Jude Devine Mystery Series

by Rose Beecham

  Pratt paused at the door to cough into a Kleenex. Jude took a step back. A dose of the flu was all she needed. Pratt waved her on, and she left him in the hallway to wheeze in peace.

  There were probably sixty people waiting for the afternoon meeting, all members of various agencies now involved in the case. Ten FBI agents had joined the investigation that morning, and additional detectives had been sent from each county as far up as Grand Junction. As Jude faced the room, she could feel the terse anticipation. There was none of the usual jocular chatter, the undercurrent of mumbling that typically provided background noise on these occasions.

  The discovery of the bloodstained garments had cemented one hard fact. Corban Foley was dead. Their top priority now was to recover his body.

  After getting the greetings and kudos out of the way, Jude kicked off her summary with the announcement everyone was anticipating. “This is now a criminal homicide investigation. Our primary suspect is Wade Miller, the boyfriend of Tonya Perkins, mother of the missing child.”

  She signaled one of the deputies and he dimmed the lights. Jude projected a photograph of Miller onto the screen for ID purposes.

  “As yet, we do not have a confession from Mr. Miller. He has provided us with several statements, all of which are contradictory, and has routinely lied to police since the commencement of this inquiry. An examination of Mr. Miller’s vehicle by Montezuma County’s K-9 cadaver dog produced a positive alert for residual scent. It is our contention that Mr. Miller’s truck was used to transport the body of Corban Foley to a site in the vicinity of the Dolores River and the McPhee reservoir, where evidence was disposed of and the body concealed.”

  She brought up the first of several pictures of the clothing just discovered. “These are Corban Foley’s garments. The blood is human and male. We are awaiting DNA results to confirm if it belongs to the victim. Note the concentration around the neck area and the lower torso. A knife may be our murder weapon.”

  Jude switched to the next image, but was interrupted by the shrill of an alarm siren and Sheriff Pratt yelling from the back of the room, “Clear the doorway!”

  He was on his radio, waving his arm for quiet. After a few seconds, he cursed and said, “Folks, we have a situation out front. Corban Foley’s father is armed and in the building. He’s taken a female deputy hostage. Juanita Perry.”

  The FBI agents looked like someone had just announced a lottery win for them. Almost in unison they unholstered their weapons and headed for the door. “We’ll handle this, sir,” the one in the lead informed Pratt.

  They hadn’t made it into the hallway when a voice yelled, “Get back or I’ll shoot her.”

  The agents fell back and waved for everyone in the room to get down and take cover. Jude ducked past the clamor of cops turning tables on their sides and made it to the door. “Sir, get down,” she told Pratt.

  A few seconds later a man in his late twenties loomed into view dragging a terrified young deputy. He had a gun to her temple.

  “Where’s the sheriff,” he bellowed.

  “Drop your weapon, Mr. Foley,” Jude yelled. “This isn’t helping your son.”

  “My son is dead.”

  Jude signaled the FBI agent nearest her and gestured toward one of the side doors that expanded the meeting room. Out of Foley’s view, several agents waved some deputies to join them and filed silently from the room.

  “Sir, I’m asking you to release the deputy.” Jude kept her voice calm.

  “Not until I see the sheriff.”

  Pratt stepped out from his spot against the wall and moved into the hallway. “I’m Sheriff Pratt, son.”

  Jude glanced across to the agent waiting at the middle door. He signaled an affirmative. They had Foley covered from the rear.

  “Where are you keeping him?” Foley demanded.

  “We don’t have Corban, sir.”

  “Not my son. That murdering filth, Miller. Where is he?”

  “We can discuss Mr. Miller when you release the deputy.”

  “I have a better idea,” Foley said. “I’ll swap her for him.”

  Jude edged out into the hall to shield Pratt. “At least lower your gun, Mr. Foley. You’re not a killer. If something goes wrong and you shoot Deputy Perry by accident, how will you live with yourself? She has a baby the same age as Corban. She’s a good mom.”

  Foley’s expression grew even more anguished, but he lowered the gun and instead pointed it at the deputy’s back. “Don’t try anything,” he warned. “Bring him out. Now!”

  Jude took a step closer, this time getting directly between Pratt and the gunman. Past Foley, she could see several FBI agents crouched at the far end of the hallway. They had a clean shot. She only had to signal and they would take it.

  Behind her, Pratt whispered, “Don’t.”

  Jude knew exactly what he was thinking. The distressed father of a missing child gets shot dead by police in a hostage incident. Tragic, yes. But also a public relations disaster.

  She said, “I’m laying my weapon down, Mr. Foley. And I’m going to swap places with Deputy Perry.” Slowly she lowered the Glock to the floor. “Now let her go.”

  When Foley hesitated, Jude rose and moved toward him, her arms in the air. Indecision flashed across his face, then he pushed his hostage forward and trained his gun on Jude.

  As Pratt steered the dazed deputy into the meeting room, Jude took rapid stock of Foley. She had the height advantage, and he was stressed and emotional. The combination was dangerous because it made him unpredictable. Yet, from all she had read, Foley was a decent guy who had left Cortez so he could improve himself and build a better life. He was ambitious and loved his son. He’d applied for sole custody of Corban, claiming Tonya was unfit to be a full-time parent. He was not about to destroy everything he’d worked for. At least that’s what she chose to gamble on.

  “Mr. Foley, I’m the detective in charge of this case. I know where Mr. Miller is and I’m willing to take you to him, but I need you to put your weapon down first.”

  “I’m not stupid.” Foley was pointing the gun half-heartedly now, wavering in his aim at her chest. He was plainly uncomfortable playing the vigilante. “I know you’re going to arrest me as soon as I drop it.”

  “That’s true. We will arrest you. But you could still walk out of here in one piece tonight. You haven’t hurt anyone. You are in a state of emotional distress, and we understand that. If you put it down, you have my word I’ll make sure you get to talk to Mr. Miller.”

  Foley was panting. His eyes swung to Pratt, then back to Jude. She could take him, she thought. But if he fired a shot, even accidentally, he would be a dead man. She didn’t want to risk it.

  “How do I know you’re not lying,” he demanded.

  “You don’t. But frankly, your options aren’t looking too good.” She indicated the rear of the hall. “That’s the FBI back there, and you know they want to shoot you. And on my left, there’s maybe fifty cops in that room. They’ll make sure you’re carried out of here on a stretcher if you fire that weapon. You can come see Mr. Miller with me now, or take your chances here. I’m walking away.”

  Jude turned her back on him. She hadn’t taken two paces when the wind hissed out of him, the gun clattered onto the floor, and he choked out, “I’m sorry. I never meant for things to turn out this way. I just wanted to speak to someone.”

  Jude kicked the weapon back into the meeting room and took her handcuffs from her belt as officers swarmed from all directions to restrain him. “You’re under arrest, Mr. Foley. Place your hands behind your back.” As she cuffed him, she said, “I’m very sorry about your son. We all are.”

  “You know he did it, don’t you?”

  Jude said neutrally, “Mr. Miller is helping us with our inquiries.”

  “He’s not helping, trust me. I know the guy. He’s playing you.”

  She took Foley by the arm and started walking. Catching a look of consternation from Sheriff Pratt she said
, “Stand everyone down, sir. I’ll bring Mr. Foley to booking once we’re done.”

  “I wasn’t going to shoot you,” Foley said as they walked. A couple of deputies followed them.

  “I know. But plans can go wrong and people can get hurt.”

  “Have you arrested him?”

  “Mr. Foley,” Jude said patiently, “we haven’t found Corban yet. We have no idea what really happened that night. We can’t make an arrest unless we have hard evidence that Mr. Miller committed a crime. I know you don’t want to hear this, but Wade Miller is probably going to walk out of here tonight.”

  “Jesus H. Christ.”

  “All I can promise you is that we are watching him. If he has something to hide, we are going to find out what it is. But we need time.”

  “He killed my son, and he’s dumped him somewhere like trash. You want me to back off?”

  “I’m asking you to let us do our job.” Jude knew he felt helpless and wanted to give him a sense of purpose. “You could help us. Talk to Tonya. We need to know if she’s telling us everything.”

  “I think I blew that already. I went round to Amberlee’s place and they were out there talking to the reporters, dressed like hookers. I don’t know what happened. I went crazy and hit her.”

  Great. The father beats up the mother in front of the whole world, then takes a deputy hostage at gunpoint, just in case anyone thought the only guy with a temper was Miller.

  “She used to be nice,” Foley said wistfully. “When she was a kid. Real sweet.”

  So nice, you had sex with her while you were married to her sister. Jude kept her thoughts to herself.

  Foley stopped walking and turned bewildered eyes to her. “Why would she have left Corban with him? How could she trust that guy?”

  Tempting the Fates? Had Tonya unconsciously placed her child at risk because on some level she wanted him gone? Did she want her life back the way it was before, but without the guilt of being a bad mother who gave her child up willingly to the father who thought she was unfit? She had to know there was a risk in leaving Corban with Wade. If he had been violent or even threatening with the child at any time when she was present, she could not pretend she thought her son would be safe.

  “Mr. Foley, why apply for custody now?” Jude asked.

  “I went to a lawyer the minute I heard she was with that jerk. I know stuff about Wade Miller—I went to school with him. I knew he’d hurt Corban.”

  “Has anyone said anything to you about how he treats your son?”

  Foley gave a short, bitter laugh. “He’s been on his best behavior. They only got hooked up a couple of months ago. But there’s something Amberlee said—”

  “About Mr. Miller?”

  “Yeah. He cut Corban’s hair. Did it himself. But he shaved out the center so Corban was bald on the top of his head. Amberlee said it was like he meant to make Corban look ugly, just like him.”

  “This was just a few days ago?” And Tonya hadn’t thought it was worth mentioning?

  “Tuesday, I think.”

  Jude frowned. “We were hoping to get a statement from you before all…this.”

  With a pained grimace, Foley said, “I guess nothing I tell you guys is worth shit now.”

  “We’ll still need to interview you. We have to clear you as a suspect in Corban’s disappearance.”

  “About Miller…can we drop it?”

  Jude was surprised. She’d never intended to do anything more than confront Wade Miller with the enraged Foley and threaten to leave them alone. But she was reluctant to take advantage of this man’s desperation.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I’d have to kill him and I’m in enough trouble. Why should I go to prison when he’s the criminal.”

  “Smart thinking.” Jude instructed the deputies, “Book Mr. Foley, and when you’re done let me know.”

  “The hair.” He looked ill. “That was weird, right?”

  Jude met his eyes. “Very weird.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Aunt Chastity! Come see!” Adeline stuck her head around the door of Chastity’s office. “Guess who’s on TV.”

  “Is it really important?” Chastity Young completed a column of figures before she turned to face her fourteen-year-old niece. It was time she hired someone to do her accounts for the business. Her home health care company was growing so quickly the administration, coupled with the nursing hours she put in, was becoming more than she could handle.

  Adeline heaved a teenage sigh. “You’ve been stuck doing that boring stuff all night.”

  “Okay.” Chastity allowed herself to be hauled out of her chair and down the hallway. “But only for five minutes.”

  “I’ll wind it back.” Adeline, a TiVo junkie, snatched up the remote and smugly returned the picture to “play.”

  Chastity stood behind an easy chair, wearily resting her elbows on the back. “Tell me it’s not MythBusters,” she mumbled.

  To Chastity’s surprise, they were watching CNN. The face on the screen was a little thinner than she remembered, and slightly drawn. But Detective Jude Devine did exactly what she did the very first time Chastity set eyes on her. She made her very uncomfortable.

  “There’s a little boy missing where Detective Devine lives,” Adeline said. “It looks like he got kidnapped.”

  Jude was introduced as the detective leading the investigation. The camera zoomed in, and Chastity was struck anew by the languid gray-green beauty of her eyes. They seemed an odd fit with features that were almost severe. Her face was lean, her jaw sharply defined and squarish, the chin as stubborn as any Chastity had seen. She had the kind of classic Roman nose plastic surgeons across the nation bobbed into pert inanity. It lent her profile a granite authority few women possessed. With her boyishly cut black-brown hair and her tall, powerful build, she had an androgynous quality Chastity found disconcerting. Yet there was a vulnerability to her as well.

  Chastity had seen it that day in Rapture, after the shooting, when Jude walked Adeline across the desert toward her. On her trail bike, the injured child Daniel clinging to her, Chastity had rolled to a halt a few feet away from them. The moment was etched in her mind’s eye, perpetually replaying itself even when she attempted to dwell on something else. She had tried to distance herself from what happened in various ways, rationalizing it in the context of extreme circumstances, determinedly referring to Jude as “Detective Devine”—which only made matters worse because that came out as “divine”—and dismissing her own behavior as unsurprising, given her relief to see Adeline alive and well.

  She’d kicked her side-stand out, dismounted, and helped Daniel slide down from behind her. Adeline squealed his name, opened her arms out wide, and the two children ran into a frantic embrace. Chastity dropped her helmet on the seat and faced Jude. Automatically, they took a few tentative steps toward one another, but there was such naked grief in the detective’s face, Chastity reached for her automatically. She was not even surprised that Jude stepped into her arms without hesitation. She was taller, stronger, harder. Yet Chastity sensed a need in her so intense she answered it the only way she knew how—by giving. By holding her and murmuring soothing words, stroking her hair, gentling her. She could remember wanting desperately to give her back the morning, changed. She wanted to evict from memory whatever had gouged away at the cool confidence that seemed so much a part of the detective the first time they met.

  The strength of those feelings still startled her; that she could have them for a stranger startled her even more. She wasn’t sure how long they’d stood there washing into one another, ignoring the constraints of unfamiliarity. She could still feel the weight of Jude’s hands resting below the small of her back, the shape of her head, the press of her thighs. How strange it was, she’d thought since, that even naked she’d never felt so connected to another person. When finally they drew back to stare at each other, she knew Jude felt the same connection.

  She took Chastity’s
face between her hands as if cupping a butterfly she was afraid to hurt, and Chastity found herself mesmerized. Helplessly, she imprinted the dark-fringed eyes, the firm nose and straight but sensual mouth, on the canvas of her mind.

  “You have no idea,” Jude said. Then she lowered her head and brushed her lips across Chastity’s.

  The kiss was so swift, so cautious, Chastity had barely closed her eyes when she was released and suddenly Adeline was in her arms, weeping for the loss of her dead sister and begging to go home. When Chastity looked up from ministering to her a few minutes later, Jude had gone.

  That day seemed like a long time ago, now, yet barely six months had passed. Chastity had meant to call Jude at least once to say how thankful she was. Instead she wrote a letter and had Adeline do the same. She sent them together. A few weeks later, Jude replied, also in writing. She invited them to drop by if they were ever in Paradox Valley.

  “We could go down there and join the search,” Adeline said.

  “It’s nice of you to think about that.” Chastity couldn’t stop her eyes from lingering once again on Jude’s mouth as she spoke to the reporter.

  What had happened in that moment out in the Utah desert belonged to the emotional terrain of that day only, she told herself. People did uncharacteristic things at such times. She understood the kiss as a recognition of the human frailty they shared and a thank you from Jude for the brief escape from horror witnessed. Likewise those mystifying words: You have no idea.

  “How far is it to Cortez?” Adeline asked.

  “About four hundred miles.”

  “Then it will only take us a day to get there.” Adeline bounced in her seat. “Can we?”

  “You have school.”

  Chastity knew how ineffectual that argument was. Adeline was easily two years ahead of her age group academically. Attempting to assess her learning needs, the school had just given her an SAT. Out of 2400, she’d scored an impressive 2300. In other words, her dean said, she would be able to pick her school when the time came. In fact, she could start college now if she wanted. But at fourteen, Adeline had led such a sheltered life she seemed very young for her age.