Read an Excerpt
Sisters Without Mercy
By Clarence J. Moore
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2013 Clarence J. Moore
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-6980-1
Chapter One
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me ..." The voice of the minister droned on as he recited the Twenty-third Psalm. Family and friends stood with their heads bowed in somber prayer on what had turned out to be one of the sunniest days of the year amid the gloom and darkness of shattered hearts. They had come to say good-bye to a young man who, in the minds of every one present, had the potential to become a great professional football player. He'd had both good looks and brains and he'd earn the glory heaped upon him from his football exploits. Mark Simmons was a young man who seemed destined to achieve all that he and his family had dreamed he would. Another Walter Payton or Jim Brown, or even O. J. in his heyday. He had been a senior in college, and a shining star—both on the field and in the classroom. Mark had been strong enough to stand up to peer pressure and say 'no' to gangs and drugs.
Hope, Mark's beautiful mother, stood gazing at the casket, wondering, for the hundreth time—or was it the thousandth? why anyone had wanted to kill her handsome son? But here he lay in a bronze coffin and she'd not had an opportunity to see or touch his sweet face again. His body had been too badly burned and mutilated. Hope looked up from the coffin to see her daughter coming towards her across the lawn of the cemetery. Dora made her way through the crowd of mourners and curiosity-seekers to get to her mother and younger brother, Charlie. Even at a time like this, Hope noticed how cat-like her daughter moved. She was lithe and graceful with long-legged strides, her head held high, and her carriage very erect. Also watching Dora was Mark's friend. The friend who was with Mark the night he was killed.
* * *
Mark and David were having dinner at their favorite restaurant. They were talking about old times and laughing at some of the stunts they had pulled as kids. David was a few years older than Mark, but from the time Mark was a toddler, he and David had always gotten along. David had always been able to keep Mark out of trouble, but tonight, David sensed that Mark had something on his mind other than dinner.
As a rule, Mark was a very light-hearted, carefree person—gregarious and funny. Tonight he seemed—distant. Finally, David asked, "What's up?"
Mark replied, "Nothing."
"Okay! Can you repeat anything that we've been talking about for the past hour?"
Mark smiled, "You know me too well. I just have a lot on my mind. Relax, I'll be fine."
"Mark, you know you can tell me anything, like always."
"I know." He grinned again. "Cool it, man, you're worse than my sister."
The two friends finished their dinner and left the restaurant. They said good-bye and split up—each going to his own car.
David's phone was ringing as he reached his car. He unlocked the door, and just as he leaned in to pick up the receiver, there was a loud boom, a bright light and the earth moved. The force caused David to fall forward, so it was several seconds before he was able to get up. David looked back over his shoulder towards the light and realized that it was coming from the spot where Mark's car had been parked. He ran towards the flames. There was hardly anything left of the car—or of Mark, that he could see.
It was David's unpleasant duty to inform Mark's family of his death. He was also the one who had to write up the report. As a witness to the tragedy, he knew most of the details except, of course, who planted the bomb and why. As he told his boss, with that type of destruction, there was no doubt it was a bomb, and a powerful one, to demolish the car like that. David was also upset with himself for not pushing Mark a little harder to find out what was bothering him. He, Mark, must have known he was in danger.
David is police Sgt. David Aimsley, a homicide detective for the county of Los Angeles. He had seen many killings since becoming a cop, each one a little more senseless than the last, but this one hit home. He never did understand why people insisted upon killing each other, especially when they were young men like Mark. Why would anyone want to kill Mark? Why wouldn't he tell him what was wrong? Since Mark hadn't seen fit to confide in him, he would have to find out the hard way. But that was okay. Solving cases the hard way was how he managed to make detective before he was thirty.
* * *
Dora made her way to her mother. She threw her arms around her and her brother Charlie, holding them close, giving them her strength and drawing from theirs. Dora was in the Army, attached to a special service outfit. Even she thought she would not be home in time for the funeral. She never talked about what she did on these special operations, but the number of medals she had been awarded told a story of their own.
Hope heard the minister saying, "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" and it was over. People gathered around to offer their condolences to the family. Hope and Dora left the graveside arm in arm. Charlie walked in front with head bowed and his hands in his pockets. No one said anything. There was no need. They each could feel what the other was feeling.
David was standing out in front of the house when the limo pulled up. Hope was the first to emerge. She was glad to see David—he had always seemed like a son to her. Dora was not so happy. She wanted to talk to her mother alone. There was much to find out. So many questions to be asked and answered. Dora wasn't sure her mother had any of the answers, but she wouldn't know until she asked her.
David's eyes lit up as Dora got out of the car. This was the one woman that David was determined to call his own. He'd been in love with her all of his life. Dora didn't quite see it his way. Patience where Dora was concerned was a lesson he had learned early in his dealings with her. He'd wait.
Everyone took a seat on the back porch. No one spoke, not knowing what to say. They wondered how they would gather the strength to get on with the rest of their lives, but knew they would, sooner or later.
David picked up Hope's hand and asked, "Is there anything I can do?" Before Hope could answer, Dora spoke up, "What the hell do you mean, is there anything you can do? Of course there's something you can do. You can do your job. You're the hotshot detective. Find the people who killed my brother. That's what you can do—for all of us."
Hope spoke very softly, "Dora, don't." Dora looked at her mother, instantly contrite. Her mom didn't need this, but she wasn't sorry that she blew up at David. "I'm sorry Mom." She turned her back to David, distress outlined in her very stance.
David knew that it wouldn't serve any purpose to try and talk to Dora at this point. He thought it would be better to leave. Dora, never one to take things lightly, would be very interested in how the investigation was going, but right now she wouldn't even listen. David kissed Hope on the cheek, gave her hand a squeeze and said, "I'll call you." He said "goodbye" to the others and left.
Hope, needing to be active, went into the kitchen to prepare a light dinner—thinking all the while that any moment, her handsome son would come walking through the door and she would wake up to find this had all been a bad dream. A very bad dream.
Dora followed her mom into the kitchen. She needed to talk to her. The last thing she wanted to do was make it harder for her mother to deal with Mark's death, so she was very uncertain as to how to approach the subject.
She heard a noise coming from the back of the house and went to take a look. Her brother Charlie was throwing a basketball threw the hoop—the same hoop that Mark had put up for him. He seemed to be in another world while making basket after basket. Dora was thinking how well he seemed to be handling all that had happened when her mother made a noise. She turned in time to see her mother slip to the floor with her face in her hands, sobbing. She kept saying over and over again, "They killed my baby; they killed my baby."
Dora ran to her mother and sat down on the floor beside her, gathered her in her arms and held her, kissing her and trying to comfort her as best she could. Dora told her mother that whoever was responsible for Mark's death would pay. She made that promise to her mother and to herself with tears streaming from her eyes.
Dora rose early the next morning. She couldn't sleep anyway, and there was a great deal to be done. Finding the person or persons who killed her brother was her number one priority. She'd start her investigation by going through her brother's room. She was not surprised at some of what she found. Some of the stuff Dora had learned since being in the Army would have made her brother blush. Dora found many items that brought back pleasant memories from when they were kids. She was shocked to find all of the letters she had written to her family saved in a box as if they were very special to him. She had always thought that he really didn't care for her being a member of the armed forces, but finding these letters hidden here in his room showed that he was very proud of her. Finding these mementos made her even more determined to find out who killed him and why.
In a locked drawer, which Dora dealt with very easily, she found a file on a U.S. Senator by the name of Thomas Jackson. As Dora read the file, she thought the top of her head would explode. Some of the stuff written in the report made no sense to her, but what she did understand made her wonder if the contents in the report was reason enough for someone to kill her brother.
Reading the file, Dora learned that her brother wasn't just a kid in college trying to make a name for himself. He had been hiding a lot that no one would have ever believed. Mark was an undercover FBI agent. He belonged to a special task force known only to a chosen few.
The file contained information about some of the largest drug and arms deals that had taken place in the last two years. Dora also found a small appointment book listing dates and times. On the inside cover was a series of numbers. She put the little book in her pants pocket and continued to look around the room trying to find anything that would shed some light on what had happened.
Dora sat at her brother's desk and stared at his picture. She asked herself, "What was this kid into? Why would someone in college be an FBI agent? Why undercover and what did a U.S. Senator have to do with the picture?" None of this made any sense yet, but she knew if anyone could figure it out, she could. Dora heard her mother calling. She put the folder away and went to see what she wanted. She would come back later to continue her search. But first, she must see to her mother.
Hope was standing at the back door looking out at the big tree that had withstood so many, many storms over the years when Dora found her. "What's up, Mom?"
"Nothing. I just wondered where you were? I was standing here looking at the old tree out there and wondering why people can't be like that old tree—able to withstand whatever nature throws its way."
Dora hugged her and asked if she would like to go for a walk with her?
"I don't think so, darling. Why don't you go?"
Dora said, "OK, but I think I'll go for a run instead. You sure you wouldn't like to come for a walk? Fresh air will do us both a lot of good."
"No. You go for your run, darling. I'll be fine."
Dora set out at a very fast pace. One that few people could have maintained. She was running against the people who killed her brother, and also running against herself. She had to think. She needed to gather her thoughts—figure out what her next move should be and do it fast. Dora only had a sixty-day leave. She needed to have, at least, a basic understanding of the mystery surrounding her brother's death.
Dora had run about six miles when she noticed a car following her, and it didn't look like they were interested in how she looked from behind. She knew she looked as good from behind as she did in front, because 'fine' was not the word to describe the way this woman looked. Dora was tall for a woman—just a tad under 6ft. She was medium-brown with a reddish-brown urchin hair cut, which emphasized her almond-shaped brown eyes. Because she was in the Army, she was in great shape—nicely rounded in all the right places. She ran another mile and still the car paced her. She decided to take a path that was coming up on her right to see what their next move would be. The car kept on going down the street and she did not see it any more that day.
Dora finished her run and decided to treat herself to a dip in the hot tub. Sitting in the tub, letting the swirling water beat on taut muscles; she tried to recall conversations that she and her brother had had from time to time. What he had hoped to do with his life? She could still hear him saying that he "would someday make a difference in the world." He had wanted to be a builder like his father, but Mark wanted to build things that were different. Thinking about that also reminded her of how her brother was always building things with secret ways to get into them. Once again she recalled the series of numbers that she had found in his room. Could it be a code of some sort? Dora couldn't help thinking—hoping—that the numbers may well hold the key to some of the answers she was seeking.
Dora heard her little brother coming out to the hot tub, although describing Charlie as 'little' was a misnomer. Charlie, at sixteen, was well on his way to being six feet and more. Charlie had dreams of being another Michael Jordan or Magic Johnson. But she was glad he had come out on the porch where the hot tub was located. Dora had not had an opportunity to talk to him privately since her arrival. Charlie took a seat beside the hot tub.
"Hi! Sis, enjoying the water?" Dora responded that the hot tub was great, especially after her long run. Then he asked her if she liked the way the tub was built?
She said, "Yeah! Sure! It's great! Is there something special about it I should know?"
Charlie grinned and said, "Sure, I helped Mark build it." That remark started Dora thinking.
"Charlie, is there anything else around here that Mark may have built?"
"Yeah!" said Charlie, "but I haven't seen it. I do know, or at least I think, there is a secret passageway in Mark's room that leads to other rooms in the house, but I've been unable to find it."
"Bingo!"
Charlie told her that Mark had found a set of blueprints left by their dad who had built the house originally. According to the blueprints, the dimensions of some of the rooms were off. Since dad was the builder, Mark said it was done on purpose. This house had been very special to their Dad. According to Charlie, Mark had told him about it, but had never shown him how to get into that part of the house. All he knew for sure was that Mark had made some changes, but didn't know what or where.
"Dad left a lot of building material in the shed out back and Mark used it to do whatever it was he did."
"Mark also told me that I would never be able to figure out what had been done. I guess he was right because you never heard him hammering or anything. There was never any noise but I'm sure it exists."
Brother and sister sat with their own thoughts for a minute, thinking about their tall handsome brother. Dora also thought about her beloved dad who had died five years ago in an accident at a building site.
This secret place, if there was such a place, belonged to their brother and only their brother. "Charlie, do you think Mom knows anything about the section of the house Mark was working on?"
"Nah! I don't think so. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one he ever told."
Charlie wanted to know why she was so interested in the room? What could be so important about it? Dora shrugged her shoulders and said, "Nothing special. I would just like to see what Mark had built." She told Charlie to forget it and to run along so she could think.
Dora got out of the hot tub, donned shorts and tank top and went into the house non stop for Mark's room. Once inside, she started looking around—trying to find an entrance to another room—a room that was supposed to be there. As she looked around, it was hard for her to believe that another room existed, but she knew her brother, if he said there was a room, then you could bet your fanny it was there.
She ran her fingers around the wall, knocking as she went to see if the sound would change, but nothing happened. She went into the closet and did the same thing in there, still nothing.
When Dora came out of the closet, she sat down at Mark's desk trying to remember what her brother had said about "the things he would build some day."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Sisters Without Mercy by Clarence J. Moore Copyright © 2013 by Clarence J. Moore. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
