Diamond Lake Series: Complete Series (Bks 1-7) Boxset

by T. K. Chapin

  Chapter 4

  PULLING UP TO DYLAN AND Charlotte's house, I saw Peter playing outside in the front yard with one of Charlotte's little girls. He was playing duck, duck, goose. They were far enough in the yard that they hadn't seen me pull up, and I shut the car off. I just gazed out the windshield and appreciated the moment. He looked happy. It was refreshing to see a smile on his face. I hadn't seen one too often in the last couple of days. He was just a kid with a screwed-up mother and now, a father who hadn't ever known him.

  I phoned Pastor Walter down at the church and set up a time to chat. His breaths were heavy with exhaustion, evident in the sounds coming across the line. Something wasn't right. But he agreed to meet with me tomorrow regardless. At eleven o'clock down at the church, I'd share with him my anxiety and pain. Not being able to shake the weary sounding pastor, I offered a different day, but he insisted it was fine. He didn't reveal anything else. Hanging up with the pastor, I had a good feeling replace the worry I had over interrupting the pastor's own issues. Direction and guidance from a Biblical believer, like the Pastor, would fill my tank and give me caution in proceeding.

  Finally getting out of the car, I started toward Peter out in the yard. Out of the corner of my sight, Dylan approached with quick steps and a worried expression on his face. "Sorry. Could you come here for a second?" His eyes skipped to Peter, then back to me.

  Snapping out of my strange entanglement with finding out I was a father, I fell right into Police Chief mode. After a quick nod, I followed Dylan to the house. He led me inside and to his study. Wood carved birds filled shelves and sat beside books and other various trinkets. The wood carved birds looked strange and out of place, as I hadn't seen anything like them before, but they held the beauty of a steady hand.

  "Caught this on the surveillance video feed down at the theater. Thought you might be interested." He pushed a button on the keyboard and pulled my attention to a computer monitor.

  Seeing a woman and man argue in the footage, I continued watching. There was no audio, but their body language told the story. A balled fist on the man's left hand gave insight into a pretty strong feeling of anger. Squinting, I came closer to the screen to get a better look at the two. The woman seemed familiar. The man's hand loosened the balled fist and came up, backhanding the woman across the face. She crashed to the ground. It was then that she rolled over and looked to the camera. I recognized the woman. The perpetrator in the video turned and left out of view of the camera, his face entirely hidden in the darkness beneath a black hoodie. "Pause it."

  Dylan hit a button.

  "Zoom in."

  "I can't."

  Relaxing my tensed shoulders, I turned to him. "Could you get me a copy?"

  He nodded.

  "Good. Drop it off at the precinct. If we can identify who that man is in the video, we could bring him in on assault."

  "You sound a little shaken up." Dylan's eyes turned to the screen. "Do you know that woman or something? You keep glancing at her."

  Nodding, I said, "That's Peter's mom."

  **

  With no more than a ratted pair of jeans and a couple of shirts in his backpack, I decided to take the boy into the big city to the mall. The idea of new clothes didn't seem to faze him. The entire ride into town, Peter rested his head against the window as he stared at the passing scenery, never making more than a little eye contact at a time. If I hadn't seen what patterns of neglect and abuse looked like in my daily job, it would have bothered me more. Abused children did what they needed to survive. Keeping quiet and out of the way in front of adults was a form of survival.

  Though I knew the facts, I couldn't help asking as we got out in the parking garage at the mall. "Everything okay, Peter?"

  A half-shoulder shrug and one corner of his lip curled up, giving me the indication he was hiding something. We both started walking through the garage. "I'm fine."

  Recalling my niece's birthday party a month and a half ago, I remember all the six- to eight-year-old children who attended. Smiles, laughter, and an overabundance of joy were painted across every cake-filled face. Peter was different. He carried a weight around him that appeared to tether him to the ground. "You can talk to me if you ever need to, Sport."

  "Thanks."

  After arriving at the mall, Peter seemed to keep his distance, which grated on me. He was my son, my blood. It shouldn’t be this way. Resting a hand on my boy's shoulders, I gently brought him closer to me. He gave in and let himself walk beside me a bit closer than previously. He peered up into my eyes with a glimmer of hope, and warmth washed over my heart.

  We made our way through the mall and to a few different stores. While picking out clothing, I learned we had a lot of the same tastes. He picked the boot cut blue jeans over the whitewashed, holes in them style that was trending with the children these days. He had simple tastes, which was just like me. By the end of our trip, we left the mall with bags of new clothing for him, but I could tell he was still clinging to sadness—which was to be expected. I did see a smile creep in on our way out of the doors and into the parking garage. There were no words, just a smile.

  Back in the car, in the parking garage, he leaned forward from the back seat and asked, "Have you ever shot someone?"

  Smiling as I shook my head, I said, "No. Have you?"

  He folded over in laughter, letting a spray of saliva escape from his lips. The mist wasn't exactly enjoyable. "Sorry," he offered as his eyes grew wide and his forehead pressed together in the middle. From the seat in the back, he shook his head and his voice was soft as tears began to flow. "I'm so, so sorry, Brody."

  Raising one hand as I reached over and grabbed a napkin that was sitting between the seat and console, I looked back at him. "It's okay." Wiping my face with the napkin, I smiled. "My jokes don't usually carry over so well."

  He smiled.

  Relaxing back into my seat, I felt I had finally done something right since the kid had shown up on my doorstep. Remembering I hadn't broken the news to him about his being my son, I brushed it off. Telling him didn't feel right—not right now, anyway. I needed to speak with the Pastor about it, maybe even wait and speak to Jess about it if I could find her.

  **

  That evening, we ordered a pizza back at home. After a third slice of pizza, Peter wiped his mouth with a napkin and asked to be excused from the table. I granted the request with a slight nod and continued to study the video I picked up from the precinct on our way home from Spokane. The man's face in the footage wasn't becoming any clearer and my frustration was mounting. Who is he, Jessica? Clicking the mouse attached to my laptop, I paused on the shadowy faced man as he turned and revealed the dark imagery of a hood.

  It wasn't long after Peter left the table that an idea came rushing to my mind. Peter could know something. Wiping my hands of the grease from my food, I set my napkin down on the paper plate and headed down the hall to the guest room. The door was open slightly, enough so that I was able to peek inside without interrupting. What I saw broke off a chunk of my heart and moved a part of me that felt like a warm flowing river.

  Peter was holding a picture frame as he sat on the edge of his bed. Hunched over, he was caressing the glass. I saw him and his mother in the frame. In a soft whisper of a voice, he said, "I’ll help you, Momma. I’ll help you get away from him."

  Swallowing a lump the size of a lemon in my throat, I wiped my tear-welled eyes and took a deep breath, entering the room. "Hey, Peter."

  He jerked the photo away, shoving it under his pillow, and wiped his eyes quickly.

  Nodding toward the pillow, I asked, "Is that a photo of you and your mom? You don’t have to hide it from me."

  Wiping his eyes, he looked toward me. "Anthony won’t leave her alone, and she is scared."

  Sitting down on his bed, I asked, "Can you tell me about what Anthony looks like? Does he have a hoodie?"

  Shaking his head, he said, "Anthony would never wear one. He likes button up shirts. Wh
y?"

  Ignoring his question, I asked, "Do you think your mom is trying to find him?"

  "I don’t know . . . she was yelling on the phone on our way to your house with some man, but not Anthony."

  “Yelling about what?” I pressed.

  He shrugged.

  Sighing as the reality that he was only seven sank into my mind, I saw his shoulders sag. His smile from earlier left and he looked as if he got lost somewhere in his thoughts. "Do you know who she was talking to?"

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “That’s all right. You don’t have to be upset about it.”

  His eyes shifted to his backpack in the corner of the room. I could see his eyes glisten with tears as he said, "I just miss my mom."

  Realizing he didn't have a chance at providing me with much more information, I decided to just tuck him into bed. Leaning slightly over him and his covers, I set a hand on his side. "She'll be back in a few days. Let's get you tucked in and to bed and we'll pray."

  "Can you just pray? I don't want to . . ."

  "That's fine, bud."

  Chapter 5

  AFTER DROPPING PETER OFF WITH Charlotte for the day, I headed directly to the theater. Dylan's copy of the recording didn't produce any new information, and I took to the neighboring businesses to see if anybody saw anything suspicious. The first two places, Ann's Bakery and Tom's Hardware, were both dead ends, but then I walked into the Newport Pawn Shop.

  "What did the woman pawn, Jeff?" I asked, pressing my palm against the counter.

  Adjusting his footing behind the counter, he was uneasy about disclosing information to me. Jeff wasn't the type of guy that went around discussing people's business and preferred it when law enforcement wasn't in his. With drugs ramping up in the community of Newport and surrounding areas, his shop was a prime target for investigations and it brought undesired press. Furrowing his eyebrows, Jeff dipped his chin. "Aren't you the Police Chief now? What are you doing this kind of work for anyway?"

  It was a valid question, though none of his business. "I try to help out wherever I can. Could you just tell me what she pawned, Jeff?"

  He nodded slowly and turned around, going down the counter a bit to a black box. Retrieving a ring, he came back to me and handed it over. "A one-carat princess cut diamond ring. Baguette accent cuts bring the total carat weight to just over two."

  Taking the ring in my hand, I brought it in closer for inspection. I recognized it. It was the same ring her mother had given her when we were getting serious. A family heirloom. I might have only known Jessica a year’s time, but I knew her well enough to know she wouldn't just pawn a keepsake like this. Recalling the tattered clothing and the look of desperation she wore both on my doorstep and in the video, maybe I was wrong.

  My phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. Handing the ring back to Jeff, I turned and walked down an empty aisle.

  "What do you have for me, Ponce?" I answered.

  "Just got done searching Don's place. Nothing out here other than moldy newspapers and more cans of gasoline than one ought to have."

  "Guess that favor from the judge for a speedy search warrant was useless, eh?"

  The rookie let out a long-winded sigh. It was easy to detect his discouragement. It had been looming nearby with every short conversation down at the station and ever since we had visited Don's a couple of days back.

  "Do me a favor and go swing by our witness's house and ask her if she's been able to think of anything more."

  "Do you think that's going to help anything?" he asked.

  "The brick walls and scratched metal gray table have a way of shortening conversation. Go talk to her."

  "Will do, sir."

  "Thanks, Ponce."

  Hanging up, I returned to the counter and Jeff. "Could you tell me more about the man she was with?"

  "I already told you what I know. You're just fishing now, Brody. He hung out in the aisles while she spoke with me up here at the counter. I think he had dark brown hair and a little scruff on his face, a half-beard."

  Glancing over my shoulder at the corners of the shop, I saw video cameras. "And those aren't functional, right?"

  He shook his head, dipping his chin. "I wish. They're just to deter thieves. The cost of getting cameras in here isn't worth it. Not in this small of a town."

  Pointing to the box Jess's mom's ring came from, I asked, "What's the price tag on that ring?"

  "It's not for sale. She still has time before it goes out."

  Leaving the pawn shop, I headed down to Newport Christ Community to meet with the pastor. Going through those church doors outside of a Sunday morning or Wednesday night unhinged my nerves a bit. I was more of a 'blend into the crowd' kind of guy. A sit down with the pastor was serious business for me. Pushing aside my own self-analysis, I traversed the hallway in search of Pastor Walters's office.

  Passing by the three, four, and even five-year-old Sunday school classes, I didn't think anything of it. The first-grade classroom caused me to pause. Seeing the door was partially opened, I took a look up and down the hallway and took a glance in. Seeing the alphabet and characters from the Bible all in bright and vibrant colors, I smiled thinking of Peter. Kids his age were simply enjoying life, learning to read and learning to spell. They weren't being flung around like a rag doll from house to house while their mother tries to figure out her life, or at least they shouldn't. Worry filled me as I hadn't even thought about the fact that he should be in school. Does he go to one, or did he? The classroom only seemed to heap more confusion and hurt atop the mountain of discourse inside me.

  Walking further down the hall, it wasn't long before I found the pastor's office. After a few light knocks on the door, I pushed it open a fraction and stuck my head in.

  Pastor Walter shuffled papers and quickly stood up, ushering me in with a sway of his hand toward him. Wiping a tear from his eye, he raised his eyebrows and said, "Chief Jenkins." His greeting was formal, respectful. Though I appreciated it, I didn't need the formality of my career in the hallowed walls of the church.

  "Thanks, but Brody is fine, Pastor."

  "Have a seat, Brody." His eyes shifted to the chair in front of his desk. A free hand shifted the papers from his desk over the ones he had shoved underneath, and I brushed it off.

  Taking a seat, I let out a sigh. It felt good to be in God's house. I knew the pastor well enough from sitting under his sermons for years to know he wouldn't pass any sort of contemptuous feelings toward me about my sin-filled past. He wasn't like that. More often than not, he'd make references to the rough times he had before his own commitment to Christ. He understood me. "So, how do we begin this?" I asked, smiling as I adjusted and brought one leg up and over the other.

  "With a prayer." He smiled warmly. Bowing our heads, he led. "God, we come to You with open hearts, open minds, and an open spirit. Help our time together be blessed. We know where two or more gather, You are there, and we welcome You with open arms. Help Brody lean on You during this time he's going through and help him see the truth that only You can provide. We pray these things in Your Heavenly and precious name, Jesus. Amen."

  A settling wave of comfort wrapped itself around me as I lifted my eyes to meet the Pastor's. "I found out I have a kid."

  He raised an eyebrow and nodded lightly. "When?"

  "Yesterday. The boy is seven years old."

  "What's the boy's name?" the pastor asked as he put his reading glasses on and opened his Bible, beginning to thumb through the pages.

  "Peter."

  "Good Biblical name." His eyes stayed fixated on the Scripture, his finger running speedily across the pages.

  "Yeah, but the thing is that he came out of a time in my life when I was so messed up. Seven years ago, I wasn't living for the Lord, and the mother, she is . . ." I adjusted in my seat as memories from college parties and getting high in my buddy's dorm room pelted against my mind. "She's not like us."

  "Not like us?" The pastor questi
oned, stopping to look up from his Bible.

  "Not a Christian."

  "She's a sinner, Brody. A sinner like you and me. Yes, when you knew her, she wasn’t a Christian, but you don't know what's happened in her life in the last seven years. You don't know her heart. You can't judge that kind of thing. Only God can."

  My hands came together, a thumb rubbing my other hand. "Sorry."

  He raised a hand, stopping me. "No need for sorry. Judging is something we do to help make sense of the world and the people around us. It's a comfort thing and we all do it, but if you're wise enough, you can stop yourself. Where is your son’s mother? How'd this all happen?"

  After explaining the situation and the fact that she was going to be back in a day to take the boy, I saw the realization spread across his face. "You have a responsibility to this boy now, Brody, regardless of whether she wants it."

  "That makes sense." I rubbed the tension in my neck as responsibility weighed heavier on my shoulders in the moment. "So, what? Shared custody? I don't know her much anymore, but she dropped her son off on my doorstep. Something isn't right upstairs, Pastor."

  "You could attempt full custody. I'm not a lawyer, but . . ."

  "Then what? Have him in school and then in childcare all day?" A knot began to tighten in my chest as I envisioned an extra bill every month.

  The pastor nodded and glanced down at the Scriptures. "It's a lot to wrap your mind around, but listen to what God says: '1 Peter 5:7 Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.' You see, Brody. God gave His one and only Son up to be killed because He loves you so much. Let the fact that the Creator of the universe cares about you on an intimate and personal level sink in. He knows your situation and sees it fully."

  Letting it settle into my mind and heart, I nodded.