BLIND DELUSION
A Novel
BOOK 2 OF THE DOROTHY PHAIRE ROMANTIC MYSTERY SERIES
Dorothy Phaire
Author of Murder and The Masquerade
iUniverse, Inc.
New York Bloomington
Blind Delusion
A Novel
Copyright © 2009 Dorothy Phaire
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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ISBN: 978-1-4401-6822-2 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4401-6824-6 (dj)
ISBN: 978-1-4401-6823-9 (ebk)
Printed in the United States of America
iUniverse rev. date: 09/30/2009
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3 - Brenda
Chapter 4 - Brenda
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15 – Brenda
Chapter 16
Chapter 17 - Jerome
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21 - Brenda
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my Dad, Paul Herring. Through the years he has taught me many valuable things that I needed to know to survive and be successful in life. The most important of these lessons is the meaning of unconditional love. By watching how my Dad responds with patience and love in good times as well as in times of crisis with support and encouragement to his family and friends—I have learned the meaning of unconditional love.
Acknowledgements
Planning and researching for this book traveled through many starts, stops, and restarts due to life’s unplanned interruptions. I began researching for the sequel to my first book, Murder and the Masquerade several years prior to writing the first draft. In fact, at various phases over the course of four years I was working on revising Murder and the Masquerade and drafting the sequel, Blind Delusion simultaneously.
During this early research phase, numerous professionals and subject matter experts graciously gave of their time and granted me interviews. I am grateful to everyone who took the time to sit down with me for an interview. I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge a few specific representatives of organizations that early on shared their knowledge and expertise specifically for this book. I am indebted to the Washington, D. C. Fire and EMS Department for granting me a ride-along and to those individual firefighters and officers at Engine 16 and Truck 3. My special thanks go to Georgia K. Hilgeman, director of the Vanishing Children's Alliance and Kitty Dawson, social worker from Child and Family Services in Washington, D. C. Also, I am grateful to editor, Valerie Jean for helping to smooth out some of the rough edges during the early phase of drafting this novel.
Later in rewrite, many others accepted my request for their feedback and knowledge. For their invaluable contributions in helping me to get this book off the ground, I would like to thank my friend Charles Dean for reading sample chapters and asking smart questions that helped me to revise. My appreciation also goes to Professor Gerald Irvin for his feedback and for enthusiastically recommending my first book to his literature students, many of whom are now waiting to read this sequel. I would like to thank my friend and colleague, Dr. Mohamed El-Khawas for his unwavering encouragement and for listening to me hash out my plot scenarios. In the field of psychology I am grateful to longtime friend, Dr. Herbert Guggenheim for sharing his professional knowledge and responding to my questions about anxiety disorders. My special thanks go to those individuals who came through when I asked specific questions relevant to their areas of expertise; namely, Curtis Mosby, Mohammed “Jack” Khan, Professor Margaret Harris, and Darinka Clary. Thanks to the book club readers at Metro 9 Book Club; Reva Gambrell and her book club readers; and Beauty Within readers, for their support. I am also grateful to my friend, Charlene Ridley for being an avid reader who always gives me her honest opinion. To family members and friends who journeyed with me through a long period of revisions and total rewrites to see this book creation come to fruition, I am indebted to you all. If I left anyone out in expressing my appreciation, please charge it to my head and not to my heart.
PART ONE
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more.
From Macbeth, William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)
Prologue
October 6,
On this early Fall day in late afternoon, the alley behind 6th Street opened into a dark gray sky of low black clouds that looked heavy from the threat of rain. The only movement was the occasional rat running from one trash can to the next. The only sound was from the hissing of a cat stalking its prey and waiting for that perfect moment to pounce and make the rat his meal. But the cat scurried off when a figure appeared and walked down the alley behind the houses that faced 6th Street. The figure seemed nervous and cautious, much like the cat he had just deprived of its evening meal. He glanced backwards every so often. His shoulders were hunched and his face was concealed by an oversized, dark hooded jacket. The man carried a gasoline can in his right hand. When he arrived at the rear of 1236 6th Street he paused and took a quick snort of cocaine. A euphoric high rushed straight to his brain. Pumped up and adrenaline fed, the man set the gasoline can down on the back porch. Donning a pair of black gloves, he removed a screwdriver from an inside pocket of his jacket. One arm braced the screen door open while the other hand frantically chiseled at the back door lock. The door appeared to be double-bolted from the inside and would not budge. The gloved hand of the man trembled and beads of sweat tric
kled down his panicked stricken face. Frustrated by the dead bolt on the backdoor, he released the screen door and it slammed shut, startling the already nervous prowler.
His desperate eyes turned to the kitchen window next. Peeping through its filmy panes, the man could see that the upper inside window lock was damaged and had been secured with duck tape. The thick layers of duct tape lined the inside ledge and window frame in an attempt to hold the window latch in place. A sense of pleasure drifted across his face. With both palms, he pried, yanked, and pushed until the window began to yield. His heavy woolen gloves prevented him from reaching inside the window and grasping the edge of the duct tape to strip it off. Snatching off one sweat-soaked glove, he peeled away each layer of duct tape. Discarded pieces of ripped tape fell to the floor of the porch. With several more strong tugs, the window finally slid open. He picked up the gas can and pushed it through the open window, setting it down carefully on the floor just under the window. He climbed through the window and silently entered the house.
Jerome Antonio Johnson, the resident of 1236 6th Street, sniffed under his armpits then pulled off his undershirt and sweatpants. He placed a DMX CD in the Stereo System and cranked up the volume. As he turned toward the bathroom, he stopped to glance in the mirror at his naked, compact, muscled frame. The handsome, dark-skinned man in the mirror smiled a white-teeth grin back at himself. He ran his hand over his smooth, bald head then flexed his muscles. Brenda was right, he thought. He looked damn good. Any woman would be proud to step out on the town with him, but looking good wasn’t paying the bills. Now that he was out of a job, they needed money and health insurance. He had to convince United Delivery Service (UDS) to rehire him. Even if he got that security job he had applied for at the mall, it wouldn’t bring in enough money to feed his family and pay their bills. Jerome didn’t argue with his wife because he knew she was right. It was his stupidity that had cost him his job and their family’s security. Jerome fingered the engraved silver ID bracelet that Brenda had given him for their last anniversary. He never took it off. It had an inscription that read, To Jerome. Forever Your Loving Wife, Brenda. He felt the same way about her. These days if Brenda told him to stand in front of an oncoming train, he would. He had finally learned to appreciate the woman he married and he knew how lucky he was to have her and his baby son, in his life. Jerome’s past drug habit and cheating with his ex-girlfriend had almost cost him his wife and his son. To keep this from ever happening again, he’d been attending rehab meetings in the evenings, and had cut-off all ties with Leenae Lewis for good. But Jerome would need his Uncle Ike’s help to get his old job back at UDS. Jerome had been fired for failing a random drug test but he knew that test had to be bogus. He didn’t understand why the test had shown a presence of drugs in his system. Odessa Dillon, Jerome’s former supervisor, claimed she had other legitimate reasons for firing him such as using his UDS assigned truck for personal business. He knew other drivers had used their trucks to run personal errands and had only received a week off without pay, max. Odessa had made it clear that she wanted him for her new boy toy but he wasn’t having any of it. He needed his Uncle Ike’s financial support to hire a lawyer to file an EEO complaint against UDS for wrongful termination. Of course, Brenda didn’t know anything about Odessa and her crazy self. If he won his case against her and the company, she would have to rehire him as feeder driver with back pay, like it or not. Then he’d request a transfer to another area, just like Hector Gonzales had to do in order to get away from her.
He and Brenda had no money in the bank and monthly bills to pay. The only protection they had from the unforeseen was a $50,000 term life insurance policy that they had opened up about a week after Baby Justin was born. Jerome recalled some of the telephone conversation with the sales agent who at first claimed to be calling to congratulate them on the birth of their son. Jerome didn’t understand how these telemarketers seemed to find out personal information about people then use it to sucker people into buying things they hadn’t even thought about buying. The sales agent had convinced them that for only a few cents a month they would each qualify for a $50,000 five-year term life policy in the unlikely event that something should happen to either of them. Thinking about it now, Jerome realized that he was worth more dead than alive to Brenda and his son now that he was out of a job and had no medical benefits.
But he didn’t want to think about that now. He nodded approvingly at his reflection in the mirror, confident that things would eventually go his way—they always did. Jerome’s self-adulation was interrupted by the telephone. Jerome hit the pause button on the CD player and glanced at the caller ID before picking up the phone. It was DL, the enforcer for the Jett Set Crew, the gang Jerome use to run with to make a little change on the side. That is, before he got hooked on the product and became one of their customers. He knew DL was calling to demand that he pay the two thousand dollars he owed the crew’s leader, Drug Lord James Ian Mathias.
“Look here, DL, I can’t pay you right now but I got me another gig, man. Starts on Monday,” said Jerome, lying easily to his former friend. “It’s a night security job at a mall.”
“Hey, I ain’t plannin’ on waitin’ ‘til you collect social security, asshole,” said DL.
Jerome responded, “I understand Baby but like my Grandmama says, you can’t get blood outta a turnip.”
“Maybe not but I can get blood outta your sorry ass,” countered DL.
“Hold up, Man. Lemme, have some time to …” Jerome pleaded.
“Your time is up, chump. Consider yourself marked.”
DL hung up. Jerome stood holding the phone to his ear for what seemed like 30 seconds or so listening to dead air until the silence was broken by the sound of the dial tone.
“Ah, DL just talkin’ trash,” said Jerome to himself and walked towards the bathroom, “Me and that fool go way back. I’ll just borrow a coupla dollars from Uncle Ike tomorrow. That should hold him until I get the rest of their goddamn money.”
Jerome hit play on the CD player, went into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the shower. He could no longer hear the rap lyrics to the song that was playing, just its thumping bass. Jerome hummed the rhythm of the familiar tune as he bathed his bronze muscular body. Although he knew the baby slept soundly in the nursery, Jerome didn’t want to linger in the shower too long in case the little guy woke up. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hear him crying through the pounding force of the shower’s water flow and the bass playing in the background.
The intruder waited just inside the kitchen window for one minute as he had been instructed for an incoming call to his cell phone, which for obvious reasons was set to vibrate. This was the call that would have canceled the hit on Jerome Antonio Johnson. After exactly one minute of silence, the intruder quietly ascended the staircase and stepped over the threshold of the door to the first bedroom at the top of the stairs. The intruder could see steam seeping under the bathroom door and could hear Jerome singing in the shower. He can carry a tune, thought the intruder. Too bad his singing days are over. “I gotcha now, baby,” whispered the intruder.
He doused the bed and floor with gasoline. Then, stood back just outside the bedroom door, and dug into his pocket for the matchbook. He ripped off a match and lit it. He hesitated, squeezing the lit match between thumb and index finger until both fingers were singed from the heat of the match. “Hell, too late to turn back now,” he shrugged. He tossed the lit match on the gasoline soaked floor. The match ignited the gasoline and in seconds the fire rolled across the floor. The entire room roared, completely engulfed in smoke and flames. He picked up the gasoline can and threw the can into the fire. He stood transfixed at the bedroom door, watching yellow-white flames and black smoke drift upward. When the gasoline can exploded, the intruder turned to leave. He walked calmly down the hall much like a man leaving the office after a hard day’s work.
Jerome’s back
and shoulders tingled from the shower’s massage setting. Man, this shower feels good after my workout, he thought as the hot water beat against his back. He had been lifting weights downstairs in the basement and the forceful gush of hot water and stream soothed his muscles. Brenda didn’t know it but he had more problems than just losing his job at UDS. He hadn’t been able to pay back a past drug debt to the Crew on Wednesday night like he had promised Bombillo, the finance manager for the Crew. Bombillo had already talked DL into waiting until Wednesday but when the time came to meet that night, Jerome didn’t show up. He had been concerned for his safety if he had shown up empty handed so he played it safe and stayed away. The other deal he had going to get the money fell through and now in addition to helping to get his job back, he had to depend on Uncle Ike for a loan to get from under the Crew. He didn’t want to think about what might happen if he couldn’t get the money from Uncle Ike. Jerome had explained to DL that all he needed was another week or so for his uncle to borrow against the equity in his home. He had begged DL to consider their friendship from the old days and give him some more time. But after the telephone conversation with DL just now, Jerome had an uneasy feeling that he was in deep trouble.
The way he figured it, in another month or so, he’d be set if only the Crew could wait a few more days for him to get the cash from his uncle and pay off his debt to them. Other than the debt he owed, Jerome had completely broken his ties to the Crew. He knew this had further fueled the Crew’s anger with him since they had lost a regular customer.
The hot water beating against his body felt good. Baby Buddha should be waking up from his nap soon he figured. After he woke up, he’d take the little guy out for a walk in his stroller, maybe even swing by the park if it wasn’t raining or too cold outside. He hadn’t told Brenda that he’d decided to keep his son home today instead of taking him to the baby sitter. She had been running late this morning and asked him if he would drop Baby Buddha off for her. What Brenda didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her he figured. When he called the babysitter that morning to let her know she wouldn’t be needed today, the sitter had made it clear they would still have to pay the full amount at the end of the week. Jerome didn’t care about that. He wasn’t ready to give up his role as full-time daddy yet. It had only been a week, but Jerome and the little guy had gotten into a routine before Brenda found their new babysitter. Jerome had the hang of it now and he thoroughly enjoyed taking care of his son. No more catastrophes with feeding and diapering.
Blind Delusion Page 1