by Judy Candis
Jael searched the investigation report for any clue that might present a beacon of light into this confused madness, but there was nothing, no leads or probable suspects. Reading between the lines, Jael surmised that both the original investigating officer and the second officer concluded it was a retaliation hit of some kind, not completely unlike the conclusion her men had come to at last night’s crime scene. Now she knew better. The similarities in the two cases spelled only one thing: premeditation.
Jael nibbled her bottom lip in concentration. Was she going off the deep end here? Making things up to suit a scenario? Even with all her years in Narcotics before moving into Homicide, she couldn’t possibly know every dealer on a first-name basis, and unfortunately, she’d never crossed paths with either of the two dead men. She stared at the keyboard, wondering what the connection was.
She remembered Terrell telling her something about his mom attending a young man’s wake, but had no idea the deceased had been murdered. She knew only that his mother, in her usual alcoholic state, had passed out over the coffin. Her thoughts at the time were more directed toward her concern for Terrell and regret over his upbringing than toward the recently departed young man.
In many ways she understood Virgil’s concern about Ramon spending so much time with a young boy of Terrell’s background. Though Virgil had fought her tooth and nail over what he called her so-called conversion and her “ramming religion down his throat,” he was a worldly snob in his own right, with gobs of false pride. Of course, she admitted that Terrell had a very unsavory background and that he would not have been a good choice of friends for Ramon without her close supervision. What Virgil didn’t understand was that Ramon was a good influence for Terrell, who had a heart as big as Texas, and a brain to boot.
She’d had plenty of talks with the boys about the dangers of drugs and street life. Her firsthand knowledge ensured that the boys got a full stomach of the real horrors, and not the glamour preached by thoughtless rappers of the “gangsta life” that seduced so many. Even with her busy hours, she watched over Ramon like a hawk.
Jael stared intensely at the computer screen, as if the words would suddenly rearrange themselves and reveal the secret of what was happening in Dadesville. These senseless murders were an aspect of just the kind of life she warned the boys about. Now even more so, because this was all so unusual. In fact, this was downright scary.
Jael jumped when the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Jael, Sills here. Seems we may have another drug-related homicide on our hands. A guy known on the street as Zap Man was murdered much the same way as our boy less than three weeks ago.”
“Man, are you psychic! I was just looking at the report. I’m going to call the officer who handled the case and compare notes.”
“I just did. No one thought to connect the two shootings until now because the first was considered a random killing, not drug-related. What do you think? Drug deal gone bad?”
Jael could hear the trepidation in Rick’s voice as she visualized him leaning back in his chair, twirling a pencil around his knuckles.
“I don’t know what to think. I talked to Deke and of course he swears he knows nothing, but I have a feeling whatever is going on, the local dealers are a little shook up, but quiet. So it seems we’ve got some kind of outside force working here.”
“Maybe I should ask around. Stick my nose in certain places where it’s not wanted, and drum up a few CIs.”
“Good idea. I’m going to—”
“You’re going to keep your butt at home and spend time with your son.”
“Can’t do. He’s spending the weekend with his father.”
“Well, rest, read a book, clean a closet. We can handle this until you return on Monday.”
“Why does that suddenly sound so far away?”
“Because you’re a sicko, not like a normal human being who’d leave others alone to do their job on her days off. I just called to keep you abreast of where this investigation is going.”
Jael smiled, holding back her standard retort. “Okay, but do me one favor: Check to see if the bullet the men were struck down with came from the same gun.”
“Already on it. Anything else?”
“Yes, find out where they usually did business and if that was a known fact. It seems these fellows were sought out, and at a time when no witnesses were around.”
“You got it. I’ll call again if something comes up.”
“You’d better, or you’re going to see my chocolate butt before the night is over.”
“Such threats, and from a Christian woman at that. Naughty, naughty.”
Sills hung up before Jael could reply. If given the chance, she would have told him that the word “naughty” is used once in Proverbs 6:12. Knowing her so well, he probably figured that and hung up before she broke into another sermon.
Jael spent the next half hour attempting to piece together what little she knew about the two cases. No miraculous inspiration transpired. Finally giving up, she threw a Lean Cuisine in the microwave before driving to pick up a few movies from Blockbuster, R-rated movies that Ramon was not allowed to see because of the violence. Halfway into the first movie, a Samuel L. Jackson runaway hit, Jael was fast asleep, dreaming dreams she would mercifully forget the next morning.
Chapter
8
Jael hit another sour note, but thankfully no one in the choir pew cringed openly. She did get a “Lord help me” roll of the eyes from the chorus director, but all in all, no one outside of the choir picked up on her lapse in euphony. If only she wasn’t so darn loud, Jael thought. Then again, blaring vocal cords came naturally. It was a family trait. Her grandmother had been loud, and so had her momma, her aunts, her uncles. Even the family tomcat had gotten on more than a few nerves with his vehement meows.
She’d never forget that day, so many years ago in high school, when she’d tried out for the majorette squad. It was the one sport all the girls salivated to be a part of, because the majorettes were considered the campus glamour girls. Besides, all the boys went nuts over the short, sequined outfits. Yet even then, fate had a way of calling Jael to its own selected vocation.
On a day so beautiful Jael would have sworn God had kissed the earth with His approval, to her horror she’d dropped the baton in one of her skyward swirls during tryouts. Quickly retrieving the silver baton, she had yelled across the field, where Mrs. Roberts sat several yards away on the center bleacher.
“Oh, please, Mrs. Roberts, let me try it again,” Jael shouted, appalled by her clumsiness after having practiced the maneuver with Rhonda the entire summer. Her voice carried so far across the school football field that even the track coach, standing by the far gate, stopped waving his pencil at a reluctant student and looked up.
Always the comedian, Mrs. Roberts broke out in laughter, apparently glad for the hilarious interruption in the otherwise tedious auditions. “Young lady, I believe you’ve missed your true calling. With vocal cords as strong as yours, I’m sure the cheering team would pay to have you among their ranks.”
To hide her humiliation, Jael laughed along with everyone else.
Failing to make majorette, she had reluctantly tried out as a cheerleader for the Pep Squad. At least she was a big hit with that coach. Within a year, her outgoing personality and leadership abilities landed her the spot of captain. She still got to wear colorful short skirts, and Jael’s popularity soared.
However, an earsplitting voice in the choir stands that overpowered the others, and that was always off-key, was something else altogether. Finally, the song ended and a much quieter Jael watched for the signal to be seated with the rest of the members.
“I did it again, didn’t I?” she whispered to her prayer-partner, Brenda, as they sat in unison.
“Girl, you know you can get loud,” Brenda teased, pulling her purse and Bible from beneath her seat. “I’m sure you never have to request a bullhorn at work, do you?”
“Just another reason to be grateful. The Lord doesn’t care how much you’re off-key, or how loud, only the sincerity of the worship.”
“Well, I’ve got plenty of that. I might—”
She was interrupted by a commotion at the far end of the choir pew. All heads turned as Brenda was passed a folded note down the length of the pew from member to member. Since she and Brenda were sitting next to each other, Jael couldn’t help but glimpse a part of the note sprawled in big black letters as Brenda unfolded it: COME HOME QUICK
Whatever was in the rest of the note Jael didn’t see as Brenda shot from her seat, dropping the note and ignoring Jael’s “What? What?” She quickly brushed past the members, not even apologizing as she bumped people trying to get out. Everyone in the choir stand was abuzz with curiosity, attracting attention from the pastor, who narrowed his eyes as he shook his head in a reproving gesture.
The look of horror on Brenda’s face before her abrupt departure frightened Jael, so she reached down and picked up the fallen note. She read the second line.
TEETEE SHOT!
Impatiently, Jael had waited the remaining twenty minutes for the end of service, but didn’t hang around after Brenda’s swift departure. Instead, she quickly disrobed, hanging her gold and purple vestment on the choir rack. The choir room was dizzy with speculation, since the original note-passer had willingly disclosed what was inside.
“Isn’t TeeTee Brenda’s baby brother?”
“I heard he was messing with drugs.”
“Oh, Lord, this will certainly kill Brenda’s grandmother.”
The members tried pulling Jael into their heated question- and-answer session, but she escaped any direct replies by saying she was headed over to Brenda’s in case she was needed. Others quickly followed her example and decided to rush to Brenda’s aid. And of course to find out more about what was going on.
Once in her Bronco, Jael pondered this new development, even as she worried for her friend. TeeTee was no stranger to the police department. She’d had a few run-ins with him herself, but because Brenda was a close friend, Jael often called her first whenever TeeTee was in trouble. Brenda had tried unsuccessfully to get her brother to stay away from dealing. But the pull of the streets and the smell of easy money had a power that surpassed clear thinking and a loving family influence.
On her way to Brenda’s, Jael prayed that TeeTee wasn’t another victim of this madness and would not only survive, but be able to give her a description of the shooter.
Brenda lived on the west side of town, not far from the church, and Jael came to a screeching halt in front of her house in no time. There was already a crowd hanging around outside the white frame home, with its massive porch and burgundy trim. A blue and white patrol car was parked in front, its lights still and dark, a bad sign.
As she pushed herself through the gathering crowd, someone shouted in her direction.
“What y’all gonna do, Ms. Police Officer? Just takes some notes and call it a day?”
Jael quickly looked around, but didn’t recognize the voice. Obviously, whoever had shouted out at her knew she was an officer of the law even though she was dressed in her Sunday best.
When Jael finally made it inside the dimly lit house, cluttered wall to wall with overstuffed furniture and whatnots on every available space, she quickly scanned the room for any sign of Brenda. In the far corner, a lanky officer with short blond hair questioned a middle-aged male member of the household.
Notifying the families of victims was often the hardest part of her job. It was a part she never ventured into without sincere prayer for the wisdom to use just the right words. With a nod of recognition, Jael left him to his task and moved toward a cluster of people near the unused fireplace.
Brenda’s grandmother, an eighty-year-old woman with leathery mocha skin and stark white hair tied in two braids across the top of her head, was slumped in a chair with her head lowered. Several people stood around her, dropping soft words of sympathy. Brenda was nowhere in sight. As Jael moved forward, one of the ladies recognized her and moved away to allow Jael a place before the agonized woman. Brenda’s grandmother moaned and rocked back and forth, her thick arms wrapped around her midsection. Her words, strangled by tears, weighed heavily on Jael’s heart. The worst had happened.
“He’s dead, killed like a dog,” she said in a low-pitched wail.
Jael placed a hand on the elderly woman’s slumped shoulder. “Mrs. Davis, it’s me, Jael Reynolds. You have my deepest condolences. I’d like to speak to Brenda. Do you know where she is?”
“All I know is my baby is lying out there on the street like an animal. Shot like a dog! Killed by some no-good trash. And they won’t even let me see him!” Her tear-strangled voice was rising, and the lady sitting next to her pulled Mrs. Davis into her arms.
So TeeTee was dead, killed like the other two. Was TeeTee now the third victim of a serial killer? Was the killer getting bolder? Jael moved to a quiet part of the house and pulled out her cell phone. She punched in Sills’s number. He answered on the second ring.
“Rick, looks like we might have another one.”
“When, where?”
“I’m at the victim’s home now. I don’t have any details yet, but it seems like the same M-O.”
“So, it seems the guys going down are dealers. And since the first guy was in another district, the killer’s not working in one given area.” Without a pause he added, “Let me pull up what I can, get over there, then get back to you.”
“Okay. Call me as soon as you hear something. I’ll try to—”
From the doorway came another commotion: the press. The murder had become headline news.
“I gotta go.” Jael quickly clicked off, then slipped out as quickly as possible, hoping no one in the press would recognize her. This was not a time for her to make any kind of statement. Heck, she didn’t know anything, nothing more than anyone else. Which was scary.
Jael knew it was time to see Big Jake. There wasn’t a second to waste. Her ex-husband would be dropping Ramon off about five. Jael glanced at her watch. She had about four hours to run down Jake and be home before she had to listen to Virgil’s mouth again.
Chapter
9
She had been searching all Big Jake’s local haunts for over an hour and had come up with nothing. She couldn’t even find Deke. Probably for the first time in street drug history, not a single dealer could be found at the local hangouts. Even the junkies were rattled beyond their usual state of jumpiness, because they couldn’t find their next hit. Crack houses were suddenly ghost houses, something Jael would have loved to see under different circumstances. Whoever was behind this drug evacuation had cleaned the town of Dadesville as if he were the pied piper of illegal street drugs.
Jael reached out to the polished wood-grain dashboard and twisted the knob from her favorite gospel station to the local twenty-four-hour news channel. As she sat there waiting through the stock market update and fast-talking commercials, she racked her brain over the three murders. Within minutes, a broadcaster began the hourly report. The recent murder was the headliner.
“A black male was fatally shot earlier today on Lake Avenue in South Dadesville just outside the Jensen Liquor Store. The assailant is currently still on the loose. Though family members attest to the high moral character of the victim, Jonathan David Merrill, News Radio 650 has learned that Merrill has a record for dealing illegal drugs. His murder places the Dadesville Police Department on full alert. This is the second such incident within the past week and, according to informants, there have been several others. Details are sketchy, but all indications point to the possibility of a ‘drug weeder.’ Mayor Alton White has informed the media that the matter will be investigated to the fullest and that the perpetrator or perpetrators will be brought to immediate just
ice. We will have further updates on the six o’clock report as the situation develops. In other news . . .”
Jael hit the OFF button. How were these guys getting their information so fast? Who was informing the press? And wasn’t it just like the media to dub the murderer with a fancy tag—the “Drug Weeder.” Also, if the mayor was making statements, it wouldn’t be long before a special task force was assigned. A crime that might have gone unnoticed before, because of bias against the criminal element, was now big news, and people wanted answers. Where would she start? Who had the answers?
The answer came as a brainstorm. Where would it be safe and the last place the perpetrator would look for his next victim? Jael headed back to Brenda’s house.
The crowd outside the Merrill home was much the same as she had left it, with maybe even a few heads more, creating a greater camouflage for anyone wanting to melt into the sea of bodies while at the same time learn what was going on. Jael parked her Bronco across the street near a magnolia tree.
From inside her car, she watched the crowd. Most of the people were curious neighbors, a large portion about TeeTee’s age. They were all strangers to her. But there, near the fence, lurking behind a middle-aged woman with rollers still in her hair, was Booley, a dealer known to use more of his product than he sold. He was wearing a pair of miniature John Lennon sunshades, his hair cropped close to his head. Nothing that could be pawned for cash adorned his slim frame. With his hands buried deep in his pockets, Booley scanned the crowd with obvious trepidation.
Jael got out of the car and headed in the opposite direction with her head lowered, so as not to attract attention to herself. She walked completely to the end of the block before turning around, crossing the street and heading back.
Jael pressed her way through the throng of gatherers, getting a nasty look from the woman in rollers, who stepped back in indignation. She was behind Booley before he realized it. He was much taller than Jael, so she rose on the balls of her feet to whisper in his ear.