Shadow of Death (26 page)

Natalie wanted to tell him that such measures weren't necessary, that she and her babies would be fine and that it would probably be better for them to stay home so they could have some sense of normalcy, but she didn't argue. Troy had sent him. She trusted Troy, which by default caused her to trust whatever RJ said. Even with his freedom in jeopardy, her husband had made provisions for her.
My protective detective,
she thought and smiled. Metaphorically speaking, she'd done her weeping for the night. Now she would sit patiently and peacefully until her morning came, knowing that somehow, everything would be all right. That night as she lay awake at the Hamptons', Natalie silently repeated the poem she'd written for Troy the night she thought he was out working a triple homicide case.

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my husband to keep

I pray the Lord my husband to protect

May he come home unharmed without any defects

When he finally lays down to rest

May he arise again and be at his best

•  •  •

Troy swore that he could literally hear his heart beating as he walked up to the quaint white house with dark purple shutters. After the news broadcast, Lloyd feared that cops may eventually come knocking at his door. Even if they didn't peg him as Troy's accomplice, as Cheryl's ex-husband, they might ask him questions as they worked to build a case against Troy. “You need to hide someplace where no one, not even your wife, would suspect. There's a vacant house on Dundee Avenue that my friend owns. He lives out of town and I check on the place for him from time-to-time to make sure it's not being vandalized. I would take you there, but you'd be miserable without any furniture or utilities. Let's make that our safe place. If we ever lose contact for any reason or need to meet, we'll do it there.” Lloyd gave him the address, telling him that the backdoor was always open. He then asked, “Is there anyone you can call for help who won't turn you in?”

Troy's list of friends was few. The only person he considered was his ex-partner, but for the same reason Troy didn't contact him the night he pretended to get called out on the triple homicide, Troy wouldn't involve him now. The guy had his own issues to deal with and hiding a fugitive wouldn't be an easy feat. It took some doing, but Troy had found the perfect place. His only hope was that this dude could be trusted as they were not friends. They couldn't even be classified as acquaintances.

Troy rang the doorbell, wondering if RJ had been able to get to Natalie and how she and the kids were handling things. Was she mad at him? Would divorce papers be waiting on him after this ordeal ended? Her emotions had been so up and down about the whole situation that Troy wasn't sure what to expect. Natalie was as much a part of him as Eve was to Adam when God created her from Adam's rib. Losing her would mean losing a piece of himself.

When Lloyd shut down the idea of Troy logging onto his account to access his contacts, Troy came up with an alternative. He looked up the number to the rehab center that RJ ran, knowing that even if RJ wasn't in the office, he left his cell phone number on the outgoing greeting of his voicemail. For reasons Troy wasn't sure he wanted to know, Lloyd had a stash of untraceable burner phones and Troy used one of them to contact RJ, telling him that he feared his family could be in danger. “I'm on it,” RJ replied, asking no questions, only telling Troy to be careful.

Lloyd dropped Troy off a few blocks from the neighborhood, giving him a thousand dollars in cash and a different burner phone from the one Troy had used to call RJ. “There's a number programmed in there where you can reach me if necessary and I know how to get ahold of you. If you call anyone, the number will register on their end as private, but I don't recommend contacting your loved ones. It's safer for everyone that way. Also, check this out.” Lloyd pointed to a red button on the side of the phone. “If you press this during a call, it'll record your phone conversation. If you push it when you're not on a call, it records whatever's going on in the room. This feature could come in handy should you speak with Chyanne or any of her accomplices.”

“Understood. I don't know if you're helping me because you feel sorry for me, but whatever your reason, I want to say thank you.”

“In the words of Katniss Everdeen after her calf was burned to the bone, ‘pity does not get you aid. Admiration at your refusal to give up does.' ”

Troy stared at him.

“She's the protagonist in the
Hunger
Games
Trilogy.” Lloyd sighed in disbelief. “Do you ever go to the movies?”

“Apparently not as much as you.”

“All right. I give up. You should get going. If we sit here too long, we'll start to look suspicious.”

Troy agreed. “Thank you, again,” he said before getting out of the car. “I'll be in touch.”

Before Troy could take off, Lloyd rolled down the passenger-side window. “Hey, I know you're eager to contact the deejay, but there's nothing he'll be able to tell you tonight that he can't say in the morning. It's been a long day. Get some rest and start fresh tomorrow. As Scarlett said in
Gone with the Wind,
‘After all, tomorrow is another day.' ”

Troy laughed. “Seriously, dude, who are you?”

With the same slick grin he'd given early when Troy had asked that question, he responded by saying, “Hunter. Lloyd Hunter,” in true James Bond-ish style and sped off.

Troy shook his head in amusement and jogged to this house where he now waited for the most peculiar man he'd ever met in his life to come to the door.

I
t seemed like it took forever for the homeowner to answer. When he finally did, his eyes grew three times bigger as the shock of seeing Troy hit him. “Detective Evans, what brings you to my doorstep at this time of the night?”

“Eric, I'm mean Pastor Freeman”—he caught himself, remembering how hung up on his title Eric was—“I have nowhere else to turn. I don't know if you've seen the news—”

“Yes, I'm quite aware that you're currently Columbus's most wanted. Come in before someone sees you.” The inside of Eric's living room was exactly as Troy remembered it—eerily immaculate and more like a mini sanctuary than anything else. Scriptures aligned every wall amidst a white plush sofa and a desk that contained a large copy of the Bible perched on a stand. “Let's go to the den. This room is sacred. If you recall, it's where my heavenly Father wrote messages to me and revealed the location of those dead women.”

“Uh, yeah…I remember.” Eric was referring to the Bible Butcher case in which he had once been Troy's prime suspect. As Troy followed Eric to another very religiously decorated, but not overly done room, he wondered if there was any place he had overlooked where he could have gone that neither Natalie nor anyone else who knew him would consider.

“Have a seat and tell me how I can help you. I know you're innocent of the murder of which you have been accused.”

“How do you know?”

“The Almighty has given me spiritual discernment. You wouldn't be here if you were guilty. You came because you're desperate and in Psalm 51:17, David tells us that a broken and contrite heart God will not despise. I can't despise you, my dear friend. The Lord would be displeased with His servant. Now, once again, I ask, how can I help you?”

Troy got right to the point. “I need a place to hide out while I work this case. It would be a big risk for you because you could face jail time if I'm caught here. I understand it's a lot to ask and—”

“Say no more. You're welcome to stay for as long as you need. I'm not worried about man's laws when there is a divine one that supersedes it. I liken myself to the harlot Rahab who hid the spies that Joshua sent to search out the land after the king ordered his men to seize them. You're a good man, and I will do my due diligence to see that the will of the Father is carried out. However, if you stay here, you must abide by my house rules. If you give me a second, I'll grab them. I keep copies handy in case I have long-term guests.”

Troy wasn't sure that Eric was serious until he actually left the room and came back handing him a piece of paper with the words “House Guest Rules” at the top. Troy scanned it. Most were common-sense things such as saying “excuse me” when belching or passing gas; some had to do with good hygiene like being sure to wash hands after using the restroom and before eating, but one was simply ludicrous.

Rule 19: All house guests will arise at 4 am to partake in devotional and prayer sessions that shall be timed at one hour and thirty-three minutes each.

Troy looked up at Eric who stared at him intently. “You can't be serious?”

“Yes, Detective Evans, I am. This is a house of the Lord. Once you stepped through that threshold, you entered holy ground. It's important that we spend quality time with the Lord each morning. The first few days will be hard because I sense that your maturity isn't quite up to the level it needs to be, but you'll get used to it. I'm here to help you, not only with your personal dilemma, but also with your spiritual growth. Feel free to call me Eric. I know the Lord sent you here for my services and I, His anointed servant, shall oblige. Now, please sign at the bottom that you have read and agree to abide by the ordinances of this house.”

Troy was grateful for Eric's willingness to help, but the rules made him wonder, once again, if coming here had been the best idea. Like Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, Troy prayed for another way, but no other answer was given and so he signed, wondering if Eric was on meds and if he'd remembered to take them.

•  •  •

Eric went to bed around ten and Troy stayed up to watch the eleven o'clock news, which repeated the story it had run earlier about him. He had trouble falling asleep for several reasons. For starters, he was in a strange environment with an even stranger dude and he felt uncomfortable. Yet, this was the perfect place to hide out. No one would ever suspect he was there; he had trouble believing it himself.

Per house rules, Eric awoke Troy early Tuesday morning for devotional and prayer time. The long and precise ninety-three-minute sessions were timed by a buzzer that chimed when each was over. Eric was so much in his own world, he hadn't noticed that Troy kept dozing off or, if he did, he was too caught up to care. Whether Eric was caught up in
the
Spirit or
a
spirit had yet to be determined. All Troy knew was that he'd missed the morning local news, thanks to the three-hour-and-six-minute event. When it was over, Eric stated that he hoped Troy had gained something from spending the time with the Lord and also had a suggestion for him.

“I feel an unction to direct you to Psalm 57. I believe you'll be able to relate it to your current situation. It was written by David when he was on the run from Saul who was trying to kill him. I recommend you read it,” he said, leaving a copy of the King James Bible with him.

Troy, all Bibled out for the moment, told Eric that he'd check it out later and asked if he could use his computer. After being reassured that Troy wouldn't violate rule 11, which forbade the use of any pornographic sites, Eric brought his laptop into the den and created a guest account for him. Eric went on about his daily errands while Troy spent much of the morning reading news articles about himself as the prime suspect in Cheryl's murder. He also did a search for DJ Rio to learn more about the dude Troy was certain was somehow connected to the case. From Rio's social media pages, Troy learned that he had an upcoming gig on Friday night. Troy's initial thought was to attend the event and corner the deejay there. But, Friday was still three days away and he couldn't afford to wait until then for answers. Troy decided to give him a call.

“Hi, my name is Jermaine Coleman.”
Not much creativity there, buddy,
Troy thought to himself as he combined his middle name with Natalie's maiden one. “I'm throwing my son a going-away party next month when he goes off to college and I'm looking for a deejay. Someone recommended you.”

“Yeah, that's what's up,” Rio, who originally sounded half asleep when he answered, piped up. “What date you lookin' at?”

“The exact date hasn't been confirmed yet. If you can do it, I can work around your schedule.”

“Oh, I gotchu. Let me look at my calendar and see what I have open.”

“Is it possible for us to meet in person to discuss all the details?”

“I can tell you everything you need to know right now. My fee is three-hundred dollars for the first four hours. For each additional hour—”

“Pardon me for interrupting, but I'm old school and I really like handling business face-to-face. I'm willing to pay you for your time. If I decide to hire you for my son's party, I'll give you one-and-a-half times your normal rate.”

“Fuh real?”

“Yes, for real, but I like to see people I go into business with. I heard you were good and if you want the job, I'm willing to give it to you. If not, I'll move on to the next deejay on my list.”

“Naw, man, I gotchu. When you wanna meet?”

“Is today too soon?” Rio had things to do during the day and wouldn't be available until later in the evening, which was fine with Troy who had to figure out how he'd get to the location. They decided to meet at 7 p.m. at a spot near the OSU campus. At noon, Troy turned his attention away from Rio and to the twelve o'clock news.

“Yesterday, we told you about a police detective, Troy Evans, who is
wanted for the kidnapping and murder of his former lover, Cheryl Hunter
.
Officers searched all through the night for Evans, but so far they have no
leads on his whereabouts. We spoke with Troy's attorney, Lawrence Murphy.”