I. Smoke Signal

Detective Findhorn of New Liberty Police Station #137 looked up from the files on his desk when the tall man entered his office.

"May I help you?" asked the detective.

"The name is Briggs." said the tall stranger. He looked to be somewhere in his forties, with shoulder-length hair streaked with gray and a voice that spoke of many decades of chain smoking. The smell of cigarettes hung around him like an aura. "I made an appointment with you a few days ago."

Findhorn flipped through his day planner. Sure enough, the name "Briggs" was pencilled in for 2 to 3 PM. "So you are. Please, have a seat, take your coat off."

"I'd rather not, if don't mind." said Briggs, leaving his coat on as he sat.

"Detective, I know your time is valuable, so I'll cut to the chase. I'm looking for information regarding the Hosanna of Bethany Church and the nature of the crimes committed there."

"There's not much I can tell you that hasn't already been leaked to the media." said Findhorn. "Sick place, that was. A generation ago they were a respected congregation, one of the biggest in the city." He passed Briggs a picture of Hosanna of Bethany Church across the table. It was a panaramic shot. Hundreds of practitioners clustered around the mid-twenty-first century-era church. Right beside the church sign stood the minister and his family--a wife, two daughters, and a son. The words "Hosanna of Bethany Baptist Church of Columbus, Ohio, 2207 A.D." were written in white lettering at the top of the picture.

"In 2219," Findhorn continued, "the Minister, William Carter, had a stroke and was replaced by his son, Daniel Carter.

"Daniel didn't take to the congregation too well. Over the next twenty years, the church's membership dwindled from roughly one thousand to..." Findhorn consulted a file. "Thirty-two. There were a few complaint to police stations in the area regarding the church, the most noteworthy being six separate allegation of child molestation against Carter and two church elders, Frank Klepacki and Deborah Brainard."

"Any convictions?" asked Briggs, reviewing photos of each of the three.

"Carter defeated two of the cases in court, then settled a third privately. Klepacki settled one suit and spent two years of a six year sentence behind bars before being released on good behavior. Brainard got 18 months house arrest in a plea bargain."

"Interesting. Go on."

"On the 22nd of November, 2241, we got a call from a former memeber of the church telling us when to set up a bust to catch the elders in the act. It seems that she'd fled to Indiana after her own daughter was slated to be next in line for some sort of ritualistic molestation."

Briggs chuckled without any sign of humor. "Doesn't sound like a Baptist tradtion to me."

Findhorn scoffed. "That wasn't the half of it. However, the rest of the information on this case requires security clearance, so I'm afraid that's all the details I can give you."

Briggs sighed, withdrawing a lighter and cigarette from his coat. He lit up, took a drag, and looked at Findhorn's fingers. "They say there are no straight cops left in New Liberty. How much would security clearance cost me?"

"Forget it. I don't know who you think you are, but I know there's at least one good cop left in New Liberty who refuses to be corrupted, and you're looking at him."

Briggs smiled, letting smoke drift through his teeth. "Very good. I'd heard that you're one of the few who are unmoved by loose money and quick power. Which is why I chose to speak with you; you're someone who deserves to be rewarded for compliance."

"One word from me and you'll be locked up for trying to bribe me." said Findhorn.

"Come now, the only people who go to jail for corruption these days are the ones too stupid to leave funds available to bribe the judge.

"And I know your principles mean more to you than money. I need help from someone close to the case; I chose you as most worthy of recieving what I have to give as compensation."

Findhorn rose. "Get out."

Briggs stood up. "Fine. But I will make you an offer. I will give my advice in return for an appointment tomorrow."

"What advice could a corrupt slimeball like you give to me?"

"Just this. From what I understand, your wife wanted you to pick up some milk on your way home from work tonight, correct?"

"I'm not even married." said Findhorn.

Briggs tossed his cigarette through Findhorn's open window. "Don't lie to me. I know you have a wife and two kids, a brother and sisters living on the West coast. Your mother lives with the older sister and your father's been dead for 30 years. Rest assured, praying on innocents is below me; no harm will come to them by my hands, whether you help me or not. Now answer me--did your wife ask you to pick up milk on your way home?"

The gravity--and accuracy--of Briggs' information seemed a bizarre contrast with the frivolity of his question. Findhorn knew there was more going on here than he could see. After collecting himself for a moment, he responded. "Yes. Yes, she did."

"Then my advice is to stop at the grocery store on 29th Street, instead of the pharmacy on Park Avenue you usually stop at. Heed my advice, and I'll see tomorrow at 2:30."

Before Findhorn could reply, Briggs was out the door.

The cold rain outside began to pick up. Shaking his head over the strangeness of the encounter, Detective Findhorn got up and shut the window. In his preoccupation, he failed to notice that there no cigarette butts in the gravel courtyard beyond it.