Devils Among Us (Devin Dushane Series Book 1) (2 page)

Devin stood outside the imposing brick church, staring at
its massive red door. She didn’t want to be here in her best black suit with a
band across her badge. It wasn’t a choice, though. Greg wasn’t just her partner;
he and Marcy were like family. Maybe by slipping in at the last possible moment
and sitting in the darkest back corner, she could cope
with the funeral. Letting out her breath in a whoosh, Devin sprinted up the
stairs, ignoring the burn of the stitches across her stomach and arm. Perhaps
if she propelled herself through the door with enough speed, she wouldn’t have
time to talk herself out of taking a seat inside. Unfortunately when she hit
the dark interior of the foyer, she hesitated while her eyes adjusted.

“Devin, thank goodness you’re here! I need you to sit with
me.” Marcy broke away from a group that Devin recognized as Greg’s family as
they were preparing to file into the chapel and clung on to Devin like a
drowning child.

His mother stepped forward, her mouth drawn into a tight,
straight line, her disapproval evident. “Marcy, dear, I really don’t think the
Detective would be comfortable sitting up front. It’s really just for fam—”

Marcy didn’t allow her to finish. “Devin is family to me,
and she was family to Greg. She belongs with us.” Tiny little Marcy lifted her
chin and set her shoulders as if a force of nature couldn’t move her.

Mrs. Lumas turned on her heel and walked back toward the
group, whispering fierce objections to her sons. She was the matriarch of a
large Irish family that had been sending its sons into the police force for
generations. Sons. Never daughters. Mrs. Lumas had never liked Devin; she felt
it wasn’t safe for Greg to be partnered with a woman, and she clearly held Devin
responsible for her son’s death.

And she’s probably right,
Devin thought grimly, but
she pushed that thought away. Now was not the time.

Marcy tucked her arm through Devin’s and turned her huge
eyes upward to look her in the eye. Her severe black dress made her eyes an
even more vivid purple than normal. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
She whispered.

Devin knew that was the truth, but it didn’t mean she was
where she
wanted
to be. Especially when she felt the pitying eyes of the
mourners upon her as she and Marcy made their way up the aisle. Instead of
being tucked away in the darkest back corner, Devin was up front and center. She
could have reached out and touched Greg’s casket if she wanted to. She didn’t
want to. Instead she concentrated on maintaining a peaceful, bereaved
expression while taking her mind as far away as possible.

As the mass droned on, she flipped through mental images of
her childhood in inner-city Richmond. Devin thought about her family’s numerous
moves to new apartments, which had also meant new schools in hopes of finding “something
a little better.” Buying red, white and blue sno cones at the park by the river
on the 4th of July for a quarter, but not buying too many, so they’d have
enough money to buy sparklers off the older kids. Studying martial arts with
Master Chan in the rickety room above his granddaughter’s Asian grocery story
until the plaster dust started falling on the customers and they had to move to
the Y. Those were benign pieces of her past she could stand to examine. She didn’t
think of her father, and she certainly didn’t think about Greg.

After the services at the cemetery, there was a reception in
the back room of Luigi’s, Greg’s favorite Italian restaurant. It was where he
proposed to Marcy and where all the detectives normally celebrated when they broke
a big case. Devin was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. Few mourners
approached her, which suited her fine. She didn’t want their condolences; they
should reserve those sentiments for Marcy. Greg’s mother held court in the
center of the room, shooting haughty glares at Devin whenever she could. All of
Greg’s coworkers and friends swarmed around Marcy, providing a protective
barrier against any of Mrs. Lumas’ unpleasantness.

  “Devin, don’t you want a whiskey? We’re about to do a round
of toasts to Greg’s memory.” Alex Denton said. He was another detective in
their precinct. He and his partner, Leon, had frequently worked with Devin and
Greg, and they’d played a major part in this last operation.

Devin sighed and pushed off the wall “I’ll take a soda.”

He frowned and leaned in to whisper, “Can’t you make an
exception? Everyone is having Irish whiskey. Mrs. Lumas is insisting on the
tradition.”

Devin cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked. “As if drinking
whiskey of any origin would make that woman like me. I’m not making an
exception, and Greg wouldn’t have wanted me to.”

Alex gave up and went to find her a soda. Devin very rarely
drank. Her father had spent the last thirty-five years drowning in a bottle,
and from the time she was very small Devin had witnessed the devastation
alcohol could cause. It was obvious the potential was in her DNA, and she
didn’t want to tempt fate by indulging in liquor. So on rare occasions she made
an exception, one which had landed her in a casino wedding chapel, but mixing
whiskey and grief did not seem like a smart combination. After many rounds of
toasts, the group began to break up. They’d toasted to Greg’s joy for life, his
dedication to his family, and his loyal friendship. Devin had toasted to his
protection of the innocent, his unfailing search for truth and justice, and
always having her back—which drew an angry huff from Mrs. Lumas. It was then
that Captain Morris pulled her aside.

“Captain, I know you need my report,” Devin said. “I’ll be
in tomorrow to get everything wrapped up.”

He looked at the floor, not wanting to make eye contact.
“I’m not worried about your report. Tomorrow will be fine. I just wanted to
discuss your leave.”

“My leave? I know I’ll need to work a desk until my stitches
come out, but I wasn’t planning on taking any more days off.” She hadn’t been
in to the precinct since she had been stabbed but knew she had to face Greg’s
empty desk and clean his locker out for Marcy.

“You know for this type of incident the department requires
a one month leave and a psych evaluation, and there are extenuating
circumstances here.” Not only was Captain Morris not meeting her eyes, but he
looked like the collar of his shirt was suddenly two sizes too small. Devin
knew he wasn’t giving her the whole story, but she couldn’t tell what he was
holding back.

“The ‘extenuating circumstances’ are exactly why I can’t
take a month off. You’re already down a detective. Alex and Leon won’t be able
to cover the whole case load, and I need to get back in there. I didn’t really
think you’d enforce the leave. Surely you can bend the rules just a little and
overlook the one-month requirement.  The press is writing our department up as
heroes.” In truth, she was the one the press was calling a hero, but she didn’t
like that kind of attention.

Captain Morris was beet red by this point, and his eyes were
wild. Delicate conversations had never been his forte. He knew Devin would react
badly, so he pulled the band-aid off quickly and burst out the news. “Devin,
it’s not a month. It’s a mandatory three-month leave, and my hands are
absolutely tied, so there’s no sense in getting worked up here.” His words were
laughable, considering
he
was the one that looked like he was going to
drop dead of a heart attack any moment.

 “
Three
months! Are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind?
What the hell am I supposed to do for that long? I was stabbed, not run over by
a Mack truck!” Devin looked the exact opposite of the Captain—when she was
angry, her sun-kissed skin paled to its natural porcelain coloring, and her
chocolate eyes turned black and ice cold with her fury. 

Several officers from their precinct were eyeing the two
speculatively, as if they all knew what the conversation was about and they had
wagers on just how ballistic Devin would go. She wondered briefly what kind of
show they were expecting.
Leon
probably expects something showy like
throwing a chair thru the window and he wouldn’t think I would carry a weapon
at a funeral. That’s where Alex knows me better, she could just hear him now.
“Are you kidding? This is Devin, church or not, she’s carrying a gun.”

Now that everything was out in the open, Captain Morris let
the details pour forth. “One-month is required leave for an injury like yours
sustained in the line of duty. There’s another required for losing your partner
in this manner, and the psych evaluations that go along with it . . .” He lost
his momentum and faltered before telling her the rest.

Like her demeanor, Devin’s voice was icy and hard when she
spoke. “What about the third month?” She could already sense she was not going
to like his answer.

The captain sighed in defeat and met her eyes once again.
“Internal Affairs needs the extra month to complete their investigation.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Investigation of what exactly?” she
hissed out.

“They’re investigating you for alleged excessive force in
the death of Ronald Turnsby and reckless endangerment of your fellow officers.”

The James River Killer had turned out to be named Ronald
Turnsby, a mild-mannered software developer who’d spent his days quietly
designing foreign language educational software in his cubicle that overlooked
the James River and the meandering jogging trail that accompanied it.

“Use . . . of . . . excessive . . . force?” Her voice was
tight as she tried to control her fury, but with each word, her voice climbed
higher in both pitch and volume. “I was severely wounded and unarmed. What did
they want me to do, tap him on the shoulder and ask him politely to stop
shooting the nice policemen? This is crap, and you know it!” She punctuated her
tirade by hurling her empty drink glass at the back wall. If anyone hadn’t
heard the shouting, they surely heard the explosion of glass.

“Yes, Devin, I do know it’s crap, but that doesn’t change
the fact that I can’t interfere with an IAB investigation. You’re not exactly
on their Christmas card list as it is, so you’re just going to have to suck it
up and wait this thing out.” It was no secret that Internal Affairs considered
her volatile and a risk to the department. They were looking for any
opportunity to bounce her into civilian life.

“It’ll be unpaid leave until IAB finishes their
investigation. I’m so sorry, kid.” He left the rest unsaid—that it would a
permanent unpaid leave if they found her guilty.

She dropped her voice and spoke under her breath. “I don’t
care about the money. This is just their opportunity to vilify me more than the
killer and convince everyone in the department that I’m responsible for Greg’s
death.”

 “The Mayor’s office loves the positive press right now. They’ll
be on your side, and that carries a lot of power. You just need to sit tight
and ride it out. Rest, take a vacation. Lord knows it’s been years since you’ve
taken time off.”

After the reception, Devin drove Marcy home and settled her
in with her sister, who’d flown in from Chicago for the funeral. After getting
Marcy’s assurance that there was nothing else she needed and that she would
call tonight if she couldn’t sleep, Devin headed home. Her apartment was in a
refurbished textile mill that dated from the 1920s and was located in the
trendy downtown area near the river, two blocks off Broad Street.

She loved the character of the exposed beams and huge gothic
windows that over looked the tree-lined street, though this month, she’d
disdained its lack of air conditioning. As the heavy steel door closed behind
her, she automatically turned the locks and then leaned against the aged brick
wall of her entry way. What was she going to do with herself for the evening?
Let alone for three months. As she gazed around her living room, her eyes fell
upon her gym bag. That was exactly what she needed—to sweat it out. She
propelled herself off the wall and across the room. It wasn’t until she was
leaning over to grab the bag that she saw her running shoes peeking out, still splattered
with blood. They served as a viscous reality check. With her injuries, both
physical and mental, she couldn’t possibly work out.

A cold beer sounded better and better. Fortunately, she
didn’t keep alcohol on hand, but she did have a fresh pint of Ben and Jerry’s
in the freezer, and that would do nicely. After changing into a tank top and
her favorite comfy basketball shorts, she was headed to the freezer when the
phone rang. Her instinct was to ignore it. Marcy was with her sister, and her
father hadn’t called in ten years. Was there anyone else she really wanted to
talk to? As always, her responsible side won out, and she grabbed the cordless
phone.

“Dushane.” Home or working, her phone greeting was always the
same, short and to the point.

“Hey, Baby Girl.”

Devin smiled despite herself, it was always good to hear
from Carter, even if he was her ex-husband.

“Your timing is perfect. You just saved me from devouring an
entire container of ice cream.”

“Drowning yourself in cookie dough? That’s never a good
sign. I guess the rumors are true that you’ve become a human pin cushion for
the Richmond PD?” Carter was the only person that could make her laugh no
matter how serious the circumstances.

“For your information, it was a hunting knife, not a pin,
and they’re not rumors; it’s bona fide news headlines around here.”

“I guess that’s why Mama has worked herself into a frenzy
going on about how Devin was attacked in the street by a serial killer.” He was
trying to keep it light, but she could hear the tension and worry in his voice.

“Crap. I’m sorry, Carter I should have called your mom. I’m
so used to not talking to my parents. It never occurred to me to call her
during all the excitement. I’ll call her as soon as we hang up.” Mama Dushane
had been like a second mother to Devin since they were in high school.

“You’d better. She’s beside herself. You know, you might
have called me, too. I’d like to know when my wife is nearly murdered in the
line of duty.”

“Ex-wife, Carter. For seven years now. When are you going to
stop calling me that?” She tried to sound stern, but it was impossible to be
angry at a giant walking talking teddy bear.

“If you’d just marry me again, we wouldn’t have to have this
conversation over and over again, and I’d know that you were safe.” His tone
became serious for once. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine. The excellent docs at St. Mary’s have me all
patched up. And you know you couldn’t give up all your little fans and groupies
to settle down with one woman.” She was teasing, but finding out about his
affairs and not being hurt by that knowledge had told her their marriage was
over. They were meant to be friends, not lovers.

“I’ll convince you one day.” Though he wasn’t there to see
it, she rolled her eyes. He was persistent; she’d give him that.  “Mama said
somebody was killed. What happened?”

Devin went through the details for only the hundredth time,
but she didn’t mind; Carter and his family were the only real family she had. He
was appropriately outraged on her behalf by the IAB investigation, he grieved
with her over the loss of her partner, and he had unwavering faith that she’d
done what was right and necessary.

“What am I going to do for three months? I’m going to lose
my mind!”

“Devin don’t worry about it; I’ll send you extra alimony.”
Carter’s first instinct was always to take care of Devin, it had been that way
since they were in high school and she’d been the only white girl in a three-block
radius.

“Carter, I’m fine. I don’t need any extra money, and you
send too much as it is. I just don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. Sit
around for three months reliving the whole incident, blow by blow? I will
literally drive myself insane. You might as well ship me off to Western State with Grandma Bennett.” Devin’s grandmother on her father’s side had been in Western State Mental Hospital in Staunton, Virginia, for almost ten years before she died.

“You could come to LA and see me. See the sights, get a tan,
slip off to Vegas…” He paused to emphasize the possibilities. “And you could
see Tucker while you’re here.” Devin’s baby brother Tucker had been in LA for a
few years trying to be a musician, but mostly he was getting busted for petty
crimes and drug charges.

“Uh…
no
. You’re not getting me anywhere near another
casino wedding chapel. That’s all I need—turn this disaster into a catastrophe.”

Carter pretended to be grievously insulted but couldn’t pull
it off without laughing. “Have you seen Tucker recently?” Devin asked. Carter
tried to keep tabs on her brother whenever he could and usually had a better
idea of where her kid brother was then she did.

“It’s been about two months. I took him to lunch and told
him to call you, but I haven’t seen him since.” He couldn’t keep the irritation
out of his voice; Tucker had always been a thorn in Devin’s side and had caused
her a lot of heartache. She’d essentially raised him after their mother had
died, even though she was just a teenager herself and had never been able to
keep him out of trouble

Devin knew better than to ask how much money Carter had
given Tucker this time. He wouldn’t let her pay him back and she just worried
what Tucker was spending it on.

“What have you always wanted to do but never have the time
for?” Carter asked. “Travel, hobbies, a project? You could go backpacking
through South America, grow herbs, take a pottery class, or write poetry, hell,
I don’t know!”

Devin laughed until she cried at his little outburst. It was
a full minute before she could breathe enough to wipe away the tears and choke
out an answer. “I was suspended; I didn’t turn into a hippie! Poetry and
pottery! Really? Do you want me to start making my own organic granola and
weaving blankets from alpaca wool, too?” She doubled over in a fresh fit of
howls.

“Haha, okay, maybe I didn’t think that through. I just meant,
what do you never have time for? If there were more hours in the day what would
you do?”

Devin didn’t even hesitate. “That’s easy. If there were more
hours in the day I’d work on more cases.”

“Well, what cases could you work on now? Could you work for
a PI?”

“Ew, no. That’s for retired cops. It would be like you going
to play ball in Spain right now.” That was an analogy he could understand. If
you loved the sport, you played anywhere you could, but if you wanted a career,
you had to be in the NBA.

“Oooh, I got it!” His voice danced like a little a kid who’d
just figured out their Christmas present. “What about looking into your aunt’s murder?
You’ve always said you wanted to find out what really happened. Now’s your
opportunity. You’ve got plenty of time to dig through everything and do your
own investigation.” Carter knew how deep the obsession of her aunt’s murder
ran. It had been a tragic turning point for her entire family.

Devin gave him a most unladylike snort. “I meant I’d look
into it when I was an FBI agent, not as a ‘what I did on summer vacation’
project.” She began eyeing her freezer again; the Ben and Jerry’s was calling
her name.

“Why not?” Carter demanded. “Are you planning some exotic
vacation I’m not aware of? Tossing back margaritas on a beach in Mexico or sightseeing in Paris? Devin, you don’t know how to vacation. You have to be busy solving
crimes, saving lives, doing your whole Wonder Woman thing. Why not do this for
you and your family? Give me one good reason.” It wasn’t very often he lectured
her, but when he did, he was usually dead on.

“You know it’s scary how well you know me. Like stalker
scary.” She was trying to sound disdainful but couldn’t keep the smile out of
her voice. Why couldn’t she do this? Did she have any valid reason not to?

 “Dad still owns his old house in Fenton. He usually rents it
out, but it needs some work, so there’s no one there now.” The wheels were
starting to turn as she considered the possibilities of what she could
accomplish. “I wouldn’t have any authority out there.”

“You don’t need authority, it’s not like you’re going to be
making arrests, right?  The cops aren’t going to bother another cop. You’ll
just be looking around and doing research, the same as a reporter would.” He
knew he was winning the argument, and he was getting smug about it.

“Ugh! Do not compare me to a reporter! I’m searching for truth,
not sensational headlines.” More than once Devin had butted heads with
reporters who’d compromised her investigation because they didn’t want to be
out-scooped. “But you’re probably right. The sheriff’s department might grant
me some leeway as a professional courtesy.”

“So you’re gonna do it?”

Was she? Would this bring her peace or pain? Devin looked
over at the picture on her end table. It was of her and Carter with his mother
when they graduated from VCU. The Dushanes had been the only family she had
there that day. Her mother had been dead for almost eight years by then, and
Mickey, her pseudo father figure, had been in Virginia Beach bailing Tucker out
of jail. At sixteen he thought it would be fun to steal a car and cruise down
to the beach with his buddies. Who knew where her father had been at the time;
he often disappeared for months when he was drunk. As she stared at everything
the picture was missing her resolve became ironclad.

“Yeah, I’m gonna do it.”

Could this be her chance to turn around three decades of
family tragedy?