Secret Sins: Murder in the Church (9 page)
Read Secret Sins: Murder in the Church Online
Authors: Kathy Bobo
Captain West is standing at the front door, “It was kicked in” Captain West comments to Officer
Jenkins.
Virginia walks over still wearing the rubber gloves, and looks at the door, “Did the neighbor’s
hear anything?”
Officer Kincade walks over interrupting, “You know the story, everyone was home, but no
one heard a thing.”
“The building manager tried to get us a printout of the various people that used the key card
to gain entry, but the computer malfunctioned and the data was not retained-”
Captain West is looking up at all the central of entry and ask, “What about the security
videos?” Officer Kincade interjects, “The recording is missing.”
Virginia, “Did someone break in?”
Officer Jenkins looks at Kincade, “If there was, then the building manager didn’t file a police
report.”
A short man in his seventies, on a walker, walks towards Virginia, “You’ll need to speak up
he’s a little hard of hearing,” said Officer Kincade. Virginia asked, “Who in the heck is he?”
Officer Jenkins, “Mr. Thompson, the Building Manager.”
Captain West utters skeptically, “You’ve got to be kidding.” as Mr. Thompson comes over.
Mr. Thompson stops his walker in front of
Denishia’s door, he looks the door backwards and forwards, “Who’s going to pay for this?”
“Do you own this building?” asked Captain West.
Mr. Thompson looks up at Captain West, “Heck no, somebody down town owes this.”
Captain West, “Really?”
“Whom do you mean?” I ask smiling at him.
Mr. Thompson smiles back at Virginia and
motions for me to walk with him to his apartment,
and they stop in front of his door, “It’s open.”
Virginia opens the door, and Mr. Thompson says, “Ladies first.”
Virginia walks up and Mr. Thompson enters behind her and closes the door, and as he folds
his walker and sits it in recliner in the corner of the room. He points at the brown sofa, “Have
a seat and let me talk to you.”
Speaking loudly, “Who is the owner of the
building?”
“Stop yelling I’m not deaf, “says Mr. Thompson.
She laughs, “I thought you were hard of hearing?”
“I hear what I want to, when I want to,” he
informs me. Mr. Thompson turns on a breathing
machine, and runs the tube around his head and into his nose, “The owner is the Director
of the State Gaming Commission.”
I gave Mr. Thompson a curious look, “The State Gaming Commission?”
“Yeah, you know the people that run the Lottery.” I said, “These are some nice Lofts.”
Mr. Thompson, “A little too upscale for Denishia’s salary.”
“She paid her own rent?” I ask.
“No she didn’t…he paid it like clockwork the first of every month,” said Mr. Thompson.
I sat down on the foot stool just in front of Mr. Thompson, “Who was it?”
Mr. Thompson reflects on it for a second, “Well I’m not supposed to discuss it, but since its
part of
your investigation…well…I guess.”
There was a knock on the door, and a female voice calls out from the hallway, “Gramps! Are
you in there?” A voice calls from the closed door.
“Oh crap, not her again!” Mr. Thompson points towards the door for Virginia Breeze to
open it. I bent closer to Mr. Thompson and asked again, “Who paid her rent?”
The woman cries outs again, “Gramps!”
Mr. Thompson looks at the door then looks at me, “Who paid her rent?”
Again, “Where are you, Gramps?”
Mr. Thompson looks frightened as he glances at the door, and I stood up and ask, “Is there
something wrong?”
He nodded his head and answered, “I don’t like her.”
I tried to console him, “I want let anyone hurt you. Just tell me who paid Denishia’s rent?
“His name is,” he was about the tell me when a woman of about twenty-two years old, with
her hair pulled back wearing red jeans with angora sweater and low heels used her keys to
enter his apartment.
She hurries to the old man, “Don’t say another word Gramps!” The woman pushes past
Virginia and hugs Mr. Thompson, “You had me so worried, why didn’t you answer your
phone?” Mr. Thompson laughs, “I forgot it and left it on the nightstand.”
The woman says, “My Grandfather is very sick and not able to answer any more
questions.”
Mr. Thompson suddenly has a fit of coughing and I offer, “I can call for help?”
The woman has a short irritated dry tone, “No. He needs to catch his breath.”
I ask, “May I ask your name?
Mr. Thompson stops coughing and she
answers, “Fay Marden.”
Mr. Thompson starts coughing and shaking his head, but he finally catches his
breath, and he tells me, “Detective Breeze that’s all I’m able to tell you at this point, but come
back later.” Fay gives Mr. Thompson a strange glare and he blanks out, but I believe I caught
on to what he was trying to tell me. That was his way of communicating that Fay Marden was
not her name.
Virginia heads for the door, “Thank you Mr. Thompson and I’ll be in touch if I need
anything else.” The woman stands in silence as Virginia got ready to leave. I could see a look
of fear in his eyes as he watched me leave. I was hoping he would ask for help or something,
but nothing.
Captain West
Virginia
walks in with her
iPhone in
hand with a
certain kind of arrogance and
smugness that would make the most demure exit the room. I ask her, “You get anything
useful out of the old guy?”
“A little
bite…”
she
stops
mid-sentence
when she spots Denisha’s computer crushed and
smashed on the floor. The first thing we noticed
was the untouched Chinese take-out boxes sitting
to the right of the shattered computer and looks at
it and ask, “What in the world?”
“She was working on something, but what?” as Virginia looks at the broken pieces of
the computer.
Officer Jenkins walks over carrying an empty box;
he starts to carefully place the
pieces of the computer in the box. He suggests, “I could have Tom Johnson and the tech
guys have a look and see whether or not anything can be retrieved from the hard-drive?”
Virginia purses her lips and glances in Captain West’s direction, “I don’t think so.
That box is coming with me.” She stoops down on the floor, “I’ll box this up,” and she
takes the box from Officer Jenkins.
Officer Jenkins stands up in a slight huff, as he and Kincade look at one another
hoping
for something quick to say, but Captain West’s rough, course voice, “What’s the
problem with you two?”
As Virginia continues picking up the crushed pieces of the computer, and places them
delicately into the box, she can hear the hesitation in Kincade’s voice, “No problem-it’s just
that…”
Jenkins rubs his hand through the two-day stubble on his face, “We were thinking
Tom and the tech guys could have a look at this stuff and see if they can retrieve some of
the data.”
Kincade adds, “He’s good at this kind of thing.”
“I’m sure he is, but we’ll let Detective Breeze handle it her way at the moment,” I
told both men.
“He’ll destroy what’s on it,” whispers Virginia under her breath.
I looked down at Detective Breeze, “Did you say something Detective?”
“I said they have nearly destroy it,” she answered.
That didn’t sound like what she said, but maybe my ears were playing tricks on me.
Virginia picks up the box, and says, “I’m going to see what progress has been made
by the Crime Scene investigators.”
Using his large frame, Office Kincade blocks
the door in an aggressive stance, “The computer is
evidence and know
unauthorized personnel
are
allowed access because it is part of a homicide
investigation.”
Kincade reaches for the box and I shoved his narrow butt aside and told him, “I
call the shots here not you!”
Detective
Breeze quickly leaves as Jenkins
yells from across the room, “This is the last straw- Internal Affairs is going to hear about
this…you big black…”
“Go ahead and say it so I can shove those
words so far down your throat you’ll be constipated for a week.”
Officer Jenkins watches Virginia from the window as she places the box in the trunk
of her car and slams the trunk shut.
Kincade and Captain West is standing toe-to- toe and eye to eye, and in a low tone
of voice, Kincade says, “It’s just a matter of time, but you will be working for me.”
“I’ll retire first,” says Captain West.
“If you make it to retirement,” he said with a Machiavellian laugh.
Officer Jenkins gathers up the few bits of remaining evidence, and as he and Kincade
turn to leave, Jenkins says, “You can retire now if you want to.” Jenkins and Kincade leave.
I shouted out, “When I’m finished with you two you’ll be lucky to get a job as a Dog
Catcher!” “On second thought…Even the dogs don’t deserve you two!”
I was so angry and I almost missed Mr. Thompson when he opens his door and peeps
out at me as I was leaving, “That’s telling them!”
Detective Virginia Breeze
Even
in full
Military
fatigues
Mangano stands
six
foot four,
small computer chip in large hands flipping various dipswitches. Bomb Squad team member,
John Burton hands another small component to
Lt.
Mangano, and the
two chips snap
perfectly together. Virginia walks over, and “What’d we know so far?”
Lt. Mangano hands the small computer component to me and I look at it on all four sides,
and Lt. Mangano, “The switch is not very sophisticated, but it got the job done.”
I asks, “How many people have this capability and know how?”
“Something this simple could be learned from the internet,” comments John Burton.
“And
the
stuff
that
makes
it
go
boom
can
be
a little harder to come by,” said Lt.
Mangano ask he takes the component from Virginia.
“If it were me, I’d start with someone that has construction and demolition experience,”
said Burton.
A tow truck stops and Lt. Mangano gives the driver the signal that it is okay to load it
onto the bed. The driver, a thin young man in his twenties wearing greasy overalls and
black steel toe boots, waves back to Mangano. He hooks the anchor of the truck to the
burned out Jeep, and the Jeep is lifted onto the bed of the truck, and then he jumps back
into his truck.
and
combat
boots, Chief of the Bomb Squad, LT. Jack
and
two
hundred
and
fifty pounds and he is holding a
A young man of sixteen wearing baggy sweat pants, and shoulder length
dreadlocks runs
over with his video phone and takes a
picture of the car. I yell at him, “Hey stop!” he
takes off running with me with Lt. Mangano in hot pursuit on foot., We run through a
narrow passageway of two buildings and the young man runs into a high-rise apartment
building. We enter the building
and find numerous apartments to the right and left with
small children running and playing in the hall. Music from one of the apartments echo’s into
the hallway. A number of women stand in the door of their individual apartments watching
their children at play. Mangano yells, “Which way did he go!”
Two six-year-old boys are playing tag in the hall; another woman comes out of her
apartment, “Lil-J come inside.”
The
two boys
wave
to another
and
the women and children go back into their
apartments and close the doors. I must admit I was out of breath and panting and said,
“He’s in one of these apartments.”
“It’ll be next to impossible to know which one,” said Lt. Mangano.
Finally, catching my breath, “You’re right, so let’s go.”
As they turn to leave,
Mangano stops and points
at
the
crayon
marks
and
other
graffiti on the walls, “See this, I don’t understand any of this.”
Virginia stops and looks, “Typical section-8 housing.”
“They live where they can afford,” I comment.
“I understand that,
but why is this building located in a section of the city with
Multi-Million Dollar Lofts?”
“I see what you mean, but the next question is how Denishia was able to
afford a Loft,” asked Virginia.
“Now that’s a good question,” said Mangano.
As we were leaving one of the door creaked open and the six year old named
Lil-J comes out and slowly approach us and says, “Excuse me.”
I stopped and smiled at the little guy, “Yes. What can I do for you?”
Lil-J asked, “Did someone hurt Denishia?”
Despite having two small children of my own, I am still unprepared for a
question like this from a small child. I said, “Yes.”
Lil-J lowered his head in sadness, and I ask him, “Did you know Denishia?”
He looks up at me, “Yes. She used to live here until she moved to a nicer place.”
“Oh really, I didn’t know that,” I said. “She moved in
with
her
boyfriend
Tyrone Lane…he’s rich,” said Lil-J
Lt. Mangano reaches into the deep pockets of the Military Fatigues and takes out a
hand full of candy and gives it to Lil-J. Both of his hands were full of candy, and I
said, “Thank you for helping me.”
Lil-J’s mother comes out into the hallway and screams, “Get into the house Boy!”
Lil’J runs into his apartment and we could hear her fussing at Lil-J, “What did I
say about talking and taking candy from strangers?”
Nadine Dalton
Six-year-old Liza is sitting on the couch playing with a doll watching cartoons while her
eight-year- old sister
Madison
named Jeremiah sitting on
her
Grandma, Nadine Dalton is an elegant woman in her seventies; she looks at the clock
on the wall-8 P.M. “Girls, time for bed.”
Liza puts on a sad face, and begins to whimper, “Can’t we wait for Mommy?”
“She’s going to be late again…as usual,” Madison blurts.
I attempt to reassure
them, “She’ll be
home soon.”
I am no worst the liar today than any other day, but that was all that is required to
convince Liza, but
Madison was a different matter. Madison packs her books in her
book bag, and Liza holds her doll close as she skips off to her room. Narrowing her eyes, and
focusing on the Cockatiel of Madison shoulder, “Put Jeremiah back in his cage.”
Madison extends her index finger up to her shoulder and Jeremiah hops onto her finger, and
she walks over to his cage sitting on a small table in a corner. She whispers, “Time for all
good little birdies to go to bed,” as she opens the cage door and sticks her hand in and
Jeremiah hops onto his perch and she closes the door. Madison kisses her Grandmother,
“Goodnight Grandma.”
Nadine looks at Jeremiah’s cage, “We’ll need to clean his cage tomorrow.”
is doing her homework
with our
Nadine
is
busy
picking
families
pet
Cockatiel
up
the living
room.
Madison looks at the cage, “It doesn’t look so bad.”
I loathe a dirty house and I don’t particularly like the idea of animals in the house, but
it wasn’t my idea. I am no braver today than any other day, but Jeremiah was a gift from their
late father, so I tolerate the bird. Looking over the cage, “It doesn’t look that good either.”
Madison picks up her book bag and goes to her room as I fix my eyes on the coloring book,
markers, and toys covering the floor, “Look at this mess.”
I continue my nightly ritual of cleaning up
before bed each night. There is a sudden crash from the back patio. I walk to the
window to investigate and I quiet look out of the window and I see my daughter in law,
over the trashcan and ranting, “You‘d better keeping in your yard or you’ll
have a dead dog.”
I
shook
my
head
and
returned
to cleaning the
living
room
floor.
I
pick
up a
pink, yellow, then green marker and Virginia unlocks the door while talking on her iPhone,
“Let me call you tomorrow-okay-bye.” Virginia closes the door and locks the double-sided
double cylinder deadbolt lock on the door.
fireplace, “Hey Mom.”
Walking quietly through the hall, Virginia takes off her jacket and hangs it in the hall
closet. Nadine, “Hello, your dinner’s covered up on the stove.”
The baby Grandfather clock in the hallway chimes nine times. Virginia and Nadine
walk through the hall into the kitchen and Virginia asks, “Kids in bed?”
I told her, “They’ve been in bed for about an hour now.”
Virginia joked, “They are probably still up and playing.”
I said, “Probably.”
I keep myself up on all the
Local and National News, and I said to Virginia, “I saw
that
car bombing on the news and that Helicopter guy is mad at you guys.”
“He had no business invading our air space,” she said as she laughed.
“The news said the victim lived in those expensive
lofts and
that
she
was also
employed at the Police Department,” I told her.
“It was Denishia,” Virginia said.
Shocked and surprised, “You
mean you assistant?”
“Oh my God,” I stated.
I told her, “She a member of our church?” Virginia replied, “Really?”
“Yes. She the one that was having the affair
that a married man…it was quite the scandal,” I said.
Virginia asks, “Who was it?”
I know when she’s fishing for information, so I told her, “Tyrone Lane.”
Virginia and I walk into the kitchen and she picks up the plate. She pulls off the foil
from the plate, baked pork chop, streamed vegetables, macaroni and cheese; she sit is the
plate in the microwave for three
minutes, she walks over to the refrigerator and opens it.
She is bent over looking in when she spots it, lemonade.
“I knew that name sounded familiar, but I didn’t know exactly where I’d heard it,”
said Virginia.
I hate gambling. I always have. Virginia father was a professional gambler and I
almost though that’s what she was going to be after college, but she got involved with
the NSA . I told her, “If you went to church more you would know who he is,” I stated,
“He’s the guy that’s head over that lottery.”
Virginia tried to change the conversation by asking me, “What else was on the news
today?”
“That Billion Dollar Lottery Ticket
winner still
hasn’t come forward,” I told her
laughing, “I was talking to Beulah the other day and told her too bad that ticket in the
collection plate wasn’t the winner?”
She grabs the bottle of lemonade from the refrigerator as the microwave beeps, and
she walks over to me and demands, “Repeat that!”
The look in her eyes told me she had no idea, “Too bad that Lottery Ticket was a loser.”
Virginia continued to glare at me, “You said something about a collection plate?”
“Yes. I found a lottery ticket in last Sunday’s collection plate,” and “I told Beulah and
she said she would destroy it once she got into the counting room,” I told her.
Virginia asked me like she was interrogating me, “Who else knew about the ticket?”
I thought carefully and my mind drew a blank, “Just Beulah as far as I know.”
Virginia removes the piping hot plate from the microwave.
She made me so nervous I felt drained. I told her, “Goodnight,” and walked up the
stairs to my room.
Virginia said, “Goodnight. I’m turning in as soon as I eat and check my email.”
Detective Virginia Breeze
I love my private library because it has everything I need, my private gun collection and
various books
about
collecting
guns
and
a
computer system that allows
my full
and
exclusive access to any and everything. I decide to walk down the narrow hallway into my
private
library and
check my
NSA
email
while
I
eat
dinner.
Opening
the bottle
of
lemonade and takes a drink as I begin going through the various NSA Security Access
points. The last screen asks for my username and password. I went directly to the email
section and saw a message flashing and arrow directly to the message marked Urgent!!!
The name Denishia Logan popped up on the screen, “Denishia sent this before she was
killed.” Virginia begins reading the file regarding Shawn Graves dated 1986:
Inmate: Shawn Graves III was badly burned on his face, and hands. After several months in ICU and
reconstructive surgery, Shawn was released from prison.
Original Sentence: 10 years for Felony Drug Possession.
I begin reading a supplementary file. I look at Shawn Graves’ mug shot and the original arrest
record. It seems the Officer Cornelius West was the arresting officer. As I read, the thought
keeps suggesting itself, “This is the explanation for Captain West’s intense interests in the
Murdock Case.” Under the circumstance’s it would be best to speak directly to Captain West.
I continue reading the account of the prison fire in which Eric Campbell died in June of
1986.There is
another file attached. I point the curser and the file opened and it read:
Inmate, Eric Campbell was found dead in his cell at approximately 6:54 A. M. Wednesday, October 1,
1986. Campbell’s death is among several unexplained deaths. The Medical Examiner’s Conclusion: Dead
before the fire.
Current Status: Body Cremated.
I open the photo file attachment. From the moment I looked at the photographs of
both men, something stunk to high heaven. Back and forth I continued to flip between
Shawn Graves photograph and Eric Campbell’s and the two men are almost a dead ringer.
I keep staring at Eric Campbell’s mug shot and the man bears a shocking resemblance,
but it is clearly not the man claiming to be Shawn Graves today, but after extensive plastic
surgery,
they
wouldn’t
match.
I look at the name and, photograph of the Warden in
charge
of
the
prison
and
it
was
examination,
it
appeared
that
the
Thompson, the apartment loft manager, are one in the same, “Well I’ll be doggone.”
The sun was bright, and the morning air is humid, thunder rumbles from a distance as
Virginia gets out of the car. It is not her usual car, but a loaner from the Police
Department. Virginia
hates
departmental
cars because no matter what they do, it still has the look and feel of a police car, and in
her opinion, that can make his a moving target in some communities. She parallel parks
along the curb in front of the Clarkson Lofts, and she head to the front door, and rings
the buzzer. A man with a sleeping voice answers, “Yeah, what is it.”
She opens her wallet and holds it up to the camera, “I’m here to see Mr. Allen
Allen Thompson, “Nuh
uhhhhhhh!!!”
Upon
closer
Allen
Thompson
from
the
prison
and
old
Mr.
Thompson,” replies Virginia.
“Doesn’t live here anymore,” responds the man, then the speaker cuts off.
Ringing the buzzer again, “Now what is it,” asked the man in an agitated tone.
“Open up,” she demands holding up her badge. The lock opens with a buzz, and he
enters.
The guard sits at his desk in the main lobby,
Virginia walks over to the desk and he has large box of chicken and a bottle of hot sauce
sitting in front of him. The large dark skinned man in a wrinkled gray uniform. His Badge
is turned backwards, making it impossible to get his name. He takes a bite out of a plump
green jalapeño pepper, “What seems to be the problem?”
“I need to speak with Mr. Allen Thompson,” and she starts walking in the direction of Mr.
Thompson’s apartment. The Guard stands and yells, “I been trying to tell you, he doesn’t
live here anymore-his daughter put him in a nursing home!” “A nursing home!” said Virginia.
He takes a bite from a chicken leg, “Yeah, some lady claiming to be his daughter came
and got him and said she was putting him in Evergreen Springs on Big Bend Blvd.
“That’s interesting…,” said Virginia.
“Sure as hell is... he took care of himself and managed this building. I don’t buy any of it,”
he says as he throws his clean chicken bone in the trashcan next to him.
Virginia walks towards the door and leave, and the guard presses the buzzer and the lock
release. The guard’s phone rings as he watches Virginia go out the door, “Larry here.” “A lady
cop, looking for information on Thompson, but my bet is she’s headed your way.
