Nowhere Land: A Stephan Raszer Investigation Read Online Free PDF

and
regarded what the rain had brought in. Redemption
comes in strange packages , he thought; this one wrapped up more like his
typical adversary than his average client. “If you’ll tell me everything you
know about her.” He offered his hand. “I’ve told you my name,” he said. “May I
have yours?”
         “Silas
Endicott,” the man replied, extending a bony hand. A patrol car rolled up the
steep, wet street from Franklin Avenue and executed a U-turn in the cul-de-sac,
coming to a stop ten feet away. The cop riding shotgun leaned out.
         “Everything
all right here?” the cop asked.
         “Yeah,
we’re fine,” Raszer answered. “This is Mr. Silas Endicott of the Jehovah’s
Witnesses. Just here to make me repent for my sins. Sorry for the false alarm,
Officer.”
         The cop
smiled and gave the old man a once-over. “He’ll have a long list of ’em to work
through with you, Mr. Raszer. No problem. Uh, stay dry.”
         “I’ll do
my best,” said Raszer, who was by now soaked to the skin. “You too.”
         Silas
Endicott, after a few restorative sips of hot tea, explained that he was an Overseer
in what the Witnesses called the Watchtower Society—the herald of the
Apocalypse on Earth. If a sect was—by standard definition—small, then the WTS
had long since exceeded the standard. Raszer knew that in many nations of the
West, it was the second-largest religious denomination. Endicott’s designation
made him an elder of the church, but even the elders were obliged to hawk the Watchtower and Awake ,and the fellow
asserted he’d knocked on every door on Whitley Terrace on his way up the hill,
sowing seeds of faith as he aimed for his destination. It was—to Raszer—clear
that his guest was in a highly agitated state, and possibly not at all well.
         “Your
daughter,” Raszer asked. “Is she also a church member?”
         Endicott
winced and wrapped his shaky hands around the teacup for warmth.
         “She . .
. was raised at my knee in the Kingdom Hall,” he replied. “There never was a
more pious little girl, or a better daughter.”
         “And
Katy’s mother?”
         “Left us
when Katy was six,” Endicott replied, with more than a trace of bitterness. “It
was for the best. She was a whore.” From the corner of his eye, Raszer saw
Monica lift her pen from the legal pad, not in shock as much as out of
curiosity. In the background and just out of sight, Brigit slid down the
hallway doorjamb and parked herself on the threshold, all ears.
         “So you
brought up Katy on your own?” Raszer continued.
         “Myself
and the elders,” the old man replied. “And there were good women in the congregation who helped when she came of age and
became a pioneer. She was accepted into the Little Flock when she was
thirteen.”
         “The
Little Flock,” Raszer repeated, rifling through his mental files. “Those are
the folks bound for heaven after Armageddon, right? The anointed class . . . ”
         “You’ve
studied our faith, Mr. Raszer?” Endicott raised an eyebrow.
         “Any
faith with twenty-two million subscribers worldwide is worth studying, wouldn’t
you say? Faith’s too important to be left to the preachers. What motivates it is what drives my work . .
. especially when that motivation is suspect.”
         “Do you
judge our motivation suspect, Mr. Raszer?” Endicott asked with a glare.
         “I don’t
judge, Mr. Endicott. That would only get in the way. I start from the
presumption that people need to believe, and as long as what they get back
doesn’t harm or bankrupt them, I’m fine with it. But I do question, and I think
it’s only reasonable to question a gospel that allows only 144,000 privileged
souls a berth in heaven. Those odds would make even a high roller cool his
dice.”
         “Perhaps,”
said Endicott. “But look around this abode of Satan, Mr. Raszer.