The 24th Letter

NINETY-TWO

It was almost midnight when O’Brien parked his Jeep in the back lot at St. Francis Church. The fog had cleared and its wake a cold front was building, the smell of rain coming across the sea of urban sprawl. He took a small flashlight and a leather pouch out of his glove box. O’Brien searched the exterior of the building, found the electric breaker box, and shut off the power.

At the back door, he held the flashlight in his teeth, took a pick from the leather pouch, and worked the lock. There was an audible click, and he opened the door. The inside of the church smelled like candles, incense, and old books. He shined the flashlight on the marble floor, the area he’d found Father Callahan’s body. The bloodstain was gone but the memory was there. Father Callahan dying in front of a podium where he had stood for sixteen years. Stood and spoke of the love of God. Spoke about the line between good and evil. The temptation to cross the line-the will not to, the bridge to come back. The bridge over the river Styx, thought O’Brien.

He stepped up on the platform, and stood behind the large Bible; its pages lying opened and turned to Psalms 23. O’Brien flipped the pages to the end of the Bible, to the Book of Revelation. He turned to Revelation 13:13.

The letter wasn’t there.

Lightning flashed through the skylights, and thunder rolled in the distance. O’Brien found Revelation 22:23. There on the opposite side page from the verse, on a single sheet of folded legal paper, was a letter. O’Brien opened the paper and read Sam Spelling’s words: To Father John and God — My name is Sam Spelling. I am real sorry for my sins. I wish to ask God for forgiveness….and I know now I done some bad things in my life. I hope to make amends. On the night of June 18th, 1999, I was working a deal, trying to score some cocaine at the Mystic Islands condos near Miami, Florida. I was supposed to meet a dealer there. It was the same night Alexandria Cole was stabbed to death. I was sitting in a car in the condo lot waiting for the dealer to show when I seen a man come out of Miss Cole’s condo. But before I go any further, I want to say where the knife can be found in case I get too tired to finish this letter… It’s in the town of St. Augustine. Tranquility Trail — my mother’s grave is there. She always loved that old cemetery and wanted to be buried there. I put the knife in a plastic Tupperware box and buried it right across the road from her grave.. It’s about one foot directly in front of a statue of an angel with wings. I buried it under a rock.

The angel is next to a pond in the cemetery. The angel is pointing with her right hand. Back to what I was saying. I was sitting in a car in the condo lot, waiting for the dealer to show when I seen a man come out of Miss Cole’s condo. He didn’t see me on account I was hunkered down in the car. I could tell he was drunk, almost fell a few times walking toward a truck I figured was his at the far end of the parking lot. I was curious as to what he was doing, and I got out of my car to see what was going on. The man looked like he was getting something out of the truck then he walked across the street to the Whales Tale Tavern. I didn’t think much about it. Went back to my car and I seen another man go into Miss Cole’s place. Wasn’t but a short while before I heard a scream. I saw the man running from her condo. He ran and stopped behind a breezeway, then I watched him go on down to the truck, the same one the other feller opened earlier. Looked to me like the second dude put something in the truck. I got back in my car and followed him as he left.

He went a block and tossed something wrapped in a newspaper…tossed it in a dumpster. I looked in the dumpster, found the newspaper, opened it and found a plastic bag with a bloody knife in it. When I seen the knife in the bag, I knew he’d put some drops of blood in the truck. The man that killed Alexandria a Cole is Christian Manerou, an agent with the FBI. I recognized him from a picture in the paper. He was part of a drug bust earlier involving Miss Cole’s manager. I made a call to him, told him I seen what he did and said for a hundred grand I’d go way and never come back. He agreed. I was sort of surprised he had that much cash, because I would have took less. He wanted the knife, but I told him I’d bury it and keep it as my little secret insurance policy. I pray for Charlie Williams’ soul, and I ask God to forgive mine for what I done. Sincerely, Sam Spelling.

O’Brien looked at his watch. Midnight. It was now Tuesday, September 22. The day Charlie Williams was scheduled to die. At 5:30 a.m., he would be brought to the execution room and strapped to a gurney. At 6:00 a.m., they would pump the first of three chemicals in his bloodstream. At 6:03, Charlie Williams would be dead.