Dead Sea Rising

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “Believe me, that’s not what this is.”

  “But have you?”

  Kayla nodded. “We’re taught not to delay or soften the news. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “But my mother’s caseworker learned something that prompted her to call you in after-hours to babysit me?”

  Kayla’s gaze fell.

  Nicole said, “I didn’t mean it that way—”

  “It’s all right, ma’am. I under—”

  “And can we stop with the ma’am and the doctor if we’re going to spend this much time together? Friends call me Nic.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be comfortable with that, but I can call you Nicole if you prefer.”

  “Let me tell you what I prefer, Kayla. I want you to find out exactly what’s going on with my mother, and then I want you to go home.”

  “Actually, I’m honored to stay—”

  “Kayla. Find out. There must be a phone in the operating room if someone talked to the case manager.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t call, Nicole! Can you imagine?”

  “Then scrub up and slip in there.”

  “I’m a civilian,” Kayla said. “I’m not allowed—”

  “I know better than that,” Nicole said. “There’s a sales rep in there!”

  “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” Nicole stared at her. Kayla pressed a finger to her lips. “Give me a second.” She turned her back and pulled out her phone. “I owe it to Dr. Berman to tell her what they told you,” she whispered. “What’s going on in there? … Thank you.”

  Kayla turned back and suggested they talk at Eleven West.

  “You don’t get it, do you, Kayla? No more jerking me around.”

  “I wouldn’t have come back in if I was gonna do that!” Kayla said, clearly on the verge of tears.

  Nicole crossed her arms.

  “Okay,” Kayla said. “I don’t understand all the terminology, but the doctor’s concerned about the advanced deterioration of your mother’s bone density. The fracture was severe enough that he wanted to consider a hip replacement, but now he’s not sure.”

  “So can’t he stabilize her and decide tomorrow?”

  Kayla looked down. “There’s another thing—something he doesn’t like about the break. He considers it suspicious.”

  “Suspicious how?”

  “He had the case manager notify the police.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Ur of the Chaldees

  Terah welcomed Ikuppi to his home after nightfall. The guard removed his long, bronze sword and leaned it against the doorframe outside. He greeted Belessunu but refused her offer of food or drink. “I apologize for troubling you at this time of your discomfort.”

  “Discomfort,” she said, smiling and resting her hands on her massive belly. “Is that what this is?”

  “It has been for my wife,” he said. “Thrice.”

  “And I’ll say it if you won’t—she is half my age.”

  “You’re right!” he said, chuckling. “I won’t say it.”

  Terah showed Ikuppi the large table that dominated the great room. It bore his entire inventory of several dozen eight- to ten-inch idols fashioned from ivory, stone, clay, and wood—in neat rows a few inches apart each.

  “Beautiful!” Ikuppi said. “You make these?”

  “I do,” Terah said, beaming.

  “They look like the silver and gold ones in the palace.”

  “I make those too. The king provides the materials. My handiwork is my gift to him.”

  “And all these are for your own use?”

  “Oh, no, Ikuppi. We get lots of visitors. Citizens often bring sacrifices and kneel right here, leaving the meat and other foodstuffs for us. That’s why I have to fight not to look great with child myself!”

  “Amraphel does not insist on the sacrifices coming to him?”

  Belessunu emitted a scoff. “The king does not deign to eat food provided by commoners.”

  Ikuppi smiled. “So you eat well! And your husband is the highest paid and most trusted member of the king’s staff. Good for you!”

  Terah leaned forward. “In reality, that is not the extent of my recompense. I also sell these to locals and travelers. It’s a thriving business.”

  “Which I must conduct for him,” Belessunu said with a sigh. “These pilgrims come during the day when he is busy running the palace and making life easier for the king. That thriving business means I must entertain visitors every day.”

  “That has to be difficult,” Ikuppi said. “Especially now as your time draws near.”

  “I thought you were going to say ‘at my age,’” Belessunu said.

  Ikuppi held up both hands. “Not me!” He pointed to an ivory icon. “Beautiful!” he said. “This is Marduk, is it not?”

  “Patron deity of all of Babylonia. You could tell from the robe?”

  Ikuppi nodded. “May I?”

  “Of course,” Terah said.

  Ikuppi picked up the idol, slowly turning it over and over. “You must let me buy this one.”

  “Consider it a memento of your visit,” Terah said.

  “Oh, I couldn’t!”

  “You must! You honor me by being here.”

  “I’ll cherish it.”

  “I hope you’ll do more than that,” Terah said. “May Marduk answer all your prayers.”

  “Thank you both!”

  “Don’t thank me,” Belessunu said. “He’s the one who believes a carving can hear prayers.”

  Terah shot her a look. “We have much to discuss, Ikuppi—on the terrace.”

  “You’ll forgive me for not attempting the climb,” Belessunu said.

  “Of course,” her husband said, having chosen the roof so he and Ikuppi could speak privately anyway. His visitor followed him outside and up the steps, bearing his gift.

  Despite the setting of the sun, the windless night proved not much cooler than the blistering heat of the day. Still, Terah lighted a torch, believing he could better judge the veracity of Ikuppi’s report if he could see his face. The man seemed weighed down by the burden of his concern—or was it fear?

  “Tell me everything, friend,” Terah said softly to keep his voice from carrying into the night.

  Ikuppi sat and leaned toward Terah. “You must know the king worries about usurpers to the throne.”

  “I know better than anyone. I am constantly alert for interlopers. All kings face such worries, and they must.”

  “But Amraphel more than most.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I believe he has put so much faith in you because you have proven your loyalty, Terah. He is less sure about your progeny.”

  “Without reason,” Terah said.

  “That’s not what his stargazers are telling him.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Manhattan

  Nicole narrowed her eyes at Kayla. “Police? Why?”

  “You know what I know, Dr. Berman.”

  “Then point me to the case worker’s office.”

  “Oh, she’s not here this late, ma’am.”

  “Kayla! The surgeon has her call the police and she’s planning to manage this from home?”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “But you don’t even know what’s going on! Get her back on the phone.”

  “I really can’t do that.”

  “Then my mother’s out of here as soon as she’s out of surgery.”

  “Oh, no, Dr. Berman! You don’t want to do that.”

  “Somebody’s gonna tell me what’s going on or—”

  “How about you talk to the police as soon as they get here.”

  “Not a second later.”

  “Let me get you set up in your mother’s room. When they arrive—”

  “I hope they know more than you do.”

  On the way to Eleven West, Nicole began texting her father, but what was the point of troubling him when all it would do was rob him of sleep? And there was little he could do
from halfway around the world, despite that he and the hospital brass were on a first-name basis. She would tell him only if she ran into any more roadblocks.

  Eleven West proved as elegant as any five-star hotel, the most luxurious patient rooms Nicole had ever seen. “Concierge service and everything,” Kayla said. “I’ve already checked you in as an overnight visitor in your mother’s room.”

  Nicole had just set her bag on the bed when Kayla took a call and informed her NYPD was in the lobby. “Get settled here and I’ll arrange where you can talk—”

  “No, let’s just go.”

  Kayla looked as if she’d resigned herself to the idea that Nicole always got her way.

  In the lobby they were approached by a plainclothes detective who left two uniformed officers waiting. The detective, Nicole guessed midfifties, had a trench coat over his arm and wore a lived-in suit with one shirttail hanging out. He flipped open his notebook. “You Kayla Jefferson?”

  “I am, and I’ve arranged for a conference room where—”

  “And this is?”

  “I’m Nicole Berman, daughter—”

  “Of the victim?” he said.

  “Victim?!” Nicole said.

  “So you’ve been told nothing.” He reached to shake both women’s hands and introduced himself as Detective George Wojciechowski of the New York Police Department’s Senior Services and Domestic Violence Unit.

  Nicole blanched. The young detective turned his smartphone toward her, showing Wojciechowski’s name. “If that’s too much of a mouthful for ya, call me George or G-Dub.”

  “My mother tripped on a rug, Detective. How is that domestic violence?”

  “That’s what I’m here to find out, ma’am.”

  “But—”

  “Hold on,” Wojciechowski said. “You got questions, but so do I, and this is my investigation, not yours.”

  Kayla said, “Why don’t we take this to the conference r—”

  Wojciechowski held up a hand. “First I gotta know where the victim is now and where she’s gonna be for the rest of the night.”

  “Would you stop referring to her as a victim?” Nicole said.

  “You’re about to find out why we’re here, Ms. Berman, but my first priority is your mother’s safety, so let me do my job. Ms. Jefferson?”

  Kayla said, “Virginia Berman is in surgery and she’ll be in a recovery room within the hour. Then she’ll be moved to her private room in Eleven West until she’s released.” Kayla wrote the number on a card.

  “And when do they expect she’ll be released?”

  “Normally within a week, but with this development …”

  “Got it. Let whoever needs to know that our uniforms’ll set up outside the operating room and accompany her to Recovery and then to her room. And we’ll need anyone entering that room to have hospital credentials.”

  “I’ll be with her too,” Nicole said.

  “Maybe,” Wojciechowski said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You and I need to talk.”

  Nicole began to respond, but the detective turned away and told the uniformed officers to get to the surgical ward.

  “Why does my mother need protection?”

  Wojciechowski turned back to Kayla. “Okay, that conference room?”

  CHAPTER 6

  Ur

  “His wise men have warned the king that a threat to his throne lurks on the horizon,” Ikuppi said. “He even proposed having all pregnant women in the realm brought to the palace to give birth. Those delivering female babies would be rewarded.”

  “And conversely …?” Terah said.

  “Mothers of males will be honored for their sacrifice and urged to return home and try again.”

  Terah found himself unable to speak. Finally he whispered, “Sacrifice? But he blessed me with the wish that we would have a son who lived a thousand years!”

  Ikuppi shook his head. “He has vowed to kill male babies with his own hands.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Manhattan

  Nicole followed Detective Wojciechowski into the conference room. “Actually, I’m going to start with Ms. Jefferson,” he said. “So I’ll ask you to wait outside. I won’t be long.”

  “Can you just tell me—”

  “Listen, there’s things I gotta know before I tell you anything, let alone question you.”

  “You’re going to question me?”

  “As soon as you stop questionin’ me. Now, please.”

  Nicole dropped onto a bench in the hallway, frustrated she couldn’t make out Wojciechowski’s conversation with Kayla. And it took longer than she expected. But then it was her turn, and she and Kayla traded places. Wojciechowski pointed to a chair directly across from him, and as Nicole sat, she said, “Listen, I—”

  “No, you listen, ma’am. I don’t jump to conclusions or pass judgment. I’m just the researcher here. I gather information. So—”

  “You’re not paid to determine—”

  “I’m not sayin’ I won’t have my opinions, and I been doing this long enough to know when someone’s lying, so—”

  “I’m not a liar, Detective.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see,” he said, flipping through his notepad. “You and your parents have separate addresses …”

  She nodded. “We live about forty minutes apart.”

  “Their address, if you don’t mind my saying, is in a swankier part a town.”

  “Naturally.”

  “But you’ve got two doctorates, just like your dad.”

  “He owns a foundation. There’s not much money in academia or archaeology.”

  “I wouldn’t know. You visit your parents often?”

  “Often enough. I work with my father, so maybe not as much as I might otherwise.”

  “You and he get along?”

  “Of course.”

  “But you don’t wanna see him outside the office?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Well, say what you said again then. I thought that’s what you were implyin’.”

  “All I meant was that I might see my parents a little more often if I didn’t work in the same office as my dad—and my mother worked there for years too.”

  “Got it,” Wojciechowski said, scribbling. “Any problems with her?”

  “No! Why? She trips on a rug and breaks her hip and—”

  “I think you know it was more than that …”

  “What’re you saying?”

  Wojciechowski narrowed his eyes at her. “I think you were there when it happened.”

  So much for not jumping to conclusions. “There when it happened? I got a call from my dad in Paris at about four this afternoon. That’s the first I knew about it.”

  Wojciechowski thumbed through his pages again. “So he’s got an alibi.”

  “An alibi? For what? She—”

  “She went down hard, Dr. Berman. Hard enough to break her hip and bang her forehead, and there’s no evidence she even had time to break her fall. No pain or damage to her hands.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning she may have been knocked to the floor.”

  “That seems a leap in logic.”

  “When’s the last time you had a fight with your mother?”

  “Never.”

  “An argument?”

  “We don’t agree on everything, if that’s what you mean. I thought she was wrong to retire from the foundation a few years ago, but that was just a difference of opinion—a discussion, not a fight.”

  “And you don’t resent your lifestyles being so different? You don’t live now the way you did growing up.”

  “Resent it? No. I’m proud of my parents.”

  “But didn’t they just inherit their wealth?”

  “My father did, yes, but he’s built on that.”

  “And handsomely.”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t have a housekeeper.” />
  “I don’t have enough house to need a keeper. Now, please, what’s this about? I want to know what makes this accident a police matter?”

  Wojciechowski scanned a few more pages of notes and shut his notepad, dropping his pen atop it. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Dr. Thorn found something when he cut her open.”

  “Less bone density than he expected, I know.”

  “More damage than usual for a fall.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t get all this medical stuff myself, but I understand he saw more than he expected, some damage to the bone that didn’t show on the x-ray.”

  “Okay …”

  “Like her hip had been traumatized from two different directions.”

  “At the same time?”

  “Guess that would be hard to know, ma’am. But what tells me they were right to call us is what the doc calls the severe soft-tissue injury.”

  “Is that unusual in hip fractures? Seems you should expect some.”

  “Not on the victim’s back,” Wojciechowski said.

  “Her back?”

  “Dr. Berman, your mother has deep bruises on her lower back, one on either side of her spine.”

  “Maybe she landed on her back, or bumped into something trying to break her f—”

  “No. Your mother was either driven to the floor by a flying two-footed kick, or someone jumped on her once she was on the floor.”

  Why in the world…? “You’re sure?”

  “I wouldn’t know how else to interpret what the doctor described. Would you?”

  Nicole sat shaking her head.

  “If you don’t mind my sayin’ so, ma’am, you look athletic enough to be able to do something like that.”

  “To attack my own mother with some sort of martial arts move …”

  He stared at her. “Any training in that kinda stuff?”

  “Never,” she said. “Volleyball was my game, but that was more than fifteen years ago.”

  “Bet you can still jump.”

  “I can still do a lot of things to hurt a senior citizen a foot shorter than I am. But I wouldn’t. I treasure her and always have.”

  Wojciechowski rested his chin on his fist. “How about your dad?”

  “What about him?”

  “He have any reason to want to harm your mother?”

  “No way,” Nicole said. “If you think I treasure her, she’s his whole world.”