When Darkness Comes

by W. Franklin Lattimore

  He looked over her bare back. Her hair lay against his right shoulder. She breathed steadily. She was still so beautiful. It was no wonder that she had some small amount of power over him. But now things were too close. He had to rein people in.

  The thought brought to mind that he still needed to deal with Cowan’s sister. It was infuriating that she was traipsing around Northeast Ohio just spewing information out of that mouth of hers. How many others knew about their “cute” little group?

  Brendan sat up. Time for a cup of coffee and a phone call to Cowan.

  7:45 A.M.

  BRENT STOOD UP from his desk and stretched. He’d been sitting in his office for the past two hours doing paperwork. His desk sat beside Dave Henderson’s desk, some ten feet away. Henderson was the sergeant who worked second shift. The two desks faced an arch that opened into a hallway. On the other side of that hallway was the patrol officers’ office, a large room that had an expansive common desk that wrapped along the wall on two sides. Chairs and telephones marked the individual stations at which the officers took care of their own paperwork. Unfortunately, for Dave and him, neither of the office areas had doors, so interruptions were rather frequent.

  Brent grabbed the keys for his patrol car and began to head out. Time to hit the streets. Best part of the day. No sooner had he rounded the corner out of his office than Corporal Larkin approached him from behind.

  “Brent.”

  Brent turned around. “Hey, Tracy.”

  “Captain wants to see you.”

  “Mood?”

  “Crappy.”

  “Wonderful. Thank you.”

  “What good am I if I can’t be a wet blanket every once in a while?”

  “I’m going to start returning the favor.”

  Brent turned around and followed Tracy in the opposite direction. Passing the Communications Center, he saw Ron Goodlow in the dispatcher’s chair. He tapped on the glass. Ron turned around with his seemingly ever-present smile. They both lifted hands in greeting. Good man. Brent pushed forward to the captain’s office.

  He approached the desk of Carol Masterson, Captain Morelli’s executive assistant. She glanced up at him and gave him a look that said, “You’re not going to enjoy it in there,” then tipped her head in the direction of the door.

  Brent took a deep breath and strode forward. He knocked and waited.

  “Come!”

  Opening the door, he started to walk in.

  “Close the door, Lawton.”

  Brent turned, closed the door, and then walked to the desk.

  “Take a seat.”

  Brent sat. “You wanted to see me, Captain?”

  “You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “This morning I got a call from Chief Connor in Pittston.” The captain paused, waiting for a response.

  Brent shook his head and raised his eyebrows, unsure to what was being alluded.

  His captain scrunched his forehead. “You really don’t know what this is about?”

  “No, sir.”

  “The chief indicated that you had been investigating the goings on of that religious group in Pittston. Said that you were questioning a relative of someone in that group, seeking information about illegal activities. In his city! Is that true?”

  Brent was stunned by what he heard, and it must have shown.

  “Captain, let me start off by saying…”

  “Start off by answering my question, Sergeant!”

  “No, it’s not true. Well, not completely true.”

  The captain’s head angled down a few degrees while his right hand came up. Placing his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets he applied pressure and pulled back to the bridge of his nose where he hesitated before speaking again. “Okay. I’m trying to be calm here. But, Lawton, you had better make this explanation worth the effort.”

  “Sir, my wife was approached at a store yesterday by a woman who was interested in the tattoo she has on her right shoulder blade. She said it was the same design that she saw a lot of the religious attendees—the ones that I told you about—had inked into their skin. My wife became very curious since she had only ever seen the tattoo one time before. They hit it off in conversation resulting in my wife inviting her over for dinner. So, no I didn’t go out of my way to look into what’s going on in Pittston. But it did come to my doorstep.”

  “Want to try telling me why the Chief of Police in another city would call, almost demanding that I tug on your leash?”

  Brent momentarily looked down at his hands. “You’re really not going to like my answer.”

  Morelli leaned forward, clasping his hands and resting his forearms on his desk. “Try me.”

  “Captain, you were lied to by Chief Connor. Or at least intentionally misdirected.”

  The captain raised his eyebrows at the accusation. “Go on.”

  “When I was in here with you the day you called him, he told you that there was some sort of family reunion going on with some Scottish people visiting. Right?”

  Morelli nodded.

  “Turns out that that was just the first of his deceptions. The woman that came over for dinner is the twin sister of one of the religious faithful over there. No harm in that, obviously. She didn’t even know what all of them were practicing, though it’s a long-dead religion that this group is trying to revive. Something to do with an ancient people called the Picti who used to dominate northern Scotland. Anyway, she said she was invited to a gathering early on the first day that all of these people arrived. It was a meet and greet and barbecue held at a local farm as a welcome to the attendees. There were at least a couple hundred who showed. And get this… they weren’t just from Scotland; they were from all sorts of different countries. Ready for the clincher?”

  Brent leaned forward and clasped his own hands, elbows on his knees.

  “I don’t think I’m going to like what you’re about to say. But, out with it.”

  “Chief Jim Connor was in attendance. In fact, the man is one of these Picti followers.”

  Brent’s captain pursed his lips and sat back in his chair with a squeak. He stared at Brent without a word. Brent could tell he was not only processing what he had heard, but calculating what to do about it.

  After a minute he spoke. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “What? Captain…”

  “I didn’t say that I like it, Lawton! But it does not matter! So, he lied to me. Guess what? People lie to me all the time. It’s not illegal! Neither is participating in some sort of hokey religious nut festival in the middle of nowhere!

  “This is none of our business, Sergeant! It’s none of your business!”

  “It is, though, Captain. It is. It came to my door step and it didn’t end there.” Brent was determined to get some leeway.

  Morelli frowned. “Okay, I’m still listening.”

  “Yesterday, unbeknownst to me, my wife went on a self-ordained mission to see if she could find the person that she had originally seen that tattoo on twenty-four years ago. As she drove out to Pittston to find out if that woman still lived in the same house that Tara used to visit, Tara was startled to find that she had been followed there from our neighborhood by that woman! This isn’t just a matter of curiosity anymore. This is about the protection of my family!”

  “You’re telling me that your house was being watched?”

  “Not according to the woman. It happened to be a weird coincidence that had them both seeking the other out at the same time on the same day. Now tell me that wouldn’t weird you out a little bit.”

  “Okay. Okay, I get it. You’ve got a right to be concerned. But I still don’t understand why. Why would anyone want to seek you or your wife out just because you were told about some religious freaks?”

  “That, sir, is what I would like to find out. But if they’re nervous enough to try to keep me from looking into things—and I’m not saying that I am…”

 
“Mmm-hmm.”

  “… then there has to be something illegal going on. Isn’t that the way you would see it?”

  Again the captain stared. He rolled his finger tips on the armrests of his leather office chair, then leaned forward again. “Lawton, I am not going to tell you what you should and should not be concerned about. Like you, I’m a husband and a father. You need to protect your family. But that is the limit to which you can proceed as a police officer. Do you understand me? If you cross jurisdictions… Dammitall, I’ll have your badge. And I won’t have a choice in the matter. Do you understand me?”

  Brent looked his superior dead in the eyes and said, “You know me, Captain. You know that I’ve got boundaries. You’ve never had to worry whether I was going to go over-the-top with anyone. You know that I’m also a man of faith. You’ve never criticized me for it, though I know it’s not your cup of tea, and I appreciate that. But I’m less cop than I am Christian, and that’s something that you’re going to have to deal with.” Brent wondered if, with that last comment, he had pushed back too strong, but he pressed on.

  “My family will be protected, but I suspect that something horrible is going on in Pittston. Something that violates everything that I believe in as a Christian. I know that’s not enough for me to go out and start looking for answers across city lines, but when that is combined with the Chief of Police in that village telling you and me to keep our noses out of his business…and his business means being involved with those Picti people. Well, you tell me what I’m supposed to do. Ignore it?”

  Morelli was irritated and made it clear. “You tell me what I’m supposed to do! They have done nothing wrong in the eyes of the law!” He momentarily clenched his teeth then continued, “Yes! I do believe, now, that something is going on over there! But I cannot have any of my officers going into their jurisdiction! That’s it! Period!” He slammed his palm down on the desk to emphasize his point.

  With those words Brent’s day was “officially” ruined, because at that very moment he already knew that he was going to disobey his captain’s direct order to not involve himself further.

  9:37 A.M.

  BRENT SAT WAITING for the light to turn green. As he did, he reengaged the mental debate that he’d been having for the better part of an hour and a half. Should he, or should he not, take the chance of calling John Eldredge? He wondered if any good could come from calling the Pittston police officer. Tracy said he could be trusted, but he wasn’t even sure what questions to ask. Well, he had questions, but would they be too much to ask of Tracy’s friend? What were the chances that Eldredge would look into the leads that he’d been given by Donna McNeill?

  For a fleeting moment he thought of his captain’s directive.

  What could it hurt? It would be Eldredge doing the investigating, wouldn’t it? My hands would be clean. A jab of guilt washed over Brent. My hands would be clean? He realized that he would be asking someone else to compromise so that he wouldn’t be accused of doing the same.

  He slammed the palm of his left hand on the steering wheel of his cruiser and let out a frustrated yell. He looked to his left to see a middle-aged woman in a car in the left-turn lane staring at him through her passenger window. He gave her an embarrassed half smile and wave. She shook her head and looked forward.

  He shook his head, too. “This whole situation stinks!” he lamented, slapping his other palm on the steering wheel. The light turned green. He punched the accelerator.

  Ahead, he saw to his right the parking lot of TML Motorworks. He decided to pull in. A few minutes were needed to think things through one more time.

  One more time, again, he thought.

  He parked the patrol unit against the inside curb near the street so that it faced the direction he’d been driving. He figured that he may as well actually do some community service while he continued to weigh things. Terrence, the owner of TML, had given him the liberty to use this area of the parking lot for this very purpose.

  He opened the door and grabbed his speed gun. Standing between the open door and his driver’s seat, he pointed the gun down the stretch of four-lane road. It was a 45 MPH zone, but with the lack of traffic signals through this area, it felt like one should be allowed to go faster, and they often did.

  43 … 47 … 51 …46 … Brent let the 51-MPH vehicle slip by. Okay, if I call Eldredge I could ask if it would be okay to ask questions; tell him I don’t want to put him on the spot; let him know that he doesn’t have to say anything he’s uncomfortable with. In his mind it made perfect sense. No harm could come from just asking for permission to ask questions.

  But what of the questions?

  Something struck Brent. An idea. What if we met outside of work hours? We could go grab something to drink and a bite to eat outside of both of our jurisdictions.

  Brent put the speed gun down and grabbed his cell phone. He grabbed the piece of paper from his pocket that he’d written Eldredge’s number on and punched it into the phone. Send.

  The phone was answered on the third ring. “Officer Eldredge.”

  “Hello, John? This is Brent Lawton, Millsville PD.”

  “Hello, Brent. Tracy gave me a heads up that you might be calling.”

  Brent hadn’t expected that. “Well, good. At least I hope it’s good,” he said with a laugh.

  He heard Eldredge laugh quietly to himself, as well. “Yeah, well. It’s all good. Not during duty hours though. Know what I mean?”

  “Fair enough. Doing anything after work?”

  “Just bachelor food.”

  Brent laughed. “How ‘bout I treat you to something a little better?”

  Brent sat across from Pittston Police Officer, John Eldredge. Both of them had had the opportunity to run home after their shifts and put on civilian clothes before meeting in Bedford for dinner.

  Melissa’s Diner wasn’t exactly known for its cuisine, which, truth be told, is precisely why Brent chose the place. All the better for avoiding the people that John and he might ordinarily bump into on a Friday evening out. The diner seemed to always have the scent of something having recently been burned. And by the looks of them, the Formica tables and booth seats should have been replaced fifteen or twenty years ago.

  It wasn’t a bad place, but it wasn’t aesthetically pleasing enough to draw in the populace, that’s for sure. Brent guessed that the diner had probably survived the years due to its transient regulars; the truckers that frequented the place primarily because of the diesel fuel tanks across the street and the adequate parking space for their big rigs.

  When Eldredge had arrived, Brent immediately apologized for having lured him into the one-and-a-half-star eatery.

  Eldredge insisted, “This still beats the TV dinners that have become a mainstay in my microwave.”

  Tracy was right about this man. He seemed to be a decent guy, with an engaging personality. Brent liked him immediately.

  The Pittston cop was probably in his mid-thirties, at least ten years younger than Brent. He was about Brent’s height, though, with light-brown hair and a strong, rugged appearance.

  After a good fifteen minutes of light conversation, each trying to feel the other out, it was Eldredge who broke through the small talk. “So, what is it exactly that you want to talk about, or should I be afraid to ask?”

  Brent smiled wryly. “Just to be up front, you’re going to have every right to feel ambivalent toward me and about this conversation. And I’m sure you’ll feel uncomfortable answering my questions. That is, if you choose to answer them.”

  John seemed to stare at Brent’s chest as he processed the statement. Then he looked up into Brent’s eyes. “I do hold the right of refusal here, so I guess you should just come out with your questions.”

  “Fair enough. How are the working conditions in Pittston? I mean, in the office around the other cops.”

  Eldredge tightened his lips for a moment and raised his eyebrows. “Nothing bad to complain about, I guess. Same stuff I’m sure
you deal with day to day. In general, I’d say that I have good relationships with the guys.”

  “How long have you known everyone there?”

  “There are a couple of rookies, but other than that I’ve known everyone for the full three years I’ve been there.”

  It hadn’t even struck Brent to ask his next question until now. “You didn’t start your career in Pittston?”

  “Oh, no. I grew up as a cop in the Columbus area. Hilliard. Bigger than Pittston and a good place to work. But couldn’t stay. My niece got sick.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope she’s okay now.”

  “It was cancer.”

  John looked down at his plate and took a couple of deep breaths before continuing. When he looked up Brent saw the faintest hint of tears in his eyes.

  “She was ten years old. I couldn’t bear not being around, especially with the radical treatments she had to go through at the Cleveland Clinic.” He stopped momentarily to maintain his composure. “Sorry.”

  “No reason to apologize, John.”

  Eldredge loosed a deep sigh and wiped the tears away before they had a chance to fall. “Anyway, she didn’t make it. Passed away last year.”

  “John, I am so very sorry.” Brent wanted to say something meaningful, but could only come up with a feeble, “I can’t imagine.”

  “It’s all good, Brent,” he said. “She was an amazing little girl. But when the pain became a 24/7 thing I started asking God to take her home. Guess he heard me.” He blinked away the last of his tears.

  The obvious question struck Brent. He wanted to investigate the man’s faith after his mention of God. But he hadn’t come here for that. He needed other answers.

  A stab of conviction pierced his conscience. What is wrong with me? Really? Had his priorities really gone that far out of whack? The man gave you an opening to share God and you’re just going to pass on it so that you can go on to other things?

  Brent closed his eyes for a long moment. John must have interpreted it as an after effect of the information he had just shared about his niece, because he became the one to apologize.