural joyful personality surfaced for a moment. “Wonderful. Do come back home. Besides, I know a certain detective who has asked about you twice recently.”

“Detective Fielding?”

“Yes, he’s a member at Community Grace, too, you know. Detective Fielding definitely hasn’t forgotten you. If he hadn’t been in charge of my case and suspected you of nefarious deeds after you tried to help me catch my blackmailer, I think he would have asked you out.”

“And maybe I would have gone.”

“Come on home and you can.”

Megan laughed. “I have a story to write first.”

Lisa sighed, “All right, I’ll try to get through to the pastor’s wife. Her name is Candy, by the way.”

“Candy?”

“Yes, her full name’s Candace but everyone calls her Candy. She’s really sweet, maybe that’s the reason. She’s pretty and blonde and wears a lot of pink and white. For some reason I always think of cotton candy when I see her.”

Megan paused to readjust her ideas. “OK, well let me know.”

After they hung up, Megan dug an old legal pad out of her desk. She couldn’t pinpoint a reason, but she didn’t want to keep her notes on her computer for this story. She stuffed her old-fashioned yellow pad in her shoulder bag along with her new-fangled iPad and left for the police station in a search for official information.

Order Now!

<< Go Back