“Yes. Why?”
“That was a Detective Brady from the County Police Department. They’ve asked for a court order to take your car. They say there’s blood in it.”
“What?” Michael backed up, knocking over a chair. “Whose blood?”
“He didn’t say. Look, I’m not here to judge.” Dennis stood. “Are you telling me everything you know?”
“Of course.” Michael raked his hand through his hair. “Blood? How?”
“Let me drive you home. The police will be there. Cooperate with them.” He put his hand on Michael’s back. “I’ll be there to support you, no matter what.”
“I’ll do whatever they want me to do.” He concentrated on breathing and not collapsing from fear. “Do they have any proof she might still be here?”
“He didn’t say much.” Dennis waved him toward the door. “Come on, let’s go. The quicker you answer their questions, the quicker you’ll get some answers.”
The dead end street was illuminated by red and blue flashing lights. Dennis parked the car on the corner and Michael jumped out. His sister met him by the curb.
“Connie, what’s going on? What did they say?”
Her hand trembled as she touched his arm. “They said they think there might be blood in the car. I didn’t give them the keys.”
“Give them to me,” Michael said. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Connie dug into her pants pocket and handed it to him.
Dennis walked ahead of Michael toward a man wearing a dark suit. “I’m Pastor Dennis of the Lady by the Bay Church.”
The man nodded to Michael who stood beside the pastor. “I’m Detective Brady. Is this the person in question?”
“I’m Michael Stewart.” He gave the detective the set of keys. “Here, you don’t need a court order.”
The neighbors milled around, chatting and pointing to his car. A large, wide truck rumbled up the hill, accompanied by a loud siren.
“Let’s clear this area,” the detective yelled through a bullhorn.
Michael read the lettering on the side of the truck. Crime Scene Unit.
“Crime scene?” Michael’s voice hitched. “What? Is Elizabeth hurt?” Bursts of bright dots danced before his eyes. “What’s going on? My daughter’s been a victim in a crime? Has she been found?”
“I’ll ask the questions for now.” The detective put his bullhorn on the ground and took out a notepad and pen. “What was your daughter wearing this morning before she disappeared?”
Michael heaved a deep breath to calm himself. “I don’t know.”
The detective stopped writing and arched his eyebrows. “You’re telling me you haven’t seen her at all today?”
“Yes. No.” Michael looked up at the sky. “I mean, she left for a morning class before I got up.” He glared at Connie, remembering it was her fault he was hung over. “She left me a note instead of waking me up. So no, I don’t know what she wore this morning.”
The detective continued writing. “Go inside and get us your daughter’s hair brush.”
Michael struggled to breathe. “You should be out looking for my daughter, not asking about her hair.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“What? No.” He rubbed his temple, hoping to clear his thoughts. “I mean, yes a little. I had a glass of wine at church.” He stepped closer to the detective. “Give me a breathalyzer if you want. I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes if it’ll help you find my daughter.”
“Then go in your house and get us her hairbrush,” the detective said in a commanding tone. “We’ll also need a recent picture of your daughter.”
“Can you at least tell me why you need these things?”
The detective looked at him carefully, analyzing Michael’s every movement. “We’ll need her picture so we can pass it along to the different agencies.”
Michael clutched his chest, sure that his heart would crash right through it. “Do you think she’s been hurt?”
“We’ll know more once we conduct our investigation.” For a brief moment, Michael thought he saw sympathy in the detective’s eyes. “Things would go a lot faster if you’d get us that hairbrush and picture.”
Michael steadied his nerves. “Yes, of course.” He raced back inside his house, up the stairs, and into the bathroom. He opened the cabinet door on her side and grabbed two hairbrushes and hurried back.
Panting, he handed the items to the detective. “Here they are.”
The detective gave them to a woman, who placed the brushes inside a big plastic bag and labeled it.
Two gloved men opened Michael’s car door and scoured through it, taking samples of debris off his dashboard, the seats, and the glove compartment. One of the men handed a crumbled piece of paper to the woman. She deposited it into another plastic bag.
Michael paced, trying to burn off nervous energy. He walked toward his sister. “Did you see any blood when you were in the car? We’re the only two who were in it today. I didn’t see anything. Did you?”
“There were some dark brown spots on some tissues and on a piece of paper on the floor.” Connie shrugged. “It didn’t look like blood to me.”
“Where on the floor?”
“On the passenger side. I thought it was magic marker so I didn’t think anything of it. Your car is such a mess anyway.”
“Maybe that’s what they’re talking about. But I haven’t written any notes or remember having any paper on the floor.”
Detective Brady walked over to them. “I’d like to take a look inside your house. Do you mind?”
“Come with me,” Michael said.
The detective spent over half an hour examining each room on the bottom floor. “Where’s her bedroom?”
“This way,” Michael said, leading him upstairs.
The detective glanced around the room. “Looks like a hurricane hit this room.”
“That’s my fault,” Michael said, wishing his voice would stop shaking. “I was looking for a clue.”The detective stared at him. “Wait for me by your car. I’ll be a few minutes.”
Michael went outside and watched the crew tediously comb through his car, opening the glove compartment door again, rifling through the many pieces of papers and tissues stuffed inside it. He moved closer. What are they looking for? When’s the last time Elizabeth was in the car? Was it Wednesday when we went to the grocery store?
Detective Brady returned with a plastic bag filled with some items and went over to Dennis. Michael watched the two speaking but couldn’t hear the conversation. Dennis walked away as the detective questioned the woman holding the plastic bags.
The last of the crime unit crew closed his car doors.
“Mr. Stewart,” the detective said. “I advise you not to leave Northport. You also need to give us all the phone numbers where you can be reached. And please send me a picture of your daughter.”
I’ll leave this century if it means saving my daughter, Michael wanted to say, but bit his tongue and nodded.
The detective pulled out his notepad and pen again. “Do you know a Mr. Banks?”
Michael folded his arms over his chest. “No.”
The detective started writing. “Mr. Banks claims he witnessed you and your daughter fighting in church.” He flipped over a page. “Something about your daughter’s boyfriend?”
“I told you, I don’t know any Mr. Banks.”
“My niece has a boyfriend?” interjected Connie.
“Matt is just a friend,” Michael said, losing patience. “And we weren’t arguing in church. I have no idea why this man would say something like that.”
Connie lifted her brow and remained silent.
Detective Brady rubbed his chin and continued writing. “I need to know whether your daughter was in contact with anyone today?”
“This friend of hers, Matt. He told me they were hanging out together today.”
“What’s his address and phone number?”
Michael ga
ve him Matt’s information and pointed to his car. “What did you find?”
“We’re still investigating.”
“Did you find blood?”
The detective nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you know whose blood it might be?”
Detective Brady regarded him intently. “No. Do you?”
“She wasn’t in my car today.”
The detective jotted down more notes. “You sound sure about that.”
“Because I am.”
“Interesting,” the detective said, scribbling. “You have no idea what she wore this morning, ate for breakfast, or what time she left for school but you know for a fact she wasn’t in your car.”
Michael barely hung on to his patience but he chose his words carefully. “Can you tell me where my daughter is based on what you found in the car?”
“Not yet.” He looked from Michael to Connie. “Is there something you’re forgetting to tell us about today?”
Michael looked away for a moment. “I thought she might have gone to New York City with some friends to see a Lady Gaga concert. I called several of her friends. I did speak to one mother who said her own daughter couldn’t reach her. I haven’t seen or heard from her all day.”
“What about you?” The detective gestured to Connie. “Have you seen your niece today? Do you have any information that will help us find her?”
“Yes, I saw her for a few minutes but I don’t know where she went after that. And no, I don’t remember what she was wearing. Didn’t think I had to memorize her outfit.” She planted her hands on her hips. “You all think I’m a crackpot anyway.”
The detective handed her a business card. “Sometimes crackpots can have good information. If you do remember what she was wearing, or any other details, give me a call. I’d advise you not to leave the area as well.”
“Me?” Connie said, close to hysterics. “What did I do?”
“Besides this boy, Matt, you were one of the last ones to see her. I would have thought you’d want to help find your niece?”
“Of course she does,” Michael interrupted in a loud voice. “Both my sister and I will do whatever we can.”
“Right.” The detective handed him a card and told him again not to leave the area and to call if he remembered anything more. “Don’t forget to email me her photo.”
With that, he left.
Dennis tapped Michael on the shoulder. “I have an emergency call to attend to. An elderly woman lost her husband. I’m leaving now. Do you need anything?”
“A miracle.”
“I’ll try to find one for you.”
He watched Dennis drive away. The crime unit vehicle lumbered down the hill behind him. A tow truck rolled slowly toward him, coming to a grinding, squeaky halt near his car. A hefty-looking man with an unlit small cigar protruding from his mouth got out. “Is this the one?” he said, pointing to Michael’s vehicle.
“Yes,” said one of the cops.
“What are you doing?” asked Michael.
“I have a warrant to impound this vehicle.” He handed Michael a document.
“Why?”
The cigar-smoking man shrugged. “Just following orders.”
Michael slapped the paper against his thigh. “Great. How am I supposed to get around town and find my daughter?”
No one answered.
“Do you want me to stay?” Connie asked.
He shook his head. Connie gave him a kiss on the cheek but he flinched and backed away. He walked back into his house and shut the door, not sure if he locked it, and not caring if he didn’t.
He stood in the hallway for several minutes, listening to the quiet of the house and hating it. There was no Japanese music blasting its way downstairs from Elizabeth’s bedroom. Her high-pitched giggles and hearty teenage laughter while chatting on the phone were absent. The sounds of her feet banging upstairs, sending pounding vibrations through the living room ceiling were missing.
It was just him in the big Northport house, all alone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jesus walked down the hill and headed straight toward the mountains. His figure faded into a stream of light that descended from the heavens. Elizabeth’s body remained still.
“Where are you going?” Leah cried out to Him. She looked at her friends, confused over the preacher’s disappearance. “Now what do we do?”
“We need to bury your friend here if you are unsure where her family lives,” Jeremiah said.
“But this isn’t our custom. We need to find out where her village is.”
“But you do not know where it is,” Sarah said.
Leah fought back tears. “We should take her back and bury her near my home.”
“You cannot go back there,” Jeremiah said. “The Roman will be looking for you.”
“There is no easy answer,” Sarah said, her voice hitched with a sob.
Leah touched Elizabeth’s hair, removing it from her eyes. “Forgive me, child. We must take care of you here. I know no other way. I will look for your father and tell him.”
“Let me ask the old man for some guidance,” Jeremiah said, pointing straight ahead to a town nearby. “He might know someone who can help us bury Elizabeth.”
Leah coaxed the donkey to rise as Jeremiah lifted Elizabeth onto the animal. They walked solemnly back toward town. The rain lightened and a soft, chilly wind skirted in from the west.
An elderly man greeted Jeremiah by gripping his shoulder in a conciliatory gesture. After chatting for several moments, Jeremiah returned to the women. “Zachary is his name. He will help us. He has offered to summon a rabbi. Let us bring her body over there.”
They were greeted by Zachary’s wife, Margaret. She encouraged the group to come inside. “My condolences. Are you the mother and father?”
“No,” replied Jeremiah.
“She was without a mother,” said Leah.
“Where is the father? Husband?”
“She has no husband. Her father, I do not know where he is.”
“How sad.” Margaret gave her a hug. “Our home is your home. You have faced much today. Can I get you some drink or food?”
“I cannot eat or drink.”
Leah waved off a chance to rest and watched Jeremiah carry Elizabeth’s body into the house. He placed her on a bedroll which Margaret had laid out. Leah knelt beside her and prayed. Showing solidarity, Sarah did the same, wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulder. Leah spoke words of solemn passion. “Have mercy on Elizabeth. Guide her father to her passing. Have mercy on Michael.”
Margaret placed four cups filled with water on a table while a small jug of wine stood near. She broke up several pieces of bread and offered it to them on plates. In the corner of the kitchen several long rods with sharp spears on the ends leaned against the wall. Several polished swords lay beside them. “Where do you live, Leah?”
“Not very far away, over the big hill to the West. Close to Jerusalem.”
“Is this where you plan on burying this woman?”
“I do not know.”
Sarah and Jeremiah glanced at Margaret, unsure how to explain the situation.
“I know our tradition and customs say we must bury Elizabeth outside the village where she lived,” said Leah. “While she has not come from my womb, I feel she is like my daughter. Her father is likely at home, distraught, worrying about her.” After a long pause, Leah concluded, “I do not know what to do.”
Zachary walked into the kitchen carrying several small bottles. “We must prepare the body,” he said. “We can help you take the woman back to her village.”
“They do not know where she lives,” said his wife.
“How is that possible?”
“It just is,” responded Jeremiah. “She is lost but is a close friend to Leah. We do not know how far or near her family might be. But we must obey our laws.”
“We shall,” said Zachary. “Follow me.”
He signaled to Jeremiah t
o help him take Elizabeth’s body to the back of the house. The women carried clothes and a jug of water. Leah cleansed Elizabeth’s face, neck and arms. Margaret and Sarah helped, making sure they removed all the dirt and debris.
Zachary took five small bottles and handed two to Jeremiah, as well as one each to the women. “Do you need any weapons?”
“Yes,” said Jeremiah.
“No,” Leah replied.
“Yes,” said Jeremiah in a firm tone.
Leah anointed Elizabeth with different types of oils and spices. When they were done, Leah wrapped a clean garment around her and kissed her cheek. She looked at Zachary and Margaret, both holding each other. “Thank you. I must take her back where I live and bury Elizabeth. At least if her father returns, he can visit her.”
“But what about the Roman soldier?” asked Jeremiah, his expression and tone laced with fear.
“It does not matter anymore.”
“I will not let you get killed,” reasoned Jeremiah.
“Please, Leah,” Sarah said, “do not go back. While our customs are wonderful, your safety and freedom is important.”
“How free am I? I have no one now.”
“You have us,” Sarah said, touching Leah’s arm.
“Thank you, sweet friend. But I must go back and bury Elizabeth.”
Sarah sighed. “We will do whatever we can to help you.”
Leah bowed her head and put her hand over her heart as a way of showing her gratitude. “We should move soon now that the rain has stopped.”
A local rabbi visited Zachary and Margaret’s home, offering condolances. He prayed with them too. The words tempered Leah’s fear and grief.
“Do you need me to help with the burial?” the rabbi asked.
“No. My gratitude to you.”
“It must be completed before the next sunrise.”
Leah nodded.
Although Sarah and Jeremiah worried about returning to their town and even considered Zachary’s generous offer to remain in their home, their friendship was so strong they wouldn’t allow Leah to travel alone.
“There is not much sunlight left so we should start our journey soon,” Jeremiah said.
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