Restoreth My Soul (Psalm 23 Mysteries)

  “There was nothing,” she said, her voice sounding like it was slow and distorted.

  He nodded and it felt as though the weight of his own head would send him tumbling forward.

  The door opened and Mark entered with paramedics close behind him.

  “It’s about time,” Jeremiah said, his own tongue feeling thick as he slurred the words.

  One paramedic grabbed the blood soaked towel and Jeremiah relinquished his hold and felt himself falling backward onto the stairs. He heard Cindy scream from somewhere far off while he debated whether or not to let himself pass out. The pain was great and he was in good hands now so he could, but it would only frighten Cindy more.

  With a pained grunt he decided that he had to stay conscious for her sake. Things became clearer. Time seemed to resume to its normal speed and he could clearly hear Cindy telling Mark everything she knew about what had happened.

  He could feel hands on him and ripping sounds as the paramedics cut his shirt off of him. There was a moment of silence and then someone whistled low.

  “I’ve never seen so many scars and bullet holes on one person,” one of the paramedics was saying. “Who is this guy?”

  “He’s a rabbi,” Mark said, but he heard the uncertainty in the detective’s voice.

  A better question would be what hadn’t happened to him.

  “Will he be okay?” Cindy asked.

  “He’ll be just fine,” one of the paramedics reassured her. “He’ll just have another scar to add to his collection.”

  “What’s one more?” Jeremiah said, attempting to joke.

  He opened his eyes and saw them all staring at him. There’d be no escaping rigorous questioning from both Mark and Cindy over what they were seeing. He wasn’t looking forward to it in the least.

  “You’re conscious?” Mark asked.

  “Yeah. I am. And I’d really like something for the pain now.”

  Mark swore under his breath as one of the paramedics reached for a syringe. Jeremiah couldn’t hear him, but he could read his lips and he was very glad that Cindy likely couldn’t hear him either.

  “Miss, can I ask you to step into the other room?” the paramedic with the dark hair asked.

  “Careful, that’s my wife you’re talking to,” Jeremiah tried to joke. It was an old joke between Cindy, Mark and him. He’d once had to claim to be her husband in order to see her in the hospital and help protect her from the killer who was after her.

  Neither Cindy nor Mark laughed, though, as he had expected them, too. Both looked frightened. He glanced down. There was quite a lot of blood.

  “Detective, there’s something else you should know.”

  “What is it, Jeremiah?” Mark asked intently, although his eyes kept straying to the scars on Jeremiah’s chest.

  “The car...it had diplomatic plates.”

  This time the detective didn’t bother to keep his swearing to himself.

  Mark felt as though everything in his world had just been turned upside down. A strange case had just gotten far stranger than he could have ever guessed. Diplomatic plates? Why was someone from another government taking shots at the rabbi? What was someone like that even doing in Pine Springs? There were consulates in Los Angeles but that was an hour away at best.

  Then there was the fact that he couldn’t take his eyes off Jeremiah. The rabbi’s chest looked like it had gotten into a fight with a meat grinder and lost. He wondered how many of the scars were from the terrible ordeal in March at the camp. That whole thing had cost Paul his life.

  Mark knew that Jeremiah and all the kids had been hospitalized for a few days afterward, but because of what he had been facing he’d never had a chance to visit. As he thought about it he realized he’d never even really heard what the extent of Jeremiah’s injuries were from that. Guilt flashed through him. He’d been so busy dealing with his own emotional baggage related to the Green Pastures tragedy that he’d never even stopped to truly consider everything Jeremiah must have gone through.

  Then, all those months they’d spent together with Jeremiah counseling him so he could get back on the force. The things he’d said, the anger, the frustration, and again he’d never thought to check in with the rabbi and see how he was handling everything that had happened to him.

  He honestly couldn’t remember a time in his life where he’d felt so small, weak, selfish. He glanced at Cindy and saw the tears in her eyes. She couldn’t take her eyes off the scars either. Mark shook his head slowly. He and Cindy were the ones with the majority of the emotional baggage which made no sense in the larger scheme of things.

  Impulsively he reached out and grabbed Jeremiah’s right hand. It was sticky, covered in the man’s own blood. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t gotten him involved. There was no one else to blame this time but himself. He might as well have shot the rabbi himself. Jeremiah looked at him and Mark felt tears stinging his own eyes.

  “I swear to you I will make this right,” he said.

  Jeremiah nodded slowly, but Mark could tell he didn’t fully grasp his meaning. That was alright. He’d apologize to him later when things were calm and there was no morphine dulling his senses.

  He pulled away and put his arm around Cindy’s shoulders. He rubbed her back, belatedly realizing that he was rubbing Jeremiah’s blood into her shirt. What a mess the three of them were in. Blood bound them together.

  First it had been the blood of a dead man in a church, but that had been just the beginning. Eventually it had been the blood of his partner, Paul, who had given his life trying to save Jeremiah’s and the blood of a murderer that Mark had been covered in as he tortured him striving for the same goal. And still the blood kept flowing, coating the three of them. It bound them together. One day, though, would it tear them apart?

  He shook his head, trying to rid it of the dark thoughts that were swirling through it, threatening to consume him.

  Then the paramedics were putting Jeremiah on a gurney and wheeling him toward the ambulance that was waiting outside. They told him the name of the hospital they were heading to. Mark knew it well.

  “We’ll follow,” he told the driver.

  Then he and Cindy watched as the ambulance drove away. Once it was out of sight it was as though some sort of spell was broken. Cindy let out a half sob and leaned back against a wall, bracing her hands on her knees.

  Mark glanced down and noticed for the first time a hunk of carpet missing from the dining room floor. “What happened?” he asked, gesturing to it.

  She seemed to come awake at that, eyes that had seemed lifeless moments before quickening with thought. “Jeremiah had me cut up sections of the carpet in most of the rooms checking to see if there was anything underneath. We didn’t find anything. The only room I didn’t touch yet was the writing room. I think he was having me do it to distract me.”

  “Probably, but I can guarantee he’s probably been as curious as me and as anxious to rip up the rest of these carpets. It was all I could do not to rip them up last night,” Mark admitted.

  “Do you really think he’s going to be okay?”

  “Yes. He’s a fighter, that one,” he said around the sudden lump in his throat.

  “Why does bad stuff keep happening to us?” she asked.

  “I’d give just about anything to have the answer to that myself,” he admitted. “I’m going to get a couple of officers out here to check the place out and talk to the neighbors, see if anyone saw anything. Then I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

  Cindy looked like she was about to say something and then stopped.

  “What is it?”

  “No, it sounds terrible.”

  “I can practically guarantee you that I’ve heard worse.”

  “I don’t want to go to the hospital. I just want to go home.”

  “I can take you there, too,” he said.

  She shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I can drive myself.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “I??
?ll change clothes and then I’ll head over to the hospital.”

  “I know the rabbi would understand if you waited until the morning to see him.”

  She pushed off from the wall and he winced as he saw the bloody patch she’d left on it.

  “He’d understand, but I wouldn’t. Does that make sense?”

  Mark nodded. “Believe it or not it does.”

  “I’ll see you later,” she said, starting for the door.

  “Wait,” he said. He went into the bathroom and grabbed a towel and came back with it. He handed it to her. “For your backrest. I touched him and then I rubbed your back and I’m afraid I ruined your blouse.”

  She took the towel, glanced at the wall where she’d been leaning, and then nodded solemnly. “It’s okay. I never really liked this shirt anyway.”

  As soon as she was out the door Mark called in for some officers to help canvass the area. Maybe someone had seen something. It was a long shot, but it was all they had.

  He started to head back to the writing room and paused as he passed the kitchen. There was a pizza and soda on the counter. They were untouched. He grabbed himself a slice and made a mental note to pay Cindy back later. Then he called his wife and let her know that it was going to be another long night.

  After that was done he ate a couple of more slices of pizza and washed it down with the soda. A couple of officers arrived and he was actually disappointed one of them wasn’t Liam until he remembered that he had lectured him about making sure to take his days off seriously. It was hard to believe that had been just a few hours before.

  He rubbed his head. He really needed to talk things over with someone and Jeremiah and Cindy were both out of the question at the moment. He sighed, called the precinct, and got Liam’s cell number.

  “Hello?” Liam answered.

  “It’s Mark.”

  “Detective, what can I do for you?” the other officer said, clearly surprised.

  “You can forget the speeches I gave you earlier today and you can get your butt down to Heinrich’s house. The case just took a turn for the even weirder and two heads are better than one.”

  “I’ll be there in half an hour, let me just stop and grab some fast food.”

  “No need. I got pizza here.”

  “Then I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  “Great.”

  Mark hung up. He felt bad, involving the other officer more than he should be. At least he was a fellow cop, though. He knew the risks inherent in their line of work. This way if he got someone else shot at tonight it wouldn’t be a civilian.

  “Baggage,” he sighed. “I’ve got lots and lots of baggage.”

  While he waited for everyone to arrive he decided he might as well finish the job that Cindy had started. He headed into the writing room and tested the edges of the carpet until he found a section that was loose. When he pulled it up, though, there was nothing special underneath.

  It was worth a try, he thought as he dropped the carpet back into place.

  He fished in his pocket for his phone, figuring he’d call Cindy and let her know there hadn’t been anything. That way she and Jeremiah could at least have their curiosity slaked on that one.

  His phone wasn’t in his pocket where he normally kept it. He checked his other one and pulled out the piece of paper with the art restorer’s phone number on it. He stared at it for a moment before heading into the kitchen where he found his phone where he’d apparently left it next to the pizza box.

  Pull yourself together, he ordered.

  He called Cindy and left a message when it went to voicemail. Then he went ahead and dialed the number on the card, knowing it was unlikely he would reach anyone this late.

  He was surprised when a woman answered the phone. “Hello, this is Melissa.”

  “Melissa, hi, my name is Detective Mark Walters. I’m with the Pine Springs Police Department.”

  “Oh,” she said, clearly startled. He got it. It wasn’t every day that most people had police calling them up out of the blue. “Your name was given to me as someone who does restoration work on art.”

  “Oh, yes, I do that,” she said, warming slightly.

  “I’m sorry to call so late. I frankly expected the shop to be closed.”

  “I work out of my house,” she said. “And it’s okay. How can I help you?”

  “I have a piece of artwork I’d like you to look at for me and give me an assessment.”

  “Of course. When would you like to come by?”

  “At your earliest convenience.”

  “I can take a look tonight if it’s important.”

  “It is and I would very much appreciate it if you could,” he said. “Would an hour from now be alright?”

  “Certainly. Do you have my address?”

  “No.”

  “It’s 23 Sycamore Terrace. Come around to the side door.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you then.”

  He hung up just as the uniformed officers were arriving. He briefed them and told them what he wanted them to ask the area residents. By the time they were getting to it Liam showed up.

  He walked in the door, saw all the blood, and stopped. “That’s new,” he said.

  “Yes, unfortunately, it is.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’ll fill you in on the way.”

  “Okay, where are we going?”

  “To get the dog picture out of evidence and take it to a lady who restores paintings. I’ve got a few questions for her.”

  They climbed into Mark’s car and as they drove Mark told Liam about his meeting with Trevor earlier and about Jeremiah being shot. When he got to the part about the car apparently having diplomatic plates Liam whistled low.

  “Tell me about it,” Mark said. “This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder.”

  “I’d heard around the precinct that you’re always the one who gets the exciting cases.”

  “Exciting?” Mark snorted. “Try bizarre, terrifying, life altering. I don’t know how I got so unlucky, but that’s how it seems to play out.”

  “Is it every case of yours or just the ones that Cindy and Jeremiah get involved with?” Liam asked.

  “It’s an excellent question and I don’t even know how to answer that, especially since a case from a year ago that they had no involvement with whatsoever is now turning out to be part of a case that they are involved with. Maybe the three of us are just cursed,” he muttered at the end, thinking of the blood bond he’d imagined earlier.

  They retrieved the painting from the station and then headed on to Melissa’s studio. A few minutes later they were pulling up outside a large two-story house.

  “We’re early,” Mark said, glancing at the clock on the dash. “She said to go to the side entrance.”

  They got out of the car and began walking around the house. They finally spotted the side door. It was hard to see. The light above it was dark and there wasn’t much light from the street making it back that far.

  “Does it strike you as odd that the porch light wasn’t on nor this one?” Mark asked.

  “You said we’re early.”

  “Still.”

  Something felt wrong enough that Mark pulled his gun scarcely realizing that he’d done so.

  “I didn’t bring a weapon,” Liam admitted.

  “Then stay behind me,” Mark ordered, moving in front of him.

  They reached the side door. It was closed. There was a doorbell off to the side and Mark rang it then stepped back.

  Silence.

  “I don’t like this,” he said.

  He tried the door and the knob turned easily.

  He pushed it open, staying to the side, and waited.

  Still nothing.

  “Police, is anyone home?” he called.

  Ducking down he reached inside and felt for a light switch. His fingers finally brushed a plate with two switches. One was probably for the outside light and one for the inside. He flipped them b
oth and light flooded down on them and illuminated the room inside.

  The place had been ransacked. Easels were flipped over, paintings had been slashed, papers had been flung about, and there was brightly colored smears of paint all over the floor.

  Keeping his gun trained in front of him Mark stepped into the room, sweeping it with his eyes. The place was a wreck. Whoever had tossed it had been moving fast and not picky about what he destroyed in the process.

  “There in the doorway to the left,” Liam said.

  Mark swung his gun to face that direction.

  There, laying face down on the ground, was a woman.

  10

  Cindy felt like she was moving through a dream as she drove toward the hospital. She had made it home where she had discovered just how much blood was on the back of her shirt. She had started to rinse it in the sink with cold water, but had swiftly changed her mind and thrown it out. She had an intense feeling that she’d never be able to wear it again without reliving, or at least remembering, the events of the evening. She would really rather put that as far behind her as possible. She changed clothes, wolfed down a granola bar she found in the cupboard, and headed out.

  Now as she parked outside the hospital she felt somewhat nauseated. She didn’t like hospitals and the last several months had only increased her discomfort around them. She owed it to Jeremiah, though, to go inside no matter how much she didn’t want to.

  She marveled at the fact that she really had reached a point where she just wanted to go to bed, pull the covers over her head, and hide from the rest of the world. As tempting as that sounded, though, it wouldn’t do anyone any good, probably least of all her.

  She said a quick prayer for her strength as she exited the car then forced herself to march through the front doors as if she didn’t mind hospitals in the least. Once inside she went up to the information desk.

  “I’m here to see Jeremiah Silverman. He would have been brought into the emergency room about half an hour ago with a gunshot wound to the arm.” She marveled at how calm and matter-of-fact she sounded. The nurse must think she was insane for treating it like no big deal.