Hour of Reckoning (Donatella Book 2)

by Demetrius Jackson

  This is where he was going to put his foot down. This is where he would make his stand. Sal loved this set, this chair. He had written many of his best articles sitting at this table, in this chair and she couldn’t – she wouldn’t simply take that away from him… too. There weren’t many hills Sal was willing to die on, but she would have to remove this dinette set over his cold, stiff, dead –

  “Everything ok Sal?”

  “Uh!?”

  “You have an intense, ready to do war look plastered over your face,” Jane said adding sugar into her coffee. Sal didn’t realize she had entered the room.

  “Yea, yea. Everything is ok. Just thinking about my next article.”

  “Oh yea, something good and juicy? Can I get a sneak peek?”

  “No. I’m still at the beginning stages. Nothing worth sharing yet.”

  Jane gave him a sarcastic smirk and said, “Ok. Keep your secret. Remember, I’m not writing anymore. We are on the same side. Anyway, I’m about to head out. I have a few errands I need to run. I think I’ll run past the furniture store and look for a new dinette. I think it’s time we replace this one.”

  Sal could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. Ready to stand his ground – ready to hash this one out, Jane continued, “By the way, I found this paper in your coat pocket. I figured while I was out, I could take it to the cleaners. The paper, or should I say shreds of paper didn’t look like much, but I figured I would ask before I tossed them.”

  She reached her hand out, handing Sal a handful of torn up paper. It dawned on Sal that it was the paper from the office of Veronica King. He had almost forgotten about it. He took the paper from Jane saying, “Thanks”, before thinking back to that day.

  Returning to his car after avoiding both the GIS security team and the K-9 unit patrolling the building, Sal’s heart pound audibly through his chest.

  “Still cutting it too close,” he chided. He retrieved the scraps of paper extracted from the trashcan of Veronica King. He placed the pieces on the seat next to him and stared at the contents.

  Sal maneuvered the pieces of this shredded puzzle around; however, it quickly dawned on him that there were pieces missing.

  He reached back in his pocket – empty. He realized the vital pieces to complete the puzzle lay within the wastebasket.

  “Do I chance another break-in to retrieve the missing pieces when she starts the conference?” he asked himself out loud.

  No, he thought to himself. I’m not as young as I once was, and they are likely already on high alert. At that moment he decided he would take the scraps back to his home and unscramble the mystery there.

  However, when he arrived home, Jane had been measuring the dimensions of the eating area and broached the subject of replacing the dinette.

  Her words brought him out of his trance, “Don’t mention it.” She leaned over and kissed him fully on the lips. He could smell her perfume and he could taste her nude lips. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  And with a whirl and a stride to the door, she was out of the apartment.

  “You’re not taking my dinette,” he said out loud to Jane’s departed aroma.

  Sal looked down to the scraps of paper in his hand. He moved his laptop to the side and lay the scraps down one by one. As he did, he quickly recalled that there were some pieces missing and he thought back to sitting in Veronica’s office chair. There were a couple of pieces left in the trashcan that he was not able to retrieve. He would make do with what he had.

  Aligning the paper as best he could, he only made out letters on the two lines of text. The top line read “Br” followed by “ley”. The second line read “Wh” followed by “he?”. He chuckled inwardly. He had some letters, and that was basically it. He figured he would play around with it for a while since writing was obviously a no-go at this hour. He looked up one last time toward the door, “You’re not taking my dinette!”

  Chapter 12

  February 5th – 3:15 p. m.

  P atti Jones walked out of the operating room with a distressed demeanor accentuating her face. Her brows stitched together as if she was in deep contemplation. Beth, who had only seen this look on Patti once before, knew without the necessity of words that something had gone wrong.

  Beth first encountered Patti when they both joined the nursing staff at Good Sam. At the time, Patti didn’t say much and went about executing the job she was tasked to undertake. However, during each of their interactions Beth knew under that calm facade that Patti was a brilliant woman. It all stemmed from the manner in which she carried herself into her deliberate mannerisms.

  Over the course of six months Beth and Patti grew closer. Beth wouldn’t characterize what they had as a friendship, but the two certainly had a mutual respect for one another. For Beth, she saw Patti as a wealth of knowledge. A knowledge that span the entire spectrum of medicine and operational procedures. There were many times that Beth pondered why Patti had not become a surgeon but decided she would leave that question unasked.

  For Patti, she saw Beth as a more than capable nurse. Someone who knew her job and the job of all those in the room. She was flexible and Patti enjoyed the conversations the two had during their time together. She saw Beth as someone she could trust, and trust was something that didn’t come easy for Patti.

  As Patti began walking toward her, Beth thought back to the first time she had seen the expression Patti currently wore on her face.

  It was during a routine delivery in which a couple had agreed to be a surrogate for a friend of the wife. Throughout the pregnancy everything was going fine. The baby’s vitals and measurements were always on point. The couple was excited to be going through this adventure, and the mother-to-be was grateful for the family agreeing to aide in her desire to have a child. However, as the time drew near for the baby to be born a change had overcome the dynamic of this trio.

  It would come out later in the court proceedings that the mother-to-be overheard the surrogates talking about having a family of their own one day soon. She mistook this to mean they planned on keeping the baby she had dreamed about for so long and was now only a few weeks away.

  Patti and Beth were working in the delivery room that faithful day. The surrogate was proceeding through the birthing process as well as could be expected. Her husband was in the room coaching her along and doing a wonderful job keeping her calm and focused. These two were meant to perform this duty and they were performing it well. Beth could still hear the last words the doctor spoke.

  “I can see the head, let me rotate slightly to allow the shoulders through.”

  At that moment a commotion broke out. The mother-to-be walked into the delivery room. A placid look had overcome her face as if she was wearing a mask. She walked up behind the doctor, scalpel in hand, and plunged it into his neck once, twice. The doctor instinctively reached for his neck, losing contact with the baby. Patti saw this; however, she was too slow to react. The baby’s shoulders now free plunged headfirst toward the ground.

  Patti rushed to the baby who was still connected to the mother via the umbilical cord. She found the sterilized scissors, cut the cord, and rushed the baby over to the waiting cart. She searched for the pulse but she didn’t feel anything. The baby had not cried once and seemed lifeless.

  The mother-to-be, continuing her murderous systematic killing spree, took out the surrogate’s husband next followed by the surrogate herself. Beth, in an instance of clarity, looked over at Patti who was doing everything to revive the baby. She saw her stop with a grave look on her face. It was in that moment, surrounded by death circling around them, Beth knew the baby was not alive. When Patti raised her head, her brows were stitched together intent on her next course of action.

  The mother-to-be searched out her next victim now that the surrogate couple had been dispatched, she set her eyes on Beth. She methodically made her approach, shoulders heaving from the exertion of death she left in her wake. Beth, who had been frozen in place, knew this wou
ld be the end; however, before the woman could attack, she fell face first into the ground at Beth’s feet. In her back, between the shoulder blades were the sterile scissors Patti used to cut the umbilical cord.

  Patti broke her recollection, “Amy and the baby didn’t make it. Can you break the news to the Dells? Let them know we will start the acquisition process as soon as possible.”

  “And if they ask for a refund of their deposit?”

  “Kindly remind them that we have a no refund policy. We will find them a suitable replacement. Should they balk, remind them of everything that is at stake. That should cool their jets for a while.”

  Beth nodded her head.

  “In the meantime, I’m headed to my office and would appreciate not being disturbed. Once things are settled with the Dells, please ensure the operating room receives a thorough cleaning.”

  “I’ll see that it’s taken care of within the hour.”

  Patti began to walk down the hall, footfalls silent in the corridor. She couldn’t believe she lost the baby. He was only the second baby she had lost and this feeling stung. She needed to go into her office, clear her head, and pick herself up for tomorrow.

  She pushed open the partially closed door to her office, stepped in and swung the door behind her as she walked toward her desk. With practiced precision the door slid closed barely registering a click once completely closed.

  “Patti Jones,” came the hushed voice from within the office. “You’re back much earlier than I expected. Did something go wrong with your – extraction?”

  She froze, back still turned to the voice deciding what she should do. Not one to scare easily, Patti sat down in her chair and turned to face the stranger.

  “You seem to have me at a disadvantage,” she said giving the visitor a quick once-over. “You know my name, but I don’t know who I have the pleasure of speaking with.”

  “Names are unimportant at this moment, but if you need to call a name for any reason during this conversation you can call me, Amy.”

  Patti’s skin suddenly felt damp, her mind racing. For the stranger, she kept the same stoic external demeanor; however, inside she wondered if she had been caught. Scenario after scenario raced through her mind on what she should do next, yet nothing yielded a satisfactory outcome.

  “Ok Amy, how can I help you today?”

  “Before we get to what you can do to help me, let me start off with a story. Do you mind?” the woman asked crossing her feet on the top of Patti’s desk.

  “Sure, go right ahead.”

  “In the early 1900s a woman by the name of Georgia Tann began a practice that in today’s society would have her arrested before any transaction would have been completed. You see, Ms. Tann operated the Tennessee Children’s Home Society. Are you familiar with this Home Society, Ms. Jones?”

  Patti shook her head.

  “The Tennessee Children’s Home Society was an adoption agency that was founded by Ms. Tann. She operated this agency in Memphis, Tennessee for a number of years. During her years of operation, she matched hundreds, thousands, of babies with perspective parents.”

  Patti could feel the damp feeling spreading across her body.

  “There was something peculiar about Ms. Tann’s clientele – they were all rich. Well rich in the standards of the early 1900s. Though some of her more, shall we say, famous clients would still be rich by today’s standards. But that wasn’t the only thing peculiar about Ms. Tann and her adoption agency. The babies, infants, and toddlers that she provided for adoption all came from poor, underprivileged families.”

  Patti shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

  “Now I know what you are thinking. Sounds like a win for everyone involved. The adopted child would grow up in a more stable environment, the adopting family had a child they wanted and would care for, and the family giving up the child for adoption knew the baby, infant, toddler, was in a much better place.”

  “But,” she said waving her index finger while shaking her head, “That isn’t exactly how the story goes. You see Patti, I can call you Patti, right? The poor, underprivileged families had not agreed to put their child up for adoption. In fact, in many cases the child was stolen from the family. Some under the guise that they were working for the Department of Social Services and that they had received calls about a child being in danger.

  There were times when the child was taken from in front of the house while they played, and worst of all,” she said turning her gaze toward Patti and staring her straight in the eyes, “There were times when the baby was taken at the time of birth.”

  She let this declaration hang in the air before continuing.

  “Of course, the parents of the kidnapped children went to the local authorities but because of their class, their status in life, they were not given the time of day and no one would challenge Ms. Georgia Tann. She went on in this matter for decades, trafficking thousands of kids through her adoption agency.”

  “Fascinating story, but I don’t see your point,” Patti said in an effort to gain some control in this encounter.

  “The point, Patti,” she said with a bit more menace in her tone. “My organization has been watching you for a number of years. And I must say, you are an upgraded version of Georgia Tann. None of your parents live to see the sun again once they enter your operating room. I must say you have perfected the art of the perfect crime. Not to mention your clientele is much more luxurious than anything Ms. Tann could have ever had. But alas, we have reached the point in the story in which I lay out what you can do for me.”

  Patti quickly realized this woman knew more about her operation than she would have thought possible. She had always been so careful – so meticulous. Within the span of moments, this woman was threatening her operation – her freedom.

  “I have a project that I’m working on in which I need someone with your skillset. While this may be a one-time task, I’m willing to offer you much more in return for your cooperation. Please understand, I’m not going to make you agree to my terms; however,” she placed a sealed folder on the desk.

  “I’d prefer for the contents of this folder, which is a summary of our discussion here today, never see the light of day.” She slid the folder over to Patti. “Feel free to open it, but I assure you there isn’t anything in there that you do not have first-hand knowledge of.”

  Patti looked down at the folder and then she glared back at the woman sitting across from her in the visitor’s chair. Once again, scenario after scenario raced through her mind. And once again, she didn’t see an out. Realizing a checkmate when she saw it, she simply asked.

  “What – do you need – from me?”

  February 5th – 6:00 p.m.

  Jasmyn watched from her gourmet kitchen as Marcellous and Donatella spoke in an animated fashion. Marcellous’ normal laid-back demeanor, can be enticed to step out of its comfort zone when discussing a topic he's passionate about - and whatever they were discussing had him riled up. His hands are always a dead giveaway. The more he tries to argue his point of view, the higher his hands go above his torso.

  From her vantage point she couldn't discern the topic of discussion, but she figured she better go and save Donatella. Then again, knowing the FBI woman, it might be Marcellous who needed the saving.

  She walked back into the family room, the smell of cinnamon potpourri tickling her nose. She raised her Yeti to her lips and took a sip of water, “So tell us,” she said interrupting. “Any new cases you can share with us?”

  Donatella pondered how much she would share with the couple and decided she would only hold back the details of the case.

  "Terri Buckley has reemerged from the shadows and is playing a reprehensible game. She has already murdered a civilian, and we're pretty sure she is responsible for what happened at Global Insights."

  Jasmyn, fighting back a surge of morning sickness, chimed in, “It's unbelievable the lengths she will go through in the name of revenge.”

 
; Donatella flashed back to the Smithville case as Jasmyn continued.

  “There is way too much crime and murder in this world, heck even in our city.” Just a couple of weeks ago Samantha, the receptionist at my OB’s office, was murdered in her own apartment.

  Donatella shot Jasmyn a quizzical look.

  Taken back by the intensity of the glare, Jasmyn asked, “Did I say something wrong?”

  “By chance was the receptionist full name Samantha Taylor?”

  “Yea! How did you –”

  “Terri was the one responsible for that murder. While she wasn't the one who pulled the trigger, she is the one that orchestrated the events that led to her demise.”

  “Oh my God,” Jasmyn said hand raising to cover her mouth.

  Donatella didn't believe in coincidences and made a mental note to contact BJ and check the connection between Samantha and Terri. She chided herself for not thinking of it sooner.

  “Terri is unstable, laser focused, and brilliant. Every step of the way she has been in front of this investigation. While there is a part of me that believes her endgame is set on my destruction, this feels different.”

  “In what way?” asked Marcellous.

  “The killing of Samantha and the massacre at GIS have nothing to do with me. I think something else is driving her actions this time. I don't see how these pieces fit together and her plan is not clear yet.”

  Donatella thought back to The Thinker and how that puzzle pieces didn't seem to fit either. Yet she was leaving signs of it as her calling card. A feeling of unease began to swell within Donatella. A feeling she didn't like, a feeling that worried her.

  She looked over at the Thompsons, and her godchild that Jasmyn was carrying. It had only been a few months since Terri tried to harm Donatella by going after another one of her godchildren. While she felt it was unlikely Terri was targeting Jasmyn, she wasn’t willing to take any chances.