Page 46 of On Your Knees

Jensen startles when I come to stand in front of him. He has a soft, nerdy look, and his neck cranes back as he stares up at me through his glasses. I’m standing too close for him to rise from the bench. He fidgets at my looming presence. I don’t say anything. I just let him sweat for a moment.

Jensen finally manages, “Mr. Castle?”

“How did you get my number?”

He blinks his wide, anxious eyes. “I have to protect my sources. I’ll protect you too. I just want to talk.”

I snort at the absurd idea of him protecting me and move to sit beside him on the bench. “So what makes you think everyone lied?”

“I just want to get your perspective. You were, what, fifteen?”

“There must be twenty articles about Paul’s death, which was sixteen years ago. The only reason to drag it up is that you think you found something. You asked me why everyone lied. I was, as you said, fifteen and I wasn’t there, so I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. That’s why I’m here. To ask you: what the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’ve never found the whole thing suspicious?”

“What’s ‘the whole thing’?”

“A famous televangelist, at the height of his career, walks into an alley on a Thursday night and gets stabbed six times by a homeless man, who flees the scene only to fall in a culvert and break his neck?”

I let the story roll past me. I’ve heard it a hundred times.

I shrug.

Jensen prompts, sounding more confident now that he’s in the swing of things, “Nothing to say?”

“You said something was suspicious then regurgitated the words of other journalists. What do you want me to say?”

“The claim is that he was preaching.”

I scoff, “That’s what preachers do, Mr. Jensen. Ever been to church?”

“Too many times, Mr. Castle. But he was preaching in an alley. Supposedly.”

“Ministering to the poor has a long history.”

“That wasn’t really Paul Castle’s schtick though, was it? Where were the cameras and dancers and millions of paying subscribers?”

I sigh. “Surely you realize there are dozens of articles about the High Castle Church and its income. This isn’t the hot take you think it is.”

“I think you misunderstand me, Mr. Castle. My ‘hot take’ is that Paul wasn’t there to minister to the poor. I think he wasn’t there at all. At least, not until he was already dead.”

I frown, exposing my surprise. “And what makes you think that?”

“The crime scene photos certainly suggest it.”

My heart skips. “And how did you get access to those?”

“You’re more concerned about my sources than my facts?”

“I don’t think you have any facts. I don’t think you have any photos. Do you really imagine that you’re the first journalist to come at me with some bullshit that you think is going to poke a hole in me so that you can catch a few bloody drops of gossip in your hands?”

Jensen wrinkles his nose then has to fix his glasses. “That’s quite an image, Mr. Castle.”

I stand from the bench. “Don’t contact me again.”

“You don’t want to see?”

“See what?”