The Oldest Enemy

by Michael Jack Webb

Overview

Spellbinding Supernatural Thriller From The Bestselling Author Of The Master's Quilt

Will Keep You Turning Pages Late Into The Night - But Keep the Lights On!

 

David Lighthouse was once a hard-hitting investigative reporter for the Denver Post - before he was accused of the brutal murder of his fiancée and his life unraveled. Now, six years later, he's once again the prime suspect in the murder of someone close to him. Beth Barkley's body has been drained of all its blood, and there are two strange marks on her neck. David fights to clear his name even as disturbing clues at the crime scene reveal a haunting connection to his fiancée's unsolved murder and estranged father's secret past.

 

Drawn into a supernatural battle that has waged for centuries, David suddenly finds himself the target of sinister forces as he tracks down a conspiracy to release an ancient evil upon an unsuspecting world. Along with his father, the murdered girl's sister, and a fierce Auschwitz survivor, David faces Hell itself to prove his innocence and stop a reclusive German billionaire from unleashing a worldwide holocaust.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940164524890
Publisher:	Michael Jack Webb
Publication date:	08/25/2020
Sold by:	Draft2Digital
Format:	eBook
File size:	641 KB

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

September 1999 — Melbourne, Florida

The freshly dug grave yawned at David Lighthouse's feet, an inappropriate gash in the smooth green turf stretching away in every direction. He glanced at the crystalline blue, cloudless sky and sighed, refusing to allow the stinging tears in his eyes to turn into a flood.

Attending Beth Barkley's funeral was not something he ever imagined he'd have to do. A fragment of lyrics from a favorite Billy Joel song kept running through his mind, drowning out the words of Pastor Erasmus Lamb's eulogy, something about the good dying young. He knew better, of course. But knowing didn't keep the words from repeating themselves over and over again inside his head.

He rubbed his nose roughly as guilt threatened to overwhelm him. If he'd been more attentive to the needs of one of his flock, and less distracted by what now seemed to be foolish concerns, Beth Barkley might still be alive.

No. He couldn't think that way. Erasmus — his mentor and good friend — had counseled him not to second-guess his behavior. "I would have done the same thing, David, had I been in your position. There was no way you could have known that something so grotesque was going to happen."

Grotesque —"unnatural in character." It was an appropriate choice of words. There was no question in anybody's mind that Beth Barkley's death had been unnatural.

Erasmus had also reminded him that God's ways are higher than man's ways; that He always takes what the Enemy intends for evil and turns it to good. At the time the words were spoken, after the discovery of Beth's ravaged body, they were of small comfort. But the more David thought about them, the more they gave him hope. For the past two days, he'd had the feeling that somehow God was going to turn this whole nightmare into something extraordinary.

The notion made no sense, but, then, nothing about Beth Barkley's death made any sense. At least this idea gave him a measure of hope.

The closing words of Erasmus's eulogy pulled him out of his reverie.

"In spite of what our natural mind tells us, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, when there is nothing else to hold on to, we must rely on our faith in Jesus Christ to carry us through the darkest moments of our lives. We can take comfort in the words of our Lord and Savior, 'I am the resurrection and the life. He that believes in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whosoever lives and believes in Me shall never die.'" The black preacher paused and scanned the faces arrayed before him with intense black eyes.

David did likewise.

He recognized the ex-football player turned cop who'd questioned him after Beth's body had been found. Detective Blanchard, a red- headed man with a square face, a thick nose that had clearly been broken on more than one occasion, and a neck that seemed to be as thick as David's thigh, wore a dark suit and tie that accentuated his squat, muscular body. He had sought David out because his name and telephone number, scribbled on a crumpled piece of letterhead from the church, had been found at the crime scene.

Off to Blanchard's right were several people from Living Waters Fellowship who'd gotten to know Beth in the short time she'd been a part of the small congregation.

David also recognized Beth's sister from one of the pictures Blanchard had shown him. Lauren Barkley had an athletic build, long, honeysuckle-colored hair pulled back into a ponytail, and wasn't wearing any makeup. She was also very tan, unlike David. She dressed conservatively, her dark pantsuit a stark contrast to the short dresses, t- shirts, and faded jeans several of the other, younger female mourners wore. Most of Pastor Lamb's flock were young and new to the faith, like David. Many had once been on drugs, been in gangs, or had come from broken homes.

He planned to introduce himself to Lauren after the service, offer her his condolences. He also wanted to ask her some questions. That would come later, though. This wasn't the time or the place. Somehow he needed to arrange for them to meet again, although he wasn't sure how he was going to accomplish that.

A movement at the back of the little group caught his eye, pulling him back to the present. Standing by himself at the edge of the semicircle of mourners, looking out of place, was a man David had never seen before. He was short and wiry, and even though he looked like he was in his late sixties, he was incredibly fit. He was dressed in black and sported a thick black beard that seemed incongruous with the thinning hair on his head. He had an aura of quiet intensity about him.

What is he thinking?

David shook himself mentally and returned his focus to the final moments of the eulogy. Erasmus had a place in his heart for each one of the people here today, even those he'd never met, and his love for them was genuine, not something contrived or shallow. That was one of the main reasons David had come to love the older man, almost like a father.

Erasmus finished looking each and every person in the eyes, as if he were calling them into personal accountability. David's heart swelled. This man, who had borne more tragedy in his life than most, was not about to allow death even the smallest victory here today.

Erasmus closed his Bible then continued in a voice that was firm and resolute, "More importantly, my brothers and sisters, we must ask ourselves, even as the Lord asked Martha, 'Do we believe what Jesus said? If we don't, then we are bereft of the only hope that has any value in this world. But if we do believe in the power that raised the Son of God from the dead, as Martha and countless others throughout history have believed, then we can rest in the assurance that we will all see one another again in heaven, and that our reunion will be a glorious one. For in that day, the Bible promises us that God will wipe away every tear from our eyes. Scripture also promises us that there will be no more death. No more sorrow. No more crying. No more pain."

The pastor of Living Waters paused a final time then looked straight at David. His eyes were filled with compassion and understanding. "Beth Barkley believed this fundamental truth. She pulled me aside not long ago and thanked me for helping her realize that she could put her trust in Him who was, and is, and will be forevermore. Blessed be the Name of our Lord and Savior forever and ever. Amen."

The small gathering of mourners began to disperse.

David watched as Lauren paused for a final look at her sister's casket. She held a solitary white rose, which she now placed on top of it.

Oddly, even though he'd never met her before, he was drawn to her. There was something about Lauren Barkley that was different, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was almost as if he'd known her a very long time. His mom, had she been alive, would have said that he'd crossed paths with a kindred spirit. That he should be very careful how he dealt with her because kindred spirits were very rare.

A half smile creased his face as he heard his mother's soft voice inside his head, a distant and bittersweet echo from his eighteenth birthday. "Your father says he doesn't believe in such things," she'd said as she tousled his dirty-blond hair and looked directly into his turquoise- blue eyes. "But then, he's a man who keeps his emotions on a short leash." A twinkle came into her eye. "Even though he'll never admit it, I knew from the moment he looked into my eyes he recognized me as a kindred spirit. That's why he and I have been so good for each other. If it ever happens to you, David, throw caution to the wind. You'll never be disappointed —"

Shaken by the intensity of the nineteen year-old memory, David walked toward the woman he had mixed emotions about meeting.

Lauren gave a lingering glance toward her sister's casket then started to leave.

David touched her on the shoulder. "Ms. Barkley —"

She turned, and his heart went out to her. Her eyes were red and puffy. Pain had etched lines into her otherwise smooth skin.

"My name is David Lighthouse. I'm the assistant pastor at Living Waters Fellowship — the church your sister had recently been attending. We're all shocked and saddened by what happened to Beth. If there is anything any of us can do —"

He let his voice trail off then shifted from foot to foot as he took several deep breaths. He was taller than her by several inches so she had to look up into his face to respond.

"I appreciate your concern, Reverend." She dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "Beth was growing quite fond of your little congregation. She seemed more at peace in the past few weeks than I'd ever seen her. For that I'm grateful." Tears welled up once again. She turned her head away.

"Uh, Ms. Barkley —"

"Please, call me Lauren," she said as she wiped the tears from her cheeks then turned back to face him.

"Lauren. I —" He shook his head, struggling to find the right thing to say. Finally he blurted, "I just wanted to say that I feel a measure of responsibility for your sister's death. I wish I'd made a different decision last Wednesday evening."

She hesitated, clearly taken aback. "Oh? I'm not sure what you're talking about."

There was no going back now. "Beth called me about six o'clock — from the mall. She asked if I could pick her up. I told her I was about to go into a meeting and suggested that if she could wait, I'd come and get her in about forty-five minutes. She said she couldn't. She needed to be at the church early to meet with a couple of the other ladies who were going to pray for her. She also said she had something very important to tell me." He paused, searched Lauren's eyes for any sign of condemnation. There was none. "If I'd been more sensitive to her needs, maybe she —"

"Maybe she'd still be alive."

David nodded.

Lauren looked out across the expanse of the cemetery, her lips a grim line. "Well, Reverend, none of us will ever know the answer to that, at least not in this life. Beth was a free spirit. Patience was never one of her strong suits. The police said one of the witnesses they interviewed remembers seeing Beth walking along the sidewalk, about half a mile from the mall. Detective Blanchard believes her killer offered her a ride — that she went with him willingly."

"Would she do that? Get into a car with a stranger?"

Lauren shrugged. "Beth was far too trusting of people. Nevertheless, I doubt she would have accepted a ride from a stranger if she'd sensed anything out of the ordinary. Detective Blanchard told me most people are murdered by someone they know. Maybe Beth knew her killer."

David took several deep breaths. Lauren's words resurrected some very bad memories. Memories he'd spent the better part of the past six years trying to forget. "Lauren, please forgive me," he said. "I — I had no intention of talking about Beth's death in this manner here today. I merely wanted to offer my condolences. Perhaps we could meet again, say in couple of weeks, to talk. I have some thoughts of my own about what happened to Beth. I'd like to share them with you —"

There were some things she needed to know about Beth's death. Things the police would never tell her, because they wouldn't even think of them.

Lauren stared at him, an intense, penetrating look, as if she were sizing him up, deciding whether or not to let him into her personal life. It was a big decision. There was really no good reason for her to have any further contact with him. He was a pastor, not a policeman. Beth had told him her sister was skeptical about her newfound faith in general and ministers in particular. She'd said Lauren viewed them right up there with used-car salesmen. They'd had a good laugh about that.

Finally, Lauren said, "I need some time to think about it, Reverend." She paused, and David wondered if she were having an internal debate with herself. "But if what you have to say might help find Beth's killer, I guess it might be okay."

David watched Lauren walk away, grateful that she hadn't gotten angry at him or, worse, ignored him. At least she'd left the door open.

Erasmus called his name.

As he turned and walked toward his car, he kept thinking about what Lauren had said — about the possibility that Beth knew her killer — and of how he'd heard almost those exact words six years earlier.

* * *

The short, balding man with the thick black beard watched the pair from a distance while they talked. As the woman walked away, he reached inside his coat, pulled out a small black notebook, then opened it to a page already filled with descriptions of vehicles. When she got into her car, he made a note next to the previously recorded license plate and made a similar note next to the license number corresponding to the vehicle the man approached a moment later.

There was a faded color photograph of a beautiful, dark-haired young woman stuck in the edge of the stranger's notebook. He scrutinized it with hooded eyes then looked up. He watched as the man opened the car door, got in, and started the engine while the black pastor took his seat on the passenger side.

The stranger's eyes didn't leave the car until it was out of sight.

Finally alone, he cast a lingering glance at the photograph then closed the notebook and put it back inside his coat. He walked over to the grave and stared down at Beth Barkley's casket and the solitary white rose resting on it. Tears trickled down his cheeks. "Forgive me, little one," he whispered. "I failed you — but I will not fail again."

CHAPTER 2

A full month after Beth's funeral, David sat in his home office, the final draft of the next Sunday's bulletin open on his computer. He stared at the screen, but his thoughts had wandered far from service orders and announcements.

He had begun to wonder if Lauren was ever going to contact him. A couple weeks after the funeral, he'd tried to get in touch with her, only to find her phone number had been changed to an unlisted number immediately after her sister's murder.

He was tapping his fingers in rhythm on the desk, wondering if he should take a chance and drive over to Lauren's to see if he could catch her at home, when his phone rang.

He picked up the receiver. "David Lighthouse."

"I've been thinking about what you said at Beth's funeral," Lauren said without introducing herself. "The police investigation is going nowhere. Detective Blanchard keeps insisting that finding my sister's killer is a high priority, but whenever I call to ask if he's discovered any new leads, all I get is the runaround. I've read your comments in the newspaper — very intriguing, even if they were a bit odd. If what you have to say to me can help, I think I'm ready to listen."

Relief rippled through him. "Thanks for calling, Lauren. I know it must be difficult for you." He hesitated then asked, "Would you be willing to have dinner with me Monday night?"

"Dinner ...?" Her tone was guarded.

"I know a place that has the best food in town. Not to mention it overlooks the river. I'm sure you could use a change of scenery."

"Okay. But there's one condition."

"Name it."

"No matter how much you think it might hurt me, never lie to me or give me partial answers to my questions. I'm a big girl — and this isn't the first time I've had to deal with death."

"Fair enough. I have a condition of my own."

"Oh?" Her guard was up again.

"I'd like you to keep an open mind about what I have to say."

There was a pause, then Lauren asked, "What's the name of the restaurant?"

* * *

From his seat at the table, David watched Lauren enter the Chart House.

She wore a black, two piece outfit with a long-sleeve white blouse that reminded him of something he'd seen on a Nordstrom's mannequin. The clothes definitely had the designer flair. They also gave her a look of subtle elegance, which was in marked contrast to her athletic build. Her hair had been pulled back off her face and coiled tightly into a bun, revealing the soft angles of her cheeks. She wore very little jewelry and even less makeup, which accentuated her clear, tanned skin.

It was obvious Beth's sister was an outdoor person.

Beth had told him that Lauren had never married, but not why. The question begged to be answered.

The hostess brought her to the table, and he stood, greeting her with a quiet word. As she sat down, he studied her, hoping to size up her tolerance for the extraordinary. What he planned to tell her might very well mark him as a nut case.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "The Oldest Enemy"
by .
Copyright © 2012 Michael J Webb.
Excerpted by permission of Michael J. Webb.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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