Outcry witness, p.1
Outcry Witness, page 1
Outcry Witness
A Nicole Long Legal Thriller
Book 0.5
Aime Austin
The Nicole Long Legal Thriller Series
Outcry Witness
Major Crimes
Without Consent
The Murders Began
But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.
–Amos 5:24
For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.
—Romans 3:23
One
Nicole Theriot Long
June 9, 1991
I hadn’t been in the front row of New Day in a very long time. J.T. Long, also known as my larger-than-life father was up on the stage preaching his heart out. He’d been plain old John Long up until he’d taken over the church during my last year of high school.
“So many of you have asked me how to survive this latest economic crisis,” Daddy boomed. “I’m here to tell you there’s no calamity. There’s no disaster. The news anchors will fill your head with statistics, eight hundred thousand jobs lost, the Fed messing around with interest rates, a war that’s come to an end with our boys swiftly victorious. Those are excuses. God does not like excuses.”
I wanted to turn around, see how his message was landing with the three thousand people behind me. When I’d been up at Mt. Holyoke, a couple of my poli-sci professors had said blaming victims was a conservative political ploy to deflect culpability from where it truly lie, with those reckless enough to exploit deregulation, damned the consequences. The truth had to be somewhere in between, I figured.
The Amen chorus let me know they were good with it.
“But this I say: He who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and he who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.” Daddy paused for effect. “One gives freely, yet gains even more; another withholds what is right, only to become poor.”
“Amen.”
“A generous soul will prosper, and he who refreshes others will himself be refreshed. So before you blame God for not providing, look in your own field. Look in your own backyard. See if you’ve sowed enough seeds. See if you’ve given enough to others. Only when you’ve planted enough, given enough of yourself will you receive the bounty that is your due.”
My father was a Catholic who was preaching like a Southern Baptist. New Day was officially non-denominational. He took donations from anyone who could give. Trust me, while he was telling people to not feel sorry for themselves, the other message was about donating freely.
The Proverbs were my Daddy’s main vehicle for getting money in the church’s coffers. While some of the congregation didn’t weather the recession well, Momma, Daddy, and I were just fine. At the end of my college graduation ceremony a few weeks ago I’d gotten a diploma in my little leather case while lots of other girls had only an invoice.
After the choir closed the service, I tried my best to hustle to the back, but a grip on my arm stopped me. I turned to see Seth Collins was attached to that hand. He was my father’s right hand and the associate pastor.
“Long time no see, Nicole. It’s lovely that you’ve graced us with your presence here today.”
June was hot in Baton Rouge, but I shivered nonetheless. Something about Collins had always felt off to me. More often than not, though, his wife was clinging to his side and our conversations were never more than perfunctory. I made an exaggerated move with my head, sweeping from right to left.
“Where’s Rosalee?” His blond haired blue eyed wife was nowhere to be seen.
“Brandon brought home something from nursery. Got Crystal sick.” Collins’ head was bent close to mine.
“Ugh. Germs.” I backed away, plucking his hand from my arm.
Finally Daddy broke away from the crowd of adoring churchgoers.
“Nicki Mouse,” he started, his mouth bent to my ear. “Let’s go back. There’s something I want to talk about with you and Seth.”
Before I could react, I did my best to school my face into something bland. I hadn’t been raised as a preacher’s kid, my father only having come into the game five years ago, but I’d learned that I should behave in church. My private life was still my own.
For as long as I could remember, my dad had been an executive at various oil and gas companies. When the industry turned upside down five years ago, he’d taken over New Day church. Since he’d never been religious, I saw it as just another hustle, albeit one without economic downturns.
His mammoth sized office was a carbon copy of the last one where he’d been a vice president. The only difference was an unabridged dictionary sized leather bound bible on his desk and a wall size wood plaque behind him with Romans 3:23 burned into it.
When my mother and Collins and I were in the room and Daddy’s secretary had closed the door, everyone visibly relaxed. I was gratified to see that I wasn’t the only one who tensed up under the constant scrutiny.
“Brought in a hundred and fifty three thousand this weekend. That’s the estimate, at least. I’ll get you the final numbers on Tuesday,” Collins said.
I could feel my eyebrows rise involuntarily. Daddy would never say, but I had to wonder what his slice of the pie was. There was the new campus to support, but there were zero taxes on that.
“About thirty to fifty per person, then?” Mother said.
“You did that in your head?” Collins asked.
“Always been good with figures,” Mother retorted. She’d never say it outright, but I think she didn’t like Collins either. If we’d had a different kind of mother daughter relationship, maybe we’d have shared our opinions of the assistant pastor. I shook my head clear of the thoughts.
All this interpersonal stuff was kind of interesting, but I’d done my part, showing up as the dutiful daughter in my peach linen suit and floral blouse. I was ready to get back home to Metairie.
My parents hadn’t moved to the New Day campus in Baton Rouge. Collins had the clergy house. Either I’d go to the club and swim or meet up with a friend for a late lunch. But I needed get out of here to get on with the rest of my day.
“What’s up?” I directed my question at Daddy. He was the decision maker in the house and at New Day.
“You need a job.” Mother’s words were blunt.
Then daddy did what he always did, try to soften her words.
“It’s not that we aren’t glad to have you home, girl—”
“Here comes the ‘but,’” I interrupted. I knew I sounded like the teenage years I just left. When my mother poked at me this way, I couldn’t help myself.
“But…what are your plans?” Margaret Theriot Long’s tone was serious, clipped. All that polite and syrupy Southern charm was not on display for me—her daughter—today. I’d only been home two weeks and the very conversation I’d hoped to avoid was already upon me.
I wish I’d taken some notes, prepped better. I was going into a knife fight, unarmed. A Southern woman did not come to a day like this unprepared. Four years up in Hadley, Massachusetts, had made me soft. I took a breath, conjured up the class discussion debating skills I’d honed over the time I’d been at an all-women’s college. I had learned to spar with the best—smart women turned mean girls. My mother had nothing on those bitches.
“Mam, I graduated from college exactly three weeks ago. I’m trying to figure things out.”
“Why didn’t you figure things out before?” Things was in air quotes. “I’ve already turned your room into my sewing room.”
That was obvious. The dark purple walls were now pink, the color they’d been before I hit puberty, and decided that I wasn’t made of sugar and spice and all things nice.
My double bed with its black and purple sugar skull comforter was gone, replaced by a frilly white eyelet coverlet over a very uncomfortable daybed. Two weeks trying to sleep on it and my back was starting to feel like that of a woman three times my age.
My posters of Wham! and Tears for Fears had gone missing. Probably up in the attic. Hopefully up in the attic. My mam thought they were all gay, and while gay could entertain, gay could not be idolized. It was the same with African-Americans. There was us, and there was all of them. I didn’t agree. I never agreed, but that wasn’t the fight I was going to fight today.
“Am I the unwelcome guest, then?” My voice was petulant once again. Unwanted wasn’t a nice feeling. “Three days and I’m out like the fish from Friday’s dinner?”
“Kiki, come on. It’s not that. Your dad and I are thrilled to have you visit…”
Even behind the nickname, my mother’s term of endearment for me for as long as I could remember, I heard her meaning. I was a visitor. I was a guest. I’d stink after too many days, and it had already been fourteen. I didn’t point out those facts. Instead, I tried others.
“There’s research out now that says that at least thirty-six percent of adult children live with their parents,” I argued. “My being here is not an anomaly.”
“That means sixty-four percent are out on their own.” That last bit of math had come from my father whose voice boomed as he stepped from behind the seven foot expanse of wood that made up his desk.
In a moment, his hand was on the lid of our family’s cookie jar, lifting and poking through the contents. Our girl…woman, Aubrey Theriot—no relation—always kept that stocked with his favorite pecan Sandies. For a moment I wondered who was in charge of getting the homemade treats from Metairie to Baton Rouge.
“Your sister didn’t move back home,” Mother added.
<
My sister had always been my mother’s favorite, a fact I’d never called her on because I’d always been afraid she’d admit the truth of it.
Thinking something was one thing. Knowing it for sure could be devastating. Either way, I didn’t know what Michelle’s marriage to some rich Texas oil guy had to do with my need to have some time to figure out my next steps, nor why we were having the conversation here in front of Seth Collins. My desperation at not being tossed out on my ear overcame my need for privacy.
“Daddy, it’s harder out there now than it was for your generation,” I argued. “Student loans, a weak economy, stagnant wages…that haven’t increased in twenty years.”
“I know what the word stagnant means. Do you have loans I don’t know about?” my dad asked around a mouthful of flour, sugar, and nuts. “Last time I checked, I wrote the tuition checks to that school in the back of beyond Massachusetts.”
“No, Daddy, I don’t have loans. You know that.” He’d deflated me without even swallowing his snack. “I was just saying there are a lot of reasons kids come home.”
“Maybe one day I’ll debate with you about that thirty-six percent you cite. Could be an interesting sociological discussion. But I don’t have to parent or feed any of those arrested adults, except through the high taxes I pay. So tell me, Nicky Mouse, what’s your plan?”
My dad’s use of his nickname for me calmed me a little. I was still his favorite. He still loved me, only it was a form of tough love that I wasn’t enjoying at the moment.
“I don’t know, yet. I thought I’d take the summer—”
“When you went to that school, you said it would be a great place to meet contacts. The only contacts you seemed to have made are lots of dykes.”
“James Long, that’s not a word we can use anymore,” my mother admonished, her pointer finger wagging. Then her voice lowered to a whisper. “Like Negro.”
I turned to see that Seth Collins hadn’t flinched at the impropriety. Whether 1991 Louisiana was the new south or the old south, it was like a mine field sometimes figuring what people’s true thoughts or intentions were.
“Fine. Girls who like girls. It was like they were there to study other women. If you’d gone to Duke or even Tulane, you’d be in a different position. You’d have certainly met the right people. Could have joined Alpha Delta Phi like your mother.”
“Dad. How many times did I have to tell you I didn’t want to major in business or marketing and get some soul-sucking job that would do nothing to help women or men or the greater good.”
“I’m sorry, I must have blinked. Do you have one of those jobs now? A do-gooder job at a charity?” Before he could clutch his heart Red Foxx-style, I cut in.
“Well…no.”
I felt like a bear lumbering into some kind of trap, but I was unable to pivot fast enough to avoid whatever he had planned for me.
An internship at a dysfunctional nonprofit had cured me of that dream. Without the future mapped out just so, my mind was wiped clean at the thought of a career. It was all a blank canvas and I didn’t have any paint.
“Religion major of all the damned things.” My father shook his head like he had every time he’d repeated this refrain. He knew I wasn’t a believer. I’d never explained that it felt like a case of know your enemy. “You know what? The church is a business too. That can actually help people. Why don’t you get a job here?”
Seth Collins’ presence kept me from expressing my true feelings about daddy’s proposal.
“What would I do?” I threw up my hands. “Religious studies at Mount Holyoke isn’t like a seminary program. I’m not qualified to do anything here. At this place.” I could feel my eyebrows crawling up my forehead.
Most people tried to talk themselves into a job. I was trying to talk myself out.
“You say it like ‘brothel,’ Nicky Mouse. It’s a multimillion-dollar business not much different from oil.”
Oil had his business. It’s what had paid for the country club I was itching to get to, my fancy private high school, and Seven Sister college education. The origin of our wealth was a fact I kept to myself while I was in Hadley. Especially with the campus protests after the Exxon Valdez spill. I didn’t share anything about this second career either. There weren’t two things more polarizing than fossil fuels and religion.
“Is New Day approaching megachurch status now with an entire staff to push religion out to the masses?” I asked in my debate voice. “During brunch a few months back, I think I saw something in the New York Times about the growth of American religiosity and fundamentalism.”
If my dad had been at home, he’d have arranged his face into a sneer of derision. He was a Southerner of a different type, a Texan. My mother had softened some of his edges over the years they’d been married.
“You’re standing right here, free to leave. It’s a church, not a cult,” he retorted. “These damn Yankees occasionally come down to the ‘Cotton States’ to see what the other half of the country is up to, so it’s possible they wrote something about New Day.”
My mother flashed me a look and I knew that we were going to leave the ‘Cotton States’ comment alone. I looked around the room again, but Collins’ face was a bland as tapioca pudding.
“What do you think I could actually do here?”
“You haven’t really figured out what area you’d like to focus on. I still maintain you can’t go wrong with marketing and public relations. I don’t know all the right words, I’ll let Seth tell it. It was his brilliant idea.”
Boom went the dynamite. Snap went the trap. I was like those pigs and cows who were blindly corralled into a slaughter house. This had been the plan all along. My hindsight was a perfect twenty-twenty.
“Hey, I know that you probably have plans for the rest of the day. Why don’t we get together first thing Monday morning,” Collins offered. “Bring a resume and we’ll talk.”
Mam and Daddy had always said that I couldn’t live with them past eighteen without a job. Or a husband to take care of me. Now I knew they’d been dead serious. I was guessing that whatever Seth offered, declining it wouldn’t be an option.
Two
Nicole
June 12, 1991
Contrary to how I’d spun it for my parents, I’d no more than skimmed the megachurch article in the New York Times. I’d been born and raised in the South. Though I’d never agree with my father out loud, northern newspaper articles about Louisiana and the rest of the states below the Mason-Dixon line had a bit of a “zoo” observational aspect that turned my stomach queasy. As if our lives were nothing more than bonus scenes from Deliverance.
Once I’d navigated to the address I had scribbled on a Post-it affixed to the dashboard, I have to admit I was surprised. New Day was not my grandmother’s church. It had been a couple of years at least since I’d come here. Last Sunday, I’d paid no attention on the drive from home to the sanctuary’s auditorium where daddy was preaching.
I’d been too busy spending the hourlong drive trying to navigate the minefield that was conversation with my mother. Aubrey’s husband, Fabian had pulled up the tinted windowed Lincoln to a back door and Mother and I had entered and taken our seats only moments before the service began.
What daddy was creating was an entirely new breed of house of worship. I followed half a dozen signs that put me into some kind of visitor parking. I stepped out of the car into the muggy heat.
June had never been anything but hot and humid in Louisiana. Spending the last few summers up north in Boston and New York had made me soft. I sucked in as much of the humid air as I could and took in my surroundings. The place where daddy had preached was high up on a hill. I was now on flat ground.
The building in front of me was modern and huge. I spun around on my wedge-heeled sandals and took in the campus. Up until this moment, I’d only associated that word with schools, but it was exactly what this was. It had to be at least half the eight hundred acres of my college grounds in the western Massachusetts’ wilderness.
