Reunited By The Badge. Deborah Fletcher Mello
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research scientist reporting to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Like his brother, Paul had a medical degree, but specialized in emergency care and family practice. He’d chosen to be a public health practitioner over private practice.
Paul trusted Oliver, one of only a few people he knew who would have his back, whatever the situation. “Did you discuss this with anyone?”
“No. Not a soul. Which is also why I didn’t file a police report. Whoever knew the samples were here, also knew you sent them. Whoever took them has access to the government labs because there isn’t an ounce of evidence to point toward a break-in. Now, I’m not one for conspiracy theories, but something’s going on.”
Paul took another deep breath. The carousel had just begun to spin, the passengers from his international flight crowding around like a herd of cattle waiting for something to happen. As the first bags appeared out of a hole in the rear wall, the group drew closer, preparing to snatch their possessions as quickly as they could.
Oliver called his name. “Paul! You still there?”
“Sorry, yeah. Just trying to think.”
“Look, I’m here to help any way I can. But, this feels like it might be more than either one of us can handle. Have you talked to anyone? The police? An attorney, maybe?”
Paul shook his head, oblivious to the fact his brother couldn’t see him through the telephone line. His eyes were skating over the crowd, a sense of unease beginning to swell in his midsection. He was suddenly feeling slightly paranoid, like he needed to be looking over his shoulder. “I’ve got to run. I’ll call you as soon as I get to the house.”
“Be careful, please,” Oliver admonished as the line disconnected in his ear.
Minutes later, Paul sat in the back of an Uber. His preferred driver, a grandmother from the island of Haiti, was chatting him up about his trip. The older woman had been driving him back and forth for the last year, her wide smile always a welcome sight whether he was coming or going.
“You need a wife,” she said, the comment coming out of left field.
Paul laughed. “Why would I want to do something like that?”
“God didn’t make man to live his life alone. That’s why he gave Eve to Adam. Someone to be your helpmate. A partner to help carry some of the burden and provide comfort when you need it. It’s why you need a wife. God has ordained it!” she professed with an air of finality that suddenly had Paul considering the possibilities.
He thought about the women in his life—one woman in particular—then shook his head. “I don’t foresee that in my immediate future, Mrs. Pippin.”
“What about that beauty queen you were dating? Was she not wifey material?”
“No!” he exclaimed, his head waving from side to side. “She was definitely not wife material.” For a moment he thought about the Miss Illinois contestant he’d met in the hospital waiting room. She had captured his attention and then all focus had been lost two weeks later when she accused him of cheating because he hadn’t answered her call or returned it in a timely manner. She had keyed his car, stolen his phone and had poisoned his fish tank with bleach. He discovered later that he had fared better than her last boyfriend. That poor guy had suffered immeasurable damage when she’d superglued his junk to his leg after discovering he’d slept with her friend. Any man willing to make her his wife would have to sleep with both eyes open at night.
Mrs. Pippin interrupted his moment of reverie. “Your heart is still with that lawyer woman. The one you talk about, but don’t talk to,” she concluded, grunting slightly as she gave him a look through the rearview mirror.
The faintest hint of a smile lifted across Paul’s face. “She broke my heart, Mrs. Pippin. And she left it in a million pieces.”
The old woman grunted a second time. “She is still under your skin. She never leaves you. Like a bad juju. That is why all the other beauties you date don’t stand a chance. You should call her.”
Paul suddenly found himself pondering her suggestion, smiling at the thought of any woman being some kind of mystical charm that could sway him from other relationships. Maybe Mrs. Pippin was right, and he had himself a case of bad juju. He remembered how smitten he’d been, so possessed that he couldn’t begin to imagine his life without the beauty who’d felt like home in his small world.
That woman she referred to was Simone Black, daughter of Chicago’s illustrious police superintendent Jerome Black and his wife, federal court judge Judith Harmon Black. The last time he had spoken with Simone, their conversation had been tense, and he’d felt battered by the end of it. There had been an ultimatum, or two, and the predictable battle of wills when the two disagreed. Their communication had failed, and both had shut down.
He could barely remember who had started that fight or what they’d even fought about, just that it had been the end for their relationship and months of conflict between them. They had agreed to part ways, choosing to let go of each other, instead of battling for a happily-ever-after that could have lasted a lifetime.
A mission trip to Northern Thailand to treat the indigenous people of the Akha tribe, high in the Chiang Rai mountains, had kept him from falling into a fit of depression and crying into his cornflakes for months. Being able to provide medical treatment to patient populations that included local migrant workers, as well as refugee populations from bordering Myanmar, had kept him sane and balanced and unconcerned with whether the woman he had loved was moving on without him. He had regained focus and come back with a renewed sense of purpose. The spiritual journey that had been so much about expanding his horizon and answering a calling, had become a much needed balm, a bandage of sorts on an open wound. There had been five more mission trips since and no wailing over the loss of his woman.
Now, thinking about her was adding to the frustration he was already feeling. But calling Simone, a prominent lawyer with the state’s attorney’s office, suddenly made more sense than not. Despite their problems, he trusted her and right then, he needed counsel from someone he could trust.
Mrs. Pippin was rambling, sharing a story about one of her many grandchildren. Paul listened with half an ear as he considered his options. He needed help and Simone might be willing to point him in the right direction. She also had connections who might prove to be beneficial in helping him solve his problem. He knew he’d fare better with her than without her, if only to get a hint or two of advice.
Paul shifted forward in his seat. “Mrs. Pippin, change of plans. I need to grab a bite to eat. Do you mind taking me to West Bryn Mawr, please? Down near North Clark Street.”
“No problem at all. Just change the destination in the app for me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Minutes later she’d turned the burgundy Avalon he was riding in about and headed toward the North Side of town. He pushed the speed dial for the first number in his phone contacts and waited for it to be answered.
Simone Black answered just as he was about to hang up. “Why are you calling me, Paul?” Her tone was wary as she said hello.
Hearing her voice sent both a rumble of anxiety into the pit of his stomach and a blanket of calm across his back and shoulders. The conflicting emotions caused him to struggle to stay focused. He took a deep breath before he spoke. “It’s important, Simone. I really need your help.”
There was an awkward pause as the woman on the other end took time to ponder his comment. When she finally responded her voice was thick with attitude. “This better be good, Paul Reilly. Do not waste my time!”
“Can you meet me, please?”
“Now? Do you know what time it is?”
“I know it’s late, Simone, but I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. And I mean life-and-death important. I really need to talk to you.”
There was another lengthy pause before she answered. “If it’s