“I’m about dead on my feet here,” I told him through a yawn.
He nodded. “It has been an eventful day. I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Are you still mad?”
His long dimples deepened in his cheeks. “I wasn’t mad, just concerned. Okay, maybe a little mad.” His smile grew. “But I can never seem to stay mad at you for long.”
“A small favor?”
“What’s that?”
“I could really use a hug.”
“You’re not going to try anything, are you?”
I laughed. “Just a hug.”
Smoke held me for a long time. I calmed down and felt emotionally stronger in his embrace.
“I bet you’re itching to get out of your vest,” he said as he pulled away.
“That I am.” I yawned again. “I think I’ll sleep until noon tomorrow.”
“I’ll do my best to put a hold on all emergencies requiring your attention until then.”
“That would be good. Thanks, Detective.”
“See you tomorrow, Sergeant.”
31: Langley
Langley was bent over his microscope when a large hand dropped on his shoulder blade. No one ever touched him. He hated being touched and startled in reaction.
Dr. Jones, the bald, middle-aged laboratory manager, held both hands up like he was under arrest. “Oh, sorry, Parker. I shouldn’t have come up behind you like that. I just wanted to introduce the new lab assistant, Carrie Herman.”
Langley’s words caught in his throat. He had been looking for an Eve all week, and suddenly there she was. She had come to him.
The lab assistant offered her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Doctor Parker.”
Dr. Parker, Langley thought, sardonically. Call me Gideon.
He wished his beard was there to cover his face and the hair was back on his head. Eve looked at him with something akin to admiration, but Langley knew it was a ruse. She did it to make him feel unguarded, vulnerable. He pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose and briefly shook her hand.
“Thank you.”
“We’ll let you get back to work, Parker. And I’ll show Carrie around the rest of the lab. By the way, you look good shaved.”
Langley nodded as they moved on. His heart was drumming so loud in his ears he thought his head might explode. He laid his hands on the table to steady them. All he could think about was how Carrie Herman’s neck would feel in his grasp, and how her mocking blue eyes would change to marbles within minutes.
He would have to learn more about her, where she lived, if she lived alone, if she drove or took public transportation. He needed to find out without asking any questions himself. No one in the lab could ever see him initiating a conversation with her, or following her. He would eavesdrop—scrape together as much information as possible from chitchat and gossip.
A beautiful young woman in the lab was bound to generate interest. It was the way she worked herself into men’s lives. It all started with the initial physical attraction. By the time she had power and control over a man, it was too late. For most men, that was. Not for Langley. He had figured out long before that the Eves of the world needed to be eliminated.
Langley couldn’t wait to tell Sheik how an Eve had showed up at the lab. Like a gift. It was a reward for all the research and hard work he had done on the dreaded disease that had taken Sheik’s brother and sister, and too many other Arabians. He would take Sheik for a long ride Saturday or Sunday. They both needed a power boost.
32
The phone rang at a minute after twelve the next afternoon. It was Smoke. “You awake?”
I was sitting on my couch, reading a magazine and sipping mint tea. “Yeah, like I thought I could sleep in ’til noon.”
“Rested and ready for the next chapter?” His voice had an edge to it.
“What? A lead on the Molly case?”
“We could only hope. No, it’s about Eisner. The sheriff got a call a while ago. She’s got an inoperable brain tumor, hasn’t got a lot of time.”
“Oh, dear God. I seriously thought the seizure was from stress. It was probably from the tumor. Poor Rebecca, poor little girl. What will I tell her?” I was overcome with an onslaught of emotions.
“Might be a blessing in disguise. She won’t have to grow up writing to her grandma in prison, visiting her there.”
“What kind of tumor?” I got up and started pacing.
“I don’t have all the particulars. Just that it’s fast growing and fatal.”
I opened my entry closet door for no good reason. “Think it affected her judgment?”
“Good question. No clue.”
I looked at my coats and boots. “Where is she?”
“Oak Lea Memorial. They brought a specialist out here so they wouldn’t have to transport her.”
“I was going to stop and see Rebecca after school. I better go see Eisner first.” Whatever I was looking for in the closet, I didn’t find it. I closed the door.
Smoke let out a grunt. “Here we go again. Okay, tell me when and I’ll go with you.”
“As my bodyguard?” I asked sarcastically.
“As your friend and supporter.”
“Oh.”
Alvie Eisner’s legs were shackled to her hospital bed, and her hands were cuffed to the transport belt around her waist. There were two deputies standing guard: Mandy Zubinski and Vince Weber. The sheriff was not taking any chances. I read genuine surprise on their faces when they saw us in the doorway.
Alvie eyes were closed, and a blanket was pulled up to her waist. She opened her eyes and focused on me when I stepped in the room with Smoke. Her internal radar had somehow announced my arrival. The woman was as eerie flat on her back, shackled to a bed, as she was lurking in a doorway, or sitting in a defendant’s seat, or coming after me with a gun.
I was tempted to turn tail and run.
“I told you I would die in prison. It looks like it will be sooner than I thought.” Her voice was raspy, quiet.
I nodded. “How are you feeling?”
She shrugged, appearing indifferent. “They give me pain medication for the headaches.”
“How long have you been having headaches, Ms. Eisner?” Smoke asked in a smooth, melodious tone.
She stared at him a minute before answering. The detective she had intended to kill sounded like he cared. “A few months, maybe four. They can’t operate, and it’s too far gone to bother with chemotherapy or radiation. They call it grade four glioblastoma.”
Ominous-sounding.
“How long will you be here?” I asked.
“Not long. I’m waiting for the doctor to release me. They’re making me take seizure medications with the pain pills. There’s nothing else they can do.” Her shoulders hitched up and down.
I didn’t feel badly for Eisner, exactly, but I did feel badly for Rebecca and all the loss she had experienced in her ten short years.
I moved closer to the bed. “I’m going to see Rebecca today. Anything you want me to tell her?”
“Tell her I love her.” She must have read doubt on our faces. “I do,” she murmured in quiet defense.
When Smoke and I stepped into hallway, Mandy Zubinski followed. She spoke a step above a whisper. “The doctor has released her. We’re just waiting for word from the jail. They’re doing some shuffling so Eisner can have one of the small cell blocks to herself.”
“Why’s that?” Smoke asked.
“Mostly to keep her as quiet as possible. Another female or two in with her might get her agitated enough to do something to them. She’s got nothing to lose.”
Only her life and that was quickly passing away.
On the way to our vehicles, I asked Smoke, “How much should I tell Rebecca?”
“I guess I’d ease into it a bit. Start out gently, see where it leads.”
“This is all so unreal. Last week Eisner had a personality disorder, this week it’s a brain tumor. Between her case and the Moll
y case, I have learned more about medicine and psychology in the last month than I did in the whole last year.”
“Not necessarily a good thing.”
“No, it is not.”
Rebecca had been staying with her best friend Tina’s family. Dale and Jean Brenner had applied to be her foster parents until legal placement became necessary. In addition to Tina, they had a son two years older than the girls. Jean and Rebecca met me at the door.
“Sergeant Corky!” Rebecca’s face lit up, and my heart melted. I drew her to me, and her skinny arms held on tight.
Three months before, she had been so pale, blue veins were visible on her temples and cheeks, and there were dark circles under her eyes. The dark circles were gone. Her face had filled out, and her skin had a healthy glow.
“Rebecca, you look great. And you’ve grown.”
We smiled at each other, our own little mutual admiration society.
I followed Jean and Rebecca into the living room. It was simply furnished and comfortably lived-in. Jean indicated the couch, and Rebecca and I sat down together. Jean took a wing chair nearby.
Rebecca beamed. “I grew one whole inch since July.”
“Wow, that is a lot. And I love your haircut.” I reached over and tucked in an errant hair.
“Missus Brenner took me to a real salon. My grandma always cut it before.”
Jean smiled at Rebecca’s appreciation.
The mention of her grandma brought a little pucker to Rebecca’s lips, and her eyebrows moved together slightly. “My grandma’s been in court since last week.”
“Yes, the trial ended yesterday.”
“What’s going to happen to her? Why did she hurt those people? She never hurt me, or my kittens, or anything.”
I reached over and picked up her small hand. “Rebecca, your grandmother has been sick for a while. That might have had something to do with it. I’m not a doctor—I don’t know, but it might have.”
“You mean like mental illness?”
Had she overheard someone talking about it, or read something?
I rubbed the back of her hand and spoke gently, yet firmly. “Your grandmother went to the hospital yesterday, and they found out she has a tumor on her brain. Do you know what that is?”
She nodded tentatively. “I think so. I had a kitty with a tumor on her leg. It was like a big bump.”
“Yes. The bad thing is, when it’s on the brain, it’s not so easy to remove.”
“Then what?”
“We’ll have to wait and see. Meantime, there’re some things I have to tell you. First of all, your grandma said to tell you she loves you.” I attempted another smile.
Rebecca’s mouth quivered and her eyes filled with tears, which spilled easily down her cheeks. She sniffled and wiped them away as I went on.
“Your grandma will be going to prison. You know that, don’t you?”
Rebecca nodded and tears continued to roll.
“I’m going to arrange for you to visit her. Would you like that?”
She nodded again.
“And—this is the exciting part for me—she asked me to be your guardian. Have you ever heard of that?”
She shook her head. “Uh-uh.”
“It’s someone to watch over you, protect you, keep you safe.”
Her little flushed face brightened. “Like a mom?”
“In a way. Your grandma isn’t asking me to be your mother—she wants me to find a good family for you to live with.”
She looked down, considering. “Oh. Can I stay here?”
“You like it here with the Brenners?” I glanced over at Jean.
“Uh huh. I’ll tell Tina.”
I gave Rebecca a hug, and she ran off to find her friend.
Jean moved from the chair to the couch. “Sergeant, we want to keep Rebecca. She fits in so well with our family. Social Services had us fill out the child placement form. It’s the same for foster care or adoption, and they approved us pretty easily. There seems to be no one else in her life, now that her grandma is going to prison.”
“There are some things you should know.” I told her about Rebecca’s great-grandmother, the details of Alvie’s tumor, and her upcoming sentencing. I decided not to share the part about Rebecca being a wealthy little girl—the attorney could handle that. It got me thinking. Was Alvie’s alleged wealth the truth, or was it a fantasy brought on by the brain tumor?
“I thought I’d save the news that Rebecca has a great-grandmother for another time,” I explained.
Jean lifted her elbow to the back of the couch. “What’s she like?”
“Not even remotely like her daughter. She’s pleasant, seems stable. But she did abandon her children when they were young.”
“I can’t even imagine.” She paused in contemplation. “What do we do next?”
“I guess the first step would be to talk to Alvie’s lawyer.”
“This isn’t very Christian of me to say this, but I can’t wait for Alvie to go away. Rebecca needs to be in a positive family environment. I’m sorry, but Alvie Eisner is a very strange woman. I mean, there was something about her that always scared me a little bit. I thought maybe she had some kind of social phobia, you know? But we never imagined she could do anything so horrible. I mean, how could we? I look at it this way—we all have a choice in life, and she chose evil over good.”
33
Evil over good.
Jean’s words reminded me of the man I had planned to talk to for a while.
I pulled into the parking lot of my old country church, happy to see a car in the lot. I entered the side door near the back, where the pastor’s office was.
Pastor Hobart met me in the hallway. He was an agile man in his sixties, with a kind face and snow-colored hair. He reached out and shook my hand.
“Oh, Corinne, it’s you. I had a silent alarm installed, so I know when someone comes in the back way. It’s good to see you. What can I do for you?”
If he was surprised I was there, it didn’t show.
“Do you have a little time?”
He put a hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me into his office. “Of course. I have a lot of it, in fact. Just working on some notes for Sunday’s sermon.”
We sat in comfortable leather arm chairs in front of the south window in his office. The sun warmed my shoulders and neck.
Pastor Hobart was the first to speak. “You look like you are carrying the weight of the world on your back.”
My lips turned up in a half-smile at the concern in his voice. “Hardly, but a lot has happened in the past forty-eight hours.”
I relayed the story of Alvie Eisner’s mother turning up all those years later, of the trial and its unexpected ending, of our visit, her request regarding Rebecca’s future, and my trip to the Brenner household.
“My, my, my. It’s no wonder you’re so burdened.” He folded his hands in his lap. “But, if you need someone to give a character reference for the Brenners, I would feel confident to do that. My grandson is on the hockey team Dale Brenner has coached the last few years. Good people. And I know they’re active in their church.”
I agreed. “Rebecca seems genuinely happy there. And she looks so much better than she used to. They discovered she has a number of food and other allergies, which were compounding her asthma. Knowing that, she can avoid the culprit foods and take medications only when necessary.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’ll make it a point to seek her out when hockey season starts, or whenever I run into the Brenners. She’s going to need all the support she can get.”
“Thank you, Pastor.” I hesitated before tackling the next subject. “You heard about the dismembered body found in Wolf Lake.”
Pastor Hobart shook his head. “My, my, yes. An awful thing.”
“I got a message from someone that just said ‘Judges nineteen.’ We believe that someone was the man who killed and dismembered the young woman named Molly.”
“Judges ninete
en.” Pastor Hobart opened his Bible and turned pages to locate the chapter.
“Ah, yes. Rather a gruesome tale, isn’t it?” He looked at me and explained, “During the period of Judges, Israel had fallen into anarchy.”
He flipped back a few pages. “Listen to what Judges two, verse ten says. ‘All that generation also were gathered to their fathers; and there arose another generation after them who did not know the Lord, nor yet the work which He had done for Israel.’”
Pastor Hobart looked up again. “This is a common theme throughout Judges. When God allowed Israel to have its own way, do whatever the people wanted, things got bad. A judge was chosen to correct things, but then when he died, things would go south again. That cycle went on for a while, and the people kept getting worse. Every time a judge died, the people disobeyed in greater ways. At the same time, they longed for a king to get control over the rampant chaos. Ultimately, God was showing us there would be a king whose influence on us is eternal.”
He read for a minute, his finger moving down the page, then went on with his explanation. “After the death of the concubine, the Levite rallies the tribes to war against Benjamin. It’s a political thing.
“But the man who sent you the message—if he did such a wicked thing to a woman, he is not concerned about the underlying details of the story. He is caught up in the abuse and unspeakable acts against the concubine.”
“It seems that’s true. He is the Levite and the men of Gibeah all rolled into one lost soul.”
Pastor Hobart stood and closed the book. “We fight the same battles don’t we, Corinne?”
“You mean against evil?”
He nodded, his white hair shining in the sunlight. “Yes. We just use different tools.” He looked from the weapons on my duty belt to the Holy Bible he held in his hands.
34: Langley
Langley drove his Lexus out of the university employee parking lot and pulled over to the curb near the front outside entrance of the lab. He lifted the notebook lying on the passenger seat and rested it against the steering wheel, then picked the pen out of his pocket and poised it in a writing position. If anyone from the lab saw him sitting there, they would think he had had a sudden idea and pulled over to record it while it was fresh in his mind.
Buried in Wolf Lake Page 17