Broken is the Grave

by Candle Sutton

  A flicker of alarm darted across Tank’s features before he could mask it. Pressing his lips together, he remained silent.

  “So, you do know Tobias.” Not a question, but it didn’t need to be. Tank had already answered.

  “I’ve heard things. Dude doesn’t work the streets himself, but he’s got some power out here.”

  “What kind of power?”

  “Dirty money, mostly. Half the fake dough on these streets is cuz a him.”

  Counterfeiting. He didn’t know much about that, but he’d heard enough to know it was a problem. “And Willie works for him.”

  “Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout that. Just know that the guy’s got some kinda power o’er these streets.”

  Had James worked for Tobias? Was that what got him killed? “What about James Summers? Did you know him?”

  Tank leaned his elbows on his knees. “Look man, I’m done. You gotta find yourself another snitch, cause it ain’t me.”

  This was his first solid lead. He couldn’t let Tank shut down now. “I’m not trying to cause you any trouble, brother. I’m friends with James’ widow and kids. I’m trying to bring them closure and make sure they’re safe.”

  “From what I hear, if Tobias is after them, they ain’t safe. Never gonna be.”

  Not what he wanted to hear. Too bad he could feel in his spirit that Tank was telling the truth.

  “Why’s that? Does Tobias hurt people?” Could Tobias be the man who attacked Bethany twice?

  “Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout that neither. Just know he’s not a man you mess with.”

  “What have you heard?”

  Tank sighed. “Just rumors. People who crossed Tobias and wound up dead. That James guy was one of ‘em. Lost a good customer that day.”

  The last line was muttered, as if to himself.

  So. Tank had been James’ dealer? “How well did you know James?”

  “Just business. We weren’t buddies or nothin’.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “‘Bout two weeks ago. Dude hadn’t come ‘round much since gettin’ outta prison, but most people don’t clean up for long. James was one of ‘em.”

  Where had James gotten the money to buy drugs? A man living on the street, without work, wouldn’t have cash to throw around. “And he paid you? In cash?”

  “I sure don’t take credit cards.” Tank scanned the area. “Look, man. I’m done. I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’ else.”

  Frankly, he was surprised Tank had said as much as he had.

  Thank you, Father.

  “I appreciate your time, brother.” He’d only taken two steps before turning back to Tank. “Do you have any idea where I could find Tobias?”

  “Nope. Don’t wanna, neither. You know what’s good for you, you’ll leave it alone. Or you might end up like James.”

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Rafe slid down the wall, the wooden crate firm beneath him. Reaching a shaking hand into his pocket, he withdrew the baggie, the white powder inside calling to him.

  As he pulled the broken shard of mirror and straw from another pocket, Zander’s face flashed into his mind.

  An invisible hand constricted around his heart.

  Zander had been his closest friend since they were kids. More than a friend. A brother.

  He most certainly wouldn’t approve of Rafe right now.

  Then again, Mr. Detective wouldn’t approve of a lot of his choices. Especially now that Zander had found God.

  Almost as if they had a mind of their own, his fingers dipped into the powder and pinched out a little, dropping it on the mirror.

  He needed this.

  After losing his job last week, he had nothing else. His landlord had probably already changed the locks on his apartment.

  This, this was all that got him through the day.

  It briefly flashed into his mind that Zander would help him, would let him crash on his couch until he could get it together, but he rejected the idea.

  No way would he bring his mess into Zander’s life. Especially now that Zander had a good thing goin’ with Elly.

  He stuck the straw in his nose and lowered his head.

  No, he was on his own.

  And that was the scariest reality of all.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Zander watched as a uniformed guard led a salt and pepper haired man with a shaggy beard into the room. The orange jumpsuit confirmed the man’s status as a prisoner and the absence of handcuffs and shackles identified him as minimum security.

  Although the file said he was only fifty-two, the prisoner looked old enough to draw social security.

  Marty Bell had been James’ cellmate during most of his incarceration. Surely, he’d know a few things about what James had been into.

  Marty dropped into the chair on the opposite side of the table from Zander and stared at the scarred wooden table in front of him.

  If his shoulders slouched any lower, they’d be scooping him up off the floor.

  “Mr. Bell.”

  The man’s gaze darted upward before settling back down.

  Was it the man’s normal demeanor or did he have something to hide? Only time would tell.

  “Thanks for talking to me.”

  Marty lifted his shoulders limply. “Not like I had anythin’ better goin’ on.”

  True enough. “I understand you and James Summers were cellmates.”

  Another limp shrug answered but Marty didn’t lift his gaze.

  “Have you heard that he died?”

  Marty flinched. “Yeah, I heard.”

  “I’m trying to find his killer and thought you might be able to help.”

  “Don’t know nothin’.” Marty spat the words. His face had paled to the color of the ghostly walls around them. Sweat dotted his forehead.

  Definitely hiding something.

  Although it seemed highly unlikely that Marty had anything to do with James’ death. The man was in on multiple drug related charges, including selling some crack that had resulted in the hospitalization of three teens, two college kids, and a soccer mom. Not a violent offense anywhere in his record.

  It was also doubtful that he was afraid of Zander. They’d never met before and Zander had yet to do anything even remotely intimidating.

  No, more likely, he was afraid of whoever had killed James.

  Although how he expected the killer to know he’d talked was another matter.

  Maybe he could ease the man into that conversation.

  “What kinds of things did you and James talk about?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Come on.” Zander inflected teasing into his tone. “All that time together and you never said a single word? Must’ve made for some long days.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Time to switch tactics. “James left a wife and three kids behind. Did he ever mention them to you?”

  Marty’s face softened. “Yeah. ‘Bout all he talked about. Jimmy, that’s what I called ‘im, felt real bad about leavin’ them. Kept talkin’ ‘bout making things right someday.”

  Evidently James had died before that “someday” had come. “What’d he tell you about them?”

  While not the information he needed, the topic had gotten Marty talking. Maybe it would lead into the more important questions.

  “Didn’t say much ‘bout the kids, probably ‘cause he left when they was so young, but I know all about Bethy. Jimmy told me she’s an artist. Gots lots of talent and will go places with her art.”

  “He was right.” Zander opened his file and slid the sketch of Bethany’s attacker across the table. “She drew that.”

  The color slid from Marty’s face. He shifted in his chair and averted his eyes from the sketch. “Yeah. Uh, that’s real good.”

  It didn’t take a seasoned detective to see that the sketch made Marty uncomfortable.

  More than that, it scared him.

  There was only one logical r
eason for that. “Who is he, Marty?”

  Marty shook his head. “Don’t know ‘im.”

  “I think you do.”

  “You’re wrong.” Marty cast a furtive glance at the one-way glass on the far wall. Zander followed his gaze, but saw nothing other than the room reflected back at him.

  “Mart–”

  “I don’t know nothin’!” Marty pounded one fist on the table. “You hear me? I don’t know nothin’!”

  Zander held up his hands. “Okay, I get it.”

  Another shift of the eyes toward the glass.

  Did Marty think the killer was back there? The way he acted, he did. In fact, Zander wondered if the adamant denial was less for his benefit and more for the benefit of whoever might be behind that glass.

  Listen to him. Paranoid!

  Marty was rubbing off on him.

  There was no one behind the glass except maybe a guard or two. Certainly not James’ killer.

  No matter Marty’s denials, he definitely recognized the man in the sketch.

  But he obviously wasn’t in any mood to talk.

  Not about that, anyway. He’d been more willing when Bethany had been the topic. “So back to Bethany.”

  Marty crossed his arms over his chest and said nothing.

  “Did James ever talk to her? Did she visit?”

  “Neither of us had no visitors.”

  “At all? Not a lawyer or family member?”

  “Nope. Not really sure she even knew he was in here. He wrote her some letters, but I don’t know that he ever mailed ‘em to her.”

  Letters? What were the chances he’d revealed something important in them?

  Unlikely, but worth a shot. If he could find out where James had kept them. “Don’t suppose you know where those letters are, do you?”

  “Nope. Long gone, I’d reckon. Could I meet Bethy? Heard so much ‘bout her, I’d kinda like to talk to her in person.”

  Hmmm. Might not be a bad idea.

  Marty was holding out on him, but maybe he’d be more open with her. “That’d be up to her.”

  “Sure would be nice to have a visitor.”

  He wasn’t sure how Bethany would feel about visiting the prison, so he kept silent. No point inspiring false hopes. Especially if there was anything to Marty’s paranoia that the wrong people were listening.

  “Did James have any other friends here at the prison?”

  Marty shrugged. “Don’t rightly know. He helped hand out mail, so maybe there.”

  It was a start. Maybe the people there would be more helpful than Marty was willing to be.

  He pulled out Willie’s mug shot and slid it across the table. “Does this guy look familiar? Name’s Willie.”

  “Never seen ‘im.”

  At least that sounded like the truth. “Does the name Tobias mean anything to you?”

  “Nope.”

  The word popped out just a little too quickly. Zander focused in on Marty’s face.

  The sweat on his forehead had multiplied and his breaths came quick and shallow. “Don’t know no Tobias. Not even a Toby. Nope. Don’t know him.”

  The words were spoken loudly. Too loudly. With more volume than anything Marty had said since he’d walked into the room.

  Just who did Marty think was listening?

  Well, as long as Marty thought someone dangerous was listening in, he wasn’t likely to get anything helpful from him.

  Time to wrap this up and move on to a lead that might produce actual results.

  “Well Marty, thanks for your time. If you remember anything else…” Or decide to grow a spine… “Please give me a call, okay?”

  Marty nodded, the movement short and abrupt. “That’s all I know. I swear.”

  Sure it was.

  No, Marty knew Tobias. He’d stake his badge on it. Trouble was, Marty didn’t seem inclined to talk.

  He detoured to the mailroom, but the three people working there denied knowing James.

  Lies? Possible, but why? It seemed unlikely that all three of them, plus the guard, would have a reason to lie about James working there.

  But if James hadn’t been working in the mail room, what had he been doing?

  He swung by the warden’s office, only to be told that the warden had taken a long weekend trip and wouldn’t be back for two days.

  Another dead end.

  Someone had to know something. All he had to do was find that person and get them to talk.

  Maybe he should reach out to Rafe. Yeah, Rafe’s street contacts might know who Tobias was.

  Besides, it’d been too long since he’d talked to his friend, who’d been pretty rattled after being healed.

  Firsthand experience had taught him how unnerving that could be.

  He waited until he was in his car before shooting Rafe a text, using the code they’d created years ago to request a meet.

  Setting the phone aside, he started his Mustang, the engine growling smoothly to life.

  Now to wait.

  He just hoped Rafe came through like he had pretty much every other time.

  Bethany’s life might depend upon it.

  Thirteen

  Bethany stepped off the bus, capturing Becca’s hand with her right hand and Pete’s with her left. Traffic surged around them, as other parents made their way toward the school.

  A bell rang.

  Phew. The bus had gotten them there just in time.

  Adjusting to a new bus route and schedule was more challenging than she’d anticipated.

  It was times like this that she wished she could afford a car. Not that dealing with inner-city traffic was any fun, but it would sure make life easier. Especially now that they were living out at the marina.

  Well, she wasn’t going to be able to get a car any time soon.

  Kids exited the school. A trickle at first, then steadily increasing.

  She scanned the little heads for JJ’s blond curls.

  There! Headed the wrong way, as usual. Poor kid had been born with his father’s sense of direction.

  Dodging parents and more kids than she could count, she led Becca and Pete through the throng.

  A man in a baseball cap stopped beside JJ and said something to him.

  Her breath froze in her throat.

  It was okay. He was probably with the school. Maybe a teacher or volunteer…

  The man grabbed JJ’s arm and dragged him across the sidewalk.

  “No! Lemme go!” His cry rose above the laughter and voices of the other kids.

  A scream tore from her. “JJ!”

  Heads swiveled toward her. She tried to run, her progress slowed by Pete and Becca. But she couldn’t let go of them. What if someone tried to take them, too?

  “Please! Someone stop that man! He has my son!”

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Elly gasped.

  Bethany! JJ!

  She had to pray.

  Dropping to her knees in the middle of the youth center’s living room, she turned her face toward heaven.

  “Oh holy God. Please cover your daughter with your hand. Protect JJ…”

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  JJ pulled against the man, smacking at him with his free hand. While his fighting slowed the man’s progress, the man was still taking JJ further away from her and safety.

  She had to get to them!

  Spotting JJ’s teacher from last year, Bethany detoured to her and pushed Becca and Pete toward the silver-haired grandmother. “Watch them!”

  She didn’t wait for a reply before releasing their hands and racing toward the parking lot.

  The man paused, then scooped JJ up and slung him over his shoulder.

  JJ kicked, his shoes connecting with the man’s stomach, and pounded his fists against the man’s back. They neared a copper SUV.

  Tears blurred her vision. She blinked them down her cheeks.

  “Help! Someone stop that man!” The words choked out on a sob.

  Her sneakers hit the blacktop, b
ut she was still too far away. She was going to lose him!

  “Hey!” A man’s voice echoed off the parked cars.

  From a row over, a man in a San Francisco Forty-Niners Jersey dodged parked cars and raced toward JJ and the kidnapper.

  Dumping JJ on the asphalt, the kidnapper bolted toward the SUV. The echo of the door slamming mingled with the roar of the engine. Tire squealed as he tore out of the lot.

  Jersey man knelt beside JJ, but didn’t touch him.

  As she drew closer, she could hear the man talking to JJ. Was he okay, did he know who the man was, could he get up?

  She couldn’t hear her son’s answers over the pounding of her own heart.

  She dropped beside him and JJ crashed into her arms. She smoothed his curls and rocked him as they cried together.

  Sirens sounded somewhere in the distance.

  Not that they’d catch the guy.

  It’d be like every other time the cops had been called lately. They’d get there too late to do anything but take her statement and make empty promises.

  She pulled back and looked at JJ. Scratches on his bare arms, a bruise forming on his cheek, but no other obvious signs of injury.

  Thank you, God.

  She looked up at Jersey man, who stood awkwardly a few feet away. A boy about JJ’s age stood beside him, eyes wide.

  “Thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if…” She couldn’t finish the thought. It was too horrible to consider.

  The man shrugged. “I just thought what I’d do if that were my son.” His hand landed lightly on the sandy colored hair of the child who shared his dimpled chin.

  Why would anyone try to take JJ?

  James. It was the only answer. Out of all the kids here, the man had very specifically targeted JJ. After all she’d been through the last few days, there was little doubt it traced back to whatever had gotten James killed.

  She swiped tears from her cheeks and forced calm for JJ’s sake.

  Something brushed her arm. She turned to find both Becca and Pete there, Mrs. Carpenter right behind them.

  With one arm still around JJ, she tweaked Pete’s chin and gently fingered Becca’s soft brown hair. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be fine.”

  Even as the words left her mouth, she questioned them.

  In the last week, she’d become a widow, been attacked twice, and almost had her son kidnapped in broad daylight. What made her think anything would be okay any time soon?