by Sharon Sala
“It’s about time,” Mother Mary T. said.
January frowned. The tone of the nun’s voice seemed anxious.
“Is something wrong?” January asked.
“I don’t know…. Maybe, maybe not. Are you still interested in finding that street preacher?”
Now she had all of January’s attention. “Do you know where he is?”
“Not exactly.”
January’s hopes fell. “Then what?” she asked.
“I might know what he looks like.”
January’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you serious?”
“Nuns don’t lie,” Mother Mary T. said.
January grinned. “Is that a rule of the order?”
“It’s God’s rule. So what are we going to do about this?”
“I don’t suppose you have a picture you’d like to share?”
“Sorry,” Mother Mary T. said. “However, I do have a good memory. Bring one of those police sketch artists down here and you’ll have your picture. I can’t promise it’s the man you’re looking for, but if you can find him, you can do your own eliminating.”
“Yes! Oh, Mother Mary T., you’re fabulous.”
The nun grinned. “Yes, well, not exactly fabulous. I don’t think nuns can be fabulous, but I’ll allow sharp and savvy. Yes. Sharp and savvy. That sounds about right.”
January laughed. “Is there a good time for you?” she asked.
“Get here before I leave for chapel.”
“And that would be?” January asked.
“Four o’clock.”
“We can do tomorrow, if it’s better for you,” January added.
“Today is perfect. Before four. Be here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” January mumbled, as she began leafing through her Rolodex for Ben’s work number.
The next thing she heard was a dial tone in her ear. She disconnected, got a free line, then made a call to Ben.
Ben was ignoring the pregnant silences and angry stares coming from Rick Meeks. He didn’t have time for emotional turmoil and had no intention of feeding it, so when the phone rang, he answered quickly, thankful for the interruption.
“North.”
“Hey, North, I need a favor.”
He recognized January’s voice immediately.
“Hello to you, too,” he said.
She grinned. “Sorry. Hello.”
“That’s better,” he said. “So, what’s the favor?”
“I need to borrow the department sketch artist.”
“Do I get to ask why?”
“It may be nothing. It might be something. But I have a witness who thinks she may have seen the Sinner.”
The smile disappeared from Ben’s face.
“The man you think may have killed Scofield?”
“Yes.”
Rick Meeks had been eavesdropping on the conversation. When he heard what Ben said, he quit all pretense of working and leaned forward, staring intently as Ben continued to talk.
“And the sketch artist is going to draw the man she saw, right?”
“That’s the plan.”
“I’ll fix it up with the captain,” he said.
January hesitated. “Just make sure he understands that there are no promises on this. It’s just a lead. And if it pans out that this man is the street preacher I’ve been looking for and you guys can find him and pick him up for questioning, then I still get to interview him.”
“I’ll mention that to the captain, too.”
January frowned. “While you’re at it, mention the fact that I’m the one who’s been helping you guys. Captain what’s-his-face doesn’t get to start running the show.”
“Borger. His name is Borger, and yes, he does get to say what’s happening.”
“Why?”
Ben sighed. He heard the anger in her voice, but there was nothing he could do about it, nor would he, even if he could.
“Because we’re no longer looking for some guy to add something to your story. We’re looking for a killer.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts. We’re trying to solve a murder. It’s our sketch artist. Our rules.”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” he echoed. “When do you want him?”
“Now.”
“I don’t know if I can make that work.”
“Figure something out,” January said. “It’s my witness. My rules.”
“I’ll call you back in five.”
“I’m at work. Call me here.”
She hung up before he could say anything more. He dropped the phone back into the cradle and headed for the captain’s office. To his disgust, Meeks was right behind him.
At the door, Ben paused before he knocked, and gave Rick a hard stare.
“What the hell are you playing at now?”
“You gotta get over this shit,” Rick said. “I didn’t mean to piss you off.”
“That’s a lie,” Ben snapped.
Rick’s face flushed. “Yeah, well, so it was a stupid move. That doesn’t mean you gotta be mad at me forever.”
“I’m not mad at you anymore. Just forget it, okay?”
Rick’s expression lightened. “Look, North, here’s the deal. I know I’ve been riding your coattails ever since we partnered up. I guess I panicked, thinking you were trying to dump me. I could have stonewalled the captain, so it’s a joke on me that I caused what I feared most.” Then he held out his hand. “No hard feelings?”
Ben stared, looking long and hard into his old partner’s face. He’d known Rick had issues, but he’d never known he was part of them. It put what had happened in a new context.
“Damn it, Meeks, you’ve got more hangups than a dozen old maids. You’re a good detective, but I’m no damned babysitter. If you can manage to get over yourself, we’re square.”
Meeks grinned self-consciously. “You serious?”
“Just don’t make me sorry,” Ben said.
“It’s a deal, partner,” Rick said, and held out his hand again.
Ben shook it. “That’s enough of that,” he said. “We have a killer to catch, and January’s phone call might have given us a new lead.”
“Yeah, I heard,” Rick said. “Let’s go clear it with the captain.”
Ben knocked on Borger’s door, then entered. Borger looked up, his eyes widening slightly when he saw the two men.
“So have you two kissed and made up?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Ben said. “And we need a favor.”
“Like what?” Borger asked.
Ben quickly relayed what January had asked for.
Borger reached for the phone.
“DeLena does not get access to the sketch,” Borger said. “I don’t want to see that face on the evening news and give him a chance to run.”
“She knows,” Ben said. “However, if we find him and pick him up, she asked for permission to interview him.”
“I’m not making any promises,” Borger said.
“That’s what I told her,” Ben said.
Borger nodded. “All right, then. Take Mitchell. I’ll clear it for you. Bring me that sketch the minute it’s done.”
“Thanks, Captain. Will do.”
They exited Borger’s office.
“I’ve got to let January know we’re coming,” Ben said.
“She gonna be there?” Rick asked.
“It’s her lead and her witness, Rick. What do you think?”
“I think it’s good she’s keeping us up to date.”
Ben grinned. “Now you’re getting the picture.”
“Just asking,” Rick muttered. “I gotta go take a leak. Wait for me.”
Ben picked up the phone and called January back.
“It’s a go, honey. Want us to pick you up?”
“No, I’m taking my own car.”
“Okay, so where do we meet you?”
“You know that shelter the Sisters of Mercy run?”
“Yes.”
“Meet me
there and wait for me in the parking lot. I’ll take you to the witness from there.”
“Still holding on to a little control?”
“Never doubt it,” January said. “Oh…and by the way, thanks for taking me up on the invitation. It’s Saturday night at the Magnolia Country Club. Pick me up at my apartment at seven.”
She hung up before he could say anything more, although it didn’t matter. He was going on a date with January DeLena. It was about time, considering they’d already made love.
“I’m ready,” Meeks said.
Ben turned, saw that his partner was back, and nodded.
He unlocked the top drawer of his desk, took out his gun and slid it into the shoulder holster under his jacket.
“Then let’s go,” he said. “I’m driving.”
Meeks shrugged. “Fine with me.”
January was already in the parking lot when they arrived.
Rick whistled beneath his breath as he eyed her black slacks, red camisole and red jacket.
“Damn, she’s one fine-looking woman,” he said.
Ben frowned, although he didn’t comment. She was a fine-looking woman, and she turned him on, big-time. He wasn’t sure what he thought about the fact that she was turning on the rest of the male population, as well. Then he sighed. God, he had it bad. Even he knew that was a male chauvinist moment.
“Come on,” he said, then looked over his shoulder to the man in the back seat.
“Hey, Mitchell, need us to carry anything?”
“No, I’ve got it,” the sketch artist said, and got out carrying a small case.
Ben headed toward January, leaving the other two men to follow at their own speed.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey, yourself,” she whispered, then turned on her game face. “Thank you for coming, Detective North.”
“No, it’s we who should be thanking you for sharing your information.” The two other men joined them. “I believe you know my partner, Rick Meeks, and this is our sketch artist, Brady Mitchell.”
January nodded. “Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me….”
She headed for the building with the three men right behind her. On entering, she made an immediate right. Seconds later, she was knocking on the office door and a female voice invited them to enter.
January led the way in, then stood aside as the three men stopped at the desk.
“Gentlemen, this is Mother Mary Theresa, head of the Sisters of Mercy shelter. Mother Mary T., this is Detective North, Detective Meeks, and sketch artist Brady Mitchell.”
Religious training in the Catholic Church was nearly always an unforgettable experience. For two of the three men, it brought back feelings of panic. Ben had been raised Methodist. Other than a deep and abiding respect for his elders, he had no childhood memories to overcome. He stepped forward and held out his hand.
“Mother Mary Theresa, let me say in advance how appreciative we are that you’ve come forward.”
The little nun didn’t bother to hide a frown.
“I didn’t come forward, as you put it, for anyone but January. She’s been looking for a certain street preacher. I might have seen him.” Then she looked at January as she pointed to the detectives. “What’s all this about? I thought we were just going to be working with the artist.”
January couldn’t lie.
“There’s a possibility that the street preacher I’m looking for could also be Bart Scofield’s killer.”
The nun was aghast. “You didn’t tell me the man was dangerous.”
“I’m not sure he is,” January said. “And we won’t know until he’s picked up and interrogated. So may we proceed?”
Mother Mary T. glared at January. “We’ll talk about this later,” she said, then waved toward the men. “Sit. Let’s get this over with.”
Brady Mitchell opened his case and pulled out a large drawing pad and a couple of charcoal pencils. He shifted his chair behind the desk next to Mother Mary T.
“It will make it easier for us to work if you’re watching as I draw,” he said.
She agreed readily.
“Now,” Brady said, “are we talking about a Caucasian or another ethnicity?”
“Caucasian,” the little nun said.
“Shape of his face?”
“Sort of long…long and slender. And he had a high forehead and a slightly hooked nose.”
Brady nodded as his pencil flew across the paper; then he paused.
“His eyes…?”
“Large, very dark and large,” she said, then added, “With eyelids that appear sleepy.”
“Hooded?” Brady asked.
“I’m sorry?” the nun replied.
“His eyelids…did they appear hooded, maybe something like this?” he asked, as he refined his sketch.
“Yes, yes, like that,” Mother Mary T. said.
“What about his mouth?” Brady asked.
The nun frowned. “I don’t remember it much.”
“Why not?” Brady asked.
Mother Mary T. slapped herself on the forehead.
“I’m such a dunce. It was because of his beard and mustache. That’s why. And he had long hair. Sort of wavy.”
“Like how? Like this…?”
Mother Mary T. looked at the sketch, and then leaned back in shock and stared at a framed picture on the wall across from her desk.
“Like that,” she said.
They looked up in unison, then followed the direction of her gaze.
January frowned. “He looked like Jesus Christ?”
Mother Mary T. nodded. “I just never thought about it until I saw Mr. Mitchell’s sketch emerging. He even dressed similarly, like some Bedouin from the Sahara.”
Rick Meeks snorted none too delicately. “So what you’re suggesting is that we need to be looking for Jesus Christ?” he said.
Ben glared at him.
Rick shrugged “What?”
Ben turned to the nun. “Are there any distinguishing marks that you might have forgotten to mention? Maybe a tattoo…a scar somewhere?”
“Nothing that I could see, although with all the clothes he had on, he could have been tattooed from stem to stern and I would never have seen it.”
Brady put a few finishing touches to his sketch, then held it up.
“Is this as close as you can get?” he asked.
January gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Ben asked.
“I’ve seen that man,” she said.
“Where did you see him?” Ben asked.
The park where I run. And down in skid row. But she hedged her answer. “I can’t remember, but I know I’ve seen him.”
“Let me see,” Rick said, and pushed his way to the front so he could get a better look. He stared intently at the drawing, then, like January, recognition dawned.
“Hey! I think I’ve seen him, too!”
“You’re kidding, right?” Ben asked.
Rick frowned. “No, I’m not kidding. I’ve seen that face. On television, maybe.”
January stepped back, trying a different perspective.
“That’s my milieu,” she said. “But I’m almost positive that’s not where I saw him.”
“If there’s nothing else, I need to get back to the convent,” Mother Mary T. said.
“Can I give you a ride?” January asked.
“No, I have the van,” she stated.
“Thank you for your assistance,” Ben said.
“You’re welcome. Hope it helps.” She straightened her robes, patted the crucifix that hung just above her breasts and took a set of car keys from a drawer.
“After you,” she said, waiting until they’d all filed out of the office, then locking the door behind them. “January, my dear, stay in touch,” she said, and waved goodbye as she hurried away.
“Now what?” January said.
Ben had the sketch. Rick and Brady were already out of the building and on their way to the car. He was trying to thin
k of something to say that might prolong the moment with her.
“I’ll get this back to Captain Borger and go from there.”
“You’ll keep me posted, won’t you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
January fidgeted with her purse and car keys, not wanting this conversation to end, but lost as to what else to say. Then it dawned on her.
“So you can’t dance, huh?”
Ben grinned wryly. “Not worth a lick.”
“I suppose, if you’re not busy, you might find time to come over one night before Saturday and we could practice a little.”
“Dancing?”
The grin on his face made her blush.
“Yes, dancing,” she said. “You don’t need to practice anything else.”
This time it was Ben who was taken aback. He saw her eyes glitter, then watched her stifle a grin.
“If we weren’t standing here in front of God and everybody, I’d kiss that smirk right off your face,” he said.
“I do not smirk,” she said, then laughed out loud.
“I’ll call you,” he promised.
“Tomorrow night?”
“Yes, tomorrow night.”
“You could come for dinner.”
“Are you going to cook?”
January sniffed. “You can’t dance. I can’t cook. But we will eat and we shall dance.”
“Done,” he said, and held out his hand.
January took it, shivering slightly as his fingers slowly closed around hers. Breath caught in the back of her throat when his thumb rotated slowly in the middle of her palm. It was the most seductive handshake she’d ever experienced. Embarrassed by what was running through her mind, January pulled her hand away and folded her arms across her chest.
“See you, then,” she mumbled.
“You sure will,” he promised, then left to catch up with Meeks and Mitchell.
January watched until they were in the car and driving away before she left the building. Even though Ben was out of sight, she still stumbled.
“Darn that man. He’s going to make me crazy,” she muttered; then she got in her car and returned to work.
Ten
Rick talked all the way back to the precinct. He couldn’t let go of the fact that the drawing of their suspect reminded him of someone he’d either arrested, seen or interviewed.
The sketch artist stayed out of it, choosing to ride quietly in the back seat while Ben listened absently, his thoughts still on January.
