“The wife. He knew you were coming after him. He would’ve made sure she could access the money. She’ll know the password.”
It was the best lead they had. “I think it’s time for me to pay her another visit.”
He’d get that password, no matter what it took.
Seven
Bethany rocked gently on her feet as she waited for the door to open.
It had been years since she’d been to a police station. In fact, she didn’t think she’d set foot inside one since James’ disappearance.
The lady behind the bullet-proof Plexiglas had taken her name and called Zander, then told her to have a seat.
She was too wound up to sit down, though.
Another glance at the wall clock showed only forty seconds had passed since she’d last looked.
The steel door that practically screamed she didn’t belong here remained closed.
How far away was his desk, anyway?
The door clicked.
She looked up to see Zander waving her back.
Fluorescent lights flooded the hallway. On their right, an open doorway revealed the bullpen, with dozens of desks occupied. Murmurs drifted through the opening, although she couldn’t make out any words.
Half a dozen closed doors lined the other side of the hallway.
“How’d you sleep?” He glanced at her over his shoulder.
“Good.” Surprisingly well, actually, given all that had happened the previous evening and the fact that she was sharing a bed with a four-year old.
“Elly claims that nothing compares to sleeping on the water.” He shook his head slowly. “I’ll have to take her word for it. I have no intention of trading dry ground for the ocean.”
“And how’s that going to work out if you two get more serious?” Why had she asked that? It wasn’t any of her business.
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing.” Zander rubbed the back of his neck. “Never thought I’d end up with someone who loved the water so much.”
“God does have a sense of humor, doesn’t He?”
Zander stopped outside the fourth door and pushed it open.
Gosh, it was just like the movies. A table sat dead center in the white-walled room, with two chairs on either side of the table. A mirrored window occupied the wall to her right.
In the middle of the table, a form and two pens poised for her arrival.
“I feel like a criminal.” Her words bounced off the barren walls.
Zander chuckled. “It’s intimidating, but you have nothing to worry about. Go ahead and have a seat.”
As Zander sat at one of the chairs, she pulled out one on the opposite side of the table. Looking up, she found herself facing the one-way glass. Was someone over there? Watching?
A shiver prickled down her spine.
She needed to relax. She had nothing to hide.
“Our forensic artist should be along any minute to get that sketch done. I know you said you’d do a sketch, but I asked him to come by anyway. Just in case you didn’t get to it or something.”
She opened the manila envelope she’d brought with her and withdrew the sketch she’d worked on last night.
Before handing it over, she assessed it one final time. Shaved head, thick neck, strong jawline, pointy nose. She’d even managed to capture the arrogance in his squinty little eyes. “This is the man.”
Zander stared at the sketch for a few long seconds. He shifted his attention back to her. “This is excellent.”
While she’d been pleased with how it had come out, the simple charcoal drawing was anything but extraordinary. She simply shrugged. “I’m an artist.”
“A good one.” He studied the picture more closely. “We’re always looking for talent. Have you ever thought about being a forensic artist for the police?”
What?
She stared at him. He was serious!
“I… No, that’s never occurred to me. I thought everything was done with computer software these days.”
Zander smiled. “That’s an increasingly popular option, but there are still artists who do sketches by hand. Either way, having a basic knowledge of art and the ability to create a sketch is highly desirable.”
And no doubt paid better than part-time janitorial work at the art institute.
“Is–is there a position open?” It seemed impossible.
Yet didn’t God do the impossible all the time?
“I don’t know, but let me look into it and I’ll get back to you.” He set the sketch aside and pushed the form and a pen toward her. “For now, we better focus on yesterday.”
Pulling the writing materials toward her, she looked up at Zander.
After some brief instructions, he offered a gentle smile. “Just write down everything that happened, in the order it happened, in as much detail as you can remember. Take all the time you need. We can take a break any time.”
Okay. That didn’t sound too hard.
“Has Zeke already done this?”
Why she cared, she wasn’t sure, but it felt important.
Zander nodded. “He came by this morning after being discharged from the hospital. But he really didn’t remember much. What you know is critical.”
At least Zeke had been released. That was a good thing.
She really should have gone to the hospital to check on him. But it was hard with three kids and no transportation.
She picked up the pen.
When she had finished, she signed the document and handed it to Zander. “Did Zeke tell you about the documents on the USB?
“He did.” Zander nodded at the remaining sheets of paper. “That was going to be our next step. I need you to write down everything you can remember about what you saw there.”
This would be a little harder.
She jotted down what she’d seen on the videos, then looked up at Zander. “There was a spreadsheet in there, but I really don’t know what was on it. It looked like nothing more than random numbers.”
Although she was sure they had some importance or James wouldn’t have put that file in there.
“We have a tech combing through the Mission’s computer to see if they can retrieve anything. Write down what you remember, even if it seems unimportant.”
What she remembered? Absolutely nothing.
What about that Word document? She struggled to remember the words James had strung together on that short page.
Penitentiary. Multi-million dollar. Ward.
The five words ran through her mind. There were more words than that, though.
Too bad she couldn’t remember. Maybe Zeke’s memory had worked better than hers.
Then again, he’d taken a solid blow to the head. His memory might not be working at all.
She sighed and slid the paper over. “That’s all I can remember.”
He looked at it before returning his attention to her. “Does any of this mean anything to you?”
“Nothing. And I know that wasn’t all of it, but that’s all I can remember.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. You did great.” He collected the paper and put it with her earlier statement. “If you remember anything else, just let me know, okay?”
Somehow, she doubted she’d remember anything else, but she simply nodded.
He led her out of the interrogation room and back through the heavy steel door that deposited her in the waiting area.
She looked at the clock. Yikes. It was later than she’d thought.
A rumble in her stomach confirmed that she’d missed lunch.
Well, it wasn’t the first meal she’d skipped. She needed to get to the daycare center to collect Pete and Becca, then they’d all take the bus to meet JJ after school.
At least she’d already figured out which bus route she’d need to get back to the marina.
The marina.
How long would it be before she could return home?
She couldn’t do anything to endanger the kids, so as long as th
e threat existed, they were staying on the boat. Was that man even still after her or did he now have what he wanted? Was there any way to know for sure?
₪ ₪ ₪
Zeke eased onto the sofa. The sunlight caressed his head and shoulders with warmth but didn’t ease the pain in his limbs.
He’d never been hurt before.
Being one of the fallen stunk.
In more ways than one.
The silence surrounding him, the emptiness inside, hurt far worse than any physical injury.
How could God abandon him? Where was the redemption that he’d preached to countless others now that he needed it himself?
Footsteps clomped up the stairs. Josiah’s face appeared.
“Hey, brother. How’re you doing?”
Zeke shrugged. What was there to say?
Dropping into the chair across from him, Josiah studied his face.
Reading everything, no doubt. Or maybe God was telling him. God still spoke to Josiah.
“Anger is a cancer of the soul, my brother.”
Easy for him to say. He narrowed his eyes on Josiah. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know that you’ve got a couple of enemies hanging on you right now. Anger, bitterness, and self-pity. Doubt isn’t far away.” Josiah’s gaze traveled around Zeke.
Anger. Bitterness. Self-pity. Doubt.
How had he let all that plague him?
Zeke rolled his shoulders, as if doing so would free him of the demons Josiah saw lingering there. “You don’t know what it’s like.”
“No, I don’t.” Josiah’s stare sharpened on him. “But you know what you gotta do. God’s big enough to take it.”
“I tried.” His eyes stung and his throat constricted. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t want to. I can’t hear Him anymore. What’s the point of living if you can’t hear God?”
“So your plan is to drift through life until you die?” The corner of Josiah’s mouth quirked upward.
When he put it like that, it sounded pretty stupid.
Yet wasn’t that exactly how he’d been living?
Josiah pushed his lanky frame up from the chair, clapping his large hand on Zeke’s shoulder. “You may not hear God the same way you used to, but you can still hear Him. Never forget that.”
He watched Josiah walk out into the sunshine.
He had forgotten.
Caught up in a spiral of self-pity, he’d forgotten that God still loved him, no matter what he’d done.
Ah, Father. Forgive me.
The simple words opened a torrent of prayer that left him with damp cheeks and a light heart.
Although he still didn’t hear the audible voice he longed to hear, he sensed the Father’s presence, giving him a peace he hadn’t felt since the fall.
The relationship might have changed, but he still had a Father who loved him.
Now he also had a Savior to free him.
And those spirits Josiah saw? Well, he was certain they had slunk back to the shadows where they belonged.
₪ ₪ ₪
It felt nice to get back to some semblance of routine.
Bethany scrubbed the last toilet in the women’s restroom and exited the stall. Once she mopped this bathroom, all the bathrooms were clean.
She swished the mop across the floor with the fluid grace of a dancer.
As much as she needed to work, part of her still felt bad for leaving the kids with Zeke and his family. They’d volunteered, but still. It wasn’t their job.
But Olive had her big date tonight and Bethany had already missed two days of work.
She couldn’t afford to miss another.
Zeke. The man infiltrated her thoughts.
The kindness he’d shown her and her kids was uncommon. Earlier she’d found him helping JJ with his science homework by staging an experiment in the kitchen. He listened to Pete as though the things Pete said were of utmost importance. And he never hesitated to tell Becca stories about God.
Add to all that his sculpted face and intense eyes and, well, it’d been a long time since she’d been drawn to a man like she was to him.
She plopped the mop inside the pail.
Look at her! Swooning like some teenager, when her husband wasn’t even in the ground.
She was a horrible person.
But James had been dead to her for years anyway. She’d been alone, struggling, for so long that it was nice to finally have someone come alongside and help her.
It wasn’t like anything would come of her juvenile crush anyway.
She wheeled her cart through the bathroom door.
The dimly lit hallway conjured up every high school horror movie she’d ever seen. A shiver scrambled across her vertebrae.
From down the hallway, a door closed, the echo rushing through the empty corridor to greet her.
The other janitor should be in one of the other buildings. Security had been through recently. Still, it had to be one of them, right? The building was locked, so it couldn’t be anyone else.
She searched the area for any signs that someone waited nearby.
No one entered her line of sight.
She needed to stop jumping at shadows.
The wheels on her cart squealed as she pushed toward the janitor closet.
If anyone wanted to sneak up on her, this cart would mask their movements. She looked behind her.
Still no sign of anyone.
Stop it!
The self-directed command did little good.
Reaching the closet, she swapped her bathroom cart for the automatic floor polisher. The sooner she got these floors sparkling, the sooner she could leave.
The machine roared to life.
Had it always made so much noise? Hard to say, but she was jumpy enough that the answer didn’t really matter.
Something moved to her left.
She turned.
A large man, dressed in dark jeans and a tight black shirt that revealed carved muscles, approached. Gloved hands stretched out to her. Squinty eyes glared from a black ski mask.
The attacker from yesterday!
Sure, his face was covered, but she’d recognize him anywhere. There was no mistaking that build, arrogant swagger, or cold stare.
She was alone, with nothing but a floor polisher to use as a weapon.
Not even any chemicals close by with which she could try to blind him.
The other janitor was in the building next door and security had toured this area not more than fifteen minutes ago. They wouldn’t be back for at least another fifteen.
The thin lips visible through a slit in the ski mask curled into a smirk.
Somehow, he knew. Maybe he’d been watching the place, waiting for security to leave. It didn’t matter now.
All that mattered was that she was trapped with a killer.
No one would even hear her scream.
₪ ₪ ₪
Bethany’s face filled his vision.
Zeke paused, his hand on top of the covers. Beneath his fingers, warmth radiated from Pete’s little body.
Tucking the kids in took a backseat to the need to pray.
Something was happening. To Bethany. He didn’t know what, but the burden of prayer was strong, which could only mean one thing.
Trouble.
He blinked to find both JJ and Pete staring at him.
Involve them.
The soft words rippled through his mind. When two or more are gathered…
Now to pray specifically, but without scaring them.
He gently took one of Pete’s hands and one of JJ’s hands. “Hey guys. Let’s pray together for your mom.”
Both boys obediently closed their eyes.
Zeke turned his face toward the ceiling. “Oh, Loving Father. We ask that you cover Bethany with Your mighty hand…”
Eight
The man took a deliberate step closer.
He was enjoying her fear.
The reality crashed into her mind
. Enjoying it!
Well, if he thought she’d go down without a fight, he had a harsh reality coming. What he didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, was that she had three very compelling reasons to live.
JJ, Pete, and Becca.
She would not leave them orphans.
Squeezing the handle, she aimed the floor polisher at her attacker and gave it a shove.
He jumped back as the machine slid toward him.
She spun and ran.
Footsteps thundered behind her.
There would be no outrunning him. His legs were longer, his muscle tone better.
The fire alarm.
She aimed for the red handle on the wall. Fingers closing around it, she jerked it down.
Alarms blared.
The sprinklers kicked on, drizzling water on her head.
She risked a glance.
The man was less than ten feet away!
She needed a weapon. But there was noth… the extinguisher!
Mounted under the alarm, behind a glass panel, the fire extinguisher was her best option. Maybe her only one.
A hand clamped onto her shoulder and whipped her around, slamming her back against the wall. He pressed in close, his hands encircling her throat.
Pressure brought pain, her tears mingling with the water streaming down her face.
His face consumed her vision, the jester-like grin swirling in front of her eyes.
Get away!
The command bulleted through her brain. How?
She drove her knee up, praying he was close enough for her to hit the target.
“Aargh!”
She barely heard his cry above the deafening alarms.
The hands loosened and he doubled over.
She whirled, fumbling with the release lever on the glass panel.
Obscenities echoed above the din.
Her fingers gripped the slick metal of the extinguisher and lifted it from the shelf at the same time that her head was jerked back.
Whipping around, she swung the extinguisher as hard as she could.
It caught him in the chest. His fingers slid out of her hair and he stumbled back several steps.
She swung again.
The metal crashed into his shoulder, the force sending him sprawling.
Time to go.
But she wouldn’t relinquish her weapon, just in case he came after her.
Broken is the Grave Page 8
