Some people are just fucking nuts. There's no other way to describe how they are other than fucking nuts. I mean, they'll put their trust in anybody who tells them something that's impossible to prove one way or the other and they'll give them money in hopes of getting what that anybody promises them. Not only will they give them money once, they'll keep giving them money and just ignore what that money is obviously being used for.
They're the same people who play the lottery every week. They're not dumb people, and in fact, most are pretty smart. It's just that the idea of getting something big by investing a little is too good to pass up. They also play "find the pea" with the guys on the corner of most large cities, and they're the people who really believe that Nigerian prince really does need their help to get his millions out of Africa.
That's what I was thinking when Reverend Thomas Roper was sitting in the chair across from me that afternoon. I knew him, well, I didn't actually know him, but I knew what he was. He claimed to be a charismatic preacher who was driven to pursue a life of piety and ministering to the faithful because he'd seen God when he survived unscathed after a horrible car accident and God had told him it was his destiny to spread the word. He had his own morning television show on one of the local stations and he was pretty good at all the "hell-fire and damnation if you didn't do unto others" shit.
He'd also been interviewed by one of the local newspapers. I read the reporter's introduction and about half of the interview before I needed a cigarette and a scotch to stop my mind from going nuts too. Reverend Roper had a world-wide flock of believer/donors that numbered about fifteen thousand and his church - The Church of Divine Promise - sat on twenty acres out on the edge of Nashville.
I'd driven by that church several times, and it was pretty impressive. According to the interview, the main part where the congregation sat and listened to Reverend Roper on Sunday mornings would seat four thousand and was usually filled. Attached to the church was the parsonage, but this building wasn't the austere living quarters of a preacher. It had an indoor pool, a television recording studio, and a gourmet kitchen in addition to a living room, formal dining room, and six bedrooms each with it's own bath.
In reality, Reverend Roper was a con man. I knew that because to be a good PI, you have to be a pretty good con man yourself, and as the old saying goes, "it takes one to know one". He was a great con man too. He'd stand in his pulpit every Sunday morning and give people the story that if they donated enough money - he said God needed at least ten percent of your gross income - and prayed enough, all things would come their way. You'd always find a parking place right in front of where you were going and you'd be cured of any ills before you even knew you were sick.
It was an impossible to dispute story. If things didn't go your way, the reason was obviously that you didn't believe enough and probably didn't donate enough. It couldn't possibly be just chance or the fact you'd fucked up somewhere along the line. God had a plan for everybody that would guarantee happiness if you just went along with everything Reverend Roper told you to do.
Now, my parents went to church on Sunday and tried hard to make a believer out of me. It worked until I got old enough to apply logic to what the church taught. For the most part, I believe the Bible is a good guide for getting through life - do unto others and all that - but nowhere in the Bible does it say that certain people have a direct line to God and can tell you what he or she wants you to do.
Anyway, Reverend Roper walked into my office that day, sat down, and smiled a a con man's fake smile.
"Mr. Meers, I have somewhat of a problem and I'm told you're very discrete."
I nodded.
"Yes, whatever your problem is, it will stay between us and only us. What can I help you with?"
He leaned forward as if he was afraid someone else would hear.
"I need you to find my wife and bring her back to me."
Well, I'd done a lot of cases like that. None of them had involved preachers though. I'd seen his wife, Virginia, a couple of times when I flipped past his daily TV show in search of something more interesting, like maybe a shopping show or a re-run of Gilligan's Island. She was always sitting beside him wearing a dress and looking appropriately devoted.
Actually, she looked bored more than anything. Her smile was always there when he said something that was supposed to be a profound revelation, but when you work with a lot of people, you start to look at their eyes more than their mouth because people can't lie with their eyes. Virginia's eyes looked like she was off in another world. Her body was sitting there in her perfect makeup and fluffed up pile of blonde hair, but her mind wasn't.
"How long has she been missing?"
He stroked his chin with his manicured fingers.
"Well, let's see. She was on my show on Monday morning, but on Tuesday she said she wasn't feeling well. She was gone when I finished the show. It was rather embarrassing to have to tell my viewers Virginia was ill so I told them she had gone to Peru to minister to the people there. It's Friday now so I guess it's been...
He counted on his fingers.
"...three days not counting today."
"She hasn't been in contact with you in three days?"
He shook his head.
"No, not even a phone message."
I was frowning by then.
"Maybe you should be talking to the police then."
I swear to God the look on his face was panic.
"Oh, no...no...A man in my position can't do something like that. It would be in the newspapers and on television. If the police found her uh...deceased, that would be fine. I'd get sympathy from my congregation, but if she's just run off...well, a man of the cloth has to have a faithful wife if he's to be trusted."
I had to work at not kicking his ass out of my office right then, but if I let my personal morals dictate what cases I take, I wouldn't eating regularly.
"I'll need some information to do that...and I'll need six hundred up front for the first two days of the investigation. If I haven't found her by then, my fee is three hundred a day."
Reverend Roper nodded.
"The money won't be a problem."
"OK. What I need is a physical description, where she might have gone, who her friends are, things like that, and if you have one, a picture would be a big help."
Of all the information he gave me, the picture was the most help. I couldn't believe Reverend Roper knew so little about his wife. I mean, most men at least know how tall their wife is and they have some guess at how much she weighs. When I asked those questions, Reverend Roper got a blank look on his face.
"I'm not really sure how tall she is. She's not as tall as I am though. How much does she weigh? I'm sorry but I don't know that either. Virginia's a little secretive about things like that."
All he knew for sure was she had naturally blonde hair, but the picture told me otherwise. Virginia's hair was almost white, and most blondes hair is more of a yellow color. Virginia had bleached her hair to make it blonde and since I didn't see a dark line in her part, she must have had her roots touched up every week.
Reverend Roper did give me some names of friends but didn't have phone numbers or addresses for them. He didn't know where she might have gone since none of her friends were that close. They were just church members she saw and talked with every Sunday. The only other information he gave me was that Virginia drove a blue Honda Civic and the license number. He apparently thought he deserved something better because he was driving a black Mercedes sedan with a vanity plate that said "BELEVER".
