Murder, Mayhem & a Fine Man

by Claudia Mair Burney

  “I see a spark in you, Elisa. You don’t want to go to paradise right now. Please help me. We’ll figure it out. I promise you.”

  She stroked my wet hair. “Can you run?”

  “I can hardly stand.”

  “You’ll have to. That’s the only way we’ll get out of here.”

  “Where are the kids? We have to get them out.”

  “The kids don’t stay here. They live with Catherine in another house. Jonny and Damon live in a different house, too.”

  She doesn’t know.

  “Jonathan Vogel and Damon Crawford are dead, Elisa. They were murdered.”

  She froze. “That’s not true.”

  “It’s why I’m here, sweetie.”

  She took my hand.

  “Wait,” I said. “Give me his toothbrush, but don’t get your fingerprints on it.”

  “What?”

  “Grab the toothbrush with the hem of your skirt. Quickly.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s evidence. I promise. It’ll help us.”

  “It’s covered,” she said, pulling his toothbrush, sheathed in a plastic cover, from the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. Way to go, Gabriel.

  “We’d better go now,” she said. She put her arm around me, giving me stability and strength. With all that I had in me, I went with her. She unlocked the front door, letting us out of the house. We moved away as fast as my aching body would let us. I looked back and saw lights come on in the house. Elisa began to run, and I stumbled forward in a half run. I must have had angels holding me up. She guided us through the trees. In the darkness I couldn’t tell where we were, or how far we were from the house. I fell several times, and Elisa kept picking me up, silently urging me on.

  But then, my foot caught in a tree root. I went down too hard. I knew I couldn’t get back up. Elisa bent over me, tugging at my arm.

  I shook my head. “No. Run, Elisa. Don’t wait for me.”

  “I can’t leave you.”

  “I’m not going to make it.”

  “Yes, you will. You have to.”

  “I can’t run anymore,” I said. My lungs felt as if they’d burst. I could scarcely breathe, and my aching legs crumbled beneath me, refusing to go on. I touched my neck. “Take the prayer beads.”

  “I can’t,” she said. I saw that she was crying.

  “Go with God, Elisa. Say a prayer to Jesus to have mercy on us. When you get away, call Lieutenant Jazz Brown with the Detroit Police. Homicide. Take him to the children.”

  “I’m going to stay with you.”

  “Don’t. You’re young. Run, Elisa. Let the Lord save you.”

  She kissed me on my battered forehead, and I felt her tears fall onto my face. Elisa smoothed my hair again, and pressed her lips to my cheek, then she ran deeper into the woods.

  She left me on the ground, praying and clutching a toothbrush, something that I hoped might help identify the man who would surely kill me.

  A blinding pain exploded in my head, which felt like it was going to split in two, and I blacked out.

  Chapter

  Twenty-eight

  IT IS PEACEFUL . I have never felt such serenity. My head doesn’t hurt anymore, and sunlight streams through the trees. The air smells like springtime—a sharp, lively smell of fresh pine and earth still damp from the last shower—and something else. I see Jazz, and I hug him. I love him, fearlessly and free of shame. He is my friend. I open my arms to embrace him. He holds me, and he kisses my cheeks again and again.

  Then it is dark again. I hurt. My head, my torso, my thighs. Why do I hurt so? And I smell smoke.

  Jazz speaks to me, but I don’t understand what he says. I want to thank him for coming for me. I believe I will be all right now.

  “You came for me,” I mutter, and it hurts to talk.

  “I told you I would.”

  Where am I?

  I winced at the light when I opened my eyes. I was lying in a bed. Jazz sat on the edge, his prayer beads, the ones he’d given me, in his hand. He was uttering prayers in a low voice, his head bowed and his eyes closed. Flowers filled the room.

  I tried to speak but it was difficult. My mouth felt dry and unused. I tried again and in a raspy voice, managed to say, “Someone let you loose in a flower shop again?”

  His eyes snapped open, and he graced me with one of those dazzling smiles. “Hello to you, too.” He touched my face and picked up the call button to alert a nurse.

  “May I help you?” a female voice asked over the intercom.

  “She’s awake,” Jazz said.

  “Where am I?”

  “University of Michigan Hospital.”

  “When did I get here?”

  “Monday morning.”

  “What day is it now?”

  “It’s Wednesday. You were banged up pretty bad.”

  “How bad?”

  “Bad. You had lots of contusions, some head injuries, and acute bronchial inflammation, and I’m sorry to say you have a bit of a hair deficit now. You don’t even want to know what your mother said about that.”

  “You met my mother?” More horror. “What did she say to you?”

  “I met Maggie, too. Let’s just say I now know more about you than you know about yourself. And those women love me.”

  I reached up and ran my hand across my poor, aching head.

  Jazz cleared his throat. “Uh, there’s the stitches issue, too, but my mom made you a fierce head wrap. A couple of them.”

  He was right. Stitches bound a part of my scalp together. Boy, was I sore.

  “The doctor said your hair will grow back, much to your mother’s relief.”

  We didn’t say anything for a while, but Jazz kept staring at me, his face serious and concerned. I recognized that face. I was about to get the Jazz version of “the talk.”

  “He could have killed you.”

  “I know.”

  “We pulled two bodies out of that house. I thought I’d lost you, and I can’t lose you.”

  I swallowed hard.

  “Promise me that you will never do anything like that again.”

  “I promise, Jazz,” I said, ashamed of my egotistical impetuosity.

  “You’re fired.”

  “Does that mean you won’t pay me the five grand?”

  He gave me a half smile. “We’ll have to find another way to have babies.”

  “Yeah. Let me know when you’re available.”

  “A head injury, and still you remember that?”

  I laughed. It hurt.

  He got serious on me again. “What else do you remember?”

  “I remember getting to Gabriel’s house. I know he slapped me. I don’t remember much after that until I woke up alone in the room.”

  Jazz reached down to the floor and grabbed a manila envelope. He opened it, and took out a mug shot. “Is this Gabriel?”

  “Yes, and he is the former Michael Wright.”

  “His real name is Michael Pingree.”

  “How did you find that out?”

  “He’s an ex-con. We got his prints off the toothbrush you were carrying. Souldier says we can get a good DNA profile, too. Gil Grissom would be proud.”

  I smiled at his CSI reference, but grew serious quickly. “Jazz, I don’t think Gabriel knew about the murders.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “We talked about the guys. He seemed oblivious.” I tried to pull my fuzzy thoughts together. “You said you pulled two bodies out. Is he dead?”

  “The bodies were female. They were burned badly.”

  “He set the house on fire?”

  “Someone did. We’ll get to that part. Elisa contacted me. We got the kids and another woman, Catherine. You’re a hero.”

  “I’m an idiot.”

  “Elisa didn’t think so. She’s at the Rock House, and they’re loving her up. The children are in protective custody until we can get some of this mess straightened out. Catherine is with her parents.”
>
  “Praise God. I know Rocky will take good care of Elisa. She saved my life.”

  “You saved hers.” He touched my chin, a sweet, gentle gesture. “Do you remember anything else about being hurt?”

  My memories of the events that took place at that house were like pieces of a broken mirror. I saw myself and whatever happened in shards of vivid recollection, but some pieces were missing completely. “I don’t remember everything. He must have hurt me pretty bad, because I ache all over.”

  Jazz held my hand in his. “We found you in the woods by the house. You were in and out of consciousness.”

  “Did you kiss me? I vaguely remember you kissing my face, and I said, ‘You came for me.’” I blushed a little at the thought of it.

  “You did say that, but I didn’t kiss you.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “It was a dog.”

  “What?”

  “A dog licked your face.”

  I was horrified. “You know, that’s not a comforting thought.”

  He pulled my scarf out of his pocket. “Thank God for that dog. This is how I found you.” He stretched out the length of yellow fabric. “It’s scented with vanilla and sweet amber—essence of Bell.”

  I smiled at him. “The scarf you stole.”

  “The scarf you gave me. We brought in a bloodhound and a cadaver dog.”

  “Did you find Gabriel?”

  “No. We didn’t find Susan Hines, either. Rocky said she never returned to the house.”

  “Jazz, do you still think Vogel Senior killed Jonathan and Damon?”

  “What, now you think he did it? I’ve been arguing with you for days about that, and now you’ve changed your mind?”

  “I’m sorry for arguing with you, Jazz. This is all so confusing.”

  “This ain’t CSI, baby. It takes a while to get to the truth sometimes, but we’re on it.”

  “Did he?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Do you know where my car is?”

  “We have it.”

  “Is it damaged?”

  “No, but we couldn’t find the keys. We think they’re in the rubble in the house.”

  “My Love Bug! Yay!”

  “You’re more concerned about the ‘Love Bug’ than about your own injuries? Cars can be replaced, but you can’t.”

  My broken body screamed the truth of that statement.

  A doctor came into the room. She was a small Indian woman with a warm demeanor and compassionate obsidian eyes. “Dr. Brown. It’s good to have you with us. My name is Dr. Pakoor.”

  “It’s good to be here, but everything hurts.”

  She pointed to a small machine by my bed. “This is your new best friend. It has morphine in it.” She handed me a cord with a button similar to the call button to get the nurses’ attention. “Just push when you need to. We’ll wean you off of it soon, so enjoy it while you can.”

  I pushed. Fast.

  The doctor looked at Jazz, then back at me. “I’m going to order some tests for you now that you’re awake. I’ll let you and your husband have some time alone.”

  Jazz winked at me.

  My husband. In my dreams.

  “I’ll be back in a little while to examine you. If you have any questions, I’ll be here to answer them for you. We also have a social worker on hand for you to speak with if you wish. Please let me know if you need anything.”

  “I’m okay for now, just thirsty.”

  “I’ll have your nurse bring you something to drink. How about some grape juice?”

  “Anything but that, please.”

  “Whatever you’d like. I’ll be back soon.” She left the room swiftly.

  “Okay, husband,” I said.

  I was rewarded with one of his smiles. “Can I help it if people make assumptions because we have the same last name?”

  We both chuckled.

  “You know what’s ironic?” he said.

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “Kate didn’t take my last name. She was too liberated for that.”

  The thought of his real wife sobered me, even if she was his ex.

  “I need to ask you something, Jazz, and I expect an honest answer.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Did he rape me?”

  His smile faded. “When we found you, it was clear that you were hurt, and the focus was on treating your head injuries and discovering any internal injuries as a result of the beating you’d had.”

  “Okay.”

  “We found trauma around your thighs, and…other delicate parts.” He took a deep breath. “We thought he may have sexually assaulted you. The doctor ordered a rape kit, but someone must have cleaned you up. They said it was inconclusive.”

  “Elisa gave me a bath.” My stomach felt queasy as the truth swept over me.

  “Carly raised all kinds of you-know-what. Then she examined you herself.”

  I didn’t say anything. All words were gone from me.

  “She couldn’t tell for sure, either, but she leaned toward you having not been raped. Look, Bell, decisions had to be made, and Carly was the only one with durable power of attorney to make medical decisions for you.”

  The horror of his words cut into me, stopping my breath. When I could breathe I had to ask the hardest question I’ve ever asked anyone in my life. “Did she give me an abortive medication?”

  “She believed you’d forgo any drugs that would terminate a possible pregnancy.”

  Tears flowed. His words blessed and wounded me at the same time. I couldn’t reconcile the two realities. On the one hand, I did not take a medication that would have aborted a possible pregnancy, which is what I’d have chosen. On the other, I could possibly be pregnant.

  “Hey, hey,” he said, shushing me, wiping my tears and kissing the tips of my fingers. “Carly didn’t think you were raped. You know she’s right about everything.”

  I couldn’t even laugh at his all too true assessment of my sister’s ego. “I’m fertile, Jazz. If he…I could be pregnant by that slug. Oh, my precious God.” I wailed my prayer.

  Jazz folded me into himself. “Shhh. It’s okay, love. It’s okay. He’s not the one you’re going to have a baby with. God knows he’s not.”

  I sobbed and sobbed in his arms as the warmth of the morphine spread through my body, seeping through the pain, and my weeping subsided. Everything grew hazy. “What if Carly is wrong, and he raped me? I’ve been begging God to let me have a baby. What if this is how I’ll get one, Jazz? How could I raise it? What would I tell people?”

  “It wouldn’t be his baby.”

  “What do you mean?” I could feel myself about to float away, the morphine surging in gentle waves through my body.

  “If you’re pregnant we’ll tell everyone it’s our baby. Over time, we’d come to believe it.” His voice sounded far away now. “Do you hear me, Bell? It will be our baby. Yours and mine. But I think God has a better way for us. I’m almost sure of it. You’ll just have to trust me on that.”

  Yours and mine.

  The words echoed in my head, mingled with Scripture.

  I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.

  I squeezed Jazz’s hand and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Ma Brown and her slave mother, Aimee.

  You are blessed, daughter, and you will heal from this, too, as your grandmother’s grandmothers healed of many violations so many seasons ago—on slave ships and in cotton fields, in plantation big houses. You are strong, my namesake, Amanda Bell Brown. You will triumph in the Lord, as I did, and my mother, and her mother. I have prayed for you that your faith fail not. Believe it.

  Let the weak say, “I am strong.”

  In my dream I said to Ma Brown, “I am strong.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-nine

  I WAS RELEASED from the “U” two days later, and sent home with a police escort—the handsome protector of my reputation and virtue—Jazz Brown: lieutenant, detective extr
aordinaire, friend, and husband—at least in the minds of the doctors and nurses at the hospital.

  He’d gotten me a new set of apartment and office keys, though I refused to allow him to get and pay for new locks for me. I doubted that would be necessary. I didn’t want new locks anyway. I wanted to go home and find my life as it used to be—before young men and women were murdered by strychnine-infused communion or burned in fiery apocalyptic destruction.

  Although most of my memory returned, I still couldn’t remember all of Gabriel’s brutal assault. That, to me, was a mercy.

  I just wanted a normal life again.

  I think Jazz did, too. He took one look at me and, like he did that first night we met, lifted me off my feet and carried me up the three flights of steps to my apartment. He grunted and sweated as he got closer to that third flight, and I showed him no mercy—teased him, in fact. “You’re going to have to work out if you plan on making a habit of this.”

  “Hey, I can hang with you,” he puffed. “However, you might want to consider moving to a place with an elevator.”

  “You’re not going to suggest that I lose weight?”

  “I may be crazy, but I’m not stupid.”

  “So this is how you work off all those Krispy Kreme doughnuts?”

  “I’m a Dunkin’ Donuts kind of guy.”

  We laughed as we reached my door. He was a little out of breath, but placed me gently on my feet.

  I nudged him. “You remember what happened the last time you carried me up the stairs?”

  “Yeah. You asked me if I believed in magic.”

  “Do you?”

  He grinned and gazed down at me. “No. I believe in God. And you’d better not kiss me because I made all kind of bargains with the Lord when I thought you were dead. We are not going to mess up.”

  “Who said I was going to kiss you, Mr. Arrogant?”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “You don’t trust me? What kind of damage could I do?”

  He looked at me incredulously. “Don’t even get me started on that. Now, would you like to go in or stay here and chitchat?”

  “I’d like to go in.”

  He paused. “Maybe you can give me just one little kiss.”

  “Be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might,” I teased.