Power

by Debra Webb

  She wondered if Lori had gotten hers out of the way. Jess had missed the call from the shrink on Friday morning, hardly more than twenty-four hours after the shooting. The investigation into her actions during last week’s showdown with a serial killer had already begun. There really was no point pretending she could disregard that reality.

  Didn’t keep her from trying.

  Maybe she’d drop by tonight and check on Lori. See how her appointment, if she’d had it already, had gone. Get a feel for the department shrink. Better the devil she knew. And she’d like to see for herself how Lori was doing.

  “How’s Lori?” she asked Harper.

  “She’s good. Yesterday she moved back to her place.” He laughed. “It was either that or blow a gasket with the way her mother was hovering over her.”

  Lori loved her mom and sister but she, like Jess, was fiercely independent. Jess was surprised she’d suffered the hovering this long.

  “I’m glad she’s feeling up to getting back into her normal routine.” Jess didn’t have to ask if Harper had seen her. The two had a thing. Both would deny it, but Jess knew. She also knew that they were all damned lucky to have escaped the Player and his sadistic accomplice with scarcely more than a few bruises and scratches. The same couldn’t be said for the two federal agents who had lost their lives. That familiar combination of pain and rage twisted in her belly. One day soon she hoped she got the opportunity to stop that bastard once and for all.

  “She wants to come back to work.”

  Jess banished the ghost that plagued her like a persistent rash. “Not until she’s well enough physically and has the dreaded psych eval.”

  “You had yours yet?”

  “Are you spying on me for Burnett?”

  Harper kept his attention straight ahead despite no doubt sensing her staring a hole through his profile.

  “He might have mentioned something about reminding you.”

  If Daniel Burnett intended to play by the book, he couldn’t have it both ways. No checking up on her through her subordinates.

  Harper slowed and parked at the curb in front of their destination.

  The home was another modest ranch-style house, like most of the others along this street. Unlike the others, the yard was well maintained as was the exterior of the home. A ray of hope in the bleakness.

  “Shall we see what kind of reception we get, Sergeant?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  By the time Jess completed her visual assessment and released her seat belt, Harper was at her door, opening it like the good Southern gentleman he was. Like her, he had already slipped into secure mode, attuning to their surroundings and monitoring all senses intently.

  Jess was grateful to have Harper on her team. Lori Wells, too. They were top-notch detectives. Officer Cook, who would be reporting for duty on Friday, had earned his spot in Jess’s unit when he jumped at the opportunity to spend his off-duty time following up on her lead in the case that had brought Jess back to Birmingham. Lieutenant Prescott had started today. Despite the promotion she felt had belonged to her, so far she hadn’t asked to be transferred back to Crimes Against Persons. Jess doubted that meant the lieutenant liked her. The more probable scenario was that Prescott intended to hang close and wait for Jess to screw up or drop dead.

  One day when the dust had settled Jess would invite her out for drinks. Not the girlie martini types but the ones with balls, like bourbon straight up or scotch neat. With good stiff drinks in their guts they could hash this out woman-to-woman.

  There she went, getting distracted with frustrations that were completely irrelevant to the moment. This was not the time or the place.

  Thankfully the neighborhood was fairly quiet, which made for hearing trouble well in advance of it coming into view. A pit bull at the neighbor’s house got to his feet, stretched, and then sniffed the air. As she and Harper headed up the drive to the front door, the dog barked and growled, then launched toward them. His chain snapped tight, holding him at the property line. Jess wished there was a law against having dogs chained up like that.

  The front porch of the Simmonses’ home was really nothing more than a small stoop. Jess fanned herself. It was just too damned hot for a house with no porch. Two concrete steps, flanked by potted plants that somehow managed to survive in this heat, led to the door. A security storm door had been installed, as had iron bars over the windows. Nothing said welcome like iron bars. For those inside, the attempt at deterrence made them feel a little safer. In Jess’s experience if a bad guy wanted in badly enough, he was getting in.

  Harper rapped on the steel door.

  Inside, the high-pitched yap of a small dog erupted, easily outdoing the drone of the television.

  Another series of raps on the door. The television volume was lowered and the dog, Chi-Chi, was shushed by a firm male voice. In Jess’s opinion the yappy dog was a far more reliable deterrent than the bars.

  Locks clicked and the door opened. A man, late sixties or so, gray hair and bifocals, scrutinized first Harper, then Jess. “You Jehovah’s Witnesses or cops?” he challenged, his voice gruff. “If you’re Witnesses, we belong to the Baptist church over on Sixteenth Street, so don’t waste your time. If you’re cops, you damned sure took your time.”

  Jess displayed her credentials, as did Harper. “Mr. Simmons, I’m Deputy Chief Harris and this is Sergeant Harper from the Birmingham PD. May we come inside and speak with you about your grandson?”

  Without a word, the man unlatched the security door. Sergeant Harper pulled it open and waited for Jess to go in before him. The home smelled of fried okra, fresh sweet corn, and hot corn bread, reminding Jess of the way her mother’s kitchen had smelled when she was a child. Her stomach rumbled. She pressed her hand there and hoped no one noticed.

  The living room was homey. Worn comfortable sofa and chairs. Tables cluttered with framed photos, most of which were of the grandson. The man who’d answered the door along with a woman who looked to be around his age stood on either side of the boy at his high school graduation, diploma proudly displayed. Chi-Chi, a tiny Chihuahua with a yap ten times her size, danced around Jess’s feet.

  “Well, hello, you itty-bitty puppy.” Jess reached down and the dog snarled in warning. Guess Chi-Chi wasn’t as friendly as she looked.

  “Helen, the police are here,” Mr. Simmons called down the hall that in all probability led to the bedrooms. He turned back to his company. “Go on and sit down. She’ll be here directly. She’s getting ready for the prayer vigil.”

  Prayer vigil? Burnett had said a rally. Not the same thing at all. Jess took a seat on the sofa. Harper joined her. Chi-Chi stayed under the coffee table, eyeing them suspiciously. “Mr. Simmons, we wanted to ask you a few questions about your grandson’s disappearance.”

  He collapsed in the recliner that held a key position in front of the television, then settled his attention on Jess. “Did you find his body?”

  Surprised by his question, Jess answered it with one of her own. “Do you believe your grandson is dead, sir?”

  Simmons pulled the lever that lifted the footrest and removed his glasses before meeting her expectant gaze. “That boy ain’t never been late getting home. Not once in his life. He made near straight A’s in school. Got a full scholarship to Jeff State, which he had to put off for a year to stay here and help his grandmamma with me.” He patted his chest. “I’ve had three heart surgeries this past year and my wife just couldn’t do all that needed to be done.” He waved his arm as if dismissing his health concerns. “DeShawn stayed right here. Took care of me until I was strong enough to take care of myself. Then he got a job over at the Captain D’s until school starts. He’s a shift supervisor. Now.” Mr. Simmons looked from Jess to Harper and back. “I’m telling you that if that boy was alive, he would’ve come home or called by now.”

  “You keep telling that tale and they won’t never look for him!”

  Harper stood as the woman from the photographs, Mr
s. Simmons, Jess presumed, entered the room and took the chair next to her husband. She was dressed in her Sunday best. It was glaringly obvious why the otherwise healthy-looking woman was unable to attend to her ailing husband’s needs. Her right arm hung useless and withered at her side.

  She looked straight at Jess and nodded once, a spark lighting in her eyes. “I know you. You’re the one was all over the TV when those girls were missing.”

  Jess offered a smile. “Yes, ma’am. But don’t believe everything you hear.”

  Mrs. Simmons shook her head. “Never do. But I know what you did. You found those girls. I’ve been praying the Lord would send you to find my boy. When I filed the report I asked for you by name. I told ’em to send Jessie Lee Harris to see me.” The lady clasped her hands together and smiled, her lips trembling with emotion. “Praise the Lord. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

  Well, that explained why she’d been taken off the Chandler case. The poop was about to hit the fan in the media and Jess was going to be the star yet again.

  Thank you, Burnett.

  “Well.” Jess took a breath. “I’m here now. I want you to tell me everything there is to know about this fine grandson of yours and then I want you to tell me about Friday from the moment you got out of bed until you filed the report the next morning.”

  Helen took the lead, regaling Jess with stories about how DeShawn had come to live with them when he was only three. His mother, their only child, had died of a drug overdose and they’d never known his father. DeShawn was studious and kind and completely committed to his grandparents. Within a month of taking a minimum-wage job with Captain D’s he had been asked to join their management team. He took the bus to work since gas had gotten so expensive. He dated occasionally but his main focus was on his future. He saved most of what he earned. He went to church every Sunday with his grandmother. According to his grandparents, DeShawn set the pattern that all other grandchildren should follow.

  Jess waited for the other shoe to drop. There was almost always, no matter how wonderful the son or daughter, some little thing no one expected. A new friend, activity, or contact unknown to the parents. Some deviation from the norm. Though it was certainly possible, if he had not disappeared of his own accord, that DeShawn had been the victim of random violence, far more likely he was the victim of a wrong choice.

  “You forgot to mention that girl who’s been calling him,” Mr. Simmons put in.

  “That girl is not his girlfriend,” Mrs. Simmons argued. “She’s just a friend he helped out by getting her a job.”

  “Who is this girl he helped out?” Jess inquired, searching both faces for that telltale flare of knowledge that could prove far more important than either one understood. Anticipation spurred a little burst of adrenaline. This could be the element of DeShawn’s background that might provide some insight as to why he’d gone missing.

  “She’s Mexican,” Mr. Simmons said with obvious disdain. “Her name’s Nina something. She was all mixed up with one of them thirteen gangbangers. And our boy was doing a lot more than helping her get a job. He was helping her hide.”

  “We don’t know any such thing for sure,” his wife argued. “Whatever she was involved in, DeShawn would not have gotten mixed up in that gang mess. He said she was hiding. He didn’t say he was helping her hide.”

  That burst of adrenaline became a full-fledged flood. “Mr. Simmons, are you referring to MS-13?”

  “That’s it! DeShawn said her ex-boyfriend—or whatever he was—was some kind of leader of that trash. He was scared they might hurt her if they found out where she was hiding.”

  On a scale of one to ten, with ten being bad, this was a twelve. “Do you recall her last name?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Simmons exchanged a look. Both shook their heads.

  “Where was she hiding when DeShawn was helping her?”

  “In that empty house down the block on the corner. DeShawn took her a blanket and a pillow and food. He was worried about her safety but she refused to go to the police. Then she just disappeared. Poof!” He made an abrupt gesture with his hands. “Next thing we knew DeShawn was gone, too.” His voice trembled on the last. “They’ve done something bad to our boy. I know it.”

  “We don’t know that,” Mrs. Simmons argued again. “DeShawn was just being nice. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Jess knew exactly the house Mr. Simmons meant. The one with all the gang tags. She also understood that Mrs. Simmons was in deep denial. If this young man had crossed someone in the MS-13 in any capacity, his grandfather was correct. They would do or had done something bad to him. “When did Nina go missing?”

  “On Wednesday,” Helen answered as she dabbed at her eyes. “DeShawn was very upset that she didn’t answer the door when it was time to go to work Wednesday afternoon. He went inside that old house and she was gone. I tried to tell him that she probably just took off. With girls like that you can’t never tell.”

  Jess made a note to check the house. “Did he notice signs of a struggle?”

  Helen shook her head. “She was just gone and he was worried sick. Two days later he was gone, too.”

  “Did you tell this to the police when you filed the missing persons report?”

  Helen exchanged another look with her husband. “I didn’t. I was afraid you wouldn’t look for him if you knew about that part. I knew the police would try to say he was involved with that mess. But I can promise you right now he didn’t run off to join no gang, not for that girl or anything else. They took him. That’s all there is to it.”

  Jess dug for her pad and pencil. “I need as much information about the girl as you can give me.” She turned to a new page in her notepad. “Don’t leave anything out,” she warned. “I can’t help you or your grandson unless I know everything.”

  • • •

  8:45 p.m.

  Jess promised Mr. and Mrs. Simmons she would find their grandson. The department’s sketch artist was scheduled to meet with the Simmonses tomorrow morning to work on a rendering of this unidentified person of interest called Nina. Jess suspected she was the key to DeShawn’s troubles.

  Harper exited the premises first and scanned the street in both directions as they walked toward his SUV.

  The sun had gone down, leaving that dusky-not-quite-dark time of the evening when folks ushered their kids inside and streetlights began to flicker to life. As she walked along the driveway the pit bull made another dive that snapped his chain tight.

  “Stop wasting the effort,” she told him. “You won’t be able to break that log chain.”

  She hoped Harper was far enough away that he’d missed her giving advice to the dog. She needed the distraction. Anything to get her mind off the last hour. This was an undeniably bad situation. The chances that DeShawn Simmons was alive were minimal, and that was the good news.

  She didn’t want to think about the bad news.

  Not much had changed in this neighborhood at all since that year she’d spent here as a kid. She wondered if her aunt was still alive and living around here someplace.

  The woman had chosen her drugs and her johns over Jess and her sister. She surely couldn’t have expected them to keep in touch. The truth was, Jess hadn’t thought of her in decades. Why start now?

  Jess cut across the lawn and was halfway to Harper’s SUV when she heard a sound that made her blood go cold.

  Tha-thwack.

  An engine roared to life. A vehicle rocketed from between two parked cars. Up the block on her right.

  Harper lunged toward her. They hit the ground, his body shielding hers before the first bullets exploded from at least one pump shotgun and numerous other automatic weapons.

  They were in the open.

  No cover.

  There was nothing they could do except ride it out.

  The squeal of tires and growl of the engine diminished in the distance before the echo of the final shots faded.

  Just as suddenly as it had
begun, it was over.

  Before she could make a move to get up, Harper was on his feet and reaching for her. “You okay, ma’am?”

  Jess got to her knees and retrieved her bag. Thankfully the contents hadn’t flown in a dozen directions. “Pretty damned good, considering.” She accepted his hand and levered to her feet, then wheeled around to see if the Simmonses’ house had suffered any damage that might have endangered the people inside.

  “Get backup over here,” she said to Harper as she fished out her Glock. “I’m going in to check on Mr. and Mrs. Simmons.”

  Before the order was fully out of her mouth, the front door burst open and the elderly couple bounded out of the house with far more agility and speed than Jess would have expected.

  “Get back in the house,” she shouted. There was no way to know what the shooters would do next. Stay gone, most likely, but there were no guarantees.

  The couple stared at her a moment, then at the gun in her right hand, before obeying her command. The shattered security door slammed behind them, safety glass showering the stoop.

  Harper had dispatch on the horn and was relaying the situation. Jess surveyed the neighborhood. Folks on both sides of the street had started to wander out into their yards.

  She motioned with her free hand and shouted, “Birmingham PD! Go back in your homes until we give the all clear.”

  By the time Harper closed his phone, sirens were wailing in the distance and the curiosity seekers were going back inside.

  For the first time since the initial pump of that shotgun, Jess hauled in a decent breath. Her gaze stalled on Harper and his slight limp. The knees of his khaki trousers were stained by the dive into the grass, but it was the darker stain on his left thigh just above his knee that worried her, made her own knees go weak.

  “You’re hit.” She moved toward him to get a closer look.