Poison

by Jordyn Redwood

  “Did she do as you asked?”

  “Following direction was never Raven’s problem. A couple of weeks after starting the study, one of the women approached me, concerned about some of the things Raven was sharing with the group. Wondered if she might need professional help.”

  “What did she share?”

  “Issues of depression. Having nightmares. She alluded to having hallucinations, but when flat-out asked, she denied it. Claimed she always felt like someone was following her.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I pulled her aside. Told her it might be in her best interest to see a doctor.”

  “And you found out she already was.”

  “I don’t know which was more disturbing. That she was getting help or that she seemed to be worsening under that help.”

  “What did you do at that point?”

  “Since she was already seeing a psychiatrist, I figured we could offer her additional stability. Bring her into the fold as they say. Show her true Christian fellowship.”

  “Get her involved in some groups?”

  “She continued to push to get involved in outreach ministry. At first, Raven seemed up to the task. Showed up for meetings. Got the training. Donated a bunch of money to buy those Bibles and pass them out on the streets. Most people aren’t all that comfortable visiting what they consider to be castoffs from society. Even though those castoffs are people.”

  Keelyn glanced behind her. Sophia remained busy with her puzzles. “It didn’t bother Raven?”

  “Honestly, she seemed to revel in it. Delight in hearing their stories of how far they’d fallen.”

  He covered his face with his hands then slowly released his eyes from the veil of his fingertips. “Then, it became obvious she was pregnant.”

  “Do you know who the father is?”

  He shook his head. “Some of the women tried. She was pretty closed off when the topic came up. We just felt that meant she needed us more.” He broke off as if collecting his thoughts.

  Keelyn couldn’t take the silence. “Do you think she . . . believed?”

  A subtle shake of his head in the negative.

  He opened his eyes. “Raven was very good at the mechanics, the intellectual component of Christ’s message. She could quote the Bible like a seminary student. Unfortunately, her evangelism came across like she was reading a phone book. There was no depth, no feeling. I would dare to say possibly she didn’t truly understand God’s grace. Of course, only the Lord ultimately knows if her conversion was real.”

  “Did you ask her to stop witnessing?”

  “I took Raven aside and expressed my concern. Tried to get at her heart. See if there was an emotional connection with the relational value of being a Christian.”

  Sophia came alongside Keelyn, her arms raised high. Keelyn scooped her up onto her lap. “And?”

  “There was nothing substantial there. Initially, all I got was a vacant look in response. Then there was indignation that I questioned her salvation. Ultimately, it’s not my place to determine whether or not another person has a genuine relationship with Jesus Christ.”

  “So she stayed on the streets?”

  “The only change I insisted on was that she have a partner with her. Someone who was good at explaining God’s love . . . his sacrifice. The relational aspect.” He inhaled deeply. “That’s what never came through when she shared. God’s essential character of love. It seemed beyond her understanding.”

  “Was it better after that?”

  “For a short time, the setup seemed to work. The downside was that it was hard to get people to volunteer to go with her. There was something about her that made them uneasy.”

  “Like what?”

  “A vibe is the best way I can explain it. Sometimes Raven liked to focus on what we would call the downside of Christianity. Some would call that particular evangelistic approach ‘selling fire insurance.’ Talking too much about the devil and his work. To her fellow volunteers it felt like she even glorified Satan’s power.”

  Keelyn’s stomach knotted. “These possible hallucinations you mentioned before. Did she claim they were of an individual?”

  The man’s pulse thumped at the side of his neck. “To one young woman, she called him Lucent. To me, she never said anything.”

  The pain in Keelyn’s belly intensified. “Was there an end to your connection with her, or was my bringing the news of her missing a surprise?”

  “There was a falling-out of sorts.”

  “What happened?”

  Pastor Atkins leaned back in his chair. The plastic creaked under his weight. Even Sophia stopped at the eerie noise in the almost-vacant room. “Things were always DEFCON 4 with Raven. She had the baby and seemed to be just holding it together. Several of us thought maybe she should spend more time with the baby.”

  “There seems to be more.”

  He tapped his fists on his knees. “Raven was working pretty hard with two individuals on the streets. She always sought them out. One day, one of them turns up dead. Police come by here and question the staff because several of this individual’s street buddies talked about members of our church being with him. Then the police mention this other young man has gone missing.”

  “Did you know these two men?”

  “I would accompany the group once in a while. I’d know a first name, if it was a first name, and face. That’s all you’re likely to get.”

  “Was the death of this man suspicious?”

  “Not necessarily. But it did strike me that the police seemed to be paying particularly close attention to it.”

  “Why do you think they were?”

  “There were some reports on the street he’d gotten a bad mix of drugs. A woman was seen with him a few hours before he became symptomatic and ultimately died.”

  “Did this woman resemble Raven?”

  “Nothing conclusive. Some yes. Some no. Nothing consistent took hold.”

  “What did Raven do after that?”

  “After the police spoke with her, she didn’t come around anymore. That was a couple months ago.”

  Keelyn shifted Sophia back to the floor and pulled the diaper bag closer. She rifled around until she pulled the computer image of Lucent free from one of the inner pockets. Opening it, she smoothed the creases, sliding it over the tabletop toward Russell. He leaned ever so slightly away from it.

  “Do you recognize this man?”

  “Where did you get that picture?”

  “It’s a computer-generated photo. It’s my rendition of a man who approached me in a diner, threatened my life, and possibly murdered a couple people.”

  He tapped his finger over the image. “This is CW. The man who’s been reported missing from the streets. One of the men they asked Raven about.”

  Chapter 17

  EVERY EYE FOLLOWED LEE as he made his way to the chief’s office. He felt as if he’d just been sent to the principal. He tried to smile and wave like nothing was amiss, but the probing eyes gave off tense vibes as he placed his hand on the metal knob. He held steady for a few seconds, gave two quick knocks, then heard a muffled “Come in” from the other side.

  As he opened the door, he saw Nathan standing off to the side. Not good.

  “Have a seat, Lee,” the chief ordered.

  Lee held his tie close to his chest as he rounded the chair. He kept his legs steady only with concentrated effort. It felt like his bones had liquefied. Nathan’s eyes locked on him.

  “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for several hours,” Anson said, opening a manila folder on his desk. “Want to explain why you’re ignoring your pages?”

  The chief was well respected and known to take a hard line at times when his underlings began to drift off course.

  Now Lee seemed to be one of those strays.

  “It’s my day off. I was running errands. Didn’t have my pager on.”

  Anson settled one hand over his other wrist, almost clenching it. L
ee wondered what Keelyn might say about the postural change. Now he wished he’d listened to more of her musings about body language.

  “That’s not like you, Lee. You’re still head of SWAT.”

  “I’m not functioning with SWAT right now. That was part of the deal. To try and give Holmes a chance to lead the team. So there’d be more than just me at that level.”

  “I’m pulling you off Lucy Freeman’s case.”

  Surprise flowed through his mind. “Why? Is this because of Nathan?”

  Lee refused to turn and look at Nathan. It might give Nathan the satisfaction of seeing the betrayal Lee felt in his gut. Of course, did betrayal occur between enemies? Or was that just the nature of the relationship?

  “Actually, Nathan was not involved with this decision. I brought him in so we’d all be on the same page.”

  Anson sorted through a few papers on his desk and pulled a report, stood up, and leaned to give it to Lee.

  A ballistics report.

  “Is this supposed to mean something to me?”

  “You should read through that before coming back at me with some wisecrack.”

  Lee scanned the page, which detailed the information on the gun found at Ruby’s Diner. The weapon was a match to the slugs found in Dr. Freeman’s body.

  Lee snapped the sheet with his fingers and laid it back on the chief’s desk. “Great. We know for sure the gun found at the scene was the one involved in the crime. Should make the prosecution team happy once we find a suspect.”

  “Perhaps you should read through the report more closely. Bottom paragraph.”

  Lee pulled the report again. As he read it slowly, word for word, he began to understand the contemptuous look on Nathan’s face, the subtle anger seething from the chief.

  His chest caved. “It’s not possible.”

  “The only reason I’m not suspending you is because you reported this gun stolen from your residence three years ago. That saves you from immediate suspension and an internal affairs investigation.”

  Lee’s heart hammered in his chest as sweat leached from the tips of his fingers, soaking into the paper now clenched between the vise of his thumb and forefinger.

  Anson stood, the wheels of his chair squeaking as he pushed it against the wall. It tipped, almost fell over as it came off the wood slab designed to protect the carpet. He sat on his desk, hovering over Lee.

  Lee tried not to cower. With the threat of his secret becoming exposed, it was all he could do to keep his mind focused. Something Keelyn said came to the forefront.

  A suspect can only hide so much. Part of your brain is always awake. Always working. Always telling the truth.

  “Lee.”

  Nathan’s voice. Lee focused his attention back to the chief. Nathan’s voice softened. “I’m not assuming you’re involved in the crime, but I need to know who may have stolen that weapon. Let’s just say you weren’t exactly forthright in your initial report.”

  Lee’s vision flared red. “That’s because I didn’t know who took it.”

  Nathan stepped forward. “Wasn’t your brother living with you at the time?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t think he’s a viable suspect, considering his difficulties? His drug habit? His other warrants for petty theft? The shoplifting—”

  “All right, I know how it seems. But Conner would never do anything like that to me.”

  Anson knocked at his desktop like a judge tapped a gavel, drawing Lee’s attention away from Nathan’s inquisitive stare. “Lee, your brother has always been a blind spot for you.” Anson’s voice was quiet and as gentle as Lee had ever heard. “You’ve been to drug house after drug house. Criminals have no honor. It doesn’t matter who they’re related to. They’ll steal from anyone. Including a brother.”

  “It’s always the ones closest to them they’ll hurt the most,” Nathan ventured. Lee purposefully quieted his hands and looked steadily into Nathan’s eyes. Lee saw compassion but knew Nathan was a top-notch interrogator and the look was likely an act—he was playing good cop.

  “Has Conner been in touch with you?” Anson asked.

  “No, I haven’t seen or heard from him in a long time. I don’t even know when the last time was.”

  “Are you trying to look for him?” The tone in Nathan’s voice made Lee wonder if Drew had given him up.

  “No, I’m not trying to look for him.”

  A partial truth was still accurate, right? He could probably pass the lie detector, as he’d done before, if asked that same question.

  “If Conner has any contact with you—”

  “Listen,” Lee said, putting his hand up. “You’re assuming a lot at this point. You’re assuming he stole the weapon, has held onto it for a couple of years, and now has used it in the murder of a psychiatrist he has no known tie to. Even a prosecutor is going to find this a very thin case. Are his fingerprints on the weapon?”

  “There is a set on the weapon. Fingerprinting is a little backed up right now.”

  “Is this Nathan’s theory?” Without glancing behind him, Lee felt the heat of Nathan’s gaze.

  Anson crossed his arms. “I’m not saying there’s not more work to be done. But in light of the current circumstances, I’ve instructed Nathan to go full tilt on finding Conner. The sooner we clear him, the better it will be for you. For now, I will let you resume your duties with SWAT. In fact, there’s a current call Holmes could use your help on.”

  “I’m not scheduled to work today.”

  “Consider it my way of keeping you out of trouble.” He pointed a finger. “Keep your nose out of Nathan’s case.”

  Lee stood and turned on his heel. The five short steps seemed like a mile. He exited the door like a diver breaching the water’s surface for a sharp intake of breath. But relief from the pressure in the chief’s office was momentary. Lee felt like he was drowning.

  Chapter 18

  THE AIR CONDENSED AS THE temperature dropped. Puffs of vapor spewed from Nathan’s nose as water droplets formed at the tip. He took his ironed, folded hankie and cleared the drainage. The coming storm, and possibly a head cold, weren’t the only things brewing.

  Thoughts of his meeting with the chief and Lee churned like rain-deluged whitewater. Nathan knew about secrets. Knew keeping secrets could be deadly.

  Lee was keeping a secret. Likely about his brother. Who would that secret be more costly to? Someone on the police force? Lee himself?

  Keelyn?

  Was Keelyn a potential casualty of what Lee was hiding? Nathan studied the old photo he’d snagged from Conner Watson’s file then put it back in the inner pocket of his coat. There were some eerie similarities between Conner’s photo and the mysterious Lucent. Definite differences, but still.

  He noted the time as he leaned against the coarse brick of Gavin’s office building and drummed his fingers against the stone. The psychiatric consultant he’d requested to accompany him on his visit had two minutes to arrive before he was late. The small movement of his twiddling appendages was not enough to dispense his eagerness, and he pushed away from the wall and pulled the warrant through his fingers as if he were sharpening a knife. They were authorizations for copies of full records of both John’s and his daughter’s psychiatric treatment.

  The purpose of the consultant was to ensure the medical records were given in their entirety, so the suspect wouldn’t surreptitiously hide a few sheets from the police. Nathan had worked with Dr. Derrick Vanhise before and was looking forward to his expertise on the Samuals cases.

  A red Corvette pulled into the lot, a perfectly fine car, except under the common Colorado winter maladies of icy roads and flying snow. Though a fine clinician, Derrick liked to display the accoutrements of his success, and a red car against white snow definitely drew eyes.

  Vanhise emerged from the car. The double beep indicated his car alarm was set. He was the picture of Ivy League elite. Average height, thin build, black hair with graying beard. All he need
ed was a pipe held in one hand to complete the picture.

  That and maybe a suit.

  The Hawaiian shirt, torn jeans, and Teva sandals didn’t lend much to his credibility in light of the weather. However, his demeanor and dress fit the typical Boulder residential profile. An area of Colorado well known for its more liberal residents who liked to go against the grain. Even in cool weather, it wasn’t unheard of to find some Coloradans dressed in shorts and tanks.

  Nathan extended his hand. “You couldn’t have dressed up to help me serve the warrant?”

  His hand was warm and strong. “I love raising the ire of my most obsessive detective.”

  Nathan released his grip. “I don’t know if Gavin will buy into the fact you’re a much-sought-after expert witness.”

  They neared the building. “My dressing down will make him feel superior, and he might let something slip. From what you’ve told me so far, I get the sense he likes to operate outside normal psychiatric boundaries. He’ll want to explain how current psychiatric practices are out of vogue. His and Lucy’s setup is a conundrum in itself. It is very unusual these days to have two psychiatrists providing continued psychoanalysis in today’s health care climate.”

  Nathan hit the button for the elevator. “Maybe they have a lot of self-pay clients. Do you even own a suit?”

  “One. For funerals.”

  Down the hall, a few quick turns, and they were at the receptionist’s desk. Nathan had planned to be there five minutes before the top of the hour to limit Gavin’s excuses for delaying their ultimatum.

  “We need to see Dr. Donnely.”

  “He’s about to see his next patient.”

  Nathan tapped the papers on the counter. “He’ll want to see us.” He leaned down to whisper. “Unless you’d like me to announce loudly to this gentleman here he’s being served with a warrant.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “For murder? I thought he was gone a little too long for lunch of Monday.”