Violence of the Father (A Trinity of Death Romantic Suspense Series Book 2) (7 page)

T
his building is pretty
damn close to my worst nightmare.

There are photos of babies everywhere, there are people who look close to either crying tears of joy or desperation, and every twenty feet, there’s a cross or a Bible verse.

It’s like Satan looked into my mind, found everything that I’ve recently been concerned about that doesn’t end in death, and created a building out of it.

The building is even across from the baseball field that Glenn Erwin was found at, so it seems Satan has already does his work here.

“Welcome to New Hearts adoption agency. My name is Julia Simpson,” the secretary says. She’s in her early to mid-twenties with thick blond hair and such a small body frame, it seems like the slightest amount of heavy lifting could break her. She also looks like she’s been crying recently. “How can I help you two?”

“Are you all right?” Lauren asks.

“Yes,” the woman says. “I’m just—my father passed away recently. I was just reminded of him by something, and I’m okay. Are you two interested in adopting?”

“Uh, no,” Lauren says. She rubs the back of her neck. I’ve learned some body language signs from Lauren, but I’m not entirely sure what that one means. I know someone touching their face is more likely to be lying, but is the neck close enough to the face for me to consider that she does want to adopt a child? Does she want to adopt one now?

If I thought prayer could work, I’d start praying now. I avoid looking at both of them by looking down at Julia’s desk. This is an instant mistake because it’s covered in religious paraphernalia. A tiny porcelain angel with a cross on its dress, a wooden cross nailed to the inside wall of her desk, a magnet crucifix on a lamp with a stained glass shade, a day-by-day Bible verse calendar, and the Bible verse Philippians 4:13,
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,
on her mousepad.

“We’re detectives for the Detroit police,” Lauren says, showing her badge. Julia’s eyebrows shoot up. “Can we talk to the owner, Mr. Patrick White, or someone else who’s in charge?”

“Of course,” she says. “But our owner isn’t here right now. Our executive director is walking right up to us though.”

Lauren and I both turn to see a man with white hair coming forward. He’s anything but old, though, with a strong jawline and the smooth skin of a younger man. He’s a few inches taller than me, but thin enough that he isn’t intimidating. He’s wearing a very nice black suit with a pin in the shape of a heart with the word “new” carved into it.

“Hello, I’m Christopher Lush,” he says. “It sounds like you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes, we’re detectives for the Detroit police,” Lauren says, flashing her badge again. “We have some questions about two people who adopted children through this agency.”

“Can I ask what this pertains to?” Christopher asks.

“Murder,” Lauren states.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Are the children okay?” he asks. “It’s not one of them that was—”

“No,” Lauren reassures him. “It’s not the children. Two fathers were killed though. Can we talk somewhere more private?”

“Yes, of course, that’s probably best,” he says. He leads us down the hallway to a large door with his name engraved in the center. He opens the door and we step in. His office has a long plain steel table with one of those ergonomic chairs behind it and two bright red armchairs in front of it. There’s a mural on the right of children from all over the world holding hands. On the left, cards are pinned all over the wall, varying from gratitude to Christmas cards.

Christopher sits in the chair behind the desk and gestures for Lauren and I to sit in the chairs in front of it. As I sit down, I feel like I’m sinking into the armchair. I try to rearrange myself while Lauren seems completely composed as she sits up straight. She takes two photographs out of her bag and slides them over the desk to Christopher.

“Our two victims were Glenn Erwin and Philip Herdon,” she says. “Do you recognize either of these men?”

Christopher picks up the two photos and checks both of them. He sets the photos back down.

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know either of them,” he says. “And even if I did, I can’t disclose whether or not they were associated with the agency, but even if they were, their association with this agency had nothing to do with their deaths.”

“They weren’t deaths—they were murders,” I say. “How can you be so sure that nobody in your agency was involved? I’m sure you have many employees here. You can’t be certain where they all were when these two were murdered.”

“This agency is like a family,” he says. “I know that sounds cliché, but I have complete faith in everyone who works here. I would loan money to any of my employees and I know they would pay it back the moment they could. We are all children of God and I would be able to tell if any of them had strayed from their spiritual path.”

“How else would you explain that two fathers who adopted from your agency are now dead?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I’m sure they had other things in common too. Maybe they shared a taxi. Maybe they drank coffee at the same cafe. Maybe they talked on an internet forum. But whatever happened that caused them to be murdered did not happen because of someone within this agency.”

I stand up. “I’m sure we’ll be able to get a warrant.”

He stares up at me. “I’ll be here. Though, you should know that my father was a judge and I highly doubt that you will be able to get a warrant. Your evidence is barely circumstantial. It’s just a coincidence.”

“We’ll see,” I say.

I lead the way out, Lauren following closely behind me. Once we’re both outside the office, I close the door.

“You know he’s right,” she whispers. “We won’t be able to get a warrant.”

I shrug, walking up to the secretary’s desk. Julia is talking to another man with light brown hair, threaded with silver strands. He has to be in his late forties to early fifties and he’s wearing the same pin as Christopher.

“God will heal your pain,” the man says, his voice soothing. “
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
He will not forsake you. Your father is in a better place now and you should rejoice in the life he lived and the fact that he is in a place where there isn’t any pain. There is nothing to be sad about.”

Lauren leans over closer to me, her body pressing against mine.

“Do you remember me telling you about why the PVP Killer began murdering people?” she whispers.

“His mother had been diagnosed with cancer,” I whisper back. “His fear of her dying and having to confront the very real aspect of death caused him to deal with it by killing others.”

“Wow, you do listen,” she teases. She nods toward Julia. “She just lost her father. Maybe it’s making her worry about Heaven and Hell, so she decided to start killing people in a way that she thinks will save their souls.”

“I thought we were under the safe assumption that The Son and The Father were men,” I mutter.

“We’ve been wrong before,” she says, shrugging. “It’s just a title. The Father is both the father of Jesus and the father of the universe, so somebody could consider Him to be as genderless as God.”

“Female is still a gender,” I mutter. “The Holy Spirit should also have been genderless, but she was an evil fucking singer that happened to be female.”

The man turns around—he’s handsome enough except his face is a little too round—and Julia notices us.

“Ah, detectives, this is Patrick White. He’s the founder of New Hearts.”

“Good afternoon,” Patrick says. “Julia just told me why you two are here. Something about murder? I’m very, very sorry that happened. Can I have the names of the victims, so I can visit the families, make sure the children are coping well?”

“You can talk to your executive director about that and see if you can give us any more information about them because he’s not budging,” I say.

He nods. “Of course. Christopher knows more about the legal aspects of everything, but I’m sure I can sway him to give you whatever you need. But while the two of you are here, I strongly encourage both of you to look into adoption. I have four adopted children myself and they are such blessings. I know people say that all of the time, but there is nothing like raising a child and when you adopt, it’s just the most selfless act.”

“We’re not interested in adoption,” I say.

Lauren rubs the back of her neck again. I’m really going to have to look up what that means later.

He shrugs. “I understand. The decision is always up to you and I would want anyone who considers adoption to be one hundred percent certain that it’s what they want—I’ve heard of adoptive parents giving back their kids, and it’s such an emotional trauma to the kids. But, if you ever think about having kids or more kids if you already have them, please consider adoption and our agency. I hope I’ll see you two sometime in the future.”

He rushes past us, sipping from his coffee.

“That guy was conversational,” I say. “I wonder if it’s the coffee or the stress.”

“Really?” Lauren asks. “I’m wondering if he could tell that we were a couple. Maybe after years of working with adopting parents, he has instincts about those things.”

“Or he was hoping we were in two separate relationships and both of us wanted kids, so he’d have two couples paying him money.” I turn toward Julia, stepping up to her desk. “Julia, hey, I just wanted to ask how much you know about parents’ personal lives before they adopt? Or even after they adopt.”

“We learn as much as possible,” she says, tugging on her earrings, which are, of course, crosses. “We don’t want a child going to the wrong family.”

“So would you know if one your parents had traveled to another city after the adoption was completed?” I ask.

Her forehead furrows. “No? I don’t think so,” she says. “I mean, we could have a general idea of where they would go if they told us where they like to travel to.”

“Okay, well, thank you for that information.” I head to the door and Lauren follows me. We get into my car and I stare at the building. “Julia seemed a bit nervous, don’t you think?”

Lauren nods. “Yep.”

I glance over at her. She seems lost in thought.

“Let me guess…you’re not thinking about Julia.”

“I really hadn’t thought much about adoption, but Mr. White had a good point,” she says. “If I adopted, I could give a home to someone who already needs a home. Don’t you think it would be a better thing to do than to bring a new life into the world?”

“I think you should do what you want,” I say. “I think that’s what everyone should do.”

“But, that could affect my relationship with…other people,” she says.

“That’s a consequence of every action you make,” I say, starting the car. I pull out of the parking lot and begin our drive back to the station. Lauren doesn’t say anything.

I
unwrap
my sub as Lauren sits across from me at
Meats, Etc.
She’s barely talked—giving one word answers to everything I say—so I was hoping that stopping to get some lunch might help her become more talkative. Though, the fact that I texted Romano and he told me that my apartment is still being investigated doesn’t help my mood.

“Julia is the most obvious suspect right now,” I say. “She could have gotten all the information she needs about her victims. She could have known that Philip had extra income coming in and she could have stopped by the bar and figured out by watching him. I doubt he would remember the secretary of the adoption agency he used. And with Glenn Erwin, she could have known he had some connection to Detroit. I’m sure if we look into his records, we’ll find that he has family here, or that he lived here when he was younger.”

“It’s certainly possible,” she says.

I lean back against the restaurant’s bench. “Are you angry at me?”

“No,” she says.

I try to read her face, but I’m simply not as good at it as she is.

“Is something else upsetting you?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Everything is fine.”

Well, there are three deadly words. My phone vibrates. It’s from Philip Herdon’s wife, Hailey.

“Excuse me for one minute,” I say to Lauren before pressing
answer.
“Hello, Mrs. Herdon.”

“Detective Rodriguez,” she says. “I just remembered something and I thought I should tell you in case it has something to do with these serial murders.”

“I always love help on my cases,” I say.

Lauren smirks at me. I shrug. It may not be true, but at least I’m trying to be kind.

“Well, Philip was being harassed by this guy who played the piano sometimes at our church,” she says. “He told me that this guy said he was worried about Philip’s soul.”

“Church pianist,” I say. “That is interesting. Did this guy happen to know about your husband’s habit of inventing charges at the bar?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s possible. The church isn’t that far away from the bar.”

“Well, if they can’t find an answer in Jesus, they find it at the bottom of a bottle,” I say. I feel a sharp pain in my knee as Lauren kicks it. “Right. Anyway, can I have this guy’s name?”

“His name is Jack Hamlin, and for some reason, I was given to believe he’s also an officer of the law.”

I stare blankly at Lauren. She raises an eyebrow.

“What?” she asks.

“Uh, Mrs. Herdon, I am going to look into this,” I say. “Thank you for your tip.”

“Of course. I hope you find the killer.”

“I hope so too,” I say. “I’ll talk to you…sometime later, probably. Have a good day.”

“Goodbye, Detective Rodriguez.”

I hang up.

“What is it?” Lauren asks.

“Jack Hamlin,” I say.

“What?” Lauren asks. “Romano’s new partner?”

“Apparently, he had been stalking Philip Herdon and failed to mention it to us,” I say. “And, apparently, he was worried about Philip’s soul. Lots of coincidences are just lining up.”

“Why wouldn’t Jack tell us any of this the whole time we’re investigating Philip’s death?”

“I think that’s a question we need to go ask him.”

J
ack Hamlin is hunched
over his desk. I know that he and Romano were working on some case where a grocery store cashier was shot after closing up, but it’s a low-profile case and they’ve had plenty of time to help us on our case. Which means that Hamlin knows exactly where our investigation has been going and he hasn’t been concerned at all that it could lead back to him.