All Things Hidden

by Judy Candis

  This scenario was a new one for her and naturally raised questions. And, with these thoughts, her earlier fear kicked in with a wallop.

  She was no psychic and trusted completely in her heavenly Father for anything she needed to know about the future. At the same time, she felt an undeniable check in her spirit. Had she stumbled onto something that would personally affect her in some way? Was there something here she was missing? The tingling in the base of her stomach felt like an inner warning of bad news ahead, and the sensation was making her edgy.

  “Have the techs arrived yet?” she barked, attempting to wrap her mind around what this scene was trying to tell her.

  “They’re pulling up now,” someone answered.

  “Get them in here, pronto!” she ordered. “I want photographs of this on my desk before the night is out.”

  Officer Rick Sills, three inches taller than her five-foot-eight frame, with thick reddish-blond hair that forever stayed in his eyes, leaned over her shoulder. Though she was no longer a street cop and just happened to be with Sills when they heard the code over her police radio, she had agreed with his suggestion she be the first on the scene. Kudo points, he’d said, toward her promotion. He tended to carry their office camaraderie with them everywhere, which humored Jael to no end. It was kind of comforting now.

  “Man, it looks like all hundred-dollar bills, Lieutenant!” he whispered.

  Jael smiled. “Not lieutenant yet, Sills, but I love the way your mind works.”

  “Only a matter of time.” He turned and looked at her with respect. “Only a matter of time. No one deserves this promotion more than you, and soon we’ll all be calling you Lieutenant Jael Reynolds. First name, by the way, pronounced Jay-el,”—he let the “el” roll across his tongue for effect—“for the benefit of those who might try to use your name in unsavory jail jokes.”

  “I’ve heard them all before anyway,” she said with a grin. “But could I stand to leave you at your desk alone and move into my own office?” This light banter was just what she needed now, as she kept her gaze on the dead man.

  “Yeah, that may put a major crease in my day-to-day work duties. Who would I have to tease?”

  “I have a few names in mind, but for now I’ll run my ship as if I’ll still be here for a while. So, can I get the techs in here, Rick, please? We need photos of this.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, teasing back. Then, almost in her ear, he yelled, “Hey! We need the photographer, STAT!”

  Jael sighed and tried not to roll her eyes playfully. Instead, she began counting to ten. She had just made it to seven when shouts from the backyard stopped them all. Her adrenaline kicked in again. She pulled out her gun, and she and Sills took off running toward the back door. The night was far from over.

  Chapter

  2

  Her body screamed in protest against the sudden, and long-forgotten, physical workout. Tonight she was exercising more muscles than she had in the last twelve months. Since it meant she no longer had to do street patrol, advancement in the department had softened her physically. Sweat was dripping down body parts she’d forgotten sweat glands existed in. As she slammed her way past two awaiting officers guarding the back door, she absently wondered about the freaky change in the weather. The temperature was constantly reverting from jacket-chilly to T-shirt-hot, mirroring the rapid change in her emotions.

  Dashing toward the backyard, only inches behind Sills, she acknowledged the weird thoughts that went through one’s mind when the adrenaline was pumping. Things could get pretty bizarre when it was dark and death and danger were in the air. As an officer of the law, she could attest to that. Police officers tended to deal with stress and fearful situations in unusual ways. She, maybe more than most.

  As they raced down the back steps, a distant train whistle broke through the steady hum of freeway traffic a few blocks away. The sound added a touch of normality to the otherwise tense atmosphere. With her gun drawn, Jael tried to keep from stumbling over all the scattered junk as she rushed across the ground. Thankfully, she was wearing her favorite, all-purpose, low-heel pumps.

  In the dimly lit yard, she could see two other officers, with their guns trained on something moving against the metal fence at the far end of the yard. They huddled around a mound of debris. Had they captured the perpetrator so quickly?

  The whining man balled into a fetal position against the dilapidated fence was by no means a killer but more likely a frightened witness to the crime. The smallness of his body and the sour smell of urine that enveloped him was a sure sign he was a crack-head who had possibly landed in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Rick Sills moved around to the side and aimed his flashlight on the man. Jael elbowed her way between the deputies and went up to the vagrant.

  “Okay, talk to me. Who are you and what are you doing back here?”

  “I didn’t do nuthin’,” he whined, never looking up as he folded his body even tighter into a ball. “I was just passin’ through. I swear. I didn’t do nuthin’!”

  The weed-covered, dilapidated chain-link fence behind him screeched in protest, threatening to fall inward as the man pressed his bony frame farther into it. The movement made the man’s hair part at the nape, exposing the pale skin of his neck. He was definitely a white guy, just filthy.

  With a sigh, Jael glanced around the small neglected yard. Unrecognizable structures stood in varying shapes in the heavy darkness beyond the beam of the alley light. Other than the frantic scuffling of the man on the ground, the night was still. Overhead the orange moon hid behind a gauze of clouds, creating eerie shadows around them. A shiver caught her off guard. From his position a few feet away, Sills swept his beam of light several times across the yard before aiming it back on their captive. He, too, was taking no chances.

  Looking down at the bedraggled vagrant, who had evidently heard the shots, Jael knew he might have also seen the killer escaping. Getting the frightened man to say anything would be a waste of breath. She asked anyway.

  “Who did you see run back here?”

  “I didn’t see nuthin’!” he screamed, fear choking his words. “Nuthin’!”

  “What did you hear?” Her voice was even and patient, betraying none of the anxiety she’d felt a few seconds ago.

  “Leave me alone! I ain’t done nuthin’. I didn’t know those two guys, I swear! Let me go!”

  This was getting her nowhere. Jael snapped an order at her men. “Send someone to find out who made the call, then continue searching the surrounding area.” Pointing to the vagrant, she added, “Bring this one down to the station.”

  “Hey, no . . . leave me alone. I didn’t do nuthin’!” The man kicked his legs to fend off the officers as they tried to pull him to his feet. His shouts grew louder. “I don’t know nuthin’ about those killings, I swear. It wasn’t me. . . .” He gripped the fence with both hands, forcing the officers to peel his fingers away.

  Jael closed her eyes and rubbed her temple to ease the headache creeping in just above her right brow. The rush of excitement was wearing off and her pounding heart had slowed to a reasonable thumping in her chest.

  Releasing a pent-up breath, Jael snapped her jacket lapel straight and headed back to her squad car at the front of the house.

  The wind had picked up again, and she knew that with Florida’s crazy February weather, the temperature could drop like a brick in a matter of seconds. The newly applied yellow crime tape across the front of the house flapped its vote of confirmation as she passed.

  A few neighbors had congregated across the street, and for a moment Jael thought she recognized one of the oglers from her previous years on the narcotics beat. Before she could confirm this, he eased back into the crowd. Though she knew most of the more enterprising dealers and users, it struck her at that moment that she did not know what the guy in the backyard looked like, since he’d never let go of the fence and kept his face buried in the mounds of trash.

  As sh
e settled in her car, she saw her men bring the struggling derelict around front in handcuffs. He was squawking his head off. His loose-fitting jeans and worn floral shirt made it look as if he hadn’t changed his clothes in weeks. From this distance, she still didn’t recognize him. He appeared to be somewhere in his late twenties and there had been no weapons found on or near him. She knew from experience they wouldn’t get much out of him and he’d be back on the streets in a few hours, hunting down his next hit. A user like him would soon forget the horrors he’d just witnessed, in favor of satisfying the need of his body. For an instant, she wondered how much horror she had stored in her memory over the years. Horrors she was determined to erase with prayer every waking moment of her life.

  Still, this man’s terrifying fear seemed far deeper than what one expected from a simple arrest. He must have seen the killer. Had the killer threatened him? She wondered why the man said “killings”—plural. What did he know?

  Jael turned her body away from the scene and started the engine. The passenger door opened as Rick Sills climbed in beside her.

  “He’s not our man, you know,” he said, closing the door.

  With a sigh, Jael glanced out the window, taking in the row of cheap frame houses, many with sagging front porches decorated with kitchen chairs and plastic plants. The weeds embedding the flat tires of the late-model cars testified to the vehicles’ lengthy stay in the yards. The sidewalks were nothing more than simple dirt paths, and the few palm trees that lined the streets seemed to droop with despondency.

  She knew that folks in this immediate area survived by keeping their mouths shut, many struggling to maintain a blind eye to everything around them, even the filth. The neighborhood, one of three such areas surrounding Dadesville, had been at death’s door for many years now. Soon it would give up the battle, if urban renewal didn’t come along to save the day.

  Finally turning from the view, Jael answered Sills’s statement. “Yeah, I know, but you also know he knows something.”

  Sills tilted his head. “He’ll never snitch.”

  “He might, if we threaten him with the right thing.”

  “We’re up against a cold-blooded murderer. This bum will know his life, however pathetic it is, won’t be his for long if he rats.”

  “We have to do what we have to do.”

  With that, Jael shifted the gear into drive and pulled off, heading toward the east side of town and Dadesville’s Eighth Precinct. She had appointed herself designated driver after only three experiences riding shotgun with Officer Rick Sills. She was in more danger of losing her life with Rick behind the wheel than she had ever been on the streets.

  Jael glanced at her partner, remembering the first time they had met. He had been assigned to her during roll call that day, and Jael had been sure it would never work the minute he’d lit up a cigarette within the confines of their Homicide Department-issued vehicle.

  She’d been a little rough around the edges then, expecting everyone to challenge her, and was maybe more forceful than she’d meant to be when she told him she’d prefer if he didn’t smoke around her.

  Sills had surprised her by flicking the still lit cigarette out the open window and, with a lopsided grin, saying, “Hey, I need to quit these things anyway.”

  Sills was a big bear of a fellow, but his weight was more muscle than fat, which certainly worked in his favor as a police officer. His huge, open face, which sometimes broke out with little red blotches, boasted thick brows over cobalt eyes that could turn into chilling blue if provoked. A thin mustache outlined a thinner upper lip. The bottom lip was full, with a hint of natural red coloring, and those who knew him knew that his face was always ready to break into laughter. It was a simple and honest face.

  Over the two years they spent together, she’d shared with him her newfound commitment to Christ, and though Sills had yet to actually step foot inside any holy sanctuary, there’d been a gradual change in him everyone could see. His wife of thirteen years called her often to thank her for softening the “bear” and making living with him a whole lot easier.

  Jael had not given up on her partner about attending church yet, knowing that God was working on her buddy every day. Each time he questioned her about how God would expect him to handle a given situation, or why the Bible said this or that, she gave the Lord praise for using her to plant the seed.

  It was now 6:28 P.M., according to the clock on the dashboard, and another hour before she was off duty. She had a feeling it might go hours beyond that with the added paperwork. She decided to make a quick call and ask Terrell if he could stay late . . . again.

  Pulling her cell phone from her jacket pocket, she punched in her home number, using her right hand and steering with her left. Maybe she could get the boys to throw some hot dogs in the microwave, she thought as she waited for someone to pick up. She knew neither boy would mind the delay on her part. As for Terrell, any excuse to keep from going home was a treat for him.

  “Hello, Reynolds residence.”

  “Terrell, hi, sweetheart. I’m going to be running late again. Can you handle dinner until I get there? Maybe hot dogs in the microwave?”

  “No prob, Ms. Jael. I need to beat Ramon at Madden 2003 again anyway.”

  “Is he near the phone?”

  “Naw, he’s taking a leak. I’ll have him call you when he comes out.”

  Jael cringed at the terminology. “That’s okay. Just tell him to leave some hot dogs for me. I’ll call again from the office.” Before she could say good-bye, Terrell added, “Pastor Smalley called from church.”

  “Yeah? Did he leave a message?”

  “Said to remind you that next Tuesday night a Reverend Mathews was guest speaker and you promised to pick him up from the airport.”

  “Got it. Don’t forget, you and Ramon are doing the welcome sketch. You know your part?”

  “Like Halle Berry knows she’s beautiful.”

  “You’d better,” Jael said, laughing.

  She clicked off and laid the phone beside her.

  Rick Sills was peering at her with that sickening hero-worship look again. “It’s like you have two sons instead of one. That’s a nice thing you’re doing, Jael, letting Terrell hang around you guys all the time like that.”

  “It’s a two-way deal, Rick. Ramon is crazy about Terrell, and Terrell seems to shake off a lot of that mess he picks up at home when he’s around us. Plus, I have someone to help look after Ramon when I work late.”

  Jael had met Terrell while coaching baseball at the Police Youth Athletic League about two years earlier. A scrawny fourteen-year-old at the time, with no evident parental guidance, he had attached himself to her and never let go. She had only met his mother a few times, and during each episode she’d felt sorry for the boy. The woman was a foulmouthed alcoholic and drug addict with four other unfortunate offspring. Terrell fell somewhere in the middle of the crowd and was rarely missed. He had come into their lives at the right time, a time when things were personally falling apart for Jael. He also held a tender spot in her heart because he reminded her of her brother, Edward, who was the real reason behind her joining law enforcement.

  Rick interrupted her thoughts with more immediate matters.

  “That addict from the alley kept yelling about ‘two guys.’ Says he wasn’t one of them.”

  Jael turned to Rick with a quizzical look on her face. “Two guys?”

  “He wasn’t making much sense. You know how they all are. He’s probably brain-fried.”

  “Yeah, brain-fried.” Jael drove the rest of the way to the police station thinking about what was on her brain lately. She had no idea her life was about to turn inside out, and picking up a visiting minister would be the last thing on her mind.

  Chapter

  3

  The familiar smell of burned coffee, computer ink and old metal file cabinets enveloped Jael as she stepped inside the inner office of the Eighth Precinct. Accompanying sounds of fax machines, gurglin
g water coolers and phone conversations were right in sync. The atmosphere was as much a part of Jael as breathing.

  With a wave of his hand, Rick headed off in the opposite direction, taking the belligerent witness to an isolated room for questioning. She offered him a thumbs-up sign as they parted ways.

  “Detective Reynolds, your messages,” the slightly overweight, platinum-blond clerk said from behind the reception counter as she waved a couple of pink WHILE YOU WERE OUT slips at Jael.

  “Thanks, Tammy,” Jael replied, accepting the slips before stepping through the inner doors and to where her desk sat amid a triangle of six other marred wooden desks in the cramped police station. Only two other officers were at their desks.

  Kicking off her shoes as soon as she flopped in her seat, Jael pushed aside piles of folders and briefly glanced at her messages. First things first, she decided. She’d check for any calls that needed her immediate attention after filing her report.

  Jael clicked on her computer and pulled up the report file format and began typing in the initial name, date, time of arrest, etc., etc., before pulling out her bottom left drawer and reaching for the WORLD’S GREATEST MOM coffee cup. Only hers had a slight alteration. Right above the word MOM, Ramon had scrawled in POLICE with a permanent black marker. It was her most treasured possession.

  It was also a symbol of her rites of passage. Her unofficial initiation into the predominantly male department was considerably mild compared with what it could have been. Just a few tricks on the part of other officers, such as placing masking tape over the word MOM and changing it to LEGS, then stuffing the cup with someone’s used panty hose. Jael debated preaching to the men right then about God and His saving grace, but understood that would all come in time. It would take smarts on her part to make the men comfortable around her, then let the Lord use her as He saw fit in His own time.