Chapter 33 - Confronting the Crusader
Within forty-five minutes, Tom had contacted the Concord Police Department. Because Arthur Pendelton had fled the scene of Pete's shop, an all-points bulletin was issued for the blue sedan across Cabarrus and Mecklenburg counties.
We didn't have to wait long. Pendelton hadn't fled back across the state line. Blinded by self-righteous zeal and likely coached by Evelyn via speakerphone, he had driven directly to the public hospital where I worked, attempting to confront me in the imaging pavilion.
Fortunately, hospital security was already briefed on high alert. The moment the disheveled, gray-haired man stormed through the outpatient lobby clutching a manila folder and demanding to see "the director of radiology who starved her mother," security subdued him peacefully and escorted him into a private consultation room until the police arrived.
Tom and I drove directly to the hospital. Deputy Reynolds, Tom’s trusted colleague, was already outside the holding room, leaning against the doorframe with a thick file under his arm.
"He’s in there, Tom. Mild-mannered old guy, but he’s wound tight as a spring. Keeps quoting Proverbs and swearing he’s doing God’s work to rescue an invalid," Reynolds reported quietly.
"Let me speak to him first," I said.
Tom nodded, placing a reassuring hand on my back. "I'll be right behind you. If he raises his voice, we shut it down."
I pushed open the door. Sitting at the small laminate table was Arthur Pendelton. He wore a rumpled corduroy jacket and wire-rimmed glasses, clutching a worn leather Bible against his chest like a breastplate. His hands were shaking with high-octane indignation.
"You must be Jocelyn," Pendelton said, his tone dripping with practiced moral condemnation as he looked up. "I hope you are proud of yourself, young lady. Your poor mother is coughing up blood in a drafty room with no heating, crying herself to sleep while you sit in a mansion bought with the trust money she worked forty years to give you!"
I took a slow breath, pulled a chair out, and sat directly across from him. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't look angry. I opened the folder Nathan had prepared and laid it flat on the table before him.
"Mr. Pendelton, did Evelyn tell you she was an invalid?" I asked calmly.
"She has spinal stenosis! She has heart failure!" he snapped, his jaw trembling. "Her doctor in Spartanburg says she won't survive the winter without twenty-four-hour specialized nursing care! And you two sisters refuse to pay fifty dollars a week for her medications!"
"Mr. Pendelton," I continued evenly, turning the first document toward him. "This is the certified medical intake report from the Federal Bureau of Prisons, signed three months ago upon her release. Evelyn Parker has mild, well-managed hypertension and zero mobility restrictions. She walked four miles a day on the prison track."
Pendelton blinked, adjusting his glasses, his eyes darting across the medical seal. "That... that’s government paperwork. They lie about inmates—"
"This is the federal criminal indictment from the United States District Court," I interrupted, flipping to the second document. "Count one: wire fraud. Count two: bank fraud. Count three: aggravated identity theft. She forged my name and my sister's name to steal emergency pandemic funds to buy luxury vehicles and pay country club memberships."
Pendelton’s mouth fell open slightly. "No... she said she was framed by her ex-husband Greg..."
"Greg was convicted too," Tom said, stepping forward, his towering uniform casting a long, commanding shadow over the table. "And this third document is the civil settlement from Mecklenburg County. Evelyn stole three hundred and eighty thousand dollars of life insurance and trust funds left to these girls by their deceased father. She kept every dime for eight years while her own daughter Krista was evicted with three toddlers and had to sleep in the cab of an old pickup truck."
I leaned forward, looking straight into Arthur Pendelton’s bewildered eyes. "Did she mention the three children she left on the sidewalk, Mr. Pendelton? Did she mention that she came to my porch when my newborn was eight days old, shoved past me, and told me to take my baby to a motel so she could move into my house?"
The room went dead silent. Arthur Pendelton stared down at the crisp court seals, the official signatures of federal judges, and the clear, undeniable trail of theft and deception. The pious fire that had fueled his crusade drained from his face, leaving him looking hollow, frail, and utterly humiliated.
"She... she told me she was a retired Sunday school teacher," Pendelton stammered, his voice dropping to a fragile whisper. "She told me you were cold-hearted atheists who threw her away because she rebuked your lifestyle... She had me cash three hundred dollars from my savings yesterday to buy her groceries and gas..."
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"She played you, Arthur," I said, my voice softening with genuine pity. "Just like she played Greg, just like she played Krista, and just like she tried to play me. She uses good men and gentle hearts as battering rams. And right now, you are facing criminal charges for trespass, stalking, and harassment in two separate counties because of her lies."
Pendelton dropped his head into his trembling hands, a broken sob rattling his chest. "Dear Lord... what have I done?"
