Restoreth My Soul (Psalm 23 Mysteries)

Restoreth My Soul

Other Books by Debbie Viguié

The Psalm 23 Mysteries

The Lord is My Shepherd

I Shall Not Want

Lie Down in Green Pastures

Beside Still Waters

The Kiss Trilogy

Kiss of Night

Kiss of Death

Sweet Seasons

The Summer of Cotton Candy

The Fall of Candy Corn

The Winter of Candy Canes

The Spring of Candy Apples

Witch Hunt

The Thirteenth Sacrifice

The Last Grave

Restoreth My Soul

Psalm 23 Mysteries

By Debbie Viguié

Published b
y
Big Pink Bow

Restoreth My Soul

Copyright © 2013 by Debbie Viguié

ISBN-13: 978-0615779492

Published by Big Pink Bow

www.bigpinkbow.com

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is dedicated
to Calliope Collacott for all her enthusiasm, passion, and support.

Although the job of writing a book can be incredibly lonely and isolating at times, there are those who touch our lives and ease our burden. I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to the friends, family, and colleagues who have encouraged me and helped me on this journey. Thank you for all of your efforts to keep me sane and keep me writing! Love to you all.

Detective Mark Walters hated Tuesdays less than other days. Tuesdays were generally good days because it was the day the fewest people were murdered or committed suicide in total. That meant there were fewer new crime scenes to go to on Tuesdays so he could work on all of his other outstanding cases. Which was a good thing because the files were stacking up on his desk.

To make matters worse, some of the cases were considerably colder than when he’d last dealt with them. That was just one price for being away so long.

He was only three weeks back at work after having been on suspension for a few months. It still felt strange and it was going to take a while for the other officers to stop treating him like he had some kind of catching disease. On the whole, though, he was relieved to be back on the job, even though he kept finding himself staring at the empty desk of his dead partner, Paul.

There were half a dozen open cases in his inbox, all of them months old. There was a dead Iranian student, a murdered art dealer, and a man dead in a building fire that he may or may not have set himself among others. The only mystery that really had his attention, though, was the one involving Paul.

He had found out shortly after his partner was killed that Paul Dyer was an imposter who had taken the identity of the real Paul Dyer when they were both young children. The remains of the real Paul Dyer had been discovered in a mass grave at a popular camp in the woods and the true identity of his longtime partner was still a mystery.

The Dyer family refused to accept that the boy who had returned to them after their son had been kidnapped was not, indeed, their child. Only his sister was willing to believe the truth and she had already given him what little help she could.

Officially, the case of Paul Dyer was closed. Officers assigned to it after Mark’s suspension had been unable to determine the identity of the man they had worked side by side with for years. But since they knew how he died and who killed him they had stopped looking.

Mark had spent the majority of his suspension scouring the internet for old reports of missing children trying to uncover the truth, but he had gotten nowhere. Either the records had never made it online for some reason, or no one had reported the boy missing in the first place.

“Walters!”

He looked up from the file he was poring over.

“Body over on Maple. Check it out.”

He grabbed his jacket, took the piece of paper the other officer was holding, and headed out the door. Truth was, he was relieved to have something new to be working on. Hopefully it would take his mind off of everything else.

It didn’t take him long to get to the house in question. It was a nice house, decent size, on a quiet street. The only thing that seemed amiss was the squad car parked in the driveway and the officer exiting the house and waving to him.

Mark parked on the street and got out, taking in more of the street. A neighborhood like this would likely be mostly upper middle class families. He pulled out his notebook and pen, ready to take notes.

The officer met him halfway to the door. Mark flashed his badge somewhat self-consciously.

“I know who you are, Detective,” the officer, whose name tag said Liam, told him.

“And you’re talking to me? I’m impressed,” Mark said, unable to stop the sarcasm from rolling off his tongue.

“I might not like what you did, but I’ve no call to judge you. I wasn’t there.”

“Haven’t walked a mile in my shoes and all of that?” Mark asked, looking more closely at the officer.

Liam looked like he was in his late twenties with red hair and blue-green eyes. He had the build of a football player, and he held himself with pride.

“Something like that, sir,” Liam answered.

“I’ll take what I can get. Tell me what happened.”

“Anonymous call about some sort of disturbance here. Dispatch sent me.”

“Where’s your partner?”

“Just dropped him home with the stomach flu.”

Mark wrinkled his nose, but didn’t comment. “So, you got here.”

“Yes, sir. I arrived and knocked on the front door, but no one answered.”

“So, what sent you inside?” Mark asked.

“I heard a scream. I tried the door, found it unlocked, entered and announced myself.”

Mark nodded. Liam had followed protocol. It was a good thing, but it just reminded Mark of his own failings. For a fleeting moment he wondered if he was truly fit to return to active duty and then instantly wanted to slap himself for the self-doubt.

“Did you find anyone?”

“Only the body, sir. I believe the scream was from one of two cats that was inside. They raced out when I opened the door and I haven’t seen them since.”

“So, no one in the house, just a body?”

“That’s right, sir.”

Mark couldn’t take it anymore. “It’s Detective or Mark. My father was ‘sir’. Understand?”

“Yes, s-Detective.”

“Alright, lead the way.”

The first thing that struck Mark upon entering the house was how Spartan everything was. The dining room held a small table with two chairs. There were no pictures of any kind on the walls nor were there any in the hallways. The carpets looked practically new. As they moved farther into the house they passed a kitchen. It, too, looked like it hadn’t really been lived in. There were no small appliances on the counter, not even a coffee maker. These were all swept clean as though this was a freshly built house.

“The owner isn’t much for decorating,” Mark noted.

Liam coughed. “Not in the traditional sense.”

Mark was about to ask him what he meant when Liam led him into what was probably the living room.

Mark stopped and stared, amazed. There was a body crumpled in the corner, and a bright red smear of symbols on the wall immediately above it. He thought for just a moment that the walls were painted black with speckling but then realized that they were covered in more symbols, these tiny and in black.

He stepped farther in the room and then turned and took it all in. Every square inch of every wall was covered in the same. He approached the body and looked down. A little old man, in his upper eighties at least, his bright blue eyes were fixed in death.

“He has to be in his eighties, at least,” Mark noted.

He glanced at the bright red symbols on the wall just above the body. They looked like somebody had written in red paint and let it run down. He leaned closer and sniffed at it.

“This looks like blood,” he noted.

“That was my thought as well,” Liam said, crouching down beside him. “And look, there’s blood on the fingers of his right hand.”

“So there is,” Mark said. “Forensics can sort all this out for sure, but for the moment let’s assume that he wrote this in blood. What was so important to him?”

“I don’t know,” Liam said earnestly.

Mark hid a smile. The question had been rhetorical but it was clear that the officer wanted to help.

“What’s the rest of the house look like?” Mark asked, not yet ready to go see for himself, but wanting the information.

“There’s a bedroom off to the side down here. It’s got a bed and a dresser. Shaving gear and toothbrush in the bathroom.”

“And upstairs?”

“Three rooms, all of them empty.”

“Completely empty?”

Liam nodded. “I opened the closets in my sweep to make sure no one was hiding in them.”

“Good work,” Mark said.

He stared intently at the bloody symbols. They were written over the top of more of the tiny black symbols. They looked like they might almost be some kind of writing and he felt that perhaps he had seen it somewhere before.

He turned and looked at Liam who was watching him intently, clearly waiting for instructions.

Mark stood up. “Secure the perimeter.”

Liam jumped up. “I’m on it.”

“Oh, and one other thing.”

“Yes, Detective?”

Mark pointed to the symbols. “What is that?”

“It looks like Hebrew,” Liam offered.

Hebrew, that made sense. Mark squinted at it.

“Can you read it?”

The officer shook his head.

“Can you think of anyone in the department who is Jewish or might have studied Hebrew for any reason?”

Again Liam shook his head.

“Neither can I,” Mark said with a frustrated sigh.

He stepped up even closer to the one wall and stared at it intently for a moment while Liam went outside to work on securing the perimeter.

Whatever it was, it was clearly important to somebody. The sooner he could get it translated the sooner he might be able to figure out exactly what had been going on here.

There was one person he knew who could help him out with that.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Mark muttered to himself as he pulled out his phone.

A few seconds later Rabbi Jeremiah Silverman answered.

“Hi, Rabbi,” Mark said, feeling awkward and deciding to use Jeremiah’s title.

“What can I do for you, Detective?”

“I just found a dead body.”

There was a pause and then Jeremiah asked, “Why are you calling me?”

“Well, it’s been a few months since either you or the secretary found a dead body so I figured it was past time we all gathered around a corpse,” he said sarcastically, hating himself for having called in the first place.

“And the real reason would be?”

Mark sighed. “I could use some help. There’s writing all over the wall in the room in which we found the victim. Only trouble is, it looks like it’s written in Hebrew.”

“And you don’t know anyone who can translate it?”

“Sure I do. I’m calling him right now.”

Mark swore he heard an audible sigh. Anyone else and he wouldn’t have asked, but he and the rabbi had too much history at this point for him to waste a perfectly good resource by not trying to get him to help. Besides, all he needed him to do was translate, it wasn’t like he was involving him in yet another one of the crimes that he and the secretary seemed to be stumbling into all the time.

Paul would have hated it. He hated dealing with Jeremiah and Cindy and would always reference them as ‘civilians’. Paul wasn’t there to complain, though, no matter how much Mark wished he was.

“What’s the address?” Jeremiah asked after a minute.

Mark couldn’t help himself. “I knew you couldn’t resist the chance to get involved, Samaritan.”

The name was an old joke between them.

“How many times must I remind you, I’m Jewish.”

Mark smiled. The whole world had been turned upside down for him, but it was good to know that some things never changed.

Jeremiah hung up from talking with Mark. He had been doing hospital visitations early in the morning and had just gotten into the synagogue. Now it seemed he was heading right back out.

He walked out of his office and into the main reception area just as his secretary, Marie, appeared from the direction of the copy machine.

“Rabbi, I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

“Unfortunately, I have to go right back out,” he said.

She frowned. “When will you be back?”

“I’m not sure. This could take a little while and then I have a lunch appointment.”

“I didn’t see anything on your calendar.” Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “It’s not with that Gentile woman is it?”

“Marie, I promise that you’re the only person in America who uses that word,” Jeremiah said with a sigh.

“I knew it. You should be careful,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “Tongues may talk.”

“Thanks for the warning, Marie. Anything else?”

“Yes, there was a package here this morning when I arrived. It had your name on it,” she said, pointing to a very large, flat parcel wrapped in brown paper and leaning against one wall.

“Who is it from?”

“I don’t know.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, but it felt like a picture of some sort when I moved it.”

Jeremiah walked over and picked it up. It did feel like some sort of art or picture. He moved it into his office and then locked the door.

“I’ll be in late this afternoon if anyone needs me,” he said as he walked out the door.

She sniffed loudly, but didn’t say anything else. He was grateful for the small miracle.

Outside by his car he glanced over at the neighboring parking lot for the church where Cindy worked. He had figured they’d meet in the parking lots that were separated by just a small hedge and drive to lunch in one car. He might have to meet her at the restaurant now, it depended on how long Mark kept him. He’d text her when he figured it out.

It took him fifteen minutes to drive to the address Mark had given him. Pine Springs was a nice community, about an hour away from Los Angeles. The best thing about it was that, unlike L.A., nothing was too far away.