Audley took two steps to the side and the young man saw his opening. He bolted past Mike, clearly familiar with the interior of the old building, and around to the rear of the chancel. He was thin and wiry, and his head start made it impossible for any of the cops to catch him. I was simply grateful that none of them drew a gun.

“What’s back there?” I asked.

“A couple of doors, Ms. Cooper.” Before Audley could finish his sentence, I heard one slam shut.

Mercer called out to Grayson, who sent men running through the church and, I’m sure, out on the street as well.

Mike was furious. “These kids don’t move. Cuff ’em and let ’em sit till we sort this out.”

Amos Audley hadn’t figured out how to keep out of Mike Chapman’s way. He pointed at Luther, his finger trembling with fear. “It’s the Lord’s house, Detective. No harm in them being in the Lord’s house. He’s my grandson, Mr. Mike. That boy’s my blood.”

FOUR

“NO harm in them being in the station house, either,” Mike said. “How old are you, Luther?”

The young man neither looked up nor answered.

“How old?”

“He twenty-two,” Amos Audley said.

“Luther. Look at me.” Mercer Wallace’s booming voice got the young man’s attention. “Don’t go dissing your grandfather, ’cause you do that and you’re taking on me and Chapman and a whole bunch of guys you don’t really want to butt heads with. Let’s go inside and talk.”

Luther appeared to be more sullen for being singled out from his friends by a detective. He didn’t budge.

“Get up on your feet,” Mercer said.

He rose slowly, and his two companions hissed their disapproval.

“Mr. Audley,” Mike said to Amos, trying to distract him from his grandson’s predicament, “I think the sergeant could really use your help. Don’t get yourself in knots over these kids.”