Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

through with silver, it still looked like a young man’s mane, thick and leonine, falling almost to his shoulders. On this gloomy winter’s day, his presence seemed to give off as warm a glow as the flames leaping in the hall’s enormous stone hearth. In silence, he surveyed the audience, and his gaze finally settled on the police officers standing at the rear of the hall.
    “Dear friends, let us all rise to welcome our visitors,” he said.
    As if they were a single organism, the congregation rose in unison and turned to look at the strangers. “Welcome” came the chorus of greeting. Every face looked scrubbed and pink-cheeked, every gaze wide-eyed with innocence.
Wholesome and healthy
was the picture here, the portrait of a contented community united in purpose.
    Again, in unison, they all sat down. It was an eerily choreographed movement that set off a simultaneous creak of benches.
    Lieutenant MacAfee called out: “Jeremiah Goode?”
    The man onstage gave a solemn nod. “I am Jeremiah.”
    “I’m Lieutenant David MacAfee, Idaho State Police. Would you come with us, sir?”
    “May I ask why this show of force is necessary? Especially now, in our hour of distress?”
    “Distress, Mr. Goode?”
    “That is why you’re here, isn’t it? Because of the atrocities committed against our poor brethren in Kingdom Come?” Somberly, Jeremiah looked around at his congregation. “Yes, friends, we know, don’t we? Word came to us yesterday, the terrible news of what was done to our followers. All because of who they were, and what they believed.”
    In the audience, there were nods and murmurs of sad agreement.
    “Mr. Goode,” said MacAfee, “I’m asking you again to come with us.”
    “Why?”
    “To answer a few questions.”
    “Then ask them here and now, so that all may listen.” Jeremiah held out his arms in an extravagant gesture toward his followers. This was grand theater, and he was center stage, with the hall’s arches soaring above him, and the light from the windows beaming down on his face. “I keep no secrets from this congregation.”
    “This isn’t a matter for a public forum,” said MacAfee. “This is a criminal investigation.”
    “You think I don’t understand that?” Jeremiah stared at him with a gaze that seemed to sear the air. “Our followers were
murdered
in that valley.
Executed
like sheep, and their bodies left to be torn and devoured by wild animals!”
    “Is that what you heard?”
    “Is it not the truth? That forty-one good people, including women and children, were martyred because of what they believed? And now you come here, invited through our gates. You men with your guns and your disdain for those who don’t believe what you do.”
    MacAfee shifted uneasily. In the warmth of the hall, beads of sweat gleamed on his forehead. “I’ll ask this one more time, Mr. Goode. Either you come with us willingly, or we’ll be forced to arrest you.”
    “I
am
willing! Didn’t I just say I would answer your questions? But ask them now, where these good people can hear you. Or are you afraid of the whole world learning the truth?” He looked around at his followers. “My friends,
you
are my protection. I call on you to bear witness.”
    A man in the congregation rose to his feet and called out: “What are the police afraid of? Ask your questions so we can hear, too!”
    The crowd joined in. “Yes, ask now!”
    “Ask him here!”
    Benches creaked as the crowd grew agitated, as other men stood. The police officers glanced nervously around the room.
    “Then you refuse to cooperate?” MacAfee said.
    “I
am
cooperating. But if you’re here to ask about Kingdom Come, I can’t help you.”
    “You call this cooperation?”
    “I have no answers for you. Because I wasn’t witness to what happened.”
    “When were you last in Kingdom Come?”
    “It was October. When I left them, they were thriving. Well provisioned for winter. Already digging the foundations for six more houses. That was the last time I laid eyes on the valley.” He looked to his congregation for support. “Am I telling the truth? Is there anyone here who would contradict me?”
    Dozens of voices took up his defense. “The Prophet doesn’t lie!”
    Jeremiah looked at MacAfee. “I think you have your answer, Lieutenant.”
    “Not by a long shot,” MacAfee snapped.
    “Do you see, my friends?” Jeremiah said, gazing around at his followers. “How they profane God’s house with their army