“It’s okay,” he said, putting an arm around her. “I’ll be right here and I’ll help you get through it.”
“I’m not used to you being this nice,” she said, then realized that was a terrible thing to have admitted.
He grunted. “Take a picture, it will last longer.”
“That sounds more like you. I’m sorry, I feel like I’ve lost my edit chip somehow.”
“It’s the stress, it’s keeping you from being able to filter your thoughts and actions as well. It’s okay. You’re usually so nice and proper it will be refreshing to have you be a little cruder. Maybe I’ll get some curse words out of you before the night is over.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
He laughed. “See, you will be okay.”
She hoped he was right. Together they walked back into the house. The officers that glanced at her looked sympathetic which was better than judgmental but was somehow still hard to take. It made her that much more aware that there was something wrong with her.
And everyone here knows it.
Jeremiah was in the writing room talking with a uniformed officer whose nametag said Liam. She winced when she saw that Jeremiah’s cheek was still red where she had struck him.
Jeremiah turned, saw her, and started toward her. When he was in front of her he started to reach out then checked himself and looked at Mark.
“It’s okay, you can touch her, she’s not going to break,” Mark said.
Jeremiah nodded and reached out and hugged her.
She leaned into his chest and fought against starting to cry all over again.
“It’s okay,” she heard him whisper.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and felt herself shudder. “I thought something had happened to you.”
“I’m so sorry I scared you.”
She nodded, unable to say anything else around the lump in her throat.
“I’ll give you two a minute and then I want to show Cindy what you found,” Mark said.
Cindy couldn’t help but think that Mark was crazy. It was going to take more than a minute for her to be even remotely okay enough to be able to stand on her own.
Jeremiah locked eyes with Mark and the detective nodded before heading toward the master bedroom. He returned his attention to Cindy. She had her head buried in his chest and he was holding her up. He would gladly hold her up all night if it would help her.
His heart was breaking for her. He had been a fool not to see this coming. Mark hadn’t seemed at all surprised. Then again, he saw people living through horrific situations all the time. Most of Jeremiah’s counseling duties had nothing to do with helping people survive the kind of horror Cindy had lived through.
“We’re going to get through this,” he reassured her.
He felt a slight motion, he hoped it was a nod. He rested his chin on the top of her head and closed his eyes, wishing he could take the pain away. He felt a surge of guilt, but he had to remind himself that he hadn’t brought this nightmare on her. What had happened to her in Hawaii wasn’t his fault and could have, probably would have, happened even if she had never met him.
All he could do was be there for her, be kind and listen and help her get through this.
“It’s going to be okay, I promise.”
This time he knew she nodded her head which relieved him a little bit.
Around them the police officers continued to do their jobs. Finally after another minute he felt Cindy begin to straighten. He let her push away from him when she was ready.
Her eyes were red and puffy and he fought the urge to wipe the tears from her cheeks. He would do anything to wipe the haunted look from her eyes and to make her smile again. She stared at him, so vulnerable, so raw, and he couldn’t stand it. He needed to make it better.
He started to lean down toward her and then froze as he realized what he had been about to do. She didn’t seem to realize, just kept staring at him with that same lost look. He could feel panic creeping over him and for the first time in a very long time he had absolutely no idea what to do.
“You’re looking better,” Mark said.
Jeremiah flinched and Cindy turned away to face Mark, dashing away the tears from under her eyes.
“I am doing a bit better,” she said.
Her voice sounded stronger.
But Jeremiah had lost his.
Her legs were steady and holding her up on their own now.
His were about to collapse.
She was putting on a brave face, struggling to pretend, to make everything okay.
Jeremiah was certain he would never be okay ever again.
“So, are you ready to see what the rabbi found?” Mark asked cheerfully.
“Yes, I’m ready,” she said.
“Come with me.”
Mark turned and left the room. Cindy followed him.
Jeremiah was rooted to the ground but his eyes followed until she was lost to sight.
His entire world was collapsing around him. And she didn’t even know. She didn’t realize what had just happened. She had no clue how near she had come to disaster.
But Jeremiah knew. And he knew everything that it would have meant. He needed space. He needed to leave the house and get away from everyone and everything. He needed to be able to center himself until he had control over his own actions again. He needed this because he knew what Cindy did not.
Jeremiah had been about to kiss her.
6
Officers were carrying furniture out of the bedroom and Mark gestured for Cindy to wait a moment while they finished. She leaned against the wall and a minute later they carried carpet and padding out.
“Okay, wait until you see this,” Mark said, a huge grin on his face that she could tell was completely genuine. Whatever it was he was truly excited for her to see it.
She stepped forward, looked into the room and then just stared, slack-jawed, struggling to comprehend what she was seeing.
“I know, right?” Mark said.
The entire floor looked like it was made of gold with ornate carvings toward the edges and semi-precious stones scattered throughout. Light from the ceiling was reflected all along the surface and it almost seemed to shimmer.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Is it gold?” she asked.
“It looks like it, but the theory is that it’s actually amber.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, the rabbi has a theory that this is a piece of the Amber Room.”
“What’s the Amber Room?” Cindy asked. She felt like she’d heard the name once a longtime ago, it had a vague familiarity to it in that way, but she didn’t know anything beyond that.
“It was a cultural treasure plundered by the Nazis when they invaded Russia,” Jeremiah said behind her.
She jumped slightly, startled to realize he was standing behind her and she hadn’t known it.
“Really?” she asked.
“Yes, they stole it from the Catherine Palace in Pushkin. The room, made out of amber and completed with jewels was originally a gift to Peter the Great to celebrate peace between Russia and Prussia in 1716. It’s one of the most famous art treasures looted during the war that’s never been recovered.”
“That’s amazing, but what’s a piece of it doing here?” Cindy breathed, unable to take her eyes off of it.
“That would be the million dollar question,” Mark said.
Cindy continued to stare at it for another minute and then asked. “What are you going to do with it?”
“We need to box it up and send it to a lab for testing and authentication if that’s possible,” Mark said. “We can’t leave it here.”
She nodded, feeling disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to see it again. It was a truly magnificent sight and for a just a few moments it had made her forget about everything else.
“Okay, time for you to go home and get some rest while we take care of this,” Mar
k said at last.
She nodded, grateful that Jeremiah had called her to come see this despite what had happened because of it.
Mark had gotten a late start in the morning, oversleeping his alarm. In the old days Paul would have called him and woke him up. Sometimes it was the simple things about having a partner that he missed. As it was Traci woke him up to let him know that she would be having lunch with Cindy. He was hoping it would do them both some good. Traci had been through so much in the last year it would do her good to talk to somebody other than him and he was sure that she’d be able to help Cindy a great deal as well.
He made it into the station and sat down at his desk. He’d had four cups of coffee so far and he still felt like something the cat had dragged in. He wiped a hand across his eyes as he tried to get himself to focus.
“Come on, you can pull it together,” he encouraged himself.
There were a couple of phone messages for him, nothing that seemed urgent, but he figured he’d get them out of the way first. He’d just hung up from the last one when Liam stopped by his desk.
“You’re out of uniform,” Mark noticed. He hadn’t meant it to sound critical, he was just commenting on what he was seeing, but still Liam looked flustered.
“It’s my day off,” the officer explained.
“Then why are you here? Don’t you have somewhere better to be? Someone to be with?”
“My girlfriend is working until five and I was up late thinking about some stuff.”
Mark wasn’t sure where this was heading, but he knew for a fact that he was too tired to deal with it, whatever it was.
Liam had an envelope in his hand and Mark pointed to it. “What’s that?”
Liam handed it over. “This just came for you.”
“Unless it’s a signed confession by the killer or a map showing the location of Jimmy Hoffa’s body, I’m not interested.”
Liam’s eyes widened and Mark felt bad. With a sigh he took the envelope and tore it open. Inside was an art auction catalogue. He dropped it on his desk in disgust.
Liam glanced at it. “I didn’t take you as an art collector.”
“I’m not,” Mark snapped. “It’s just a little dig from an art dealer’s relatives to remind me that even though he was killed about a year ago we still haven’t caught whoever was responsible.”
“I don’t understand,” Liam confessed.
“Tell you what? It’s your day off, let’s go get some coffee. I’ll tell you about this and you’ll tell me whatever it is you’ve been thinking about.”
There was a coffee shop across the street from the station. He and Paul had always gone there because strangely none of the other cops did. He and Liam walked across and it amused him that the younger cop insisted they use the crosswalk.
“You’d honestly ticket someone for jaywalking?”
“Yes, I would,” Liam said.
“You’d ticket a cop for jaywalking?”
“Absolutely.”
They ordered their coffee and sat down at a table in the corner.
“You’re that much of a stickler for the rules?” Mark asked, unwilling to drop it.
“It’s my job to be,” Liam answered simply.
“Then maybe you can answer a question for me,” Mark said.
“I’ll certainly try.”
“How come you’re the only guy in this precinct that will look me in the eyes?”
Liam blinked at him, clearly taken aback by the question. “I-I don’t understand,” he said.
“Sure you do. I screwed up big time back in March. Everyone’s still treating me like a leper because of that, but not you. And yet I find out you’re more hardnosed about the rules than anyone else at the station.”
“It’s my job to uphold the law. It’s not my job to judge people,” Liam said after a minute. “Everyone breaks the law at some point, even if it’s just running a stop sign. I know what you did and I know you’ve suffered because of it. I also know that they let you back on the force. It’s not my job to decide punishment. If I wanted to do that I would have become a lawyer in the hopes of being a judge some day.”
It was Mark’s turn to be surprised. “That’s very enlightened of you,” he said at last.
Liam shrugged. “It’s how I see it. Now will you tell me what you meant about the art auction?”
“Okay,” Mark said, leaning back in his chair. “About a year ago a local art dealer by the name of Mike Haverston was killed in the storage room at his store. My partner and I worked every angle we could for a month but could never catch a break. Let’s just say his kids were less than pleased with our lack of progress. I know they finished probating the will recently, so now it looks like they’re selling off all their father’s stuff. I think they sent me the catalogue as a dig reminding me that I failed their father and them by not catching his killer.”
“As insults go, an auction catalogue is pretty subtle,” Liam noted.
“Yeah, well all of them were pretty snooty and the slightest snub or rude comment was a huge deal in their world. Anyway, it was one of the few cases my partner and I were never able to close.”
“I’m sorry, I know that must be frustrating.”
Mark shrugged. “It is what it is, but then again, I’ve been getting more used to letting people down lately.”
Liam looked like he wanted to argue that point so Mark changed the subject. “So, what did you spend last night thinking about?”
“I looked it up and there are still hundreds of thousands of pieces of art missing from World War II.”
Mark shook his head and whistled. “Wow, that’s a staggering amount of art.”
“And a staggering amount of money. Most of the really famous pieces have been found. The last one to be discovered not that long ago was Raphael’s painting Portrait of a Young Man. It was found in a bank vault somewhere.”
“That’s probably where a lot of that stuff is,” Mark said.
“Maybe, but the Nazis buried a lot of the art and other valuables that they stole in caves, mines, old breweries. A lot of people think there’s still several caches that have gone undiscovered.”
Mark leaned forward. “Did you say breweries?”
“Yes.”
“Heinrich’s parents had a small brewery.”
“Yes. When the Amber Room was stolen in Russia they disassembled it and packed it into 47 large crates. If what we found in his house really is part of it, it’s a very tiny part.”
“And Heinrich might have known where the rest of it was,” Mark said. “And if anyone else guessed his secret that would be worth killing for.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
Mark shook his head. “It’s a good story, but it’s still wild speculation at this point. I mean, what are the odds that what we recovered from that house is actually a piece of the real Amber Room? They have to be astronomical.”
“It’s a long way from where it was last seen to California, but it’s not impossible,” Liam said.
“But if Heinrich actually had this thing, why hide it? Why not go public or sell it on the black market and cash in?”
“Maybe he was trying to and that’s what got him killed.”
Mark rolled his neck, trying to relax the muscles. “We’ll know a lot more when the lab guys come back with information on everything we found yesterday.”
Waiting on the lab’s analysis, waiting on Jeremiah’s translation. It seemed like there was nothing he was going to be able to do except wait.
He hated waiting.
Cindy had seriously contemplated calling in and taking a mental health day. Clearly if there was anyone in need of restoring their mental health it was her. Ultimately, though, she decided against it even though she had had very little sleep. Doing something nice and calm and normal, sticking with her routine, was what she probably needed. She had called Marks’ wife, Traci, on the way in to work and had arranged to meet her for lunch just like she’d promised Mark the nigh
t before.
The office had been blessedly quiet all morning. She left a couple of minutes early for lunch and drove to Rigatoni’s, a small Italian restaurant downtown that she loved.
She walked inside and Traci waved from a table across the room. Cindy headed over and sat down across from her.
“Thanks for meeting me,” she said.
“I was glad to do it,” Traci said, reaching over and patting her hand.
Even though she felt awkward Cindy knew this was a good idea. If anyone could relate to what she was going through it was Traci who herself had been kidnapped almost a year before.
The waitress came and Cindy ordered the chicken fettuccine alfredo like she usually did.
“So, how have you been?” Traci asked once the waitress had left.
Cindy grimaced. “I’m guessing Mark told you about what happened last night.”
Traci nodded. “Believe me, it’s completely understandable.”
“Have you experienced something like that?” Cindy asked.
“No, but I’m really lucky,” Traci said. “Then again, my ordeal was so much shorter than yours, thanks mostly to you. I know Mark kept expecting me to get PTSD. I could still. Some people don’t get it until years afterward. I will tell you, though, that I have nightmares like most people couldn’t believe.”
“You still have them?” Cindy asked.
“At least twice a week. Mark has to wake me up sometimes because I’m screaming and kicking him.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, well, between you and me I think he needs to be kicked every once in a while,” Traci said with a sly smile.
Cindy couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You’re probably right.”
“I am, but don’t you dare tell him I said that.”
“I won’t.”
“Of course, the same can probably be said of most men.”
Cindy thought of her brother, Kyle, whose picture she had routinely thrown darts at for years. “Yeah, my brother could use a good, swift kick somewhere,” she muttered.
Restoreth My Soul (Psalm 23 Mysteries) Page 6
