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rtment checked with Peru, and they’ve never heard of Balfour or his mission. No records of any kind. They even got someone to call via satellite phone to a farmer nearby, and they say there’s no such church or school of any kind in the village. I also checked on flights, and there’s no record of a Josiah Balfour or a Roman Pererra on a flight to Peru in the last five years. Wherever the money he collected is going and wherever he is when he’s supposed to be in Peru, it ain’t Peru.”
Greta got so excited, she drifted across the double yellow lines on 101. Fortunately, there was no oncoming traffic at that moment. She pulled off at the first chance so she could concentrate.
“So, he may be pocketing the money,” said Greta, “though I wonder if it’s enough to justify the complex story he’s built up. I need to check with some of his parishioners on just how much money we’re talking about, as well as his local finances. Come to think of it, I’ve no idea how big his church is. I might need to bring in the other officer on this case to get his help. He lives in Tillamook City and may know more.”
“That’s what I have so far,” Simpson said. “Of course, there’s no obvious connection with your homicide, but you certainly have a knack for digging up other cases.”
She laughed ruefully. “Maybe they should make me a detective who solves every case except the ones assigned to her.”
“Hey . . . there’re worse careers. At least, some cases would get solved. I’ll let you know if anything else crops up, and give me a call if I can help. I’m hooked on how all this comes out.”
“Will do, and thanks again, Robert.”
It took another twenty-five minutes to get to the Tillamook office. When she arrived, Plummer was drinking coffee and talking to someone she didn’t recognize. As soon as he saw her, he excused himself and walked over to her.
“James, I’ve got some interesting news.”
She saw by his curious expression that he’d picked up on her excited vibes. “Come over to my desk and fill me in.”
He led her to another room with half a dozen cubicles, including his. He grabbed a loose chair for her, and they sat.
During the entire drive from Pacific City, she’d wondered how to apprise Plummer of Balfour’s scam without revealing the contribution of U.S. marshal Robert Simpson, or whatever his real name was. She came up with no good strategy, so figured she’d wing it and decline to reveal details of her sources for the moment.
“James, this Toompas case may not seem to go anywhere, but rooting around has uncovered other cases. You know of the abalone poaching and Umstead’s meth lab. However, there’s one more. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem related to Toompas, but it’s still something serious enough to follow up on.”
“Why do I suddenly feel nervous, Greta?” said Plummer. He didn’t sound like he was joking.
She plunged ahead. “You know of Reverend Josiah Balfour?”
“Sure. He might have the biggest congregation of any Tillamook County Church. We have family and friends who attend.”
“I’m afraid the good reverend is running a scam on his flock. You know that Reverend Balfour and his church run a satellite church and school in South America?”
“Huh . . . no. I’ve never heard of that.”
She opened a folder and removed two newspaper articles she had printed out the previous night. Circled in red were references to Balfour and the Peru mission.
“According to the articles, the Church of God Arising sent money to first establish and then maintain and expand an associated church in a small village in eastern Peru. Sevite, it’s called. Balfour also travels there twice a year to preach and work. Here’s where the problem comes in. The Peruvian government has no record of any such church or school in Sevite. In fact, it’s a sparsely populated dirt crossroads and so far from anything, it must be a major effort to get there. It’s just about the most inaccessible inhabited spot in Peru. A local was contacted and said he’d never heard of such a mission. To top it off, there is no record of a Josiah Balfour on a flight to Peru in the last five years.”
Plummer looked at her with raised eyebrows. “And exactly how did you find all this out?”
Momentarily flummoxed, Greta still hadn’t come up with a cover story. She settled for the best and most commonly used answer.
“Sorry, James. I can’t tell you the source right now, but it can all be double-checked later. The important thing for the moment is that the pious Reverend Balfour has been scamming his congregation into donating money for a nonexistent overseas mission and trips that never happened.
“And that’s not all.” Greta paused, heightening the drama in her tale. She placed the printout of Roman Pererra on the desk.
“Josiah Balfour is a name change. He was originally Roman Pererra, a man with a rap sheet who served time in prison. I went to talk with the honorable Pastor Pererra, and he showed me the paperwork for completing his parole and changing his name. He gave me a heart-tugging story of how he’d found God and was making amends for his earlier life. I bought it all—hook, line, and sinker.”
Plummer squinted at the photo on the page, then read the text.
“Well, fuck me. I’ve met Balfour several times. He came off as a little too ‘saved’ for me, but I always figured him sincere.”
Plummer stood and paced in his cubicle, which meant “take two steps and turn.” “Jesus Christ, Greta. I hope you’re wrong about this one. He’s a pillar of the community, so you’d better have all your facts straight if you pursue it.”
“I’m going to need your help, James. You have sources and access I don’t have.”
“I was afraid that was coming up next. Shit, Greta. We’re spinning our wheels on the Toompas case, and you pull this out of thin air. I certainly don’t want to let Wallace know about anything until we have solid proof to show him.”
