Chapter Eighteen

Jim stood in front of the mirror going through the intricate motions of forming his necktie. Christie leaned past him and he moved out of her way.

"What have you got going today?" she asked.

"Same."

"Nothing new?"

He straightened the cuffs of his shirt and she slid his jacket over his shoulders. "Walter was a big help yesterday. He promised to ask around all the old guys he used to work with. This guy couldn't have just disappeared, but why we're looking for him under an old name…" He shrugged. "We'll see."

"Maybe your witness figured it was the least harmful way to get information to you without endangering his life."

Jim moved away from her, sat on the bed and slipped into his shoes. "At least our witness hasn't turned up dead yet."

"Exactly. You should sound happier about that," she teased.

"How'd your article turn out?"

"Fine. I tried on the dress, but it's definitely not my style."

"No?"

"I'm not Donna Reed."

Jim smiled at the mental picture. "I'm glad," he said.

"You don't want me staying home all day making elaborate dinners?"

"Wouldn't suit you."

"It would be hard to be a cop's wife and sit home all day wondering how long until her husband was shot."

"You make it sound like it happens every day." He paused in the doorway of the bedroom, his hand on the doorjamb.

"Don't get shot today, okay?"

Jim smiled. "I promise."

She laughed, the sound enveloping him even across the room. "I'll have to make you promise every day."

He ducked out of the room, calling, "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Jim!" Tom called.

Jim froze a second, feeling like he was being ambushed, like Tom had been waiting for him.

"Where have you been?"

"I'm early, Tom," he said as he went straight for his desk without stopping in the locker room for once. He sat on the corner, facing the younger detective, waiting. He heard Hank settle down in his usual spot.

"You won't believe this. We finally dug up something on this Pipsqueak."

"Tom, come on, enough suspense."

"I'm getting there. Walter was right. A real brilliant kid. Got into a bit of trouble back in the '80's, but they could never pin anything on him. Learned from some of the shadiest dudes in the city, apparently, but there's really not a lot in the records. He's like the stuff of legends.

"Eventually he got so sick of doing other peoples' dirty work, he broke away and started his own gang—called it the Owls."

"Owls?" Jim asked incredulously.

"Not a very good name, I know. It was either short-lived or it went underground, never really heard anything else about it. But guess what Pipsqueak's real name was?"

Jim shook his head and motioned for Tom to continue.

"Josiah Wilkins."

Jim was glad he was sitting down. "Uncle Josiah, huh?" he finally said, unable to believe it. "So now we have the Owl, and the Pipsqueak—what about the pussycat part?"

"What?"

"The t-shirts."

Tom was quiet a minute and Jim heard his chair twisting around. "Maybe just playing off the cat and mouse game? Only this time, it's the cat in trouble?"

"Maybe. Like he's going after powerful people?"

"No. Like, playing off his name," Tom said.

"He's not Pipsqueak the little mouse anymore," Jim said as Tom's meaning dawned on him.

"Right. So he developed some elaborate poison and killed that guy on the stairs."

"Or had one of his henchmen do it."

"Does he have henchmen?"

Jim laughed. "Just throwing out scenarios. But why would he kill Glenn Bartlett?"

"Make an example of him?"

"Sure."

"Then he killed Samantha. Or, maybe one of his followers killed her trying to get to him." Tom shifted in his chair. "Then Josiah retaliates with the people on the roof."

"Maybe it's an internal war proving his power," Jim said.

"He's definitely powerful enough," Tom agreed.

"And for some reason, Artez and his sister were at that house. Maybe because Artez was seeing Samantha. Making Josiah a suspect again based on a motive of jealousy."

"However it lies, Josiah's coming up the bad guy," Tom said.

"Let's run it by Marty and Karen when they get here, okay?"

"I sure wish I'd known who he was at the church the other day," Tom said.

"Me, too."

"You feeling better?"

"Yeah. Tom, it was weird." He crossed over and sat on the edge of Karen's desk closer to Tom so he could speak more quietly. "You wouldn't think a few words would have that kind of effect on you, right? But when he touched me, and the way he said everything…"

"What did he say?"

Jim was quiet.

"Jim?"

He shook his head. "Preying on fears and insecurities, I think. Not that hard to figure out with some people."

Tom laughed. "You have fears, Jim?"

"Everyone does, Tom. I'll be back." He stood up and grabbed his bag to go to the locker room.

Jim's foot struck something and he pitched forward precariously. Whatever it was slid forward, and he reached out, his hands clasping around what turned out to be the back of a chair.

Hank whined.

"You okay?" Tom asked.

Jim righted himself, but didn't let go of the chair. "Yeah."

"Looks like the cleaning crew moved some things."

"Where's this go?"

"Over by the window, I think. Or maybe it's from one of the interview rooms. You want me to move it?"

Jim hefted the chair and carried it toward the corner window by Fisk's office. "Nah, I got it. Does it go here?"

"I think so."

"Anything else out of place?"

"Eh… I don't think so. At least nothing's out of place enough for me to notice. Sorry, Jim."

"It's okay." He never used to pay much attention to mundane details, either, back when he could see them.

Fisk's office door opened, making him jump because he was too close. He spun around.

"Where's Karen?" Fisk demanded.

"In the locker room," Tom said.

"Go get her."

"I'll go," Jim said and lifted his bag. "Back in a second." He turned and brushed the side of a desk. It felt like it was off by mere inches, but maybe the chair had thrown him off more than he thought.

The couch in the hallway caught his foot. Jim froze, then reached out. He pushed on the couch and found it had been moved away from the wall about six inches. He pushed the couch back gently until it touched the wall, then headed for the locker room at a slower pace.

"Karen?" He stayed in the doorway.

"Yeah?"

"Has anything in here been moved?" He waited while she looked around.

"Someone set up the card table in the corner," she said. "Why?"

"I think someone's messing with me." He moved slowly to his locker. "If I run into one thing, it's my fault. But three things?"

"Where?"

"Here. In the squad."

"It looked okay to me."

Jim laughed almost bitterly. "Yeah. Maybe it looks okay." He hung up his coat and put his bag away. "Boss wants to see us." He slammed the locker.

"Okay. I'm on my way." He heard her head for the door.

"I'm going to get coffee. Be there in a second." He heard Karen pause in the doorway and turn back as he reached for the paper cups normally next to the coffee maker. They weren't there.

"They're on the other side," Karen said. She sounded a little puzzled.

Jim shook his head and clenched his jaw. If the cups were moved, chances were so were the coffee pots, and he didn't feel like burning himself that morning. "Forget it."

"You don't think Marty would…?"

"I don't know." He moved closer and felt her turn away, but reached out to grab her arm. "You don't mind?" he asked as his hand settled into place.

She laughed. "Of course not."

Karen paused outside Fisk's office.

"What?" he asked.

"Someone turned the water cooler. And moved the cups," she mused.

"Get in here," Fisk barked.

Jim let Karen lead him in, then let go of her arm.

"What?" Fisk asked, obviously noticing the tension between Jim and Karen.

"Someone's been moving things," Jim said, looking up at the boss and keeping all anxiety out of his face and voice.

"Don't look at me," Marty said.

"I didn't," Jim said, turning toward him now that he knew where Marty was.

"Maybe you didn't, but they all did." He grunted. "Come on, I never purposefully moved anything," he said to everyone, pleading his case. "I just didn't bother to remember to put everything back, okay?"

Jim nodded. "Maybe it's nothing."

Karen snorted. "So all the cups accidentally got moved, along with the water cooler."

"And the chair," Tom reminded him.

Jim shifted uncomfortably, feeling everyone staring at him. "Forget it. I'll just be careful. What'd you want us for, boss?"

"Marty came in early and found someone looking for files," Fisk said.

"I never saw him before," Marty said. "He was snooping around, and when I called out, he bolted."

Jim stared over at him.

"You think the same person would have bothered to take the time to move furniture around?" Marty asked.

Jim sighed, thinking. "Maybe."

"Why?"

"Because I'm blind, Marty. If it's related to this case…" He shook his head. "Psychological warfare." He wrinkled his nose. "Maybe we asked the wrong person the wrong question about Pipsqueak yesterday and they know how close we are to solving the case."

"You think we're close?" Fisk asked.

"We have to be. Why else would anyone bother to break in here and move things?"

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine." Jim waved the question away with a dismissive gesture.

"Then you and Karen go lean on DeLana Artez. If we are close, they might be in danger."

"Okay."

"Karen, keep an eye out. We don't want anyone following you."

"You sure you're okay?" Karen asked quietly as he followed her out of Fisk's office.

"Fine. It's a little unnerving, but I'm fine." He laughed. "It's almost funny."

"Almost?" she asked, sounding amused. "Then why are you laughing?"

"It's almost clever. They should have tried it before I met Uncle Josiah the first time." He followed her footsteps to her desk and moved past, carefully walking over to Hank.

"You want me to help put the squad back in order?"

"Later. Let's go make sure DeLana and the kids are okay." He took Hank's harness and followed her to the car.

"'Kay."

He let Hank into the back of the car. "Are you feeling better?"

"I knew I'd miss a lot being gone," she grumbled. He heard her seatbelt buckle click as he pulled his own into place.

"I, uh…" He cleared his throat.

"What?"

"I just wished you would have been there with me instead of Tom, when I met Uncle Josiah."

She laughed. "What could I have done?"

He grinned over at her. "You're really good at telling me when I'm being stupid."

"Well, I'm glad it was Tom and not me."

"Why?"

"I'm just glad I wasn't there."

Jim nodded. "In a way, I'm glad I was."

"Really?"

"Really. I feel better prepared now. I understand the case better." He wouldn't say it, but he also felt like he understood himself better. If someone had started moving furniture around the squad a couple days ago, he would have been angry, frustrated, lashing out, worried about making a mistake and running into something in front of everyone.

"Did you think maybe Marty was the one who moved everything?" Karen asked after a minute.

"I'm glad it wasn't," Jim said. "I'd rather think it was some unseen prescence, so to speak."

She laughed. "Rather than something malicious?"

"Absolutely." He shifted in the passenger seat, uncomfortable thoughts running through his mind. "I'm really glad it wasn't Marty."

Jim knew the layout of the house better after their last visit and he quickly settled onto the couch with Hank at his feet.

"Can I get you anything?" DeLana asked.

"It's not a social call," Jim said, his voice low and serious.

"Oh." DeLana sounded surprised. "Tamika! Stop lurking in the hallway!" she yelled.

Jim heard Tamika walk into the room.

"Can I stay?" the girl asked.

"Not this time," Karen said.

Jim waited until she'd gone, then pulled off his sunglasses. DeLana was sitting in a chair just forward and right of the couch. He leaned over so his elbows were on his knees and faced her as squarely as he could.

"DeLana, I'm going to tell you what we've learned so far and I want you to listen. When I'm done, I want you to think about your own life, and about your kids, and I want you to stop playing stupid for five minutes and tell me what you know." Jim shifted on the couch. "I'm a detective. This is what we've learned from what you haven't told us—someone's out to kill you, and it's related to your brother, who's missing, and Samantha, who's dead. Probably because she was pregnant."

"She was pregnant?"

Jim nodded. "And it all leads back to Josiah Wilkins."

"No. If he—"

"Yes, DeLana. See, we know everything about Josiah Wilkins' past, where he came from and what he's done. We just don't know who he is. Who is he now, DeLana?"

"But he wouldn't—"

"I met him, DeLana! I met him and I don't understand. Who is he?"

"I've never met him, detective. But if he was going around killing people, why would he have so many people who worship him? They think he's like the second coming or something. He couldn't be killing people. And he wouldn't ever kill Samantha."

"Is he the father of Samantha's kids?"

There was a pause. "Yeah, I think so. They were… close."

"Come on, DeLana. Tell me everything you know. If he's bad, we'll take care of him. If not, convince me."

"Detective, I can't—"

"DeLana!" he snapped. "I don't know how long we can keep you safe if you don't start talking. Artez, he's not your brother, we know that. Who is he? And who killed Samantha's cousin? Start at the beginning."

DeLana had left home years before with Tamika in tow. She'd come up here for anonymity and met Rico, whose full name was Richard, but he'd always gone by Rico. He'd changed his last name when he had insurance trouble about his epilepsy, picked the name Artez out of a newspaper. He'd dropped his real last name because the insurance company was after him, and with his history of illness he was having trouble finding a job. Even without a work history or social security number, as Rico Artez, a man with no health problems, it was easier and he found a couple part time jobs.

"Rico was my brother by choice—you can't get any closer than that. He helped me out a lot after I left home."

"What's his real last name?" Karen asked.

"Why do you need to know that?"

"Right now," Jim said, "even if he's wanted by the FBI, I don't care. But if we find his body, I want a real name."

"White," she said with a defeated sigh.

"Do you know where he is?" Karen asked.

"No."

"Come on, DeLana!" Jim said, getting exasperated.

"I don't know!" She sighed. "Look, I met Rico right after I moved here. He's a good guy. The only problems he has are health-related."

DeLana'd still been working. Tamika was in school, DeWanda just a baby, but Rico took care of her most of the time because he was having trouble finding a job. He was an insurance liability, if something happened while he was working, no one wanted to be responsible for workman's comp.

"Okay."

"And how'd you meet up with Samantha?" Karen asked.

"You don't have insurance, you have problems getting proper meds, you know?" DeLana said. "So we did a little black market trading and Rico met Samantha and she said she had connections, offered to hook him up. He said he loved her. I never trusted Samantha."

Jim leaned forward. "Why not?"

"I dunno. She just never seemed quite human. She was nice enough, but you'd ask her certain questions, and she'd go off on something else, but she didn't seem like she was intentionally ignoring you or anything."

"How did she seem?"

"Programmed."

Jim opened his mouth, but he couldn't speak. Programmed. Brain washed. Maybe like Glenn Bartlett not talking unless he was staring at fire. "So where was she getting the meds? The infamous Uncle Josiah?"

"I think so. He has a thing about drugs. He plays with them, changes them, uses people as guinea pigs."

"And these drugs, do you know what they are?"

"I never saw them. I'd guess they were just his own generic equivalents? Or maybe the medications he was getting from somewhere else? But Rico said whatever he was taking was helping. Then he lost his job and I said he could stay with me. I owed him for all the help he'd given me, and for always helping out with the kids.

"He brought Samantha with and she was pregnant. It wasn't 'til later that I realized all his savings was gone and I never got a straight answer about where they went. Then mine disappeared. Samantha found out she was pregnant with a boy. She carried it halfway to term, then was almost murdered. Her baby didn't make it. She and Rico left, I lost the apartment."

"Who tried to kill Samantha?" Karen asked.

"She said it was random, but she was really sick when she got back and she'd been beaten up. She miscarried that night, but wouldn't go to the doctor. Not like we had enough money to, anyway."

"And after they left?"

"I went to my bank to talk about where my money went, and they didn't have a record of me ever being a customer. Samantha found me and Tamika and DeWanda and told me they were staying with friends. We bounced around a couple years. She kept trying to get me to join her church, said it would fix everything that was wrong in my life. We fought a lot, and Rico thought it was just a girl thing.

"Samantha was a church fanatic." DeLana explained how she held Uncle Josiah in high reverence, like a saint, and how she'd often come back after meetings and proclaim things like an oracle. She would tell them when they had to move on to the next friend. And she was the one who had money, from somewhere, to help ease the burden of all those extra mouths. DeLana kept refusing to go to the meetings and Samantha would almost get violently mad. Rico went a few times, but things were rocky between him and Samantha because he wouldn't give up his part time jobs.

"She got pregnant again and had another boy. Rico started getting… strange. And he started getting more seizures."

"No one tried to kill her again?"

"She didn't give them the chance. We'd been going between her "friends" for a long time—and they were all strange. Right before she went into labor with Clem, we left. We moved in with her cousin for a few months 'cause she said no one in her group knew about him. We've been hiding ever since Clem was born. She wanted to give Clem up for adoption, but Rico wouldn't let her."

"And her cousin, what happened to him?"

"We'd been hiding out at his place, then Samantha suddenly took us to this old house. She didn't say why, just took us. And we found Glenn. He was alone and I didn't see a note or anything, but I guess someone told her if we left the house, they'd kill us, too."

"Who?"

"Those people in her big group. No one liked her. And they found us 'cause we talked to her cousin."

"Did Uncle Josiah kill her?"

"I wouldn't think so."

"But he's definitely the one who got her pregnant?"

"Probably."

"And your kids?" Jim prompted.

"What about 'em?" she said shortly.

"Who's the dad?"

"No one."

Jim raised his eyebrows.

"Rape doesn't constitute fatherhood." She got up and moved away.

Jim looked down. He'd never been comfortable talking to women about past rapes. The longer it had been, the less likely he'd be able to help arrest the man responsible, and the better it was for the woman to try to forget.

"Tamika's daddy, I was young, still in high school. I really liked him and it was my idea to sleep with him. I thought maybe he'd marry me. It was my mistake and I never saw him again. Tamika and I stayed with my momma 'til she was 'bout four. I took her and left home after I was raped the first time. A friend of my mom's, old enough to be my father. I just couldn't stay there… And I had DeWanda."

"And Cindy?" Jim prompted. "She's only two, so that was after—"

"After I lost my apartment, yeah. If you're a woman staying with those people, you're fair game to anyone who comes by. I guess I'm lucky I've only gotten pregnant once since then…"

DeLana told them things went downhill between her and Samantha after that. DeLana blamed Samantha for what happened, and she kept trying to leave, but she couldn't get away. She had three kids to think about, to keep them warm and fed. She didn't even remember giving birth to the last one, just waking up and finding her new daughter already named. Samantha was ecstatic, telling her how Uncle Josiah had performed the delivery without problem.

Jim stood up and stepped away. "What about Uncle Josiah?"

"I never met him."

"What is he? Your best guess?"

"I don't know. I'd say he's not a man of God, no matter what else he is. Extortionist, gang boss, cult leader, hypnotist, politician." According to Samantha, she told them, Josiah wasn't only a saint, but he also performed free medical services for the poor and got them free education.

"But you never met him?"

"Samantha knew him. And Rico did. Rico would leave me in this office at the church and take the kids while they were babies. Until they were old enough to ask questions."

"So he's an amateur chemist and a pharmacist and—"

"An all-around bad guy, if you ask me."

"But can we prove it?" Karen asked.

"No one ever says anything bad about Uncle Josiah. Those friends of Samantha's, she always told me they wouldn't see the light, wouldn't follow good old Uncle J and see the error of their ways. I wanted to leave, but I didn't have nowhere to go. The only friends of hers who had apartments, they didn't belong to the group so much. As far as anyone's concerned, Uncle Josiah's a saint and everyone else is a sinner."

"What?" Karen asked after a moment.

Jim guessed there was something about the way DeLana was looking that prompted the question.

"Samantha thought she was like a prophet or something. She was always trying to recruit people like it was a religion. Trying to save them. That's why we stayed with all those horrible people in the first place."

"A prophet?" Karen finally said in a disbelieving tone.

"Because she'd see things in the future, and she was special to Josiah.

"It was nice staying with her cousin. Things calmed down. She wouldn't talk about Uncle Josiah around Glenn. She went crazy when he died and wouldn't let us leave that house with his body. She said we'd all die if we left."

"But Glenn knew Uncle Josiah," Karen said.

"Did he?"

"I think so."

Jim sat up straighter. "I'd say he absolutely knew. Glenn was part of the group. He knew Brian Mulhaney. He'd been poisoned by whatever stuff Uncle Josiah had. And he seemed to be just as brainwashed as Samantha."

"Samantha swore he didn't know anything," DeLana said. "They never talked about it."

"She was wrong."

"Then Glenn was keeping an eye on us," DeLana said, sounding afraid. "And that's how they found us."

"Probably."

"Are they going to kill me, too?"

Jim's phone rang. He shifted in the car seat and reached inside his jacket pocket.

"Who is it?" Karen asked.

He held the phone out so she could see the readout.

"The squad," she said.

He flipped open the phone. "Dunbar."

"Check out his address," Fisk said.

Jim repeated the address of an empty warehouse to Karen. "What have we got on it?" he asked.

"Since we focused on finding just Uncle Josiah, we've had a few hits. Tom and Marty are at one now. If they don't find anything, they'll catch up to you at the warehouse."

"Do we know anything about the place?"

"Nothing. We were just told to definitely check this place first. I'm guessing it's an old haunt of Wilkins'."

"We'll check it out," Jim promised. He closed the phone and put it back in his pocket.

"Do you think they're going to try to kill DeLana?" Karen asked, sounding almost as worried as DeLana had.

Jim turned his head away. "Why else would they have been going through our files? Even if she doesn't know anything, she could recognize people."

"But why would they be after her and not all those other people?"

"Maybe there was some sort of trouble, in house, you know? Between Uncle J and Samantha and all those other people. I just wish we knew what Glenn and Samantha were doing in the middle of all this."

"Sounds like they were being played off each other."

Jim nodded. "If Samantha hadn't trusted him, they'd both still be alive."