Beside Still Waters (Psalm 23 Mysteries)

  “Well, nice to officially meet you. I’m Al.”

  “Cindy,” she said quickly.

  “You staying here long, Cindy?” he asked.

  “Just a couple more days.”

  “That’s the problem with being a tourist. The time flies so quickly.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Well, once you get in that water time will completely fall away from you. You’ll forget all about it. It’s just you and the fishes of the deep.”

  “It sounds nice, but I’m not going in the water.”

  “You can’t miss it. It’s an amazing experience,” he said with a frown.

  “I believe you, I just can’t.”

  Before he could say anything one of the other crewmembers shouted out for him.

  Al waved at the guy. “Gotta go. Nice talking.”

  “You, too,” she said, staring for a moment as he walked across the ship, not a hint of unsteadiness in his stride.

  She turned her eyes to the ocean. It was beautiful, magnificent. In the distance she swore she saw a fin break the surface and she sucked in her breath. It was also deadly.

  ~

  Nearly an hour after leaving the dock, the catamaran was anchored in clear blue waters and one by one the passengers were taking turns stepping off the back of the ship and into the water. Cindy, though, was happily stretched out in her deck chair enjoying the sun. She had her back to the snorkelers and sat facing the open ocean.

  “Mind if I sit with you?”

  Cindy looked up to see a jovial looking middle aged woman smiling down at her.

  “Be my guest,” Cindy said, waving to the chair beside her.

  “Thanks, I’m Marge, by the way,” the woman said, sitting heavily down.

  “Cindy. Pleased to meet you.”

  “This is my idea of vacationing. Looking at the ocean, soaking up the sun. It would be perfect if I hadn’t let my husband convince me to leave my book back in the hotel room. I’m surprised a young thing like you isn’t out in that water seeing all there is to see,” Marge said.

  “I don’t swim,” Cindy said.

  “Oh, that’s a shame. I’m not very good at it myself otherwise I’d be out there with my husband,” Marge said, sounding a bit wistful.

  Once upon a time Cindy had been very good at swimming but that was when she was little. Back when her sister was still alive. She shook her head, not wanting to introduce her own dark clouds into an otherwise beautiful day.

  “What book are you reading?” she asked to get both her and Marge off the topic.

  “Oh, this fascinating book about local legends and crimes. This man who used to work for the police now writes books about the local stories in several regions of the country. Gerald Wilson is his name. I just love all of his books. He’s going to have a new one coming out soon about southern California.”

  “So I’d heard,” Cindy said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

  “Oh, you’ve heard of him!” Marge said, sounding delighted.

  Cindy nodded. Not only had she heard of him, she had been interviewed by him for his book on southern California regarding the Passion Week Killer. That was definitely something she didn’t want to get into with Marge.

  She wanted a quiet vacation, free from serial killers, thieves, and murderers.

  Too late, she thought, suppressing a sigh.

  “Well you simply must read his book about Hawaii. Night Marchers, the spirit of Pele, murderers who disappear in the jungles. It’s all terribly thrilling.

  “Maybe I’ll check it out,” Cindy said, mostly just to get the woman to change topics.

  “Cindy!”

  She glanced over her shoulder just as Al walked up. He was carrying a long, red flotation device with straps at either end. “I grabbed you one of these. Everyone else is in the water; you just have to go.”

  “I don’t swim,” Cindy said.

  “Oh, come on everyone can swim.”

  “Not me. I won’t.” It was true. It wasn’t that she couldn’t swim. She absolutely would not swim.

  “Look, we have these nice life preserves, floaties, they go around your waist and keep you on top of the water. It does all the work so all you have to do is stare at fish. Some of the best snorkeling in all the world is right here. You’ll see fish you won’t see anywhere else.”

  Cindy wished he’d let it go, but apparently he took his job very seriously.

  “I really don’t want to. I just want to sit here and relax, no stress for me. That’s more work than I want to do right now,” she said, hoping to appeal to his island spirit. “You know, hang loose.”

  “You just jump off the back of the boat. What could be easier?”

  She felt her stomach clench and she could taste bile in her mouth. “No,” she whispered fiercely.

  He raised his hands and backed away slowly.

  “You one crazy wahine, you know that?” he asked.

  “Well I know this wahine feels like getting a little crazy,” Marge said, standing up. “You’ve talked me into it.”

  She reached for the life preserver he was holding.

  “We’ll leave this one for her in case she changes her mind. I’ll get you a different one,” he offered.

  “Nonsense. You heard the girl. She’s not going in the water.”

  Marge grabbed the life preserver and he looked like he wanted to argue with her but instead just shook his head and walked away.

  Cindy relaxed back into the chair and closed her eyes, trying to drink up the sunlight as Marge and Al headed for the back of the boat. She could feel the sun beating down on her, warming her through to her bones. She began to drowse, her mind slipping lazily from one thought to another.

  A scream of terror shattered the air.

  4

  Detective Mark Walters felt like he had bearded the lion in his den. The man sitting across from him was staring at him, daggers in his eyes. The silence that stretched between them was thick with tension.

  The weeks since his suspension from the police department had been a living nightmare, but it all paled in comparison to the danger he felt like he was in at that moment.

  “Look, I’m sorry I hauled you down here on your day off, but I don’t like this anymore than you do,” Mark growled, breaking the silence first and trying not to feel like that meant he had lost.

  Rabbi Jeremiah Silverman was still glowering at him. “I’m not your rabbi.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the closest thing to a rabbi or a priest or whatever that I’ve got. And I’ll be hanged if I am going to go spill my guts to the department shrink,” Mark said.

  They were sitting in Jeremiah’s office in the synagogue. The place was officially closed for the weekend which was how Mark had wanted it. He didn’t need Jeremiah’s secretary knowing why he was there.

  “I could refuse to sign off on your psych evaluation,” Jeremiah said, staring stonily at him.

  “And I could start asking how a crazy mother like you became a rabbi,” Mark said.

  He watched closely to see if his remark hit home. If it did, the rabbi refused to show it, face remaining inscrutable.

  “Take your shot,” he said with a shrug. “Though I’m not sure how your supervisors will feel about it.”

  Jeremiah had called his bluff.

  Mark sighed and leaned forward. “Look, just cut the crap. The department won’t even think about reinstating me without a psych evaluation and mandatory hours of therapy.”

  “How many?”

  “Too many. The point is-”

  “The point is you think I’ll just let you off easy.”

  “I was hoping so,” Mark said, locking his jaw.

  Jeremiah leaned forward. His eyes looked tired, but there was a determined air about him. “Look, Mark. If you insist on doing this there’s no holding back here. You’re right, as a rabbi I do have counseling experience which can be called upon in these types of circumstances. But I won’t give you a pass. If you come to me f
or the hours, you’re going to have to put in the effort. It’s both our jobs if we don’t do this right.”

  Mark slumped in his chair. Jeremiah was right, he just didn’t want to hear it. He’d already had four sessions with the department psychologist, enough to know that he didn’t trust the guy to be the one deciding his fate. And he wasn’t someone he had any intention of spilling his guts to ever.

  “Fine.”

  “Okay, we can start now.”

  “Now?”

  “Unless you’re not serious,” Jeremiah said, lacing his fingers together.

  “Need I remind you that I did what I did to save your skin?” Mark demanded.

  “And I want you to rest assured that that will have no bearing whatsoever on my assessment of your ability to do your job.”

  “Bastard.”

  Jeremiah smirked. “No, but I’ve been called worse.”

  “I bet you have.”

  Mark leaned back in his chair. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  “Okay. Tell me what happened in that interrogation room.”

  Mark could feel the bile rising in the back of his throat. He shut his eyes, wishing he could block the memories as easily. He balled his fists in frustration. Jeremiah wasn’t going to pull any punches or beat around the bush.

  Fine. I asked for this. For him.

  “I realized that he was the only one who might be able to call off the hit. Your life, the lives of those kids, stacked up to a lot more than this man’s rights.”

  “And to more than your duties and responsibilities as a police officer.”

  Mark opened his eyes and stared at him, rage roiling inside him. “It’s my duty and responsibility to protect and serve. I was protecting all of you. I was doing the city a service.”

  “And you tortured a man because you felt you had to.”

  “Yes.”

  Jeremiah raised an eyebrow and Mark silently cursed, wishing he knew what to say, what answers would get him out of trouble and back on the job.

  But there was a long way to go and so many questions.

  “What can I say? Sometimes the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. I made a decision and I stand by it.”

  “You stand by it. You’d make it again?”

  “Yes.”

  “But can you live with it?”

  Mark could feel himself beginning to sweat. He felt like the rabbi was staring right through him, piercing his very soul.

  “I have nightmares,” he whispered, feeling like he was having to wrest the words free. He hadn’t admitted that to anyone, not even his wife, even though she surely knew. He awoke most mornings screaming, images of the man’s bloody face swimming in front of him.

  “I’m sure that you do.”

  “Look, I believe absolutely that it was the right decision.”

  “But just because you believe it was right doesn’t make it easy to live with.”

  “No,” he admitted. “I wish I never had to make it. I wish it had been Paul at the precinct, me heading to the mountains to try and help.”

  “So, you wish you were dead instead of sitting here?”

  And it sounded so terrible coming from the rabbi’s lips that way. But heaven help him, it was true. He could have died a hero and he wouldn’t have had to drag his wife through this hell with him.

  And I would never have known Paul was lying to me, that he wasn’t who he said he was.

  The mystery of his partner’s true identity still hadn’t been solved. The coroner was the only one who had discussed it with him. Knowing that the man he’d called Paul Dryer wasn’t, that the real Paul Dryer was in a mass grave at Green Pastures camp haunted him.

  It felt like his entire career was a house of cards that someone had knocked over with a single breath, like blowing out a candle.

  No, not someone. Me. I did this to myself.

  And he had been over it a thousand times in his head and he knew that Paul had known exactly what Mark would do, pushed the right buttons to ensure that Mark would do exactly what he did.

  “Did I do the right thing?” he whispered, hearing the heartache in his own voice.

  Jeremiah stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. When he spoke again his voice was also softer, and he could hear compassion in it. “What we’re here to discuss is how you feel, how you think, and whether that makes you fit for duty or not. What I believe, what the department believes, these are not the issue. The only opinion I’m here to give is on whether or not I think you can safely return to your duties as a police officer without putting yourself or others in jeopardy. And until we’re done, you won’t hear me voice opinions on anything else.”

  “That wasn’t designed to make me feel good,” Mark said.

  Jeremiah cleared his throat. “That’s not my job.”

  ~

  Cindy jumped to her feet as the scream was suddenly cut short. She ran over to the starboard side of the boat. The scream seemed to have been coming from that direction.

  She looked over the side and for a moment saw nothing. Then she made out a disturbance in the water close to the back of the boat. The water was being churned up and she saw two hands disappear below the surface.

  “Help! Someone’s drowning!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “Starboard side! Help!”

  One of the crew members raced her way and without a moment’s hesitation threw himself over the railing and into the ocean. He dove under and Cindy watched the spot where he and the passenger had disappeared anxiously.

  Seconds drug by and her heart began to pound harder and fear flooded her. Her fingers hurt where she was squeezing the railing with an iron grip. Another crew member reached her.

  “Where?” he shouted.

  She pointed with a shaking finger and he, too, dove into the water. Before he could go under, though, the first rescuer broke the surface with a gasp. A moment later she could see Marge’s head as he pulled her up. The two guys supported her and swam toward the back of the boat.

  Cindy raced around and was there when they pulled Marge up into the boat. The older woman was coughing up water and shaking uncontrollably. Someone quickly wrapped a blanket around her.

  “What happened to her floatation device?” she heard someone ask.

  The crew member who’d rescued her shook his head. “There was something wrong with it. I had to cut it free. I lost my dive knife, too.”

  Cindy followed as they moved Marge to a chair. The woman had begun to sob.

  “Her husband’s still in the water,” Cindy said. “Someone should get him.”

  “I’m on it,” a familiar voice said.

  She glanced at Al sideways before returning her attention to the distraught woman.

  “You’re going to be okay,” she said to Marge, laying a hand on her arm.

  The other woman shook her head. “It was terrible. I thought I was going to drown.”

  “But you didn’t. You’re safe now,” Cindy said, in what she hoped was a soothing voice.

  “For a minute everything was fine and I was looking at the fish and thinking it wasn’t so bad and I was glad I did it. Then it started pulling me under!”

  Cindy felt the hair raise on the back of her neck. “Something pulled you under? What was it?” she asked.

  “It was that stupid belt. It nearly killed me!”

  “The floatation belt?” Cindy asked. “The one Al gave you?”

  “That’s the one. It just suddenly got so heavy and it was sinking and I couldn’t fight it and I couldn’t get it to unbuckle. And then...and then I was underwater.”

  Marge began to cry harder and Cindy rubbed her back, making gentle sounds even as her own mind was racing.

  Al had wanted her to go in the water, had wanted her to wear that floatation device. If she had it would be her sitting where Marge was.

  Unless no one figured out where I was in time, she realized with a shiver. It had been her screams for help that had brought the crewmen to res
cue Marge. She felt like she was going to be sick.

  The ocean that had looked so beautiful and serene just minutes ago now looked ugly and dangerous to her. She wanted nothing more than for them to turn the boat around and get back to dry land as soon as possible.

  “Marge!”

  She looked up and saw an older man rushing toward them, his face contorted in fear.

  “Marge, are you all right?” he gasped as he dropped down beside the woman and wrapped his arms around her.

  Cindy didn’t know if Marge actually answered him or just burst into tears again. She stood up and moved back a few feet trying to give the couple their space. She looked around and noticed that nearly everyone seemed to be back onboard the catamaran.

  Ten minutes later they were on their way back to the port. A crewmember had explained that everyone onboard was going to be given a voucher for a free excursion since the trip was being cut short. They wanted to get back as quickly as possible so that Marge could be checked out by a physician. Cindy privately thought they should also be checking out all their safety equipment at the same time.

  The mood back was incredibly subdued as even the unaffected passengers seemed to be speaking in hushed tones. Death, or even a close call, could do that to people. It subdued and sobered. That was what it had done to her so many years before.

  Her brother, Kyle, came to mind. A brush with death had had the opposite affect on him. If anything it had made him louder, more exuberant, more reckless. She’d never been able to understand his attitude or truly forgive him for it.

  Cindy stood up and walked the length of the boat to stretch her legs. She kept careful hold of the railing as she did so. As she moved to the bow of the ship she realized that she was looking for Al. The thought of him holding out the faulty life preserver to her hadn’t left her mind and she wished she could ask him a few questions about it.

  Al, however, was nowhere to be seen. He must have been with the captain. Disappointed she made it all the way around the catamaran and back to her seat near Marge and her husband.

  Marge seemed to have stopped crying but both she and her husband still looked pale and shaken. Cindy couldn’t blame them. Neither could she help but wonder if either of them would ever venture into the water again. Somehow she doubted it. Marge didn’t seem like a get-back-on-the-horse kind of person.