Bill put any discussion of his conversation with Hinton on hold until after Pepper's visit with Cheryl. As they walked to their cars, he filled her in on what had really happened to the boy and Hinton's part in it.
"Did you learn anything else?" she asked.
He thought for a moment then shook his head. "Nothing important."
As they approached their cars, Bill's radio crackled to life. "12Y52 to 12Y50. 12Y52 to 12Y50. You there, Bill?"
Bill and Pep exchanged a glance, and he reached through the open window and grabbed the mike. "We're here, Pete. What's up?"
"Got a location on Freddie Kowalski's parents. They're staying at the Tropical Oasis motel in South LA."
"On West Slauson?"
"That's the one. Corner of Olive. Within a convenient couple of miles of Bethlehem Baptist Church."
Bill snorted. "And even more convenient to I-110."
"Fast getaway?"
"Certainly raises my suspicions." Pepper turned away from her own car and headed for the passenger side of his. "We'll head over and talk to them."
"You think they're the ones after Hinton?" she asked, sliding inside.
"We'll know soon."
The Tropical Oasis was neither. It was a rundown two-story motel in the heart of a business district that had more hookers than tourists and whose principle attraction was that it was dirt cheap. It boasted clean sheets every day, but since most of the rooms turned over several times within a 24-hour period, Bill didn't find that especially enticing. At least, he decided, as they turned into the parking lot, the Denny's next door could provide some reasonably decent food. He doubted he'd want to eat anything the Tropical Oasis provided, even in their vending machines.
The Kowalskis hadn't registered under their own name - oddly suspicious if they weren't trying to kill Hinton - but only one car in the lot had Oregon plates. The desk clerk was an overweight woman in too-tight clothes who paid more attention to a small black and white TV than to their badges. She rolled her eyes and sighed loudly when they asked her to come from behind the desk to see which car they were talking about.
"Room 201," she said, glancing out.
"Are you sure?" Bill asked.
The woman sighed again. "They're the only couple that has stayed more than a day."
"Why didn't you say that before?"
"You didn't ask that."
Bill glowered and headed toward room 201. Pepper followed, obviously having a hard time controlling her laughter. At his glare, she said, "Well, you didn't."
The two sobered as they approached the room. Knowing he could well come face-to-face with the armed man he'd pursued the day before, Bill motioned for Pepper to stand to the side of the doorway and knock. He rested his hand on his gun, ready if the situation called for it.
Cher answered the door. It wasn't really Cher, but the tall, slender woman with the long dark hair would have been a hit at a celebrity look-alike party, except for one striking difference. Instead of the amused, somewhat smug expression that characterized the off-beat singer, this woman's face was hard and bitter. There were circles under her eyes, and her lips were compressed into a fine line. She opened the door just far enough to get a good look at them and asked, "What do you want?"
Pepper flashed her badge. "Mrs. Kowalski?"
The woman's expression didn't change, but shock, fear, and finally anger flashed in her eyes. She looked at Pepper's badge, then at each of them, then stepped back so they could enter the room.
Bill scanned the room. "Rifle," he said, spying the firearm leaning against the far wall. He drew his gun, instantly on the offensive. Pep took Lucy Kowalski by the arm and held her inside the doorway while Bill checked the closet and bathroom. "Clear."
He holstered his gun and checked the rifle. Unloaded, but definitely the same type he'd seen the day before. "Your husband here, Mrs. Kowalski?" he asked.
Lucy grit her teeth and looked away.
He set the gun down and looked at the other contents of the room. The suitcases were packed, the room devoid of anything personal except for three framed photos carefully displayed on the dresser. One suitcase lay open on the bed. Bill wondered if he'd interrupted her packing or if she were going to wait until the last possible minute to put the pictures away. He picked up a photo of the woman, a man, and a child taken in happy times.
"Put that down!" Lucy demanded.
Bill shook his head and held it up. "This is the guy," he said to Pepper. To Lucy he said, "Yesterday your husband tried to kill Rev. Albert Hinton."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said and looked away.
Bill looked at the smiling faces in the picture. He'd barely have recognized the woman as the person standing in front of him. The woman in the picture was laughing and relaxed, her face soft and gentle and happy. He wouldn't have imagined her capable of the rage and hatred that were coming off of Lucy Kowalski in waves. But, then, this woman hadn't lost her son.
"I know what happened to Freddie," he said.
"You don't know anything."
"I know more than you think," he snapped. "I know you loved your son so much that the grief of losing him is eating you alive."
"I didn't lose him," she hissed. "He was taken from me. By that… that… bastard charlatan."
Bill shook his head. "Hinton's just a scapegoat. You're not mad at him. You're mad at God for not saving him."
"That's not true."
"You believed. You prayed, and you believed, and you knew that Hinton was real. You saw the healings yourself." She shook her head, but he persisted. "And when he told you that God doesn't save everyone, you weren't worried because you believed. You knew in your heart that your son was going to be healed. When he wasn't, you blamed Hinton because it was a hell of lot easier than blaming God."
"Shut up!" she screamed, turning away. She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled at her hair with both hands. "You don't know! You weren't there. You didn't see his eyes when the healing didn't work. You didn't watch him die. God didn't kill him. Hinton did!"
"But God let it happen," Bill said. She whirled on him, ready to protest, then inexplicably stopped, tears flooding her eyes. She roughly brushed them away and looked away again. Bill's voice softened. "Your faith - his faith - was strong, and when you heard about Hinton, it was the answer to your prayers. You were certain he was going to be healed. You believed it with all your heart. And when he wasn't, you didn't just lose him. You lost God."
Bill met Pepper's eyes. His own heart was pounding and not from adrenaline. Emotion rose in him, and his voice grew thick. "You prayed, and you got an answer." Lucy started to argue, but he raised his hand and cut her off, his voice growing even more soft. "The answer was no. The Plan may not be what you wanted, but it was right. It's always right. Now you have to let go and move on."
"No!" The word was almost a growl. Lucy's eyes hardened, and she stood straight. "I won't move on until the bastard who murdered my son is dead."
"We won't let you kill him."
She lifted her chin. "You're too late."
Bill's stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"
Lucy crossed her arms over her chest and turned away. "Figure it out."
Pepper shook her head. "If all they wanted was to kill him, they could have done that a thousand times. They want it to be public."
"There's not another prayer meeting until tomorrow," Bill said. "I looked at the schedule."
"Schedules change," Lucy sneered.
She was too sure of herself to be lying. Bill and Pepper stared at each other in horrified understanding, and then sprinted as one for the car. "Call for backup!" Bill yelled. It wasn't necessary. The radio was alive with sharp messages from Dispatch. Shots fired. Bethune County Park. Units requested to respond.
"Tell them what's happening!" Bill said.
Pepper grabbed the radio before her door was even shut. "12Y51 to Dispatch." She braced herself against the dashboard as Bill swung out of the parking lot and accelerated. She quickly explained the situation. "Dispatch, contact 12Y52 and 12Y53 and have them meet us at the park."
She barely got the words out before Pete's voice came through. "12Y51, this is 12Y 52. We're already on route."
Pepper acknowledged him, then hung up the radio and grabbed the dash with both hands. "Easy. I'd like to get there in one piece," she said.
Bill didn't answer. If anything, he drove faster. "Damn it!" he swore, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. "Hinton knew they were going to try again."
Slauson Ave. was fairly clear late on a Saturday afternoon. Weaving through traffic and blowing through red lights primed their adrenaline. Their senses felt heightened, their reflexes honed.
"Compton on your right," Pepper said.
"Hooper will be faster."
The car fishtailed on the turn, corrected, and roared down the residential street. Cars were parked on either side - people attending the prayer meeting at the park, no doubt - but no oncoming traffic hindered their progress. Two black and whites, lights flashing, arrived just in front of them. A chaotic stream of people leaving the pavilion confirmed their fears: Kowalski was already there.
Pete, Joe, and half a dozen uniformed officers were already in the pavilion when they sprinted in. A split second was all it took to assess the situation. Kowalski was on the stage, and he held Hinton around the neck, a revolver pointed at his temple. He'd chosen a bad place for his attack. The structure was open on all sides, and armed officers had him surrounded. As obviously frightened by the officers as he was, it hadn't distracted him from his primary purpose. His gun was pressed into Hinton's temple, and Bill knew any flinch would send a bullet into the minister's brain. If he turned the gun away from Hinton at any moment, a sharpshooter could take him out, but trained killer or not, Kowalski was no fool. His gun held firm.
"Back off! Just back off!" he was saying.
Bill lifted his hand to signal his presence, and a ripple of relief passed through the officers. "We can't back off, Kowalski. We can't let you kill him."
"You don't understand!"
"I do understand. I've talked to your wife. I know about Freddie."
"He killed him! He murdered my son!" Each word was punctuated with a shake that half strangled the gasping minister. Somewhere to the side Florence Hinton wailed.
Pepper made eye contact with Bill and then stepped forward. "I can't imagine what you've been through," she said gently.
"Stay back," he yelled, dragging Hinton between them as a shield.
She continued forward, hands held up, empty. "I'm not armed," she said in the same gentle tone. "I just want to talk."
"Talking won't bring back my son!"
"Neither will killing Hinton."
Bill kept his gun trained on Kowalski as she crossed all the way to the stage. His finger held light on the trigger looking for any sign that Kowalski was going to switch targets. Had his gun so much as wavered, Bill would have brought him down himself.
Kowalski remained perfectly still, his body almost visibly humming with tension. This man bore as little resemblance to the photo they had seen in the motel room as his wife did. Anger and grief had etched lines into his face and hardened his expression as they had his wife's, yet there was something different about him. He lacked the animalistic rage that had characterized her behavior. In its place was a desperate, desolate sadness that reminded Bill of Hinton himself.
Pepper's entire being radiated compassion. "You knew your son was terminal when you brought him here," she said. "You knew he might not be healed."
"Not healed isn't the same as dead," he said, his voice choking on unshed tears. "This bastard murdered him."
"He died," she said.
"He died at his hand," Kowalski insisted. "My son was strong. He wanted to live."
"No, he didn't." Everyone swiveled to look at Bill. Bill looked past Kowalski to Hinton. "You owe him the truth," Bill said.
The minister's eyes widened, but he shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he wheezed.
"Shut up!" Kowalski yelled.
Bill ignored him. "It matters."
The two men stared at each other for a long moment, an invisible battle of wills being waged between them. Then Hinton sighed and gave an almost imperceptible nod. He started to speak, then stopped, then started and stopped again. Finally he said simply: "He asked me to do it."
Kowalski's eyes widened, and his face grew even paler. "No! You're lying!" But fear rendered the protest hollow. He released his hold on Hinton's neck and pushed him away from him. The minister lay still, gasping for breath, then pushed himself into a sitting position and looked up, first at the barrel of the gun pointed at him and then at the anguished eyes of the man holding it.
"No." Hinton met his eyes steadily. "He was in so much pain. He felt God with him, and he knew he wasn't going to be healed. He just didn't want the pain anymore."
Rage could no longer deny truth. Hinton's words tore at his soul, ripping away the anger, revealing the overwhelming grief that lay beneath. Kowalski sobbed once, his shoulders slumping forward. "It doesn't matter," he said, extending the gun. "Nothing is different!"
Bill aimed his gun. Only Pepper's raised hand stayed his shot. "It is different, Paul, and you know it, she said. He shook his head, but his hands were trembling. "Put down the gun," she said softly.
The bereaved man made eye contact with her, anguish lining his face, his body language pleading with her to understand. Her hand reached out slowly and then settled on his arm. In a gentle voice meant only for him she said, "This isn't what Freddie would have wanted."
The gun barrel wavered and finally sagged downward.
"No!"
The anguished cry caused everyone to turn. Lucy Kowalski stood at the edge of the pavilion, her face white with rage. "Shoot him!" she screamed. "Shoot him!"
Paul's eyes filled with tears. "Lucy…" he implored.
Bill caught hold of her as she stalked across the floor. "No!" she screeched again, struggling to pull away. "He murdered our son!" Bill's arm tightened, and she howled her frustration.
"Hey, leave her alone!" Kowalski said. He pushed past Pepper, Hinton forgotten, focused now only on his wife.
Pepper grabbed his arm and pushed herself between them. "Paul, she's fine."
He pushed on, desperate to reach and calm his wife. "Honey, it's over. We have to let it go."
"Not until he pays!" Kowalski's gun was just dead weight now, and he'd have let it fall had Lucy not suddenly grabbed at it. Despite Crowley's grip, she tried to swing it in Hinton's direction.
Pepper closed her hand over the weapon. "Lucy, please listen…."
The shot shocked them all.
Someone behind them screamed. Smoke from the shot grayed the scene. Behind Pepper dots of red appeared on a post.
As one their eyes dropped downward to the muzzle of the gun and then to Pepper's belly just inches in front of it. On the growing circle of red there.
She looked up and met Bill's eyes, her own wide with shock. The world froze for an interminable moment, and then her knees buckled.
Bill didn't remember thrusting Lucy Kowalski into Joe's arms. He didn't see Pete disarm her unresisting husband. He wasn't aware of anything except falling to the floor on his knees and pulling his partner into his arms. "Pep? Pepper? No. No. No…." He repeated the word like a litany. "No, no, no…."
Blood.
Too much blood.
Blood that bubbled under his fingers when he pressed them to her abdomen, and darker blood that soaked his legs underneath her.
Her hand slid up and covered his, then reached up and gripped his shirt, as if trying to anchor her to him in some tangible way.
He met her gaze again. In a second, the barest of moments, he saw it all. He saw her surprise and her terror, her anger and her acceptance. He also saw a question. The answer rose in him and stuck in his throat.
"Hang on," he begged.
The pavilion was silent except for her shallow gasps. Useless gasps unable to provide air to her suffocating cells. His body gulped air, subconsciously trying to ease her struggle. There was so much he had to tell her. There was time. There had to be time.
Her fingers tightened and he pulled her closer, resting his face against hers, willing away the spasm of pain that racked her body. "Pepper." Her name was a plea, a prayer.
The floral scent of Halston - just a hint - surrounded him and then was lost in the coppery scent of blood. He drew back and met her eyes again, his cheek wet from a tear that leaked from the corner of her eye.
Words formed on his lips, but he couldn't make himself say them, couldn't give her what she wanted. He wasn't ready. Time. He needed more time.
Mere seconds had passed around them. The crowd, shocked by the shot, had only just begun moving. Somewhere he heard someone calling for an ambulance, heard officers yelling into radios, heard quiet sobs and terrified yowling. But it was nothing to him. There was only her.
He looked into her eyes and begged her to understand. To forgive him.
Then something changed. In the middle of the chaos and the fear and the pain, the fog lifted from her gaze. What had been and what never would be condensed into an instant, a single moment of clarity. A gift for them both. He saw the truth in his heart reflected there, and then a ghost of a smile brushed her lips.
Then with only a faint exhale, her body stilled.
And she was gone.