Beside Still Waters (Psalm 23 Mysteries) Read online

  “Look, I don’t know who you are and I don’t know what you think I have. I’m just a tourist. I was here for the long weekend. Then I go back home where I’m just a church secretary. You must have me mistaken for somebody else.”

  He grabbed the blindfold and yanked it up off of her head. She blinked in shock as she found herself staring at a guy who looked like a younger version of Uncle. He was holding up a picture of her. It was blurry, but there she was at Pearl Harbor.

  “You want to tell me I’ve made a mistake and this isn’t you?” he asked.

  “I don’t understand. Yes, that’s me. I visited the memorial. So?”

  “So, you’re going to tell me everything you know.”

  “I don’t know anything!” Tears of frustration and fear burned her eyes.

  A creak above their heads caused him to look up with a scowl. He turned and climbed up a narrow set of stairs and slammed the door at the top closed behind him.

  Cindy scooted forward to the edge of her chair and then off it and onto her knees with a thud. She bit back a yelp of pain as her left knee landed on something sharp.

  She could hear voices but didn’t stop to focus on hearing what was being said. She rolled onto her back and doubled her knees up. She pushed off the floor with shoulders and feet, arching her back.

  Her hands were handcuffed behind her back. If she could get them in front of her she could hopefully get her legs untied and find something she could use as a weapon. She should have tried before but she’d still been too dazed to think clearly.

  She struggled, trying to stretch her arms far enough that she could get her wrists under her rear. She arched her back harder until it felt like she was going to break her spine and she strained harder. Her hands were getting coated in blood from where the metal was digging into her wrists.

  Finally she made it and then strained to make it past her legs. The voices upstairs were getting louder and she contorted herself as much as she could. She needed just another inch of clearance.

  Her right ankle twisted painfully as she forced her hands around the feet. Finally she cleared them and she had her hands in front of her. She sat up and began to work at the knot on the rope binding her legs. Her hands slipped and she wiped them on the dress.

  Geanie will never let me borrow anything else. Even as she struggled to undo the knots she couldn’t believe how the absurdest things could come to mind even when your life was in danger.

  A fingernail snapped off and another bent backwards. She kept going and finally the knot began to give. She redoubled her efforts as she could hear more footsteps above her. The knot was loosening ever so slowly and she wanted to scream. Finally, it came free, and she yanked the rope off her legs and stood up.

  Her right ankle twisted underneath her but she caught herself on the chair before she could fall. Even though the boat was docked she could still feel motion and it made her that much more unsteady on her feet. She turned and made her way limping to the door as quickly as she could. She took the stairs, using her hands to support much of the weight on her right side which was hard given the handcuffs.

  She held her breath as she pushed at the door. It was unlocked. She knew she’d have only a minute to run for it. She didn’t know which part of the boat she was in or where the men were. If she tried to make it to the dock someone might see her and help her, but that would depend on where they were. She knew that some parts of the island were very isolated. They might not even be on the same island. If she made it into the water it would be a simple thing for them to catch her.

  With her hurt ankle and wrists still cuffed together she couldn’t trust to speed. So she’d have to rely on stealth. She opened the door just enough so that she could see out. She was facing the ocean and couldn’t see anything but water.

  The voices were coming through clearly now. Money seemed to be the topic of conversation. Maybe if she was very lucky the two men would kill each other. She eased the door open and slipped out, half crouching. She closed the door quietly. There was a wall behind her with the door in the center of it. She eased her way to the one side of it and peeked around the corner. She could see the two men talking heatedly.

  She pulled back and moved to the other side of the boat. She peeked around the wall there and couldn’t see anyone. In front of her the railing was only about three feet tall. If she could get over the side and into the water without getting caught maybe she could make it to another boat.

  She scurried to the railing and hoisted her left leg over, noticing that her knee was bloody. She turned and saw that there were little drops of blood to show where she’d gone. She didn’t have time to worry about it, though. A round life preserver was hanging on the railing and she grabbed it and put it over her head. Handcuffed it would be hard to swim effectively and quietly. The preserver, as long as there was nothing wrong with it, would make her job easier.

  She eased her right leg over the railing and nearly froze as she looked down at the ocean beneath her. It was a good four foot drop into the water from the lowest part of the rail. She eased herself down as low to the water as she could and then finally lowered herself down. Her feet and calves went into the water and then it was time to let go.

  Terror surged through her. She didn’t want to fall into the water. She didn’t want them to hear her do so either.

  God, please help me, she prayed. She let go, grabbing the life preserver as she did. She dropped into the water with enough force to almost tear the life preserver out of her hands. She clung to it, though, gritting her teeth at how much noise she had just made. At least she was on the opposite side of the boat. Plus the two men were arguing so loudly hopefully they didn’t hear her splash.

  She positioned the life preserver just in front of her so it was keeping her head and part of her chest out of the water. Then she began to kick, making sure to keep her legs underwater to minimize the sound. She knew instantly it was going to be hard going. She kicked off her sandals, wondering why she hadn’t thought to do so earlier.

  You can do this, she told herself. Just keep kicking.

  Behind her she heard a gunshot ring out and her heart jumped. One of the men must have shot the other. Maybe she was safe.

  More likely, though, her escape was about to be discovered. She gave up all pretense at stealth as she kicked wildly, heading for the next boat over at the dock. Her knee was stinging like fire from the salt water and her ankle was throbbing with every kick.

  She was halfway between the two boats. She was going to make it. Once on board hopefully she’d be able to call for help. How long would it take the authorities to arrive? Could she hide long enough to be safe?

  Something hit the water inches from her and a moment later she heard another gunshot.

  He’s shooting at me, she realized. She tried to change course, to zig zag, but she was moving impossibly slow. Water splashed her in the face and she coughed on it, choking. She couldn’t breathe and the pain was becoming unbearable. She saw someone on the other boat and she tried to shout but just sucked in more water. She couldn’t wave her arms without abandoning her life preserver and her injured legs wouldn’t allow her to tread water for very long. If she tried to float she’d just be a sitting target.

  She had to keep going. She kicked as hard as she could, until the pain was nearly blinding. Another bullet went into the water nearby. Then another splashed water into her eyes.

  She didn’t dare risk looking behind her. She just tried to focus on her destination. It was a small yacht with the name Pearl of the Deep written on it.

  Her life preserver jerked, and she saw a bullet hole in it just as she heard the shot ring out.

  She swerved again, wishing she knew how many bullets before the man would have to reload. At the rate they were going it seemed that he would run out of bullets before she could reach the other ship.

  Finally the Pearl of the Deep loomed in front of her. She aimed for a ladder on the side. She reached it and hauled hers
elf out, praying she didn’t get shot as she did so. She made it onto the boat and collapsed on the deck. She was dizzy and sick with exhaustion.

  A shadow fell over her and she glanced up to see a man looking at her in surprise. He was wearing khaki shorts and a salmon colored polo shirt and looked to be in his forties. He was staring at her with open curiosity.

  “Where did you come from?” he asked.

  “Please help me,” she sobbed. “I’ve been kidnapped. And now they’re trying to kill me! It’s that boat over there,” she said, pointing. “They were shooting at me.”

  “That’s one of the worst things I’ve ever heard,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Please, can you call the police?” she begged. “And get down. They might shoot you, too.”

  “If they couldn’t hit you when you were ten feet away I’m sure they won’t be able to hit me now,” he said, smiling.

  He doesn’t believe me, she realized in despair. How had he missed hearing the gunshots?

  “Please, you don’t understand. We’re in terrible danger,” she sobbed. “Call Kapono. He’s a detective with the Honolulu police. He’ll be able to help.”

  “Not in time, my dear,” the man said, crouching down beside her. “I’m afraid you’re a long way from Honolulu.”

  She heard shouting and she twisted her head around so she could finally see the dock. The guy she recognized as her kidnapper was running down it.

  “Please we have no time!” she insisted, struggling to get up. “That man on the dock is the one who kidnapped me.”

  “But what does he want with you?” the man asked.

  “I don’t know! He thinks I have something.”

  “Maybe you should just give it to him.”

  “I would, but he won’t even tell me what it is. How can I give him something when I have no idea what it is he wants?”

  The man shook his head. “That is a conundrum. Well, you know what they say?”

  “What?” she asked as she made it to her feet.

  “You just can’t get good help these days.”

  7

  Tuesday morning Jeremiah was waiting in his office when Mark arrived for his first official counseling appointment. He had spent the last couple of hours prepping himself mentally for the challenge ahead. When the detective entered his office Jeremiah was able to greet him with a smile that was relaxed and confident.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  Mark grunted. “Not from where I’m sitting.”

  Jeremiah clasped his hands together. “You know when it comes to these sorts of things a lot is dependent on your attitude.”

  “Then we’re in for a world of hurt,” Mark admitted.

  “So, I noticed.”

  Jeremiah leaned back in his chair. “Let’s get started.”

  “Okay, what do you want me to do?”

  “For now, I’d just like you to talk about whatever’s on your mind.”

  “Well, baseball season is upon us.”

  Jeremiah recognized a stalling tactic when he heard one. It was no matter. If Mark didn’t want to jump right in he had ways of getting him to open up.

  “Yeah, what team do you cheer for?

  “Dodgers.”

  Jeremiah nodded. “I find it fascinating that baseball is America’s past time when it seems like football is America’s passion.”

  “It’s like comparing apples and oranges. Two entirely different things and two entirely different experiences.”

  “Oh?” Jeremiah asked politely.

  “Sure, football is how tough and gritty the fighting gets. You ever go to a baseball game though?”

  “I haven’t,” Jeremiah said.

  “Whole different feel. It’s like going to a backyard barbeque. Everyone’s just there soaking up the sun, enjoying the company, and watching some guys play. Doesn’t matter who you are, where you come from, everyone’s welcome.”

  “Is that so?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Yeah. In June every year Paul and I would go catch a game. For a couple of hours there was no work, no bad guys to catch, just a couple of guys hanging out. I looked forward to that game every year.”

  “And this year?”

  Mark’s face clouded over. “Got the tickets a while back, but I don’t have anyone to go with. It’s a shame, too. We always had a good time.”

  “And now you can’t because he’s dead.”

  “Yeah. And part of me is pissed at him for that,” Mark said.

  “He bailed on one of the most special events of the year for you. It’s understandable that you’re angry.”

  “Yeah. Imagine that. I’m furious with him for getting himself killed.”

  There was a moment of silence as Jeremiah allowed Mark to process what he’d just said.

  “Stupid, huh?” Mark said after a minute.

  “The death of someone we care about often feels like a betrayal even though our rational mind knows they didn’t want to leave.”

  Mark nodded. “Yeah, but Paul really mucked it up good. He didn’t just die. I mean, a hundred times one or both of us could have gotten killed while we worked cases, arresting killers. He couldn’t just take a bullet that way and make it easier on everyone. No, he got himself killed after he stuck me with a mess. He knew what I’d do to that guy in the interrogation room. He made sure I would, pushed my buttons right before he left. And, then, on top of all of that, I find out he was lying to me every day. I had to find out from the coroner that I didn’t know the first thing about who my partner, my best friend, really was.”

  Jeremiah could see the pain and the anger burning inside Mark. They had touched on some of the core problems he needed to deal with. They had gotten there even faster than he would have imagined.

  “What was he lying about?” Jeremiah asked.

  Mark hunched his shoulders and locked his jaw as he averted his eyes. “He was lying about who he was. Turns out the real Paul got killed as a kid and the one I knew took that kid’s place.”

  “A changeling?” Jeremiah asked, trying to mask the sudden interest he felt.

  “I guess. The family won’t talk to me about it. They found bones in that mass grave up at the camp that belong to the real Paul. You’d think his family would want answers just as much as I do.”

  “Maybe not. Any way you look at it, their son and brother is dead. Figuring out whether he died as a kid or a couple of months ago won’t bring either the real Paul or the imposter back and will just complicate their lives and the grieving process needlessly.”

  “Sometimes you make a lot of sense,” Mark said.

  Jeremiah shrugged noncommittally.

  “Anyway, nobody wants to deal with it. Seems I’m the only one who cares.”

  “You were his partner.”

  “Yes, yes I was.”

  Mark looked down at his hands and Jeremiah could sense the grief that was pouring through him.

  Mark cleared his throat and when he spoke again his voice sounded ragged. “I need to know. I trusted that man with my life for years. I need to know the truth about him.”

  “It’s possible he didn’t even know the full truth. It’s also possible he kept you in the dark to protect you.”

  “That’s not what partners, friends, do. They tell each other their problems and then work them out together.”

  And just like that the specter of his own past and the fears that he had about Cindy discovering his secrets reared its head. As calmly as he could Jeremiah pushed the thoughts to the side, reminding himself to focus on Mark.

  “Okay, so what can you do about how you feel?” Jeremiah prompted.

  “I can find out the truth. Maybe that will help me find some peace with his death.”

  “And if you never find the truth?” Jeremiah asked.

  The detective’s face contorted. “I can’t accept that. I have to find out the truth. I’m a detective. How can I expect to be a detective and do the job if I can’t even find out the truth about my par
tner?”

  “You’re worried that the fact that you trusted him, never suspected that he wasn’t who he said he was, means you’re a bad detective?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. I don’t know.”

  “Is it possible for any detective to be right all the time?” Jeremiah asked.

  Mark snorted. “Of course not. We’re only human and we can only draw conclusions based on the evidence we have and what our experience tells us about that evidence.”

  “Okay. Did Paul ever give you any reason to suspect that he wasn’t who he said he was?”

  There was a pause so long Jeremiah began to think Mark wasn’t going to answer at all. When he finally did, his voice was barely a whisper. “I’ve laid awake nights, going over everything. Every case, every conversation, anything I can remember about him trying to answer that very question.”

  Jeremiah waited a few moments before pushing. “And in all of your searching have you remembered anything that should have given you pause?”

  Mark shook his head. “No, not one single cursed thing.”

  “Given the time spent together, the content of your conversations, would you expect that any detective could have found something suspicious?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you think you should have been able to do what no other detective could have?”

  Mark took a shaky breath. “Because I’m beating myself up about something I had no control over.”

  Jeremiah didn’t offer a comment, just sat and waited.

  “So, are you saying I should just let it go?” Mark asked.

  “What do you think?”

  “I need to know the truth.”

  “I’m not suggesting you stop looking for it.”

  “Then I guess the point is, I have to let my guilt over not figuring out there was something wrong about him go.”

  “If you did, it would probably be a tremendous relief to you.”

  “Yeah, and to Traci,” Mark said. “She’s told me a hundred times that it wasn’t my fault, that I couldn’t have known. Why didn’t I believe her?”

  “Because you weren’t ready to hear the truth. And because you know she loves you and wouldn’t want you to suffer.”