I Shall Not Want

by Debbie Viguié

  “Of course,” Jeremiah said, grateful that he had. “I’m guessing you found something else out about him, which is why you’re here?”

  He unlocked the office and led the detective inside before again locking the door. Whatever happened next, he didn’t want to be disturbed.

  “We checked out his driver’s license. It turns out that Peter Wallace wasn’t his real name,” Mark said.

  Jeremiah could have told him that. “Really? What was his real name?”

  “That we don’t know yet.”

  “Then how do you know it isn’t Peter Wallace?”

  “Because the real Peter Wallace died of cancer three years ago in a hospital in Memphis. We were able to trace the alias back that far. Whoever he was, he knew people who knew a lot about how to steal an identity.”

  Among other things, Jeremiah thought.

  “Rabbi, is there something you should be telling me?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

  “I checked with some of the people who spend a lot of time in the park. They remember him and a dog.”

  “I told you I thought there might have been a dog.”

  “Yeah, well, this dog doesn’t fit our pattern. He wasn’t adopted recently.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Jeremiah said, struggling to keep his face, voice, and posture neutral.

  “I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something I’m missing, that maybe that man was coming to see you about something.”

  “He could have been looking for a rabbi, I suppose,” Jeremiah said, pretending to be deep in thought. “Of course it would be easier to find one here.”

  “Unless he wanted to talk to one in private.”

  “And why would he want to do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Mark admitted.

  “Now you’ve got me curious,” Jeremiah said. “Maybe Cindy and I should put our heads together some more and see if we can come up with something.”

  “No, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Mark said hastily. “Last thing I need is her stumbling into harm’s way again.”

  “But if the man was trying to see me—”

  “No, he could have lasted a while with that injury. He might have been headed somewhere, but I doubt we’ll ever know where since he didn’t make it any farther than your lawn.”

  “Let me know if you do figure it out. It would make me feel better.”

  “You got it, Rabbi,” Mark said, turning to leave.

  “Thank you for your help,” Jeremiah added for good measure.

  Mark smiled. “That’s what we’re here for.”

  9

  AS MARK REACHED THE PARKING LOT, HIS CELL PHONE RANG. “HELLO?”

  “It’s Paul. We’ve been called to investigate a possible homicide over on Shady Glen Drive.”

  Mark whistled low. Shady Glen Drive was in a private, gated community where the super wealthy lived. Sooner or later death claimed everyone, from those with no home to those with dozens of them. If this was a possible homicide, though, then death might have had help this time.

  “It will take me a few minutes to get there.”

  “Sure, I’ll be waiting.”

  When Mark arrived at Shady Glen Drive, it wasn’t tough to figure out where to go. Half the street had been cordoned off, and his fellow officers were swarming like flies over every square inch of it.

  At the epicenter of the activity he finally found Paul, sitting on the sidewalk next to a gray-haired man wearing an Armani suit and shoes that cost more than Mark made in a year. The man was visibly upset from the look of his puffy eyes and swollen red nose to the tear stains on his shirt.

  Mark sat down on the sidewalk as well, quietly, waiting for Paul to clue him in to what had happened.

  “His wife was hit by a car while she was out jogging,” Paul finally said somberly.

  “She went jogging every day,” the man said. “About ten years now she’s been jogging. We started doing it together after I had my heart attack. Six weeks into it I quit, but she kept going. She loved it. She said it was the only time she ever got to be by herself to think.”

  “Accident?” Mark asked Paul quietly.

  “I don’t think so,” Paul said. “The car that hit her was a Mercedes, stolen from a couple up the block just moments before.”

  Mark raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t even remember the last time a crime had been reported in the area. Politicians, entrepreneurs, even a few of Hollywood’s A-list called the area home for just that reason.

  “Did either of you have any enemies?” Paul asked. “Anyone who would want to do something like this?”

  “Plenty. That’s why we live here. We have a panic room in the house, bodyguards that live on property. She was right, you know; the only time she was ever truly alone was when she was jogging. Had I ever dreamed someone would do this, I never would have let—” He broke down sobbing.

  Mark just sat quietly, head bowed like he had done with so many people before.

  Husbands and wives, parents, children, friends, even unlucky strangers such as Cindy. He watched as they dealt with their pain and fear and struggled to put themselves together so that they could be helpful. It sucks to be this guy, sitting here helpless after his wife has been the victim of a terrible crime. I am so glad I’m not this guy. “Have we found the car?” he asked Paul.

  Paul nodded. “A block outside the gate.”

  “So it definitely wasn’t about taking the car.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  The man started shaking. Mark stood up and signaled to one of the paramedics on scene. Mark and Paul moved away so they were out of earshot but could still observe the proceedings.

  “He’s in shock,” Paul said.

  “Yeah, hard to fake to that degree,” Mark said.

  “If he’s faking, he should reconsider a career in theater.”

  “One of his neighbors could probably set him up.”

  “Yeah, really.”

  “So the usual, get a list of people who might have been capable of doing this?”

  “Unless you’ve figured out a whole new way to do police work, then I guess so,” Paul said, sarcasm edging his voice.

  Mark scowled. It was going to take time away from their other investigation, and he didn’t like it.

  “Forensics find anything with the car?” he asked.

  “Let’s go find out,” Paul suggested.

  They opted to walk the three blocks instead of drive. Mark took in everything around him, wondering who might have seen something or how someone might have gained access without being caught or at least seen.

  When they reached the car, they found the tech in charge and approached him. “Hey, Curtis, what do you have?” Mark asked, glancing inside the car while being careful not to touch it.

  Curtis shook his head. “Wiped clean. Plus, the owners of this car kept it immaculate. The only thing I found here were a couple of tufts of dog hair in the backseat.”

  “Dog hair?” Paul asked.

  Curtis nodded.

  “Do the owners of the car have a dog?” Mark asked.

  “I think we should find out,” Paul said. He flipped open his phone and dialed. “Hi, yeah, it’s Paul. Listen, are you still with the guy whose car was stolen? Yeah? Okay, ask him if they have any dogs or have transported any dogs in their car in the last six months.”

  Mark waited impatiently for the response to come back. After a moment Paul nodded and then continued speaking. “Thanks, no, that’s it.” He snapped his phone shut.

  “No dogs, he’s allergic.”

  Mark turned and began to run back toward the crime scene. Paul was right on his heels when he stopped in front of the husband, who seemed much calmer since the paramedic had begun checking him over. The man had a blanket wrapped around him, and Mark suspected he’d been given something to calm him down.

  “Sir,” Mark asked. “Did you and your wife
have a dog?”

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “Where’s the dog now?” Paul asked.

  The man looked confused. “I don’t know. In the house maybe? Or I guess the backyard.”

  “Did she ever take him jogging?” Mark asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve been on a business trip, and I just got home last night. One of the security staff probably knows.”

  “Sir, when did you get the dog?” Mark asked, holding his breath as he waited for the reply.

  “My wife got him while I was away. I think she said she got him Friday night.”

  Mark let out his breath and turned to look at Paul. A millionaire’s wife, another millionaire’s assistant, and two homeless men—it was improbable, but he could come to no other conclusion. “They’re all connected.”

  When Cindy got home, she had to fight the urge to call Jeremiah. She wanted to take him up on his offer to teach her some techniques to help her relax and focus. Still, if he had actually gone home to get some sleep, she would hate to wake him up.

  She ate a quick dinner and then realized she had a lot to do to prepare to host Thanksgiving in two days. She began with the living room and started cleaning, trying to do a thorough job. Her mother would be so proud if she could see her.

  As she worked, she couldn’t keep her mind off the murders. They were a steady drum of worry in the back of her mind, even when she wasn’t actively thinking about them.

  When she finished in the living room, she cleaned the bathroom as well before calling it a night. After getting ready for bed, she hopped online and looked up the address that she would be driving the kids to the next day.

  She knew the street, and she double-checked the cross streets for the exact address. Thinking about the event did little to calm her down, and she briefly considered playing a game of solitaire. Jeremiah was right, though; given that it was an active thing, it might not help her settle down to sleep.

  She brought her iPod into the bedroom, found an hour-long track of the sound of ocean waves, and did her best to fall asleep.

  The next morning Cindy felt jittery. She wasn’t sure if it was the unsolved murders, the food drive, or both that was bothering her. Again she thought about calling Jeremiah, and again she forced herself to take a deep breath and let him be. She would see him the next day, and maybe after dinner she could convince him to show her the breathing techniques he had mentioned.

  She was the first one to work and took some small satisfaction in having the place to herself for fifteen minutes before the chaos of the day began. It turned out to be the only oasis of peace in a day otherwise dominated by people turning in camp money and ministry leaders scheduling holiday events.

  When it was finally time to report to the youth room for duty, she was almost relieved. At least it would be a different kind of crazy than what she had been dealing with all day.

  She walked into the room and thought that she was early but soon discovered that the few others present were the teen drivers. Dave was talking earnestly to all of them. He welcomed her into the group, and she also got the lecture on safety as well as another printout of the sheet he had given her the day before. The only difference was that he had added his cell phone number to the sheet this time.

  “Okay, if you get in trouble, give me a call. If you get into real trouble, call 911. Got it?”

  They all nodded as more teenagers arrived. Sitting on one of the couches and watching the proceedings, Cindy wondered if it was too late to back out of the whole driving thing. All around her were bright-eyed kids bursting with long-weekend excitement and pent-up energy. Dave wasn’t helping. Standing at the front of the room, he led the group in a prayer for safety and thanksgiving. Then he proceeded to wind them up until they were all jumping up and down, screaming.

  The air itself seemed to crackle with anticipation. She remembered what it was like to be part of just such a youth group. But it seemed so far away. It had been before her sister died. Afterward she couldn’t stand to go. She told her parents it was because there were too many memories, too many people with pitying looks. The truth was that from their scavenger hunts to their sleepovers to their parties, youth groups participated in activities that she just found too dangerous. To make it worse, the people involved were almost completely unaware of the risks they took daily.

  “Okay, so everyone’s clear on what we’re doing, where we’re going, what this is all about?” Dave asked at last.

  “Yes!” everyone around her shouted at once.

  “I can’t hear you!”

  “Yes!”

  “I don’t know, maybe you guys really don’t want to do this. I mean, I’m not feeling the energy here. Are you sure you’re ready?”

  When the group shouted “Yes!” for the third time, Cindy could swear her ears started to ring.

  “Great. Now look up here on the board for your car assignment. Drivers, raise your hands and lead the way to your vehicles.”

  Cindy stood and raised her hand as instructed. She turned and headed for the parking lot, three teenage girls trailing after her.

  Twin sisters Ai and Mai, exchange students from Japan, climbed into her backseat. The girls were seventeen and staying with one of the church’s families for the year. Brenda, who was a couple of years younger, slid quietly into the passenger seat. Cindy glanced at her. She knew from Dave that Brenda was painfully shy and rarely talked. She also knew the girl never missed a Sunday or a youth group meeting. She always came alone by bus, and no one really knew anything about her parents.

  “Everyone, put on your seatbelts,” Cindy said, only to glance around and realize that everyone already had. She had been all prepared to give a speech about keeping the noise and the horseplay down but decided against it when she realized she’d be lucky if she could get her charges to speak if she wanted them to.

  She waited a moment for all the cars with teenage drivers to exit the parking lot before she headed out to Canal Street to the Parker family. She had already mapped the way out in her head, but she also had directions in the glove compartment if she needed them. She knew Canal Street and had been relieved that it was where they were headed. It was a neighborhood where many families had fallen upon hard times, lives and houses in various states of disrepair, but in which drugs or gangs had not taken hold.

  After ten minutes the unnatural silence finally got to her. “So how do you girls like America so far?” she addressed the twins, glancing at them in the rearview mirror.

  They both nodded enthusiastically, smiles lighting up their faces, but they didn’t say anything. Cindy glanced at Brenda. “You looking forward to Thanksgiving dinner?”

  Brenda just shrugged and looked away.

  Cindy returned her attention to the road. Dave had been true to his word, but she was surprised to discover that she was wishing she hadn’t been so strict with her requirements. A little talking would have been preferable to the awkward silence that reigned in the car. The next fifteen minutes were some of the longest she could ever remember as they made their way through traffic that was already snarling up for the holiday weekend. She was grateful that once she got home she wouldn’t have to be driving anywhere else until at least Friday.

  At long last they turned onto Canal Street about a quarter of a mile from their destination. Next to her there was sudden movement as Brenda sat up straight and leaned forward, her hands on the dashboard, and her tiny face pinched with fear.

  “Where are we going?” Brenda asked. “Which family?”

  “The Parker family,” Cindy said, startled.

  Brenda shook her head fiercely. “I told Pastor Wyman I didn’t want to come to this house.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cindy said. “That’s probably my fault. I asked for—never mind. We’ll only be there a couple of minutes.”

  “Can I stay in the car?” Brenda asked.

  Cindy didn’t know how to respond to that, and for a moment she considered calling Dave’s cell to ask
him. He put you in charge of these girls, she reminded herself. And this was strictly volunteer work for them. She doesn’t have to be here, so it wouldn’t hurt for her to not go inside, I guess.

  “Sure, you can stay in the car if you want to,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Brenda said, sliding down in her seat until Cindy thought she was going to end up with her whole body in the foot well.

  “Um…”

  Then she spotted the address she was looking for, and she pulled over to the curb in front of a house where the weeds had long before supplanted the lawn. Two young boys played among the weeds with what looked like a ratty stuffed dog and a beat-up toy dump truck. A girl who looked about sixteen sat on the porch, smoking a cigarette openly.

  “Stay here for a minute,” she told the twins. Cindy got out of the car and walked up the path to the front porch. The boys jumped up and followed her, eyes wide.

  “I’m from First Shepherd; I’m looking for the Parker residence,” Cindy addressed the teenage girl.

  “Mom! The chick’s here with the turkey,” the girl shouted.

  Cindy took a step backward. A moment later a woman in her forties appeared in the front door. Her hair wasn’t brushed, her cheeks were hollow, and she wiped her hands repeatedly, almost obsessively, on the yellowed apron she wore over her dress.

  Hope has abandoned this family, Cindy thought.

  “Hi, I’m here from First Shepherd.”

  “Please, come in.”

  “I just wanted to make sure I had the right house before we unpacked the car,” Cindy explained.

  “You do have the right house, and we are so grateful for it. I’m Mrs. Parker,” the woman said.

  “Okay, we’ll be right in.”

  Cindy turned and hurried back to the car. She opened the back door. “Okay, girls, help me get the food out of the trunk.”

  Ai and Mai piled out, and between the three of them they managed to lift out the box and four bags of food that had been donated to give the family a real Thanksgiving dinner and a couple of other meals as well. Holding the box in one arm, Cindy managed to close the trunk without dumping the contents onto the ground. She thought she caught one of the girls grinning as the box wobbled.