In the Shadow of Evil

by Robin Caroll

  "I don't buy into the whole God-is-a-loving-God deal."

  She struggled not to let the shock show on her face. "Why not?"

  "Why not? What kind of question is that? Why not?" He ran his fingers through his hair again. "Why do you buy it?"

  Oh, Lord, help me out with the right words. I don't want to offend, but I must share my faith. "Because I believe what Scripture teaches."

  "The Bible?"

  "Yes."

  "One hundred percent?"

  "Yes." The certainty in her heart pounded.

  "Even when your friend died?"

  She clenched her sweating palms together in her lap. Lord, guide my tongue. "Yes. I might not understand why things—bad things—happen, but I believe that God loves us all and won't leave us alone during a tragedy."

  He snorted and rolled his eyes.

  Her heart ached for him more than Mr. James. To be so lost . . .

  A nurse squeaked into the waiting room. Maddox was on his feet in an instant. "Margie?"

  "He's fine. We've got him moved up to the cardiac ward. You can see him now. I'll take you up."

  Maddox turned back to Layla. "I hope your friend's okay."

  "Thanks. I'll be praying for your father."

  He paused, as if wanting to say something but wasn't sure what. Then he gave a nod and followed the nurse.

  Layla let out a long breath and then bent her head to pray. For Mr. James. For Ms. Betty.

  And for Maddox Bishop's salvation.

  SIXTEEN

  "Our life is made by the death of others."

  —LEONARDO DA VINCI

  "MADDOX." HOUSTON WHISPERED AS he gave Maddox a slight nudge.

  Bolting upright in the chair, Maddox automatically reached for his gun. "What?" Houston knew better than to sneak up on a sleeping cop wearing a firearm.

  "Shh. Keep it down. You'll wake your dad."

  Maddox glanced at the hospital bed. Pop snored softly while the machines attached to him continued their monotonous beeping. The oxygen tank gave off a slight hum. Pop had a little color back to his face. He looked . . . peaceful.

  "Come on." Houston tiptoed to the door and stepped into the hallway. Maddox followed.

  "Margie says your dad's doing good."

  "Yeah. That's what the cardiologist says." Exhaustion tugged at Maddox, enticing him back to sleep. He yawned.

  "You look beat. Why don't I take you home so you can sleep a bit?"

  "I'm fine." Maddox glanced at his watch. Two in the afternoon already? He'd barely closed his eyes once Pop was settled. They'd given Pop something to relax him that had knocked him out. Maddox had just wanted to rest for a bit until George returned. "What's the latest on the case?"

  "Unit finished at Taylor Construction. They don't think they recovered anything useful, but they'll still process it."

  "No prints?" Man, he really needed a strong cup of coffee. Maybe the hospital cafeteria would have some.

  "Tech says looks like glove smudges."

  "Somebody was smart."

  "Or just careful." Houston shrugged. "You plan to break into a business, steal records, and trash the place, you probably think to wear gloves."

  "Yeah." Maddox yawned again. The fogginess hovered in his brain.

  "Come on." Houston grabbed his arm and led him to the elevators.

  "Where're we going?"

  "To find coffee. Black. Hot. And as strong as we can get."

  They'd been partners way too long when Houston started reading his mind. But Maddox was desperate enough for java that he followed Houston into the elevator. "So, they think they got nothing at the site?"

  "Didn't even get any fibers. They got zilch."

  The elevator dinged and they followed the signs to the cafeteria. Maddox picked up the aroma of java, and his mouth practically watered. And then the enticing scent of fried chicken wafted to him. His stomach growled.

  Houston laughed. "Maybe you should eat something too." He patted his own stomach. "I think I should join you. Make sure you take care of yourself."

  Maddox shook his head. "Sacrificing for a friend. How nice of you." He chuckled under his breath as he headed to the line serving the fried chicken.

  The line moved quickly and they soon sat alone at a table for four. Maddox took a large gulp of coffee. It nearly scalded his throat, but it certainly woke him up. Didn't taste too bad either.

  "Now," Houston said between bites, "I'll call Layla and let her know she's clear to go back into Taylor Construction."

  "Think we ought to request a couple of drive-bys for the next few days?"

  "Already talked with the chief of police. He'll have officers drive by a couple of times each night. Just to monitor the place."

  Maddox swallowed the chicken. It smelled better than it tasted, but beggars couldn't be choosy. "Good. What else?"

  "Thought maybe if you were interested, we'd head over to Second Chances and talk with Darren Watkins. And Alana." Houston took a sip of sweet tea. "Or if you'd rather stay here, I can go alone."

  Margie had told him the medicine they'd given Pop would keep him asleep most of the day and into the night. Seemed silly to sit here just to watch him sleep. But what if something happened? What if he had another heart attack?

  "I can go by myself. No biggie." Houston swiped his mouth with the napkin.

  "No. I'll go with you. Pop's sleeping and will be for some time. Besides, George said he'd be back this afternoon. He'll let me know if anything changes."

  "Then let's get to it."

  Maddox stood and lifted his tray. "We haven't left yet?"

  Thirty minutes later Maddox sat beside Houston as they pulled in front of Second Chances retreat. He'd called George and explained he was leaving. George assured him that he was on his way up to the hospital to sit with Pop. Maddox made sure the nurses had his cell phone number . . . just in case.

  "What did Layla say when you called and told her she could get into her office?" Maddox hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. Not as a subject in a case, but as a person. A woman. With soft, caring eyes and a gentle tone.

  "I think I woke her up." Houston parked and turned off the engine. "She sounded as groggy as you did when I caught you sleeping in your dad's room."

  "Dozing. I was dozing."

  Houston opened the car door. "Yeah, whatever. You were snoring almost as loud as your dad."

  "You're delusional." Maddox shut the car door and reached the front entrance to Second Chances before Houston. "And slow."

  "Right." Houston slipped into the door Maddox had opened and rushed to the desk.

  "May I help you?" a perky redhead asked.

  Maddox pulled out his badge and flashed it to the lady. "We need to speak with Darren Watkins, please."

  The redhead's eyes widened and her jaw dropped an inch. She swallowed, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head. "I-I . . ." She pressed a button on the phone system. "Just a moment, please."

  Maddox faced Houston and lifted a shoulder.

  "Officer?"

  Maddox turned back to the redhead. "Yes?"

  "It'll be just a moment. If you'll have a seat." She waved toward the little grouping of three chairs by the door.

  He nodded but took only a couple of steps away from the reception desk. Finally he was awake. Ready to work. Ready to solve the case.

  "Detectives."

  Both spun at Alana's voice. Her shoes made tap-tap-tapping sounds against the floor as she crossed to them. "May I help you?"

  Maddox tightened his jaw and glared at the redhead. Had he been unclear in asking for Darren Watkins?

  "Ms. Taylor. Nice to see you again." Houston smiled and shook her hand. "We need to speak to Darren Watkins."

  "May I ask what this is in regards to?"

  As if she didn't know. Maddox crossed his arms over his chest. "An ongoing murder investigation."

  "I see." She straightened and gave a slight nod to the redhead. "He'll be here in just a moment."

&n
bsp; Fielding questions? What'd she have to hide? Or was she protecting someone?

  Maddox dropped his hands to his sides. "Well, while we're waiting, why don't you tell us where you were between eleven thirty and midnight on Friday?"

  Her expression went slack. "E-excuse me?"

  "Friday night. Between eleven thirty and midnight. Where were you?" He stepped closer, deliberately invading her personal space.

  "I-I was at home."

  "Alone?" He leaned forward.

  She took a step back. "Y-yes. Alone."

  "Can anyone verify that?"

  "I-I talked to my fiancé around that time." She blinked several times. "Yes. Cameron was in California at a software conference. He called me when he got back from supper. That was about nine thirty, West Coast time, so about eleven thirty here." She swallowed. Hard.

  "We'll verify that with your phone records."

  She raised her chin and met Maddox's stare. "Feel free."

  "Alana?"

  All three shifted to see the young man straggling out of the hall. "You wanted to see me?"

  "Darren, these detectives are here to see you." Her voice was so soft, almost like Layla's.

  Maddox gave himself a mental shake. He wasn't going down that path. He had a job to do. "Mr. Watkins, we need to speak with you." He glanced at Alana, then back to Watkins. "Privately."

  "You can use the conference room." Alana didn't back down an inch. In that moment he spied a glimpse of Layla in her.

  "Thank you." Houston motioned in the direction of the room they'd met in before with Alana and Layla. "This way."

  Maddox gave Alana one last glance before following his partner and Watkins. Her face was pale. Her eyes wide. She was definitely worried about their talk with Watkins.

  And Maddox intended to find out why.

  SUCH A MESS.

  Layla emptied the vacuum for the third time. It was unreal how much dirt she'd missed when resetting the potted plants throughout the reception area. The rug in the entryway would have to be professionally cleaned.

  There. Done. She put the cleaner back in the closet and turned to the reception desk. It looked so bare without the computer. Scratches covered the top of the desk where whoever had stolen her computer scraped it against the soft wood.

  She propped open the front door despite the cold. The office smelled . . . violated. And in a way, she could relate. Someone had broken into her office. Destroyed her belongings. Damaged her property.

  There was no other way to describe how she felt except violated.

  Layla glanced over the office area. The insurance adjuster had come as soon as she'd called. After his note taking and picture snapping, he helped her tape up the broken window the burglar had broken to gain access to the office. She'd have to replace the pane. Something else for her to do this afternoon.

  The copier had been flipped over. No telling how much that would cost to repair if it was broken.

  She swallowed, denying the tears. All her records, gone. Thank the good Lord she had copies at home, but it would take time to duplicate them all. And file them. Although the mess was now gone, the remaining tasks before her seemed too much. Too daunting.

  Slumping onto the edge of the desk, she glanced at the rolling chair sitting lopsided. It would have to be replaced. The wheels had been damaged. The protective pad under the desk had been slashed and would need replacing as well.

  Why would someone do this to her? It was senseless.

  And it infuriated her.

  She stood and headed to her personal office to retrieve the trash bag she'd filled. Whoever did this broke the filing cabinet in her office as well. It'd been locked, so the burglar smashed the wood cabinet. Splinters were imbedded in the carpet behind her desk. She'd have to remember not to go shoeless for a while.

  She let out a sigh and grabbed the trash bag and went back to the main room. Three other trash bags had been filled from the front room. Although she'd slept for several hours, she was beyond fatigued. The image of her warm, comfortable bed beckoned to her.

  After opening the back door, she lifted the bag toward the Dumpster. Wind lifted her hair. She shivered and hurried to collect the next bag. As she did, something white caught her eye on the steps.

  Slowly, she leaned over the object. A cigarette butt.

  No one she employed smoked. It was one of her rules. Smoking and construction didn't mesh.

  Could the culprit have left this? Maybe there was DNA or something on it.

  Her pulse raced. This could be a clue.

  She finished throwing out the trash bags, then raced back inside. She needed to call Maddox.

  Layla stopped before she grabbed the phone. Maddox's father was in the hospital. His mind was wrapped up in that. She shouldn't bother him.

  What about Detective Wallace? He'd been the one to walk through the office with her. He'd been the one to call and tell her she could go in and start cleaning up. She worried her bottom lip. Maybe she should just call Lincoln Vailes and tell him. If he thought it was important, he could call the detectives.

  Yet Detective Wallace had told her to call if she found anything else missing.

  Layla let out a sigh and reached for the phone. No dial tone. She checked to make sure it was plugged in. It was. Apparently, something else she'd have to replace. She grabbed her cell from her purse and flipped it open. She'd call Detective Wallace as he'd instructed.

  But in the back of her mind, she began to form a list of everyone she knew who smoked.

  SEVENTEEN

  "We are all pencils in the hand of God."

  —MOTHER TERESA

  TWITCHING EYE . . . jostling foot—nervous markers.

  Maddox continued to observe Watkins's body language, watching for the telling signs.

  Watkins crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair in the conference room. "What can I do for you?"

  Houston sat directly across from Watkins, notebook open and pen at the ready. "We understand you work with Bob Johnson, as a sort of work-release apprentice."

  "I did on a couple of jobs. So?"

  Ah, the belligerence. Maddox kept his mouth closed and his face neutral. He and Houston had played this type of interrogation many times. He knew his part.

  "Was one of those jobs the Hope-for-Homes site?"

  "Yeah. Maybe."

  "Maybe?" Houston leaned forward and tapped his pen against the notebook. "Yes or no."

  "Yeah."

  "How did you get along with everyone on the site?"

  Watkins sniffed and shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

  Maddox hadn't missed the sniff. Cocaine or crystal meth had probably been Watkins's drug of choice. Could make someone erratic. Unpredictable. Especially if he already had a history of violence.

  "Anybody there you didn't like or who didn't like you?"

  "Dude, this isn't high school." Watkins wore his sneer like an ill-fitting suit jacket. Almost as telling as his attitude.

  Houston set down his pen, popped his knuckles, then lifted the pen again. A stalling tactic to give Watkins time to think. To stew. To worry.

  By the way the kid bounced his knee, Maddox would say the man was cooked.

  "Were there any problems on-site? Arguments? Disagreements?" Houston blinked slowly at Watkins.

  Maddox swallowed his smile. His partner was an ace at his job.

  "No."

  "So, everyone got along well?"

  "Like one big happy family." Watkins uncrossed his arms and chewed on his thumb's cuticle.

  "I see." Houston snuck a glance at Maddox.

  They had Watkins on edge . . . panicky. Good.

  "What did you think of Dennis LeJeune?" Houston tossed the question out so quickly a Southeastern Conference running back would be jealous.

  "Who?"

  "Dennis LeJeune. The building inspector on the site. What did you think of him?"

  "The old guy?" Watkins shrugged. "Didn't talk to him much."

  Maddo
x kept his expression neutral even though adrenaline spurted through his veins. How did a plumber's apprentice know who the building inspector was?

  "Who did talk to him?"

  "Ms. Layla. Bob. Mr. Keys. Mr. Baxter."

  "What did they talk about?"

  Watkins scowled at Houston. "Like I know? Dude, I was the grunt. Nobody talked to me about anything important."

  "What did they talk to you about?"

  "Just telling me what to do." He gave a condescending glare. "And Bob telling me how to do it."

  "What do you think of Bob Johnson?"

  "He was my boss."

  "But not anymore?" Relentless, Houston never missed a beat. His questions came rapid fire.

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "We finished the job."

  "But that's been some time ago. Surely Mr. Johnson has had other jobs since then."

  "I guess."

  "But you haven't been invited back to work with him?"

  Watkins narrowed his eyes. "Apparently not."

  "I see." Houston staged another long pause and cut a glance at Maddox.

  Game time. He was up.

  Maddox stood and paced until he was right behind Houston. He narrowed his eyes and stared at Watkins. "Where were you Friday night between eleven thirty and midnight?"

  "Dude, Ms. Alana locks the main doors at ten sharp. No one leaves or comes in without her knowing."

  "That doesn't tell me where you were between eleven thirty and midnight on Friday."

  "I was here."

  "Where, here?"

  "At the retreat, man."

  Retreat? That's what they called this place? "Where in particular?"

  "My room."

  "Doing what?" Maddox could be just as relentless as Houston.

  "Sleeping." But Watkins shifted and his gaze dropped and went to the left.

  Lying.

  Maddox gave a deep snort and cocked his head. He'd been told the combination was quite intimidating. "On a Friday night?" He leaned forward, resting his palms on the table. "Let's try that question again, why don't we?"

  "Dude, I was in my room. Sleeping." Again his gaze went down and to the left.