returned, Walker said, “Would you bring me this Nobby Hazard, please.”
Nobby soon appeared, spiffed up to his poor best. The old man was in a black suit that had seen better decades and wore a stiff celluloid collar that had yellowed with age. His skimpy gray hair was greased down and had a knife-edge part in the middle. Whatever the grease was, it stank. He had a thin, wrinkled face with many old smallpox knobs and depressions, and his mean little blue eyes were set very close together.
“What do you want with me?“ he said, perching upright on the chair at the corner of the table. His feet were lined up primly in old-fashioned black patent shoes with cracks across the toes.
“I need to know what your job is at the Institute,“ Walker said as pleasantly as he could manage.
“Why?“
“Because your boss has been murdered and I need to know who did it and why. My investigation involves asking everybody lots of nosy questions, Mr. Hazard.“
“Reverend Hazard,“ Nobby said.
“Everyone else calls you Nobby, don’t they?“ The old man frowned but didn’t reply.
“Your job?“ Walker persisted.
“I make—made—all the travel plans when Brother Goodheart did his preaching missions.”
Walker already knew this from Edward Price, but was surprised that Pottinger/Goodheart had sent such an unpleasant looking person to set up his speaking engagements. Why would he have chosen Nobby?
“Did you handle the money collected at these events?“ Walker asked.
“No. Brother Goodheart assigned trusted employees of the Institute in the audience to collect the money in baskets made at the Institute. The baskets were then raffled off after the money was turned over to him. It all went into a sturdy Gladstone bag he kept under the podium.“
“Then where did it go?“
“Back to the Institute with him in his private car.”
“With you in the car?“
“No, Brother Goodheart always had his own driver. He’d leave me enough cash to pay for the hotel and food and incidentals and I’d follow later on a train or boat to the next place he was speaking or back to the Institute.“
“And who was the driver?“
“It wasn’t never the same person. He always hired somebody from the town we were in and paid the driver’s way back home.”
Walker thought that was damned clever of the crooked preacher. Nobody knew what Goodheart was doing in the back of the car. If the current driver had suspicions of the furtive sound of paper money whispering its way out of the bag, he’d have nobody he knew to consult about those thoughts.
“Would it surprise you to know that Brother Goodheart was skimming money out of the proceeds before turning the bag over to Big Jimmy Rennie?”
This enraged the old man. His face turned into a mask of hatred. He raised a fist like a prophet. “Never! Never! You liar! You just ain’t Christian enough to understand what a great man Brother Goodheart was. You’re jealous of him. You wish you was as beloved as he was. He helped thousands of poor people by sharing others’ wealth with them to help them live better lives. God above will curse you to hell and damnation for even thinking such a thing.”
Robert poked his head in the door to see what the ruckus was about. Walker waved him away.“Isn’t that exactly what the meeting was about?“
“No, it was about Big Jimmy’s accusations of the same thing. Big Jimmy will rot in hell with you.“
“You never considered that Big Jimmy might have been right?“
“Not in a million years. Big Jimmy was the godless crook who was pilfering the money and threatening to blacken Brother Goodheart’s name. I’ve prayed for his holy punishment like I’ll pray for yours.”
He proceeded to do so, standing upright, hands thrown up to his vengeful God and pontificating at the top of his lungs. “Dear Lord above, take away these sinners with their evil, despicable, dried-up hearts!”
Walker rose and strolled around the table while this
Nobby soon appeared, spiffed up to his poor best. The old man was in a black suit that had seen better decades and wore a stiff celluloid collar that had yellowed with age. His skimpy gray hair was greased down and had a knife-edge part in the middle. Whatever the grease was, it stank. He had a thin, wrinkled face with many old smallpox knobs and depressions, and his mean little blue eyes were set very close together.
“What do you want with me?“ he said, perching upright on the chair at the corner of the table. His feet were lined up primly in old-fashioned black patent shoes with cracks across the toes.
“I need to know what your job is at the Institute,“ Walker said as pleasantly as he could manage.
“Why?“
“Because your boss has been murdered and I need to know who did it and why. My investigation involves asking everybody lots of nosy questions, Mr. Hazard.“
“Reverend Hazard,“ Nobby said.
“Everyone else calls you Nobby, don’t they?“ The old man frowned but didn’t reply.
“Your job?“ Walker persisted.
“I make—made—all the travel plans when Brother Goodheart did his preaching missions.”
Walker already knew this from Edward Price, but was surprised that Pottinger/Goodheart had sent such an unpleasant looking person to set up his speaking engagements. Why would he have chosen Nobby?
“Did you handle the money collected at these events?“ Walker asked.
“No. Brother Goodheart assigned trusted employees of the Institute in the audience to collect the money in baskets made at the Institute. The baskets were then raffled off after the money was turned over to him. It all went into a sturdy Gladstone bag he kept under the podium.“
“Then where did it go?“
“Back to the Institute with him in his private car.”
“With you in the car?“
“No, Brother Goodheart always had his own driver. He’d leave me enough cash to pay for the hotel and food and incidentals and I’d follow later on a train or boat to the next place he was speaking or back to the Institute.“
“And who was the driver?“
“It wasn’t never the same person. He always hired somebody from the town we were in and paid the driver’s way back home.”
Walker thought that was damned clever of the crooked preacher. Nobody knew what Goodheart was doing in the back of the car. If the current driver had suspicions of the furtive sound of paper money whispering its way out of the bag, he’d have nobody he knew to consult about those thoughts.
“Would it surprise you to know that Brother Goodheart was skimming money out of the proceeds before turning the bag over to Big Jimmy Rennie?”
This enraged the old man. His face turned into a mask of hatred. He raised a fist like a prophet. “Never! Never! You liar! You just ain’t Christian enough to understand what a great man Brother Goodheart was. You’re jealous of him. You wish you was as beloved as he was. He helped thousands of poor people by sharing others’ wealth with them to help them live better lives. God above will curse you to hell and damnation for even thinking such a thing.”
Robert poked his head in the door to see what the ruckus was about. Walker waved him away.“Isn’t that exactly what the meeting was about?“
“No, it was about Big Jimmy’s accusations of the same thing. Big Jimmy will rot in hell with you.“
“You never considered that Big Jimmy might have been right?“
“Not in a million years. Big Jimmy was the godless crook who was pilfering the money and threatening to blacken Brother Goodheart’s name. I’ve prayed for his holy punishment like I’ll pray for yours.”
He proceeded to do so, standing upright, hands thrown up to his vengeful God and pontificating at the top of his lungs. “Dear Lord above, take away these sinners with their evil, despicable, dried-up hearts!”
Walker rose and strolled around the table while this
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