The Book of Judges

by Traci Tyne Hilton

  “You asked, I answered. If you want to spend your time finding out where Jerrod was the night Adam was killed, that’s up to you.”

  I didn’t exit yet. An actual, useful thought had occurred to me. “You say no one knew Jerrod had converted, but what if that’s not true? What if the secret wasn’t so hidden?” I gripped the back of the chair I had been sitting on.

  Will leaned forward. “Go on.”

  “What if someone found out Adam was making converts from this community and decided it had to stop?

  A short breath escaped Will.

  His eyes locked with mine.

  Neither of us liked what I had just said.

  We did not need an actual religious war in Portland.

  * * *

  That next day my determined, focused, hard work was interrupted by my soon to be ex. He knocked lightly and let himself in.

  “What is it, Rick?” I asked with my back turned to him.

  “It’s Bruce. He did it.”

  I spun on my heel and glared at Rick. Sneaking into my notes, thinking he could solve my case just by reading my short hand. If I had a dollar for every time he thought he could do that, I might not be behind on rent.

  I shook my head. “Just go.”

  “You took notes on an interview with Bruce on the same page you made notes about your appointment with Gina. Listen, I love the guy. I don’t want him to be a murderer, but he’s a weirdo, his little discipleship cult is weird, and he’s the only one who had a chance to find out about your meeting.”

  “In short hand? I’m sure he leaned forward, read it upside down and deciphered it.” My words were confident, but he had hit a nerve.

  Not Bruce. Not dumpy, friendly little Bruce.

  “Shorthand? Kid, I hate to tell you, but you wrote ‘witness. Dawn @ CP.’ And you followed that with the date. It was hardly shorthand.” Rick strolled casually to my desk and sat in my chair.

  “Not technically, but he had no idea what it meant.”

  “If he’s the killer, he sure as heck knew CP would be Crown Point. Witness, dawn, and the date of the meeting wouldn’t have been hard to decipher.”

  “For the love, Rick, Bruce is not the killer.”

  “You say in your notes it was a poison death with some psychological torture. It doesn’t take a young athlete to spike a drink. In fact, much easier for a friendly acquaintance to make that happen.”

  “Bruce is hardly Adam’s only friendly acquaintance.”

  “He is the only one of Adam’s friendly acquaintances who would have the info needed to run down your eye witness.” He patted my notebook in a friendly manner.

  “He didn’t see it. I was holding the book. He had no way to see it.”

  Rick lifted an eyebrow. So snotty.

  A knock at the door allowed me to turn my back on him. Linda Smith stood on the other side, wrapped in a wooly red cape, but shivering.

  “Come in.” My words weren’t as welcoming as they might have been.

  “And I think we can agree that the first person to tell you to look for a message in the murder has a high likelihood of being the person who wants the message to be understood.” Rick continued despite our interruption.

  I ignored him. Will had been the first to mention the Bible, not Bruce. “What can I do for you, Linda?” I watched her face closely. Were they, or were they not the same eyes as Belinda Warren?

  She stared at Rick. “You aren’t alone.”

  “We don’t have any secrets.” Rick volunteered.

  “Rick, go home.”

  He leaned back in my chair and crossed his arms.

  “I need to talk to you alone.” Linda looked behind her, at the open door.

  “I don’t feel it is wise to leave my wife alone right now.”

  “For God’s sake, Rick, get out.”

  Rick rolled around the other side of the desk. “Linda, please sit down, you’re shaking. Let me get you a cup of water.”

  He looked up at me, as though I was supposed to be the part of him that got the water.

  Linda hesitated, and then sat. “I didn’t expect for both of you to be here.” She laced her fingers together in and out and in and out. Her pale hands were much older than her face. “But I can count on your discretion. I know you took my fingerprints. I was alerted.”

  I stared at her. Okay. This was interesting. “Rick, you need to go. Now.”

  “I’ll be leaving soon. The alert came immediately. Then the plan.”

  “Linda, what are you talking about?”

  “That wasn’t me, in the car. I didn’t kill the man who was running against my father, and I don’t know who did. But I new some other, more important things, and it got me my freedom.”

  “Did you turn state’s evidence?” Rick asked. I could have kicked him. He needed to shut up and let me handle this.

  “They established a new life for me out here. No one was the wiser, no one knew. They didn’t like me working for the government, but they had no reason to stop me. It was all so long ago. My identity was secure.”

  “But the prints came back as Linda Smith.”

  She stared at me, her eyes cold, her temples throbbing. “You sent the prints of Linda Smith to the police to see if she was Belinda Warren. The prints in the cold case have been removed. Why? That’s what the police will be asking. And the way it all went down—the local court charging me as the feds were sneaking me away. It was a mess. A disaster. Until now, no one had any reason to link me to that.”

  “And this is why you wanted to keep the committee work out of the news.”

  “Of course, it was. I can’t make national headlines. It’s just too risky.”

  “And we’ve ruined it.” Rick’s apologetic tone and the way he seemed to think he was part of my team were treading on my last nerve.

  “I want to get all of the children off the streets here in Portland. It’s all I want. Do you know how many young people have no safe, warm bed to go to at night?”

  “What happens next for you?” I wasn’t about to take blame for a situation caused by a twenty-five-year-old crime that happened halfway across the country. If she can’t save all the kids, it was hardly my fault.

  She stood up. “Very shortly Linda Smith will have moved away. The record of Linda Smith will be slowly wiped. I had to tell you—I discussed it with my case manager—I had to tell you to stop you from looking for me. To stop you from destroying our work.”

  She squared her sloping shoulders as best as she could. “If I had known this was what you were capable of…” She straightened her cape and left like a royal who is forced to abdicate a throne.

  I wanted to plan what needed to be done to get the next check from Metro now that the lady who had hired me was about to disappear, but Rick was hovering behind me, and I just knew an unwanted shoulder rub was about to happen. “You should follow her, make sure she is okay.” I had a feeling he wanted to, anyway.

  “Babe….” Rick’s voice was honeyed, like always.

  “It would mean so much to me.” My words were also dripping in sweetness. Anything to get him out so I could think.

  He kissed the top of my head and left.

  Whatever Linda’s future was, the case was hardly over. Someone had killed Adam Demarcus, and so far, no one had been arrested for it. Linda had had her agenda, but this investigation had moved beyond that. Someone would pay me, once I handed the killer to the police.

  Chapter Nineteen

  At some point over the last few weeks I had texted my three favorite cops several times to see if anyone was up for coffee. I had called Julie, my number one favorite cop, but it always went to voicemail. Since all the texts had gone unanswered, and the calls unreturned, I had almost given up on the police.

  It stung, since so much of what I did relied on having good working relationships with official people. But my phone finally showed a familiar number. I answered it on the first ring.

  “Maura!” My friend Julie, a seasoned
veteran of the Portland Police sounded as happy to be calling as I was to be getting the call.

  “Hey Julie, how are you doing?”

  “I’m back from my maternity leave and would adore having a coffee with you. Are you free today?”

  “Yes, a thousand times yes. Let’s meet at Peet’s Coffee right now. The one by my office.”

  “Give me ten minutes.”

  I pocketed my phone feeling optimistic. Someone in the police force still liked me and was still willing to let me buy them coffee. And to my joy and great pleasure, it was Julie, a dear girl with no discretion at all, who was hungry to keep me as a source of off-the-record information. So far, we had managed to skirt any kind of impropriety, but her earlier silence during this case had worried me.

  She arrived on time, in her street clothes, so a day off, maybe. She and her partner had adopted recently, hence the maternity leave, and I had forgotten because I sometimes suck. I grabbed a bunch of flowers from the grocery store on my way to coffee and handed them to her, in line. “Congrats to you and Josh.”

  “Awe, thanks! He has his leave now, which is awesome. I love not having to leave Farrah with a sitter yet. I mean we just got her, you know?”

  “I can imagine.”

  We ordered our drinks and found a far table to sit at. From the glow on her face I had a feeling I was in for a long chat about diapers and that kind of baby thing. I’d have to find my smile.

  She took a long swallow. “I live on this stuff; I swear to you. Even though Farrah is already a year, the girl does not sleep.” She set her cup in front of her and leaned in. “But you and I did not come here to talk about my perfect, awesome, incredible, beautiful baby girl, did we?”

  I lifted an eyebrow.

  “I’ve been back two days and your name has come up three times. You’ve been asking questions about the Demarcus murder.”

  “Caught red-handed.” I sipped my coffee and smiled. I loved—no—adored Julie. From cheating politicians to murder, if my interests and hers intersected, she was here for me.

  “I don’t know much. I’m not on the case.”

  “I feel like I am in the same boat. The more I uncover, the less I know.”

  “And what have you uncovered?” Her grin told me she wanted to get more than she gave today, but I wasn’t feeling stingy.

  “Demarcus cheated on his girlfriend. He tried to convert Muslim kids to Christianity. He handed out pot. He took a fundy girl to a liberal church.”

  She scrunched her mouth up. “So…not much then.”

  “If we wanted to go after low hanging fruit we’d say someone sought revenge for the conversion.”

  “Nothing wrong with low hanging fruit, if it’s the right fruit, but, between you and me, the police can’t make anything of it.” Julie pushed her cup back and forth. “Alibis and all of that.”

  “The girlfriend seems too reasonable to be a killer,” I supplied.

  “We agree.” She took another long drink. “It’s not my case, like I said, but I’m buddies with this kid, Chapman, and he is like a lost puppy, so I want to help him. He doesn’t realize your worth, and I figured if I could dig something out of you, it would help you and him both.”

  “I appreciate it. He seemed, when I met him at the scene, like someone who would chat, but clammed up pretty fast next time.”

  “His new partner. You know Kim.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Kim hates me.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “The drugs thing keeps bugging me. There are so many ways it could have played out. He might have gotten on the wrong side of someone’s territory. A street person with a mental illness might have targeted him. Someone’s family might have wanted to stop him from facilitating drug use.”

  “As far as the street people go, how would they have gotten him to Crown Point? And where would they have gotten the strychnine?”

  I held my face steady. Strychnine. God bless Julie Tremont for ever and ever and ever. My suspicion confirmed. “What about a rival who wanted to sell what Adam was giving away?”

  Julie shook her head. “Tempting. Maybe true, but it doesn’t answer the question the murder brings up. I refer to his thumbs and toes, of course, and the way they were chopped off, and the way they were sent to Metro with a note.”

  My jaw inexcusably dropped. “Excuse me?”

  She grinned and nodded. This was the piece she was willing to give, in exchange for every single thing I knew. And you know what? It was worth it. “Sent in a box, to Adam’s boss, in fact. It was easy to trace via fingerprint, even if it hadn’t had a note.”

  “Now you’re just toying with me! What note? When was this package shipped?” I was bouncing in my seat, ready to jump to action the second I had the information.

  “One thumb and one toe arrived at Metro with a note that said, ‘there was no king in Israel.’”

  I recognized the reference immediately. “In those days there was no king in Israel and every man did what was right in his own eyes.” I muttered it. The book of Judges. Clear as day. A religious killing.

  “Sure. You’re the pastor’s wife. Chapman said it was a Bible thing, too and fit with the thumbs. So…” She nodded, stretching the word out. She wanted something more, something only I could give her… “My dear and only church friend. What does it mean?”

  I crossed my arms and leaned back. Her dear and only church friend? Who? What? Since when was I anyone’s church friend?

  She frowned. “I mean, you and Rick run the Family Healing Seminars, and work for the church.” Her face was confused. “I didn’t…offend you, did I?”

  “Family Healing is Rick’s thing. Not mine.”

  “But, in years past, you have mentioned stuff about church, and being married to a pastor…”

  “He’s not a pastor. He’s a counselor with an office in the church.” My jaw was tight, and I couldn’t help it. It was like a punch. Her church friend? Did she really see me like all those other ladies?

  “Sorry. I don’t do religion, so I don’t know the difference. But when I saw the note was a Bible thing, I thought of you. Sorry.” She sipped her coffee and looked apologetic.

  “It’s a bit of a sore spot right now. I don’t really do religion either, and every way I turn this case hinges on it. I’ve been hoping that it was something else, anything else really.”

  “Do you make anything of it?”

  “I’m sure you’ve already looked up the book of Judges. There’s this enemy king at the very beginning and they chop off his thumbs and toes.”

  “That’s what Chapman said.”

  “There you go. You and I are in the same boat.” I sipped at my coffee, having lost the taste for it. Her “church friend”. A thousand times ug. “But, really Julie…you see me as your church friend?”

  “That’s really eating at you!” She laughed. “You never swear, you’re only like thirty, but you’ve been married forever, you never party, you, um, go to church. You’re kind of the dictionary definition of a church person.”

  “But I do swear. And I don’t go to church very often.”

  She laughed so loud people across the café turned. “You ‘church swear’. In all my life, despite the crap you’ve seen in your line of work, I have never heard you drop an F bomb. And what do you mean you don’t go to church very often? Like only on Sundays?”

  “And sometimes for potluck on Wednesdays.”

  She laughed harder. Tears filled her eyes and her face went red. “Oh my gosh, you have no idea. No idea. The rest of the world thinks like, going Easter and Christmas is a lot. Only Sundays and sometimes on Wednesdays for pot luck. Oh. My. Gosh. You are killing me. You even have that Church Lady face—remember from Saturday Night Live? You have it on right now, in fact.”

  I stared past her, trying to let her words slide off my back. This was my friend. She didn’t know better. It didn’t matter.

  It did.

  But it didn’t. Just don’t shoot off my mouth,
that was my goal.

  “Listen, sorry if I offended you. I don’t know why it would, you’re the one who makes it a huge part of your life. I get it that you don’t, like, believe any of it. Who could? I’d bet half the people in a church don’t believe it.” She tipped her coffee back and then looked at the cup, disappointed. “It would explain why everyone was so cranky. That’s a lot of sitting still and being quiet, much less putting money in a pot, if you didn’t actually like what you were hearing.” She stood up. “I’ve got to go. Like I said, I’m not on the Demarcus case, but I sure would like to help out Chapman, so if you think of anything Bible-related that could open the case up, and want to pass it along, I’d sure appreciate it, and I’d make sure Chapman was grateful to you, too.”

  I sighed—also involuntary. “I’ll keep you up to date.”

  She furrowed her brow. “I honestly don’t know why you are so offended. The only bad church person is the hypocrite.”

  I stiffened.

  “I’ve never thought of you that way. You seem legit, but maybe you think of yourself that way.” She shrugged. “Don’t let it eat you alive though, okay? Of all the church people I’ve known, you’re the one I stuck with.” She caught my eye and tried to get some kind of smile of agreement out of me. I kept the face in neutral.

  Me, her church friend.

  Of all the damn things.

  * * *

  I had to put the insult out of my mind, and the best way was to just get moving on something. I needed to catch Linda and discuss my contract and my new contact at Metro before she vanished forever. Her phone went to voicemail when I called, but I took that as a positive sign that she was still Linda Smith of Portland. If they hadn’t shut off her phone, she might still be at home. I put her address in my phone and went to find her.

  Linda lived in a historic brick building turned apartment complex on the river. A doorman buzzed me in. I bypassed the elevator and stomped up five stories to her apartment. I wanted to expel some of my anxiety, but it only served to amp me up.

  I knocked on the door more loudly than necessary, but it felt good. I did it a second time, with a little more force and the door inched open.