Devotion Apart Read online

I cringed and used my hand to feel the cement wall, then I pressed the left side of my face against the cool cinder block.

  "Oh, that feels good. Grahm had some swing in him."

  "That was. . .the craziest. . ." Fletcher crossed his arms, and with a smile, he leaned against the wall. "You know what you just did, don't you?"

  "Uh, voluntarily accepted unreasonable abuse?" I exhaled slowly as the coolness spread across my cheek and brow. "I think he clipped my ear on that last one. My eardrum is ringing."

  "You left him standing there a complete failure."

  "No, I conceded."

  "But you let him win. You should've seen his face. He was completely defeated!"

  "I was going for disarmed." With the tips of my fingers, I prodded the skin in front of my ear. "Now can we talk about Cora?"

  "But—" He held his hands apart, like he was waiting to catch a basketball. His sidearm in a shoulder holster was visible. "You're not going to— I mean, what about what you just— Okay. Come with me."

  He led the way upstairs, then into a control room located between two interrogation rooms, which were empty at the moment. When he sat on the edge of the only desk in the small room, I took the cue to seat myself in the only office chair, and waited.

  "You're not the same Cord Dalton I went to high school with." Unlike when he'd spoken to me in the waiting room, now he had a knowing glint in his eye. "What happened to you? You just took a beating from the toughest guy on the force, and somehow you came out on top. The Cord Dalton I knew would never have allowed someone like Grahm to touch him. How does someone even learn to do what you just did? That was the craziest psychological warfare I've ever seen."

  "Let me ask you something." I folded my hands in my lap. "Grahm made a couple of comments about you, church, and Bible studies. What was that about?

  "Back when I was on patrol, Grahm and I were partners. He knows I attend Sunday services regularly and help out with the youth whenever I can. It's my true passion."

  "So, you're a Christian?" I asked.

  "Yeah." The man smiled. "And as you can see, living by a Christian standard isn't too popular."

  "God humbled me twenty years ago, Fletcher. You asked what happened to me? I came to Christ while I was in Brazil."

  "What?" His laughter boomed in the small room. "Hoodlum Cord Dalton ran off and found the Lord? Well, praise God!"

  I started to shake my brother's hand, but a handshake wasn't enough. We embraced like family, and he slapped me hard enough on the back to make me feel valued.

  "How did it happen?" he asked as we sat down again. "You're the last person I'd ever thought would come to Christ. Every few years, I'd hear rumors you were dead or down in Mexico some place. Fake news, obviously. I'm guessing your old girlfriend May Boyle was probably the source of most of it."

  "It happened like it always happens," I said. "I took a beating that left me near death on the streets of Sao Luis. Alone and broke, I realized my spiritual need and called on God for forgiveness."

  I gave Fletcher the ten-minute version of my work for Christ with the natives in the Amazon.

  "That sounds like paradise compared to what's going on here." Fletcher whistled, his face downcast. "Well, you can probably figure out my story. I turned down the FBI to be a cop. I was a whistle-blower with Internal Affairs a few years back and made some enemies—as you gathered downstairs. Now I'm a detective. My hard work paid off. I work my own cases mostly, but not my own hours. Still, I make time for my family. I married a beautiful woman named Tasneem, a Palestinian Christian who came over to the United States about seventeen years ago. We've been married for ten."

  "Ten years." I nodded. "That’s a long time these days."

  "So now I guess we talk about the ugly bit." He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "No one's been arrested for Cora's murder because no one fits the evidence yet. Originally, it wasn't my case, but when I realized who she was, I took over the file. Cord, there are some major gaps in the investigation and zero leads."

  "How well do you know Adrian Shay?" I asked. "I know him a little bit."

  "I wouldn't put anything past him or his people." Fletcher winced. "The missing persons department have their eyes on him for the disappearance of Tina Leaf, because she was an outspoken Christian working against his agenda."

  "What did she oppose about him?"

  "He's been buying up Christian youth centers and homeless shelters, and demolishing them to make apartment buildings. In some cases, he's used his governmental influence to claim eminent domain. Leaf was protesting the sellers who were giving Shay whatever they had for a quick buck. Or if they refused to sell, he'd just claim it."

  "Crooked, but still legal?" I asked.

  "Technically. Honestly, Cord, Cora's death doesn't fit his MO. I'll be open with you, but the details are gruesome. Cora was beaten by someone before her throat was cut. There were hesitation marks, Cord. That's not consistent with what we'd expect from a billionaire who could pay a professional to do this kind of work for him. This was personal."

  "Unless his goons did it and made it look personal to throw you off." I leaned closer. "Does Shay have those kinds of people around him?"

  "Sure, what powerful guy doesn't have a creep or two on the payroll? And in the wake of his maneuverings are lots of rumors and bodies that no one can link directly to him. This recent one, Tina Leaf—she's made him look worse than he's probably comfortable with. But his lawyers are better than our district attorneys."

  "Or he owns our prosecutors."

  "We still have some good people in this building, Cord, but it's probable he owns a few of them. Grahm, I know, has taken payoffs, but I don't have the proof."

  "How about judges?"

  "That's possible, especially in this city. But the little bit of justice a few of us are able to offer does make a difference. That's what I have to focus on."

  "It's hard for me to focus on anything but Shay behind bars over this."

  "Unless it's not Shay at all," he said. "I already know the whole line of Brock Rose owing the casino, and Shay wanting to have him killed. Your brother-in-law owes at least a hundred thousand to Hidden Springs Casino. It's not exactly the kind of money that makes men like Shay murder people. Why? Because you can't get money from a dead man. He told me that himself when I questioned him. That's what men like Shay are after—the money."

  "But he's your only lead, isn't he?"

  "He's not a lead, Cord. He's just someone's theory. We're looking for someone who knew your sister, then killed her in a fit of rage. Or passion. That's what the evidence shows."

  "You're sure it wasn't Brock?"

  "Brock is a whole other unfortunate subject that grieves this city. But no, he was out of town for several days. You know he works for Homeland Security? He and Shay have some secret dealings, but I don't know the depth of it."

  "So, was Cora having an affair? You said passion."

  "It's possible, but if she was, we found nothing on her phone." The detective rubbed his face in his hands, then looked me in the eye. "I'm not trying to be insensitive, Cord, but we have two known and active serial killers in this city, a dozen human traffickers, over a hundred pimps, terrorists hopping the border, school shootings, and finally your random kidnapping and disappearances. I already mentioned Tina Leaf—who I knew personally, I should add. All of these outlaws produce an endless body count. They pile up. Any case we can't break turns cold, and they go unsolved—ninety-nine times out of one hundred."

  "I can knock on some doors."

  "You're not hearing me, brother. Four months. Cora's murder is already a cold case. There are no doors to knock on."

  "Maybe it just needs a fresh set of eyes," I said. "Let me see the file."

  "I can't do that. I'm sorry. You're too close. But I can tell you this: I'll move her file back to the top of the cold case stack, and we can wait for something to break."

  "So, that's it?" I felt deflated. "I just go back to Brazil and move on
?"

  "No, you go to the cemetery, cry your heart out, and give it to the Lord. Some things in life are simply outside of our control, Cord. You need to look to God for healing now. Cora's gone, brother."

  Chapter Three

  The trail of my sister's killer was months cold, and I wondered if I had wasted time coming to Devotion at all. These were my thoughts of defeat as I stood over Cora's grave at Sleepy Oaks Cemetery on the southwest corner of the city. Craig had spared no expense, or maybe it had been Brock Rose. The statue of an angel on a marble stand presided over her plot. The noise of the freeway polluted the otherwise quiet scene of green and shade, so I tried to imagine the noise was a flowing stream nearby. The dead didn't care, but I did that day.

  Tyler, my driver, stood a discreet distance away next to the shiny black Mercedes as I took my time. I didn't remember my mother's passing, so this felt like my first real loss.

  Since I believed in the biblical view of death, I didn't bother trying to speak to Cora as I stood there. She wasn't the one watching over me. Craig had said that Cora had attended some sort of weekly church service, so I liked the thought that Cora may have been a believer in Jesus as her Savior. If that was indeed the case, then Cora had been found in God's presence at the moment of her passing. Weeping, I spoke to God through my grief. Was my sister's death to have no conclusion? Would there be no justice? How long did I need to stay in Devotion before I returned to the Amazon without closure?

  Years of studying the Bible and teaching natives seemed to whelm my troubled heart, and I sensed God was guiding me in a way that mere intellect couldn't grasp. God's written Word taught that He works through circumstances, intending to refine our character for eternity. But how was this supposed to refine or help me at all?

  In that instant, I thought of two words: waste nothing. Waste nothing? I turned to see if Tyler had felt the same impact of those two words. Craig's butler stood vigil by the driver's door, facing me, but otherwise unresponsive.

  Was I wasting something by coming to Devotion, or wasting my time by the way I was chasing Cora's murderer?

  I sighed, knowing the answers to all these questions. In the rainforest, I had taken advantage of every moment to share Christ, to disciple the ignorant, to comfort the afflicted. Since I'd heard about Cora's death, I had, for the most part, been led by my emotions rather than the Spirit of Christ. A beautiful woman, who seemed to be a Christian, had given me a ride from the airport, and I hadn't celebrated our common faith. My father was somewhere in the city, and I'd made no effort to track him down. Tyler and his wife Janae didn't seem to be believers, but I hadn't expressed Christ's love to them or the hope of salvation. Craig, in all his paranoia and fear of Adrian Shay, hadn't heard one word of encouragement from me, since I had been insistent on finding the killer, then running back to Brazil. I was wasting this whole opportunity.

  The shame I felt that afternoon at Cora's grave was not repressive but enlightening. God was reproving and correcting me, and because of who He is, I sensed His compassion for me even in His discipline. Shame was quickly followed by repentance, which was followed by determination. I wouldn't waste my time in Devotion any longer. Maybe I would never find Cora's killer. Detective Ian Fletcher certainly doubted her murder would be solved. But that didn't mean I couldn't offer the solution to other problems around me.

  I turned from Cora's grave and walked resolutely back to the car. All of the answers were not visible, at that moment. But God seemed to be helping me see one or two steps ahead now, steps that were in His will and not in my despondency. Waste nothing!

  "I need to see Craig right away, Tyler," I told my chauffeur.

  "Of course, Mr. Dalton."

  "It's time you started calling me Cord." I climbed into the passenger seat. "If you want to be overly formal toward me, then I'll start calling you sir, like the elder you are, regardless of your station."

  "Very well, Cord." He glanced at me as he drove out of the cemetery. "You seem to have come to some realization."

  "It shows?" I felt my face beam—and it wasn't merely the left side burning from the slap challenge. Tears came to my eyes. "Sometimes the loss of loved ones causes us to realize more about living than we expect. I believe God brought me here, Tyler, not for justice for my sister, but for me to see the city of Devotion. It's a toilet, my friend, and it needs to be flushed."

  "It may be a toilet," the man agreed, "but your talk of God seems inappropriate. God, if He's real, hasn't been in Devotion for a long time."

  "He's real, and He's never left." I gazed out the window as we sped past a dog park, filled with canines and the locals, but the homeless dotted the rolling patches of green as well. "He's present. It's the city of Devotion that needs to be reminded of what its name means."

  "Well, with respect to your God, Cord, the only thing this city is devoted to is its own demise."

  I heard Tyler's words, and I didn't blame him. But he was hopeless only because he wasn't aware of another option. For generations, American's had been taught they'd come from animals and that their lives were a meaningless accident of nature. So, they lived aimlessly. But what if they heard about the God who loved them because He had created them to live in His joy and victory over this evil world?

  Back at Craig's house, I found my old friend in the same housecoat and pajamas as the day before. He was in his basement vault on the computer when I knocked lightly and stood waiting for him to acknowledge me.

  "I got you your driver's license, Cord," he stated, his eyes riveted to the screens. "That should help you get around on your own now."

  "It'll help in every way. Thank you." I moved closer. "Craig, we need to talk."

  His shoulders tensed.

  "You talk to Fletcher? He still a self-righteous jock?"

  "No, he's more down-to-earth now." I smiled. "Craig, can we make eye contact for a few minutes?"

  His fingers stopped moving over the holographic keyboard. As if it was the hardest thing for him to do, he shifted his body around in his chair to face me. Dark rings colored his eyes. His hair looked unwashed.

  "Now that I have your attention," I said, "what if I were to stay a little longer in Devotion than I had originally planned?"

  "Stay as long as you want, Cord. It might take time to put Shay behind bars, but we'll get him eventually."

  "Of course." I didn't share the doubts I now had about Shay killing Cora. "What I'm asking is more involved than just the bedroom you've offered. Don't get me wrong. I'm thankful for that, but I want to get to know this city again. You don't mind me using your Jeep or one of the motorcycles in the garage to get around?"

  "Use any of them." He shrugged.

  "And to get by, do you know where I could get a job, or—"

  "No, are you kidding?" He held up a hand. "What do you think I built all this for? So I'd have to punch a time card for the rest of my life? Look, don't worry about it. Your sorry hands won't need to work, not as long as I'm around. How about this? I'll set up an account for you, using your PID. Spend what you want."

  "I do have plans that'll take some money. Just let me know if I do too much, okay?"

  "I don't care, as long as you keep this a secret." He nodded his head at the rack of servers. "No one can know. Ever. It would mean our lives."

  "Maybe it's time you show me how it all works." I crouched down. "If I want to find people, I can do it on this?"

  "Anyone you want." He turned back to the screens. "If you have a name, voice sample, photo, or a small detail about their life, it's all about what's called search parameters. This database has over two million people indexed. For every person, there are thousands of fields to consider. It knows more about people than you could ever imagine."

  "Shay's in here ?"

  "No, he deleted himself from the database, and I haven't wanted to reintroduce him to the system, or he'll notice he's being watched. He'd know it was me." Craig glanced at me, humor in his eye. "To even the playing field, I removed myself,
too, and then substituted my name with my neighbor next door. If Shay searches for me, he'll find me busy cooking and riding golf carts. Are you going after him?"

  "Yeah," I said, "and anyone else I need to."

  "Then we'll make you a phantom as well." He switched windows. "Oh, yeah. This already has thousands of profile characteristics on you, and you've only been here a day. We'll wipe this clean so there's no record. And. . .done."

  "Won't Shay notice someone's erasing RASH profiles if he tries to look me up?"

  "True. Look. Okay, here's a guy who lives about four houses down. He'll be your proxy profile. If your name comes up, which won't be likely if you keep your head down, Shay will see this other neighbor's profile instead of yours. As far as the RASH system is concerned, every time it monitors you, it won't store a single detail. If someone tries to watch you in real-time, they'll see you, so erasing your profile isn't a perfect fix, but let's face it—you're not going to be making a lot of noise, are you?"

  "Honestly? I plan to stir up this city for Jesus Christ, but I don't know that it'll be all that visible on camera."

  "But aren't you going to hunt down Shay?"

  "Yes, or whoever killed Cora. But if it's Shay, we'll never get a conviction in this city. So, we change the city first. Maybe, we even change Shay."

  "He's not the kind who changes. People don't really change, you know."

  "When the Lord has a couple of willing servants. . ." I set my hand on Craig's shoulder. "We might just see something greater than human justice in Shay's case. We might see repentance."

  That night, after a light dinner from Janae, I donned a dark helmet, a leather jacket, and mounted a red and white Daytona motorcycle. The bike had more power than the streets required, but I was taking on a city that needed more attention than average. Although Craig lived a self-imposed, hermit lifestyle, his government contract for the RASH system was intact. With a few keystrokes, he had extended the program to be used remotely through my phone. He was excited about the prospect of testing RASH in a wider and more practical manner.

  I sped north toward the Airport District first. Though I'd been driven by Sadona past the old neighborhood the night before, I wanted a closer look all alone. Like Nehemiah had observed Jerusalem's walls, I wanted to see for myself more of what I was up against.