Trail of Secrets

by Sandra Robbins

  “Callie, I don’t think...”

  She held up her hand. “It’s no use, Seth. I’m going to do it whether you like it or not. I want to take Uncle Dan and get out of Memphis, and I can’t do it until this case is solved. There’s no need for further discussion. I’ve made my decision.”

  He started to say something, but instead nodded. “Okay, if that’s what you want. I don’t want to stand in the way of your getting back to the exciting life you’ve carved out for yourself in Virginia.”

  He stared straight ahead and didn’t speak again. Callie studied his angry expression out of the corner of her eye and wondered what he would say if he knew how much the words she’s just spoken had cost her. She had to put that out of her mind, though.

  Right now she needed to concentrate on whether or not there was something at the Midtown Mission that would lead her to the people who’d tried to kill her and her uncle. And she intended to start Monday.

  * * *

  Seth didn’t like it a bit. Callie had no business going undercover at Midtown Mission. Truthfully, he didn’t know if there was anything unlawful or dangerous going on there, but he didn’t like her putting herself at risk just in case she did find suspicious activity. He’d tried to speak to her about it several times, but she’d dismissed his concerns.

  Now on Monday afternoon as they sat in the parking lot, he tried once more to convince her to give up this idea and go back to his house. “I think you’re taking too much of a risk, Callie,” he said for perhaps the fifth time.

  She shook her head. “You might as well give up, Seth. I’ve made up my mind. I’m glad Mrs. Tipton suggested I come help serve the dinner meal. That way I’ll only be here for a few hours, and you’re going to be around the corner sitting in your car. I have my cell phone, and I’ll call you if I see anything suspicious.”

  He swiveled in his seat and stared at her. “Do you promise you’ll call if there’s the least hint of any trouble?”

  “I will.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled. “Very well, then. Go on. Remember, I’ll only be a block away if you need me.”

  She laughed and climbed out of the car. When she was outside, she leaned down and stared back inside at him. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  He watched as she walked from the parking lot and weaved her way through the homeless men and women who’d already gathered outside the mission in hopes of getting a warm meal and a bed for the night. He said a quick prayer for Callie’s safety before he started the car and drove down the street. He pulled to a stop around the corner just out of sight of the mission and parked beside the curb. Now came the hard part. Waiting. He’d never liked stakeouts, but with Callie involved this might be the worst one he’d ever endured.

  There had to be a connection among the Midtown Mission, A.D.A. Abby Dalton, Carlos Allen and the attempts on Dan’s and Callie’s lives. Maybe Callie could find something that linked everything together.

  He reached for his cell phone to call her and ask if everything was all right so far, but he shook his head and pulled his hand back. No need to call attention to her right away. If she had stepped into a dangerous place at Midtown Mission, there was nothing he could do right now except wait and see what happened in the next few hours.

  * * *

  Callie could hardly believe how quickly the time had passed since she first entered the mission. Mrs. Tipton had assigned her right away to work with Peggy Hubbard, the woman she and Seth had spoken to when they visited the mission a few days ago. For the next few hours she worked in the kitchen with Peggy and the other cooks as they prepared the evening meal.

  Now with all the tables filled, men and women bent over their plates and shoveled food into their mouths. No one spoke as they ate, and the only sound in the room was of forks and spoons scraping against the dishes.

  Callie had known for years that American cities were filled with unfortunate homeless people, but she’d never been so close to any of them before. Even under the dirt and grime on their bodies, she realized these were still human beings, each with a different story. She wondered what some of them were.

  She carried a coffeepot as she walked up and down the tables and stopped every once in a while to refill a cup. A mumbled thank-you, no eye contact, was all she received for her service until she stopped beside a man who glanced up at her after she’d poured coffee into his cup.

  “Thank you.” His smile revealed straight, white teeth that appeared particularly bright against the backdrop of his chocolate-colored skin.

  Callie returned his smile. “You’re welcome.”

  He tilted his head and studied her for a moment. “You’re new here.”

  “This is my first time to volunteer. My name is Callie.”

  “It’s good to have you here, Callie. I’m Herman. Herman Miller. But my friends all call me Champ.”

  Callie’s gaze raked the gaunt figure in the faded pants and shirt that seemed to hang on his small frame. “Champ?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah. It’s a holdover from my Golden Gloves days.” He glanced down at his plate. “But I expect a pretty lady like you don’t have no time to hear about that.”

  Callie shook her head. A man next to Herman picked up his empty plate and rose to his feet. When he’d walked away, Callie dropped down in the chair, set her coffeepot on the table and smiled at Herman. “No, you’re wrong. I’d love to hear your story.”

  He glanced around the room. “Everybody here got a story, and ev’ry one of them is just about alike. Mine ain’t much different.”

  “Then tell me.”

  He took a drink of coffee and stared at the cup when he set it back on the table. A faraway look settled in his eyes, and Callie wondered what thoughts were running through his mind. “Yeah, I used to box in the Golden Gloves. Thought I’d make it to the big leagues, but that wasn’t to be. Vietnam got in the way and ended that dream.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “No need to feel bad. I came home in one piece. A lot of guys didn’t. When I got back, all I wanted was a little neighborhood grocery store. I worked hard and I finally got it. Things were going good until my wife died, and I was alone.”

  “So you had no children?”

  “One son, but he took off. Don’t know where he is. He didn’t want nothing to do with that little grocery store, but I loved it. It was all I had. Then these guys came by, and all that changed.”

  Callie straightened in her chair. “How did it change?”

  “At first, they sweet-talked me, told me they were gonna take care of me, offer me protection from what might happen to an old man trying to run a business by himself. I told them I didn’t need no protection, but they said I didn’t have a choice. I had to pay them every week if I wanted to stay in business.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I started to pay them, but it was never enough. They kept raising the price. When it got so much I couldn’t pay, I told them I was through. I wasn’t making enough money to live on. That night I woke up in my apartment that was over the store, and I smelled smoke. I was lucky to get out of the building alive, but everything I owned burned in the fire that night. I’d been short on money from making those ‘protection payments,’ and I’d gotten behind on paying my insurance. At my age nobody wanted to hire me, and I had nowhere to live. Next thing I know I’m on the streets and sleeping on a concrete floor in a deserted warehouse most nights.”

  Callie’s heart ached for the man, and tears stood in her eyes. She reached out and squeezed Herman’s arm. “I am so sorry for what happened to you, Herman.”

  His eyes sparkled for a moment, and he smiled. “Champ. I told you my friends call me Champ, and you’re the first friend I’ve made in a long time.”
He looked down at his plate and cleared his throat. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to finish eating. They gonna start drawing names for tonight’s beds in a little while, and I’d like to get one. It sure would be nice to have one night on a mattress instead of a cardboard box on a concrete floor.”

  “Of course.” Callie pushed to her feet and looked toward the kitchen. Peggy stood just inside the dining room, watching her. She had her arms crossed over her chest, and a frown creased her face. She shook her head, and Callie felt the unspoken reprimand for slacking off on her responsibilities vibrate through her body to the tips of her toes. She took a deep breath and glanced down at Herman, who had shifted his attention back to the food on his plate. “Would you like another cup of coffee before I move on?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m fine, but thanks.”

  Callie moved down the table to the next man, but she couldn’t resist glancing back at Herman, who hadn’t looked her way again. Something in the slump of his shoulders and the resigned tone of his words pierced her heart, and she wondered what happened to people that ended up on the streets with no hope. She shook the thought from her head and walked toward the kitchen to refill her now-empty coffeepot.

  Peggy waited for her just inside the door. “You don’t need to talk to the people who come in here.”

  The statement surprised Callie, and she frowned. “Why not? I thought the mission was here to help these people.”

  “It is. But our goal is to meet their physical needs. A meal, a bed for the night, a place to get a shower. Those types of things.”

  “I don’t understand. What about offering them hope or encouragement? Don’t you want them to escape the way they’re living?”

  “Of course we do, but that’s not going to happen for most of them. Only a handful will be able to escape their lives on the street.”

  “You have no way of knowing which ones will escape. In the meantime, why shouldn’t you offer kindness and compassion to the ones who come in here?”

  “Because they’ll want to start spilling the sordid details of their lives. Before you know it you’ll be sucked in and feeling sorry for them. Then they’ll hit you up for money. I should know. It’s happened to me plenty of times.”

  Callie debated how to respond to Peggy. Evidently, something had happened in her past that influenced her opinion of the people the mission served. Callie hoped she never became too jaded to be willing to reach out to other people. After a moment she nodded. “I’m sorry you’ve had some bad experiences. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Peggy’s features softened, and she pulled up the corner of her apron and wiped at the perspiration on her forehead. “I’m only telling you this for your own good, Callie.”

  “Thank you for doing that.” Callie smiled and walked over to the big coffee urn across the kitchen. When she’d refilled her pot, she turned and headed back into the dining room.

  She had only gotten to the kitchen door when the door that led from the sidewalk outside into the dining room opened, and Marty Weaver stepped into the room. Surprised at seeing him there, she took a step back into the kitchen and watched.

  He didn’t move for a moment. He stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, and let his gaze drift over the men and women still eating their dinner. She inched farther back into the kitchen, but he didn’t appear to notice her. Her heart beat a little faster when his gaze came to a stop on Herman Miller. The man appeared oblivious to the policeman’s presence for a few seconds, then he looked up.

  Herman’s body slowly stiffened, and his mouth dropped open. He didn’t break eye contact with the officer as he laid his fork down on his plate. Then he rose and picked up his still half-filled plate and hurried across the room to the garbage can where he dumped the remaining food. He gave one last glance at the imposing figure just inside the front door before he turned and exited the room through a side door that led outside.

  Marty Weaver watched him go before he left and closed the door behind him. Callie set the coffeepot down and ran out the side door that led to the parking lot. Herman was nowhere to be seen, and she rushed to the front of the building. She caught sight of him pushing a shopping cart down the sidewalk, away from the mission.

  “Herman,” she called out. “Wait!” He didn’t look around, and she called again. “Champ!”

  He stopped, slowly turned and waited for her to catch up to him. When she stopped beside him, he gave her a quizzical look. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Why are you leaving? I thought you were going to try to get a bed.”

  He shook his head. “Not tonight. I guess I’ll go back to the warehouse. Maybe we’ll meet again.”

  “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll see you then.” But he was already walking away from her, and he gave no indication he’d heard her words.

  After a moment, Callie sighed and turned back to the shelter. Herman’s story kept ringing in her mind. She’d overheard Seth and his partners discussing a racketeering case they were working on where money was being extorted from small-business owners. Could Herman be one of the victims of the ring? She’d have to discuss this with Seth right away.

  She’d only taken a few steps when she stopped. Why had Herman appeared to be so frightened when Marty Weaver had walked into the mission? This wasn’t the first time the policeman’s unexpected presence had made her suspicious of his motives.

  From the way it was beginning to look, Marty Weaver just might be the person with the answers about everything she’d experienced since she’d arrived in Memphis. If he was, she and Seth needed to be careful and proceed with caution. After all, Marty was a Memphis policeman, with citations for valor. He wasn’t the type of man who would go down without a fight.

  ELEVEN

  Seth glanced at his watch and sighed. Callie had only been inside the mission for a few hours, but the time had seemed to drag for him. He squirmed and tried to settle into a more comfortable position, but he’d never liked the long hours in a car during stakeouts. Today was no exception.

  He’d occupied his time by studying Dan’s notebook, but nothing new had jumped out at him. Maybe he’d looked at it too much in the past. He was about to close the book when a notation at the bottom of one of the pages caught his attention.

  He pulled the book closer and studied Dan’s handwriting on the page in the waning daylight. According to the entry Dan had sent a sample of Hope’s DNA to the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation over two years ago. There was nothing else written down to indicate that there had ever been a match.

  Seth exhaled a deep breath and shook his head. “Maybe she didn’t have any family,” he murmured.

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and was about to place a call when the passenger-side door opened, and Callie climbed in. “Who are you calling?” she asked.

  He pointed to the bottom of the notebook page. “I just saw where Dan had made this notation. He never told me he’d sent Hope’s DNA to the TBI lab. I know the data entry clerk there. I was going to call her and ask about it.”

  Callie pointed to the clock on the dash. “Will the office still be open this late?”

  Seth sighed and shook his head. “I guess not. I’ll get in touch with her tomorrow.” He slipped the phone into his pocket, glanced at her and frowned. “Are you okay?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m fine, just glad to see you,” she said.

  The scared look on her face, coupled with her words, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He straightened in his seat. “I can tell it’s something else. Did something happen while you were at the shelter?”

  “It may be nothing, but I can’t shake the feeling that I just witnessed something sinister.” She quickly told him of her meeting with Herman and how he’d left when Marty Weaver came into the dining room. When she’d finished, she leaned closer to Seth. “It was as if
Marty scared him for some reason. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Even gave up the chance to have his name drawn for a bed, which he’d told me he was looking forward to.”

  Seth rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. “I agree it sounds suspicious, but the homeless are often afraid of the police. Then again, you may have just stumbled on somebody that might be able to help us on the racketeering case we’ve been working on. I need to talk to Herman. Where was he going for the night?”

  “He said he slept in an abandoned warehouse, but I don’t know where.”

  “I have a friend who patrols the area where a lot of the homeless sleep. I’ll call him and see if he knows Herman. If he does, maybe he can keep an eye on him tonight.”

  “That would make me feel a lot better.”

  Seth punched in the number and gave a slight nod to Callie when his friend answered. “Max Prince speaking.”

  “Hey, Max, this is Seth Dawtry. Glad I was able to catch you.”

  “Seth, good to hear from you. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve been working on an unsolved murder related to a racketeering case for a while, and I just got a lead that a homeless man named Herman Miller may have some information. Do you know him?”

  “Yeah, we call him Champ. He hangs out in an abandoned warehouse down near the river. We’ve been trying to pass the word through the homeless community that the building is scheduled to be demolished in thirty days, but there are a lot of people who have their spaces set up there. They don’t want to move.”

  “Do you plan to check on that building tonight?”

  “It depends on how busy we get with other calls coming in, but we’ll try to get by there.”

  “Would you check on Herman for me? Tell him I really need to talk to him.”

  “I’ll do it. I go off duty at seven in the morning. I’ll give you a call before I go home.”

  “Thanks, Max. Talk to you later.”