Kingdom of God Read online

  He felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Michael gradually peeled his hands away from his face and surveyed the cabin of the car. Jen appeared in the front passenger seat behind the metal partition. A man in a dark blue t-shirt and denim jeans sat to his left.

  “Glad we finally got to meet up in person,” Juan said.

  Michael’s breathing slowed. He looked out the window to his right. Several buildings and highway barriers whipped by. The vehicle’s engine roared again, and Michael was pinned back in his seat. He saw a river of taillights on the Via Oriente leading to the San Ysidro border crossing. The vehicle swerved left onto the vacant northbound side of the highway. Gravel bombarded the car’s undercarriage. A few raindrops pelted the roof.

  The detective watched the idle traffic on the Via Oriente fly by the passenger-side window as the vehicle sped down the northbound highway. They approached the concrete canopy over the border crossing. He peered out of the windshield and took in one more deep breath. The vehicle emerged from the shadow of the concrete canopy onto the deserted Interstate 5. It proceeded north into the United States.

  * * *

  Jen and Juan led Michael out of the rear of the vehicle and across the 27th Street Station parking lot. The detective held a small strip of gauze against his lip. They escorted him up the stairs and through the back entrance. A SDPD officer was holding the door. Some thirty feet away, a gaggle of reporters and photographers stood behind the gate dividing the parking lot from the sidewalk.

  The three walked through the hallway to the growing sound of applause. Dozens of officers and staff emerged from behind every corner and down every the stairwell. They were clapping and patting both Michael and Juan on the shoulders. Jen took a step back as officers forced their way closer and closer to the two men.

  Sergeant Bishop came out of the hallway to the left. He wrapped his arm tightly around Michael’s neck and faced the group gathered in the hallway.

  “Hey! Hey, quiet down,” he yelled. The commotion quieted. “We always support our brothers on the other side. We know how lucky we are to see them come home in one piece. We had Barrish’s back the whole time, right?” The officers applauded for several seconds.

  “Tha-thank you,” Michael murmured. “I, uh...I just want to say that one of our brothers didn’t make it back. His name was...He was Sergeant Christopher Dowd. A real army man. A true patriot. Loved this country. And, uh...if you guys could join me a moment of silence for him, keep his family in your thoughts and prayers, I think we owe him that.”

  Everyone bowed their heads. Michael kept his eyes open. His shoulders raised and lowered with each breath. Sweat and grease started to pour into his eyes. After a few more seconds, the detective wiped his brow, cleared his throat and raised his head.

  “Thank you.”

  A few more claps echoed in the hallway as the officers dispersed. Sergeant Bishop shook Michael’s hand before exiting the basement. Officer Lincoln approached the detective from behind and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Michael flinched as the officer rested her head on the back of his neck and squeezed him tightly. She finally relinquished him.

  “Glad to have you back,” she said.

  “Yeah.” She handed him a few stapled papers.

  “Here’s the accommodation for tonight. It’s for a full forty-eight. We already have a few unmarks at your house.”

  “Just forty-eight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you, uh...see if we can do any longer?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And some assholes put that binder back on your desk. Don’t worry about it. We got most of the jumpers from Sunday.”

  “Okay.” She smiled and stepped away. “Hey, uh...can you do a search for me?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Can you check the status on Maria Rosa? The witness from Monday?”

  “Yeah, I can follow-up on that.”

  “And for a Matt Jacobson. Caucasian. About twenty years old.”

  “Yeah. I’ll look him up too.”

  “Thank you.”

  Michael stood under a running shower in the station’s changing area for twenty minutes. A few officers stopped in the hallway and offered him praise for his work. He shuffled into the busy bullpen drying his face and hair with a white towel. He wore a medium-sized, navy-colored, SDPD-branded t-shirt that wrapped tightly around his arms and stomach. He stepped into his office and fell into the desk chair. Small droplets of moisture still beaded on his neck and forehead.

  On the corner of his desk stood a sweating, unopened beer can. Beside it lay a black four-inch binder with less than dozen pages inside. The front and back covers folded against each another. A yellow sticky note was affixed to the front cover with the words “Get back to work” scrawled on it.

  He picked up the landline handset on his desk and hit the button at the bottom of the dial pad. The other line rang in his right ear.

  “Are you back?” Mary answered. Air rushed through the microphone on her end of the line.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh thank God.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “They were saying something about a shooting on the news.”

  “I know.”

  “What was that?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “You don’t need to go to the hospital or anything?”

  “No.” Michael heard his heart beat in his right ear. “Where are you?”

  “Running to the pharmacy.”

  “Where are the kids?”

  “Home.”

  “How is it there?”

  “Okay. Sammy’s still grounded.”

  “Are there any guys there?”

  “What guys?”

  “The protection.”

  “Protection? What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing. Forget it.”

  “Why do we need protection?”

  “It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.” A long pause came across the line.

  “Okay.” Michael inhaled a deep breath.

  “God I can’t wait to see you.”

  “I know. When do you think you can make it home?”

  “Just a couple more days.”

  “Okay. Love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Bye.”

  Michael hung up the phone. His eyes fell to the binder. The detective flipped it open and read the first page. Of the forty vehicles that crossed the border following the bombing, only two were unaccounted for. The first was a black sedan with a single occupant, last seen by traffic cameras on Highway 15. The second was a white passenger van. It was captured on surveillance footage at a gas station in Mission Viejo. The driver was a young man with a dark complexion wearing thick-rimmed glasses. Several occupants appeared inside in the vehicle. After refueling, the driver reentered the van and continued north on Interstate 5.

  Michael stepped out of an unmarked cruiser shielding his eyes from the morning sun. His face was clean-shaven. The swelling in his lip abetted. He pushed his wire-framed glasses up his nose and tucked a clean blue button-down shirt deeper into his khaki pants. He stepped into the shade provided by a short palm tree situated between the curb and sidewalk. The sunlight bounced off of the white, ranch-style homes lining both sides of the quiet street.

  The detective squinted at the car parked ahead of the unmarked cruiser. Jen emerged from the other vehicle and opened the rear door. Wendy cautiously stepped out. Her shoulders were hunched. She buried her hands into the pockets of her red hooded sweatshirt. She turned around and aided Maribel out of the car. The young girl clutched Wendy’s shirt as she slid off the back seat and onto the pavement.

  The four of them faced the house across the street. Two police cruisers sat on the curb. A white passenger van was in the driveway. A bright green lawn lay out in front of the house. Michael and Jen scanned both ends of the block. The inv
estigators, Wendy and Maribel began to cross.

  Before they reached the curb, the front door opened. An elderly woman stood in the doorway. She shrieked and extended her arms out to her side. She hobbled down the first step, ran across the front lawn and off the curb.

  “Oh my God,” she screamed. “Oh my baby!” The elderly woman wrapped her arms around Wendy. The young woman broke down into tears as she hugged her grandmother. Michael and Jen looked on from behind the police cruisers as the two embraced. Maribel maintained her grip on Wendy’s sweatshirt.

  A young boy appeared in the doorway. He rushed outside. He ran up to Maribel and patted her on the arm shouting “¡la traes, la traes!” before running back toward the house. Maribel released Wendy’s shirt and sprinted after him inside.

  Michael traipsed down the small entryway of the single-story home. Photos of Wendy and another young man dotted on the walls of the narrow corridor. He passed a kitchen on his right. Four children were running around the living room at the end of the hallway. Their excited screams ignited some ringing in Michael’s hearing aid. He reached into his left ear and turned it off.

  An in-ground swimming pool appeared in the backyard just outside the living room windows. Michael saw four more children crouched around a glass coffee table. They scribbled across pages of white paper with crayons. The young boy who ran outside and patted Wendy on the shoulder was scribbling furiously. His wide strokes marked up the glass table underneath. Michael crouched down next to the boy.

  “Hola.” The young boy looked up at the detective, then resumed drawing. “¿Cuál es su nombre?”

  “Miguel.”

  “Me llamó Miguel también. ¿Viniste aquí con Theo?”

  The boy nodded. His eyes were glued to his drawing.

  “¿Estás contenta a ver Wendy y Maribel aquí?” Miguel turned to face Michael and smiled.

  “Si.” He returned to his picture.

  “Bueno.” Michael placed one hand on the table and slowly pushed himself back to his feet. He heard an adolescent voice emanating from another hallway leading out of the living room. He sauntered down the corridor and peered into an adjacent bedroom.

  A young man wearing large, thick-rimmed glasses sat on the end of a full-sized bed. Two police officers stood over him. One held a pen and notepad in each hand. The young man’s eyes darted between the two officers. Sweat stains appeared under the armpits of his green t-shirt.

  “There is, like, a provision,” he stammered. “I know there is...um...this a sanctuary city and I, uh...I was going to fill out the amnesty application. It’s form 485. I was going to apply once we had, um...It was like a war zone. I don’t know how else to describe it. We couldn’t turn around. And, and there could’ve been more bombs. It could’ve been, like, a coordinated attack. My only thought was just get the heck out of there. I didn’t mean to do anything illegal. I really can’t get into trouble. I’m a first-year, and I really don’t want to get into trouble. Please.”

  Michael’s phone vibrated. He spun around, removed his phone from his pocket and answered the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey,” Officer Lincoln stated. Her voice barely overcame the noise from the screeching children down the hall. “Did you know they’d be in the same place?”

  “Come again?” Michael pressed his phone tighter against his right ear.

  “Did you know they’d be in the same place?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Those two folks you asked about are both at Mercy Hospital in Arcadia Heights. They’re both in stable condition.”

  “Okay. What about the, uh...woman’s baby?”

  “Baby?”

  “Yeah. She’s pregnant.”

  “Oh, they didn’t mention anything about that.” Michael did not respond immediately. “You need directions?”

  “No, I know where it is. Thanks so much for your help, Bev.”

  “You got it.”

  Michael hung up and pocketed his phone. He peered across the living room. Wendy and her grandmother were standing in the doorway. The eight children stood at Wendy’s waist, clamoring for her attention. Crammed between the young woman and the wall was Jen. She looked back at Michael through the opening into the kitchen.

  The two investigators moved into the backyard. Michael reached up to his ear and reactivated his hearing aid. He heard the children screaming playfully through the patio door behind them. Jen stepped to the edge of the pool. Her head was bowed. Her arms were crossed. She clutched her phone in her right hand.

  “So when did you find out?” Michael asked.

  “That he’s at-”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not until Thursday. Thursday night.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It was the first time I had even heard their names. After seventy-two hours of investigating, ‘I don’t know’ isn’t an acceptable answer. That’s why we used leaks as an excuse. We had to comb through Harris’ notes just to get their identities. Guy certainly wasn’t going to tell us.”

  Michael’s gaze lowered to the placid water in the pool.

  “Do you think he made it?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve seen him get out of hairier situations, only to pop up months later and say ‘Hey, look what I found.’ That’s just the way he is.”

  A trio of chickadees swooped over the backyard. Michael raised his head and glanced at the clear sky.

  “I’m going to see him now.”

  “Okay.”

  “You coming with?”

  “No. I’m going to stick with Wendy. I’ll get a chance to see him tomorrow. I know Joe will ask me to accompany him back up north. I know he will.”

  “Okay. So, uh...I guess this is a parting of the ways.”

  “We have a debriefing tomorrow at 1330.”

  “Right. Right.”

  “Joe will ask me to accompany him then. I just know it.”

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  “Should be easy to question him now that you’re closer to home.”

  “Yeah. Yeah I guess so.”

  A nurse in teal-colored scrubs accompanied Michael down a near-silent corridor. They passed a doctor and two orderlies walking the other way. They reached an open door at the end of the hallway where a uniformed police officer was standing. He nodded and Michael and extended an open hand. The detective nodded back at him and shook it. The nurse directed Michael into the room.

  Michael stepped inside. A solitary bed sat against the wall opposite the door. A young man was laying on it. He faced the room’s only window to his left. A nylon band lashed his right wrist to the bed’s railing. His right leg was elevated and encased in a splint. A wide bandage swathed his forehead and draped over his brow, casting his eyes in shadow. Piles of gauze covered both of this ears. Over a dozen small abrasions littered his face. Michael tilted his head to get a better look at the man’s left side. Layers of bandages appeared wrapped around the end of his left arm. He was missing his left hand.

  Michael stopped at the side of the bed and rested his hands on the railing. The young man’s gaze remained fixed on the window.

  “I’m Michael Barrish. I’m a detective with the-”

  “I can’t hear anything. I’m sorry. They think it’s permanent. The nurses and I have been writing stuff down on this.” The young man raised his left foot, knocking a small white board that rested against his shin. A dry erase marker appeared next to it. Michael scratched his ear.

  “Probably not as bad as you think.”

  “If you’re with the police, I just want to say that I’m sorry. I’ll confess to everything. I know I’ve hurt a lot of people. I didn’t mean to, and I can’t undo it. I’m going to do whatever I can to make up for it. I’ll plead guilty to everything. I don’t need a lawyer or a special treatment or anything like that. You don’t have to waste any time or money on me. I’ll do whatever I have to make it right. I just wanted to...I just wanted to ask for one thing.
I know I’m not in the position to ask for any favors, but I really need it. I really need it.”

  Michael did not respond. The young man cleared his throat and faced Michael. Tears started to well in his eyes.

  “Please find my brother Luke.”

  “Matt-”

  “Please. You have to go find him. I know he’s alive. There’s no other way that I could’ve gotten out of the blast.”

  “I can’t go back and-”

  “He’s hell-bent on finding our father. He’s going to stay down there until he does. He needs me. And I...I really need him. I don’t think I can make it without him. I feel like I’m having a heart attack every second I don’t see him. Please find him. He’s all I got. He’s the only family I’ve got. You have to go find him. Please.”

  Michael reached for the white board on the bed. Matt lifted his right arm, stretching the nylon restraint against the bed’s railing. He managed to grab a hold of Michael’s shirt sleeve.

  “Please.” His voice cracked. He mustered a modest smile.

  Michael wrestled his arm away. He took a step back and regarded the young man in the hospital bed. Matt’s right hand was shaking in the restraint. His mangled left arm lay across his torso. Tears continued to pour down his damaged face. His appealing smile persisted.

  Michael and Jen sat silently on the same side of conference room table. A glass wall divided the conference room from an array of cubicles erected across the entire floor. The patter of phones ringing and fingers hitting keyboards bled through the glass. Michael glanced at the air conditioning console next to the door. The clock on the console read 1:45.

  “Pretty busy for a holiday,” Michael said.

  “It’s always this busy,” Jen replied.

  Joe and another man rounded the corner and marched through the door. He apologized for his lateness. The two men laid out two leather binders in front of Michael and Jen. Michael flipped open the cover, revealing a page filled top-to-bottom with text. A straight black line with the word “Initial” appeared at the bottom.

  “Okay,” Joe sighed. “This is to confirm that the investigation was above board. Our primary suspects—Julio de la Cruz and Christopher Harris—are deceased. Our witnesses—Maria Rosa Aguilar, Wendy Robinson and Theodore Uyboco—will be granted immunity for their help in the investigation.” Michael looked up at Joe.