Don, having pondered what he’d heard and felt, bent down to pick a dandelion.“It wasn’t at all what I thought it would be like.”
“What did you expect?”
“A lot of screaming, I guess...crying.”
“Well, it all depends on how you feel about death.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you thought death was the end, you’d be upset. But if you believed death was just another step in our progression, in our eternal existence, sure, you’d be sad if someone died, but not so distraught. You’d know it wasn’t the end.”
Spinning the dandelion stem between his finger and thumb, the yellow bloom just a blur against the green grass, Don lapsed into the world of his imagination. In it he pondered Cecily’s words. Why did she always seem to make so much sense? She understood concepts he’d never even bothered to think about. And she was so good— probably the worst thing she’d ever done was get a speeding ticket, while Don had a rap sheet a mile long. They were such different people, culturally, physically, in terms of religion. Yet they shared such a strong friendship and attraction.
Cecily, meanwhile, was entertaining similar thoughts and questions. Why was she so attracted to him—besides his good looks? What was it about him that made her feel warm and safe and loved? She was in love, but how could she think of throwing away all her goals and dreams to marry someone who wasn’t of her faith?
For a few long minutes the two of them sat on the grass, reflecting on their hopes—and brooding over their fears. Don’s mind was spinning, just like the canary-blonde blossom in his hand. He wondered how Cecily could live by reason and logic, knowledge and understanding, while his life was governed by passion and excitement. She knew exactly where she was going and how she would get there; he took it one day at a time, rolling with the punches and obstacles as they came his way. And she seemed so much more carefree, while he took his responsibilities very seriously. She didn’t have the glamor of a Monica, yet he found her to be beautiful. Maybe we don’t communicate all that well, he wavered. I don’t even know where she wants our relationship to go.
Don’s mind lurched back to reality. “I’d like to get started for home as soon as possible. Christina needs me.” Dropping the dandelion bloom to the ground, he pushed himself to his feet and put out his hand to Cecily.
“The poor thing,” she said, accepting the hand and easing herself up. “I’d be a wreck, too, after what she’s been through.”
Don gave a little shake of his head. “The weird thing is, she seems so unaffected by it all,” he said. “She’s still her precocious, happy self.”
The two of them collected their belongings. The family was gathered in Pauline’s kitchen, eating the meal the neighbors had brought. Don explained why he needed to hurry back, and mentioned that they should think about holding a family gathering each year. His siblings happily agreed.
Stacey met Mr. White in front of the hospital. “Sorry I’m late,” he apologized. “I was visiting my dog.”
White got right to the point. “Melvin Briggs—or whatever his name is—has a lot of questions to answer. My men think he killed his wife last night after she was attacked by the dog. Then he got away without a trace. What’s going on?”
“If she was bitten by the Jensen’s dog, the one that was killed, she’s the one who took the girl from the bedroom. I suggest we get a DNA sample from the woman and see where it takes us.”
White made a call, then turned back to Stacey. “It’s going to take a couple of days to get the results back. In the meantime, we better see if we can find Melvin. We’ve been to his apartment. The feds won’t let us in. Same thing with Anderson’s place.” He reached into his suit pocket and removed two envelopes. On one was written Don Rodriguez; on the other, Paul and Nancy. “One of the federal boys at Melvin’s place gave us these,” he continued, pressing the envelopes into Stacey’s hand. “We’ve checked out Don Rodriguez. He’s got a record a mile long. You were one of the arresting officers on his last citation.”
So that’s where he and Don had first met! “Yeah, I know who he is.”
“We do too. The note said something about a deposit. We counted five hundred dollars in cash. The second envelope contains nine hundred fifty dollars, plus a note telling this Nancy person that he’s sorry for the trouble he caused her. We’ve located the name of a student at the college with the male’s name. Do you have any idea what this is all about?”
“I spent one of my nights on the run in Rodriguez’s apartment. He told me that Melvin was peeping in on the previous tenant’s wife. That must be their rent and deposit he’s returning.” Stacey’s thoughts raced ahead, tripping over themselves. “We still have a bigger problem than some rent deposits being returned,” he muttered. “We’ve got to find Melvin.”
White pointed out his car. “Let’s go see Judge Demick and request a search warrant. Maybe that’ll get us past the feds.”
The displeasure in Judge Demick’s face when he opened the door was evident. “This is Sunday afternoon and we just sat down to lunch. Whatever you have to say better be more than just important.”
Mr. White fairly beamed as he asked, “Your Honor, have you ever met Officer Rick Stacey?”Melvin sat at Judge Demick’s desk, tapping at the computer. He had accessed two of the three numbered bank accounts and transferred over eight million dollars to a new account—one so safely hidden, even his superiors would never find it. Hearing the elevator door open and muffled footsteps and garbled voices coming down the hall, he hastened to close the computer. But it was too late; the key was already sliding into the lock.
The door opened and Demick, Stacey and Mr. White filed into the room. Demick had walked most of the way around his desk before he noticed the computer was on. “Someone’s been in here!” The chamber door leading to the courtroom shut ever so slowly. “They’ve been in my computer; it’s still on.”
Mr. White glanced over at Stacey. “Who knows your password?”“Just me—and my secretary. But she doesn’t have clearance to enter the building on Sundays.”
“Who does?”
“The security people...the sheriff’s department...and some of the cleaning staff.” Suddenly all three realized who it was that had been in the office.
Out in the dark courtroom, Melvin slid open the window overlooking the south lawn and squeezed out onto the ledge. After pulling the window shut, he dropped the nine feet to the ground.
Minutes later, the county deputies had turned up no trace of an intruder—only that Melvin’s code had been used to access the building two hours earlier. The code was immediately changed.
White and Stacey left the county building five minutes later, warrant in hand. However, it proved of little value: When the two men entered the upper floor of Melvin’s home, they found it empty and spotlessly clean.
Stacey retired to the back window. Through the open garage door he could see the shelf. Nothing on it had been disturbed. The can with the pen was exactly where he’d left it.
“I think we need to stop one more place,” Stacey called in to White. “Let’s go dig up some answers.”
They were soon standing on the Jensen’s front porch. Alan answered the door. “I’m Officer Stacey and this is the County Prosecutor, Mr. Jay White. How’s your family doing?”
“All alive and home safe, thankfully. What can we do for you?”
“How’s Christina?”
Alan shrugged. “Pretty good. She puts up a good front. But I think her emotions are going to explode if she doesn’t get them out soon. She has an appointment with Doctor Wendy tomorrow. They spoke for about an hour last night.”
Mr. White spoke up. “We’ll be glad to help however we can.”
“We appreciate the offer. Is that all you stopped by for?”
“Not exactly,” replied White. “Two nights ago, Don Rodriguez may have given some disks to your son. They came from the home of Melvin Briggs.”
“Yes, Danny was working on them when he discovered Christina was missing.”
“Do you know what’s on them?”
Alan’s face tightened. “He told me they were pictures of sick and dying people.”
Stacey and Mr. White exchanged glances. “Do you think he’d let us take a look at them?”
“I’ll get him. Please, come in. The computer’s there in the study.”
Danny fired up the computer. The spate of shockingly grisly images began appearing on the screen. Stacey and White leaned forward, not knowing whether to avert their eyes as Danny scrolled through the disturbing sequence of photos.
“I—I’ve never seen anything like this,” White sputtered weakly.
“Do you still have the other disks?” Stacey asked.
“Yeah, but they’ve been erased. I stole this one”—he shot a contrite glance in the direction of his father—” and one more the day the shed blew up. I haven’t broken it’s code yet.”
“Do you think you can do it without losing the sound?”
“It might take a while.” Once more he looked to his father, who nodded his approval.
“We’ll wait,” White said. “We appreciate your help.”
The two men again stepped out on the front porch. Several questions still lacked answers. “How did you obtain the disks, Officer Stacey?” White asked.
“I was in the home of Melvin Briggs—illegally.”
White plunged in, spouting legalese. “These disks will not be allowed as evidence, you know, nor can they be used in legal conversations. They can only serve to help us in our search to answer our questions. Do you understand?”
“I know.”
Then he asked, “Where’s your squad car and the balance of the missing cocaine?”
“The car’s hidden in a cave near Fillmore. One of the bags is buried in the rocks near the car. I understand you saw part of the other scattered in Bingham’s office. I think he dumped the other half down my toilet. Sig almost got us caught trying to show me.”
“That brings me to another problem. You destroyed a city police car.”
“It wasn’t my choice, sir.”
“We’ll have to deal with these issues.”
Stacey was careful during conversation not to discuss the sensitive information he’d gotten from Agent Buseth.
Suddenly Danny opened the front door with a grin plastered across his face. “I got in!” he announced as he hobbled awkwardly back into the study.
“Tape three of 15. May 15th, 1994. Port Harcourt Prison, Rivers State, Nigeria....” Melvin Briggs’s dissonant voice narrated as color photographs showing the outer walls of a run-down barbed wire compound flashed onto the screen. “I’ve pressured the guard to let me meet with Kin Ro Sawa, the prisoner accused of being the leader of the Ogoni uprising. Six Ogoni tribesmen are to be hung at these gallows in a little less than an hour....” The photos had been taken from odd angles—perhaps using a hidden camera. The one of a crude wooden structure was followed by a closeup shot of six heavilyguarded men being led from a room, chained both hand and foot. “These men were leaders of a movement to free their people from slavery and oppression of the oil-hungry government.” Next came a picture of the six men who were being fitted with black hoods, followed by one showing nooses around their necks. The chronological nature of this particular batch of photos ended with the men suspended below the gallows floor.
Danny and the three men sat spellbound as Melvin told of an autopsy. “I gained access to a video of two Ogoni chiefs in the medical examiner’s lab. They were shot at close range, and from an angle which makes it impossible for the leaders of the freedom movement to have slain them. In my opinion, they were killed by assassins. The Nigerian government refused to release the six innocent men, who now have been killed.”
Melvin’s narration then focused on the Nigerian military junta, which, he claimed, was funded by a consortium of rich oil companies. The images of thousands of people being forced to evacuate their homes to take refuge in neighboring states and the eye-witness accounts of thousands more being killed, raped, tortured and imprisoned were shown in graphic detail. Another batch of photos dealt with oil rigs, polluted waterways and puddles of mud and slurry— many the size of football fields. Starving families, their crops either seized or ruined due to the contaminated ground...refugee camps...disease-ridden villages—the photos kept coming, one after the other, so explicit, so horrid that they would have made the world’s worst cynic blanch.
Katie’s shrill voice easily pierced the study door. “Hi, Aunt Monica!” she was heard to say.
Danny excused himself from the room; Alan, blurry-eyed, followed. White and Stacey remained in the dark room, while outside the doorway stood a stunningly attractive blonde. Stacey glanced up from the computer. Whoa! A tight pair of dark spandex pants, cut just above the calf, pointed down to a pair of high heels that made the muscles in her calves flex just so. Standing roughly five feet ten inches, she was a life-size Barbie Doll, decked out in diamond rings, gold bracelets and necklaces. Her low-cut top accentuated her ample breasts. Stacey listened from the shadows of the room as she spoke.
“I’ve come to pick up Christina,” she announced.
Katie hurried off to get her mother.
Alan sauntered into the entryway. “Monica, you’re back,” he snipped.
A second or two later Kate rounded the corner and greeted her sister. The two women embraced—though Monica was the more standoffish of the two.
“You’re back,” Kate said, a touch of foreboding in her tone.
“I want Christina to spend the week with me to meet my fiancé,” she gushed. The affected lilt in her voice spoke volumes. Even Stacey, who’d never met the woman—though he might like to, he thought— could see she was orchestrating the performance.
“This really isn’t a good time for Christina,” Kate began to explain.
“I’m getting married next week,” Monica went on, ignoring Kate’s comment. “He’s going away on business for a few days, and I hoped she could get settled into our condo before he leaves.”
Danny stomped from the entry. He had no reason anymore to like his aunt—the witch who’d hurt his cousin so much.
Christina had stood out of sight in the open hallway above, listening. Katie crouched behind her. Finally she stepped out from the wall and peered down at her mother. “I don’t want to go,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Hi, Christina. Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“Not if you plan on taking me with you.” Christina, her eyes clear and calm, seemed far removed from the events of the previous week.
“I want you to meet the man I’m going to marry, and see the beautiful home we’ll live in. It’s everything we’ve dreamed of.” Christina bristled at the thought. This was just the latest in a litany
of stunts her mom was known to pull. “I’m perfectly happy with
what I already have. I’d like to stay here.”
Just then Cecily’s Jeep pulled to the curb behind a late-model Jaguar. A tall man in his mid-thirties leaned against the passenger door,
arms folded, facing the house.
“She’s back,” Don mumbled. “She’s come for ‘Tina. She won’t
even care what’s been going on the last few days. That’s probably
her boyfriend—she’s hooked a fat fish this time. I’ll never get my
daughter back with a bank roll like that behind her.” He slumped
back in his seat.
“Monica?” Cecily’s tone was playful, almost mischievous. She was
eager to meet this woman she’d heard so much about. “Let’s go see
her,” she pressed.
“I don’t think I’m up to it. I can’t afford another scuffle—not tonight.”
Inside the house, Kate was defending Christina’s choice, stating
her case.
“I really don’t care what she’s been through,” Monica scoffed.
“This is important to me. Loran’s waiting outside to meet her. He
owns Rider Ranch Products; he’s very wealthy.”
Mr. White, perking up when he heard the name, stepped to the
window of the study to look out. Sure enough, at the curb under the
streetlight was Loran Rider. White knew he hadn’t made his money
in sales. The company had been a respectable business until his parents were killed in a suspicious small-plane crash a few years earlier.
Now the son seemed to have more money than he knew what to do
with.
Kate, in an effort to diffuse the situation—and perhaps placate
Monica—convinced Christina to at least come outside to meet him.
She held her hand out to beckon the girl down the stairs. “Try to be
polite,” she whispered, meeting Christina halfway. “You don’t need
to go anywhere if you don’t want to.”
Monica, miffed at the control Kate seemed to have over her daughter, tried to cut between them as they reached the porch. “I’ll bring her back tomorrow or the next day, after he leaves on his trip,” she yammered.
Alan turned on the outside lights and, along with White and Stacey, watched from the top stair. Kate walked to the curb with Christina, Monica flouncing along at the other side. Seeing the Jeep parked at the curb sent a wave of emotion through Christina. She was glad her father was home, but feared the scene was ripe for a full-fledged confrontation.
Cecily watched the woman coming down the front steps and out to the curb. The lights lining the brick fence columns illuminated Monica’s every feature. Her curves were to die for; her teeth gleamed, reflecting an orthodontist’s dream of a smile. Fidgeting from side to side, she introduced her daughter to the man leaning against the Jag.
“Christina, by next week this will be your new father,” she crowed. “His name is Loran Rider.”
Christina turned her head to see Don climb out of the Jeep, the words “new father” and “Loran Rider” burning in his ears. Kate, still clutching her niece’s hand, pulled Christina a few steps back out of the way. Monica, also sensing the oncoming freight train, likewise cleared the path.
Loran immediately recognized Don from Monica’s description, and was hoping to get a shot at the goon who she’d said had beaten up so many of her past boyfriends. Loran stood as tall as Don. Having been raised on a ranch, he could take care of himself.
“If someone’s going to replace me, don’t you think you ought to introduce me first?” Don growled, extending his hand in an artificial gesture of goodwill. The act caught everyone off guard—including the two men congregated in the study.
Loran slapped his own into Don’s and matched his new archrival’s squeeze. Then, in a forced bid at psychological warfare, Don pressed his chest slowly up against Loran’s and whispered in his ear, “I spent 30 days in jail with Will Vaughan, your right-hand man with a big mouth. Don’t screw with my family. You can have the ex, ‘cause she ain’t worth it—but Christina’s mine.”
“Get out of my face!” Loran brayed, shoving Don away. “Nobody threatens me.”
Stacey was about to intervene when Mr. White stopped him. “Hang on. I think they’re through. Looks like Loran just lost the first round. Who’s the other guy?”
“Don Rodriguez.”
Christina pulled away from Kate and stepped between the two men. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Rider.” Turning to her stunned mother, she then asked, “So, are we ready to go, Mom?” Monica hadn’t expected to see Don—and when he did arrive, she couldn’t believe he’d kept his temper. And what was even more inconceivable was that Loran had just backed down. Still pleased, she, Loran and Christina climbed into the car. Christina rolled down the back window. “I’ll be back soon, Daddy,” she called out. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”
Bewildered, everyone watched as the fancy car’s taillights disappeared around the corner.
The dimly-lit scene was like an after-hours roomful of museum statues: Don standing, stunned, on the sidewalk; Cecily watching him, paralyzed; Kate, her head down, her thumbs pressed against her temples.
Up on the porch, Mr. White shattered the mirage when he turned on his radio to instruct the deputies parked in an unmarked car across the street to tail the car and to keep a close eye on the girl.
Loran sent the 12-cylinder engine screaming through its gears. “He’s a punk!”
“Slow down, Loran. You’re scaring me,” whined Monica. He took a glimpse through his rearview mirror of the young girl in the backseat. There sat the “punk’s” daughter, riding in his car.
Monica’s hand on his knee worked its magic. He shifted down to a lower gear and grumbled, “Sorry, I don’t know what got into me.” Almost in the same breath, he picked up his phone and, pushing button number “1” in his address book, spat, “Loran here...meet me at the office in fifteen.”
He put down his phone. “I need to take care of a little business, babe. I won’t be gone long. You and Christine do a little catching up while you take a dip in the spa.”
“My name is Christina,” came an emphatic voice from the backseat.
Alan guided Don back into the house. Stacey greeted him, shaking his hand. “Good to see you again.” Gesturing toward White, he added, “Oh, this is a friend of the family, Mr. Jay White. We’ve been looking at the disks Danny opened. He’s done a great job....” At the mention of his son’s name, Alan excused himself.
White shook Don’s hand. “Say, do you know Loran Rider?” “The bozo my ex-wife’s about to sap?”
“That’s him.”
“I know who he is, but that’s about it. I shared a jail cell with his
hired thug, Will Vaughan. I’m more concerned about my daughter right now. She needs me by her side—and the help of a professional— not her coke-snorting mother or the slimeball she’s with.”
“I think we can help you with that,” White assured him. “By the way, what did you say to him to get him so upset?”
Don glanced at Stacey and back at Mr. White, trying to figure out what was going on. “I don’t think I like this conversation much.”
“I think we might just be able to help each other, Don,” Stacey suggested. “Your ex-wife has custody of Christina, right?” Don nodded. “You suspect she’s doing drugs?” Don nodded even more emphatically. “Maybe we can bring Christina home for good.”
The men continued their conversation as Cecily and Kate talked about Monica.
Meanwhile, Danny sat moping in his room when Alan tapped on the door. “Whoever it is, go away,” he muttered.
“It’s your father.” There was a long pause and the door slowly opened. Danny kept his back turned. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” said Alan. The boy didn’t say a word. “You two’ve become best friends and you think you might lose her.”
“It’s not fair. Monica just thinks Christina’s her property. She thinks she can do whatever she wants with her.”
“I know. How do you suppose you can help Christina?”
“I could get rid of Monica.”
“I don’t know if that’s an option. Do you think maybe your cousin’s feeling the same way you are?”
“Probably,” Danny stammered.
“Hey, I don’t have the answers, but you just might come up with a few. You’re one of the smartest guys I know.” Danny wiped his eyes and turned toward his dad. He’d waited to hear those words for a long time. His father did recognize his abilities. He decided to give it some thought.
“Thanks, Dad.” Danny threw his arms around his dad. Alan felt good; his son hadn’t given him a good squeeze in a long time. Danny felt even better.
Cecily waited outside the study for Don to finish with the mysterious visitors. A feeling of inadequacy had struck, finally having set eyes on Don’s ex-wife. She imagined herself standing in front of a mirror next to Monica. Her own hips were wider, her breasts smaller, five or six inches shorter....Could Don possibly be satisfied with her looks? Would he always be staring at other women behind her back?
At last the men emerged from the study and the visitors left. “What did they want?” she asked curiously.
“I can’t talk about it right now. Can I walk you to the Jeep?” Why was he trying to get rid of her so quickly? Don took her
Don stopped in his tracks and, using Cecily’s hand as a lever, swung her around to face him. He gently reached up under her blond mop of hair and took her face in his hands. The words came out soft and tender. “I guess it all depends on how you view beauty. If you think it’s only on the surface, you’re right, she’s very attractive.” Cecily stared up into Don’s face. The shadows cast from the front lights revealed a depth of sincerity in his eyes she’d yet to see from him. Butterflies cascaded down from her ears and into her stomach as he spoke the words, “I’m falling in love with you, Cecily. Your beauty goes far beyond the surface—it comes from the heart. If a loving God does exist, he closed the eyes of other men and saved you for me.”
Cecily melted into his gentle embrace. His lips found the side of her neck, then her cheek, and finally her lips. Sweet, soft, warm, tender. She leaned in to him as his hands swept along her neck and down her back. Reaching around his neck, she held him tightly. Her knees buckled under her, and she clung to the remarkable man she had come to love. She felt good, cuddled there next to him, together, as one.