Burning Proof (13 page)

WHEN THEY GOT BACK TO DEDE’S,
Abby wandered out to the porch with her Bible. She sat on the porch swing. She’d been out there for only minutes when Aunt Dede joined her.

“Ethan will be here for dinner,” she said.

Abby nodded. “That sounds good.”

Dede had a fleece throw with her and sat down next to Abby and arranged the throw over both of them. She reached over and put a hand on Abby’s. “You’ve had a rough summer. I know that. I’ve been praying for you.”

Abby felt a lump in her throat and it surprised her. People praying for her when she couldn’t seem to pray for herself touched her deeply.

Dede patted her hand. “Feel like talking?”

For some reason the thought of baring her soul to her aunt brought the threat of tears. Dede might not understand her as well as Luke, but she was always a source of comfort and guidance.

Swallowing the lump, she said, “I feel so off-balance right now. This shooting has thrown me into a tailspin. I’m not sure I
can go back to work. That’s what makes me want to hide.” Her voice broke and she grabbed a Kleenex, unable to stop the tears.

“Give it time and prayer. I can’t imagine going through what you just did. Confusion and second-guessing is human. You work a job that requires you to make hard choices.” Dede leaned over and pulled Abby into a hug. “I haven’t always agreed with your choice of profession, but I do know that you are good at it.”

“But I’m just not sure of anything anymore. Not my job, not my life, not anything.” The words came out in a tumble she couldn’t stop. “I shot an innocent man. Before that I let a guilty man shoot himself in front of me. And the worst of it is, I almost shot that guilty man in anger, not because he was a threat to me. I only wanted justice, for things to be put right, and everything has gone wrong. I feel like God doesn’t listen to me anymore.” She hated the whine in her voice. Her fist clenched on the Kleenex as she ran it under her nose.

“God always listens.” Dede sat back but kept Abby’s hand in hers, gently patting it. “And I’m listening. But I don’t think that’s what’s at the root of your angst. Tell me about the man you shot.”

Abby turned to stare at Dede and saw love and understanding in her eyes. She’d been trying to forget Clayton, had been overjoyed that she slept the night before without dreaming of him. Now Dede wanted to hear about that awful day? “Why do you want to hear that story?”

“It has everything to do with why you feel off-balance, as if God has forsaken you. Which, by the way, is something he would never do.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve talked it out with the PD
psychologist. We’ve spoken several times.” Abby looked down at Bandit sitting at her feet.

“Did that help you get your balance back?”

Abby couldn’t answer. The talks with the psychologist had been impersonally clinical. He was a nice man, and Abby had nothing against him, but no, he hadn’t helped her get her balance back.

“Indulge me,” her aunt insisted. “I promise, it may be painful, but it will be like tearing off an old bandage, letting fresh air into the wound to heal it.”

Abby looked away and took a deep breath. After a long moment, she mustered up the best cop voice she could and dispassionately told Dede about the death of Clayton Joiner.

Dede listened without interrupting.

When Abby finished, she turned to her aunt. “It was the worst day of my life.”

“I believe that. And even though you know you did the right thing, it still lacerates your heart.” She gripped Abby’s hand with her right and squeezed, holding tight.

“I can’t get the image out of my mind.” Abby sniffled as tears ran down her face again. “That’s why I took the leave. It was interfering with my work, with my ability to do my job. Am I finished as a cop?” The last sentence tore at Abby’s throat, and she fought to keep from sobbing. This was her biggest fear.

“Like tearing off an old bandage.”
It stung to realize the real fear she had that her career was over.

“I can’t answer that question; only you and God can. But I will tell you what I believe.” Dede let go of Abby’s hand and placed an arm over her shoulder, pulling her close again as the
bench swung gently. “Your parents’ case defined you, dictated your choices for most of your life.”

Abby flinched to pull away, but Dede held her tight. “I’m not condemning. You know I never wanted that case to be an obsession for you. You became an officer because of it, and a dedicated one, with a single goal always in your mind: find the killers. Now you’ve come to the end, the final chapter in that horrible case, and it only brought more questions, not the black-and-white answers you wanted. Your foundation was sand, and the sand has washed away.”

Abby sagged into her aunt. “You’re saying I’m done?”

“No, I’m saying you need to go back, set your life on the right foundation, first and foremost. Pastor Cliff told you how important a foundation is for a building . . . and for your faith. Once your faith foundation is firmly set, then I think everything else in your life will become clearer.”

Abby couldn’t argue with that. It made a lot of sense. But she’d always thought her faith was strong. Had she really let it get so weak?

Abby felt somewhat better when Ethan arrived for dinner; at least she felt normal enough to converse with and listen to Ethan. He was excited about the church build and equally excited about his next mission trip. In a couple weeks he was headed to Malawi.

“There’s so much to do there. I’m teaming up with an organization that is working to build chicken farms.”

“Chicken farms?” Dede asked. “Not churches?”

Ethan shook his head and swallowed his bite before answer
ing. “No, the need there is for food. There’s been a severe blight to many crops and people are in danger of starving. They need food sources, and right now they love the idea of chickens and chicken farms.”

Abby wondered if Malawi was a place of unrest, of war and persecution. She didn’t remember if she’d read about it in the news. She knew that the threat of danger wouldn’t stop Ethan, and she realized she was clearly seeing his heart. He loved to travel and build and help those who really needed the help. He never feared, even when the papers were filled with stories about bad things happening where he planned to go. He trusted God and he went.

She thought of what Dede had said about the mission field, about being
called
.

Ethan was definitely called.

Until now I’ve always believed I was called to police work,
Abby thought. She felt a little uncomfortable. She did love Ethan, but in her heart of hearts she wondered if she could ever have a passion, a calling, for foreign mission work.

“What did you think of Pastor Cliff?”

“What?” Abby realized Ethan was speaking to her. “Oh, sorry; I was daydreaming.”

He repeated his question.

“Inspiring. I really liked the guy.”

“Do you want to help with the build?”

“I don’t know anything about construction.”

Ethan put a hand on hers. “There will be a lot of professionals there. It might be mostly grunt work for you. It’s up to you, but it might be a good change of pace.”

Abby thought for a minute.

“I agree,” Dede said. “I think that you need a change of pace.”

Finishing her Diet Coke, Abby looked from Ethan to Dede. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll help.”

As they went back and forth about plans for Monday, Abby toyed with her dessert and pondered the day in a different way.
I do need a change of pace, a real test,
she thought.
Maybe while helping with the building project, something will click and I’ll find my calling. It’s possible that I just haven’t opened the right door.

But even as she said yes, a tiny bit of unease rose. The unanswered questions about the Triple Seven murders, her father’s fate, and Luke Murphy all crossed her mind at the same time.

Finally a clear, strong prayer came to her mind.
Lord, I need to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, where you want me. At Ethan’s side or back in Long Beach fighting for those who no longer have a voice, and finally uncovering the truth in my parents’ murders.

She was certain she’d get an answer soon, one way or another.

By Sunday night, the conversation she’d had with her aunt had played over and over in her mind seemingly a hundred times. For Dede the answer to every life issue was in the Bible. Talking with her, Abby realized that she had stepped away from that belief. Through most of her career she trusted in herself, her education and training, and her own abilities.

I’ve prayed,
she thought,
and if you’d asked me, I would have told you that I believed in prayer. But in all honesty, I never thought God worked fast enough or that he was even listening all the time.

But it was Dede’s comment about the foundation of her life that caused Abby the most angst. She remembered the biblical parable that the idea of a firm foundation came from. It referenced building a house on different foundations. Any foundation other than obedience to God would wash away at the first sign of trouble.

Abby picked up the Bible and found the passage in the book of Luke. Jesus was telling the parable. She read the verses before going to bed.

Everyone who comes to me and hears my words and does them, I will show you what he is like: he is like a man building a house, who dug deep and laid the foundation on the rock. And when a flood arose, the stream broke against that house and could not shake it, because it had been well built. But the one who hears and does not do them is like a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation. When the stream broke against it, immediately it fell, and the ruin of that house was great.

Tears threatened.
I’ve always considered my foundation firm, my belief in God strong. Why am I so shaken? Why do I feel as if everything has been washed away by the storm of the shooting?

Abby knew that in investigative work when a case looked as if it was going nowhere, you went back to the beginning, started over with the basics to be certain nothing was missed.

My life looks like it’s going nowhere,
she thought.
Maybe I need to go back to the beginning, review the basics of my faith.

Where to start? I’ve always taken faith for granted. I believe, God should hear, and that’s the end of it.

What am I missing?

The question stayed on her mind as she closed the Bible and lay down to go to sleep.

BUTTE FALLS WAS A SMALL
but beautiful place, surrounded by forest. It was a town of less than five hundred people with a rich logging history.

When they arrived at the site Monday morning, Abby was amazed at all the people already there. The group was gathered around the new foundation. Framing was the next project. All around were piles of lumber and stacks of plywood. Everyone was dressed for work. As Dede parked next to a pickup truck with the logo for Sure Foundation Construction, two men got out and waited for Dede and Abby.

Ethan waved to them and Dede led Abby that way. “I want you to meet a couple of guys from my church, those two with Ethan. They’re also part of the mission team.” She pointed. “This is Jon and Pete. They’ve been here since the beginning.”

Jon was about six-two with a thick red beard and a broad smile. From the laugh lines around his eyes, Abby bet he smiled a lot and she knew she’d like him. Pete was a bit taller than Jon and a beanpole. He also sported a beard but it was not as thick
as Jon’s. They were obviously father and son, and she guessed Pete was her age and Jon was her aunt’s age.

“Great to meet you.” Jon beamed and gripped her hand in both of his. She felt engulfed by two baseball mitts. “I’ve heard a lot about you. This is my boy Pete.”

“Nice to meet you as well.”

“Let’s go join everyone else,” Ethan said, pointing to a forming circle, then taking Abby’s hand. Abby waded in after him, meeting many other people and being swept away by the atmosphere and the work.

Luke stopped at the corner to tie his shoes. He’d seen the dark car before and knew it didn’t belong in the area. But that had been a couple of weeks ago. When it left the neighborhood, he thought maybe he was being a tad paranoid. Ever since two men had attacked him on the bike path next to the flood control channel several months ago, warning him to stay away from the investigation into his uncle’s death, he’d paid extra attention to his surroundings. He’d installed a state-of-the-art security system at home and a camera to watch the front of the house. Though there’d been no suspicious characters around the house lately and things seemed to be returning to normal, he’d not let his guard down.

Now the sedan was back, and he was certain that it wasn’t one of his neighbors’. It looked like a government car or an unmarked police car, but there was no government license plate on it. He’d taken to jotting down license plate numbers of strange cars, so he knew he had this one written down in the house.

He stood and continued his jog. No one else was home, so he wasn’t worried about the occupant of the car messing with
his family. And if the guy wanted to mess with him, well, he was prepared. He left the neighborhood and headed east on Willow Street toward the flood control trail. The dark sedan shadowed him a bit but turned left on Studebaker.

Briefly, Luke wondered if it were wise to take the flood control route, since he’d been ambushed there once before. Thinking it through, Luke kept going. The car couldn’t follow him on the jogging path there, and he wouldn’t stay on it long.

Once he was off the street and on the trail, he took his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in Woody’s number. Since it was Tuesday morning he knew Woody would be up and about, looking to see if it would be possible to contact the Air Force personnel who rescued Molly. Luke himself had a meeting scheduled with Brenda Harris. When he answered, Luke told him about the dark sedan.

“Where are you at?” Woody asked.

“Southbound on the flood control bike path.” He came to a stop under a bridge and worked to regulate his breathing.

“You want me to call a black-and-white to check out a suspicious vehicle?”

“I’m not sure where he is now, so you wouldn’t know where to send them. I was hoping you can come pick me up, drive me back to the neighborhood to see if he’s still there. Maybe we’ll get the chance to confront him, see what’s up.”

“I’m game. Where do you want to meet?”

“I’ll hotfoot it up to College Estates, cut over toward Studebaker there. Why don’t you meet me over that way? We’ll drive back to my house. If he’s still there, we’ll try to talk to him. If not, I’ve got his license plate. We can call Bill and have him run it.”

“On my way.”

Luke put the phone away and picked up the pace to be where he’d told Woody to meet him. Briefly he wondered if the dark sedan was heading to Seal Beach to the same place the two men had jumped him months ago and threatened his daughter. One of those men was dead. The other, Alonzo Ruiz, was wanted; there was a warrant in the system for him. A former Orange County deputy fired for beating a man to death, he was well known to the sheriff, and he even had a faraway connection to Gavin Kent. Luke always wondered if it was Kent who hired Ruiz and his buddy to watch his house and jump him on the flood control trail.
No way to know now,
he thought,
unless I catch this guy and it turns out to be Ruiz.

He jogged through a neighborhood and made it to Studebaker quickly. As he continued north on Studebaker, he saw Woody’s car coming south. Woody made a U-turn, and sweating and breathing hard, Luke hopped in.

“I drove by your house on the way over, saw a dark sedan.”

“He went back to my house?” Fury coursed through Luke.

“If it’s the same car,” Woody said as he accelerated. “Anyone home?”

“No, my mom took Maddie on a field trip to a museum in LA and my dad is on a job in south Orange County.” He opened his fists and fought to calm down. He’d earned his nickname Bullet in the service because of his temper but tried hard to keep it in check.

“You want to call a unit?” Woody asked.

“Not yet. Let’s see if it is the car. If it is, I want to talk to this guy.”

When Woody turned onto Luke’s street, Luke saw the sedan, parked two doors down from his house.

“That’s the car,” Luke said and Woody stopped, pulling in behind the vehicle.

Luke turned to his friend. “Why don’t you call communications and ask them to run a records check on the plate. I’m going to walk to my house and see what’s going on.”

“It’s broad daylight. You really think this guy would try something now?”

“I don’t know. All I know is he watched me head for the flood control, then doubled back and parked by my house. I need to know what he’s doing.”

Woody nodded and tapped his phone. “Anything hinky with the license plate, I’m asking for a patrol car code 3.”

“Fair enough.”

Luke got out of the car and wiped perspiration from his forehead. For a minute he stood on the sidewalk, deciding the best course of action. He was at a loss as to what this guy could want and whether or not he was as dangerous as the pair from the flood control months ago. Ruiz had shot at him after Luke threw a punch at his friend.

Luke knew his neighbors were at work, so he walked across their lawn, intending to stay close to the front of their house and then cross over to his and creep around to the garage.

Worry nagged as he made his way slowly toward the corner of his house. There was more cover on the parkway, where mature jacaranda trees stood, but that wasn’t the best path to be sneaky. And there was a Brazilian peppertree on this side of the house he could use as cover in a pinch. He strained to hear anything. If this guy was here to break in and had tampered with the security system, there should be noise, but he heard nothing.

If I were breaking in, I’d go to the back,
he thought.
Is that
where this guy is?
As he reached the corner of his home
 
—he’d have to go across the front lawn to get around back
 
—he saw the man coming from the side of the garage, carrying something in his hands.

He burglarized my house!

Before he could speak, the man saw him and skidded to a stop.

He looked at Luke, then toward his car.

I know him,
Luke thought, but the context of the meeting stymied his recollection.

“Hey,” Luke yelled and tensed to block his escape. A sort of stalemate formed, the man inching slowly to his right and Luke bracing himself to act quickly and cut the man off. He noticed that the man had tape over his nose and two black eyes. Realization dawned.

“Alonzo Ruiz!”

The man threw what he had in his hands at Luke. Luke ducked to avoid being hit. When he faced Ruiz again, there was a gun pointed at him.

“It wasn’t in the order to kill you, so get out of my way.”

“Whose order?”

The man cursed and raised the gun to fire. Luke dove out of the way behind the only cover available, the peppertree. Bullets impacted the tree, spraying bark and wood in his face.

He rolled behind it and was trying to clear bits of dirt from his eye when he heard Woody.

“Stop! Drop the gun!”

Fear replaced the anger in Luke’s gut as he heard a volley of gunshots. He prayed.
Oh, Lord, please; I pray that my anger didn’t get Woody killed.