Broken Angels

44

Christmas morning broke clear and cold, bright with promise.

Pastor Roland Hannah and Deacon Charles Waite offered service at 7:00 AM. Roland's sermon was one of hope, of renewal. He spoke of The Cross and The Cradle. He quoted Matthew 2:1-12. The baskets overflowed.

Later, Roland and Charles sat at the table in the basement beneath the church, a pot of cooling coffee between them. In an hour they would begin to prepare a Christmas ham dinner for upwards of one hundred homeless people. It would be served at their new facility on Second Street.

"Look at this," Charles said. He handed Roland the morning's Inquirer. There had been another murder. Nothing special in Philadelphia, but this one had resonance. Deep resonance. This one had an echo that reverberated over the years.

A woman had been found in Shawmont. She had been discovered at the old waterworks near the train station, just on the eastern bank of the Schuylkill.

Roland's pulse raced. Two bodies found on the banks of the Schuylkill River in one week. Then there was the story in the previous day's paper, an article reporting that Detective Walter Brigham had been murdered. Roland and Charles knew all about Walter Brigham.

There was no denying the truth of it.

Charlotte and her friend had been found on the bank of the Wis- sahickon. They had been posed, just like these two women. Maybe, after all these years, it was not about girls. Maybe it was about the water.

Maybe this was a sign.

Charles dropped to his knees and prayed. His big shoulders shook. In moments he was whispering in tongues. Charles was a glossolalic, a true believer who, when overtaken by the spirit, would speak in what he believed to be God's idiom, an edification of one's self. To the casual observer, it might have sounded like so much gibberish. To the believer, to one moved to tongues, it was the language of Heaven.

Roland glanced back at the newspaper, closed his eyes. Soon, a divine calm descended upon him, and a voice inside gave query to his thoughts.

Is it him?

Roland touched the crucifix around his neck.

And knew the answer.