Mapped Out Murders: The Crime and Persecution Series, #1

Praise for Mapped Out Murders

... An absorbing character-driven novel that is not bogged down in the police procedural format that some other authors fall prey to.

... Fast paced and filled with action.

" ... I liked everything about this book. The Christian characters and the way they handled it, the setting, and the real life problems. Great job.

MAPPED OUT MURDERS

by

Mary C. Findley

© 2019 Findley Family Video Publications

Mapped Out Murders

© 2019 Findley Family Video Publications

No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. Exception is made for short excerpts used in reviews.

Findley Family Video

Speaking the truth in love.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons living or dead is coincidental

Scripture references are from The Bible: The King James Version, public domain.

Cover images from Depositphotos and Pixabay

What is THE EDGE?

THE EDGE is a conviction. It’s where we stand to save the lost. It’s stepping away from our comfortable pews to bring God to the world. It’s following Jesus’ example to minister to the outcasts, the overlooked, the forgotten.

THE EDGE is about relationship, not religion. It’s God’s power being stronger and God’s love running deeper than anything people face. It’s being fearless in the face of adversity and willing to look the devil in the eye and say, You can’t have him or her anymore.

We are authors, Christians, people walking by faith. We are THE EDGE.

www.TheEdgeBooks.blogspot.com

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

This work of fiction was inspired by a true story told at a Voice of the Martyrs conference. Please pray for the persecuted.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE: IT’S COMING HERE.

CHAPTER TWO: HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?

CHAPTER THREE: WHATEVER I HAD TO SAY TO GET YOU

CHAPTER FOUR: JUST KEEP PRAYING FOR US

CHAPTER FIVE: A MAN WITH A PLAN

CHAPTER SIX: OUR FATHER IS DEAD

CHAPTER SEVEN: ANOTHER GOOGLE LOCATION

CHAPTER EIGHT: MAPPED OUT MURDERS

CHAPTER NINE: WARN THEM NOT TO BECOME BELIEVERS?

CHAPTER TEN: HOW COULD YOU KEEP THIS QUIET?

CHAPTER ELEVEN: PRAY FOR US?

CHAPTER TWELVE: THEY ARE WITH HIM, BUT SUCH A LOSS TO US.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: PAUL NEVER NEEDED CONFIRMATION

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ‘THE PROBLEM OF THOR BRIDGE’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: ARE YOU SAYING GOD DID THIS?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: NEVER FORGET THIS DAY

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: IT’S ABOUT WIPING OUT CHRISTIANS

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: GOD WORKED A MIRACLE!

CHAPTER NINETEEN: "THEY MIGHT ALL BE NAMES?

CHAPTER TWENTY: THEY WON’T HESITATE TO TORTURE AND KILL

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: SOMEBODY TORE IT APART

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: WE’RE IN ENOUGH TROUBLE

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: "LOOK AT YOU, SMASHED UP GIRL!’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: SOME KIND OF FAKE CURRENCY?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: FAR EAST KILLER

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: SARAH, IT SAYS ‘HELP’

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: THE CURSE OF MY FEAR

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: WHY YOU ALWAYS WANNA PLAY RISK?

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: CEASE TO BE IMPERTINENT

CHAPTER THIRTY: I SAW A WHITE FLAG OF SURRENDER

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: CHAPLAIN, I HOPE YOU’RE PRAYING!

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: I DIDN’T CARE ABOUT THE OTHERS

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: THE CHIEF SAID JESUS WOULD GIVE YOU THE ANSWER

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: WHO HATES CHRISTIANITY MORE THAN AMERICANS?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: WE CAN’T LET HIM WALK AWAY

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: TRANSLATION NEEDED

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: PUTTING AWAY AN INTERNATIONAL KILLER

EPILOGUE: LET ME SHARE MY JOY

OTHER BOOKS AND PRODUCTS FROM FINDLEY FAMILY VIDEO PUBLICATIONS

CHAPTER ONE: IT’S COMING HERE

Arcadia Robbery-Homicide Detective Sarah Groben stood up from beside the body, a well-dressed, middle-aged, dark-skinned, bearded man lying in a clump of bushes alongside the walkway of a Huntingdon Drive shopping center. She swept her blonde hair into a claw clip and took one last look around. This was not a good way to start her shift.

The victim had over a dozen stab wounds in his torso. She didn’t need Dr. James Logan, the criminalist from the county medical examiner’s office, to tell her it had happened all but now, but she moved aside as he knelt over her victim. Logan would be able to tell her plenty of other things in time. She handed off the wallet to a tech to double-check its contents, but money and cards seemed undisturbed.

Something intruded on Sarah’s consciousness, prodding its way through the force-fed training sessions that said don’t profile. This body clamored at her to pay special attention. Though he wore clothing suitable for an upscale American business setting, his physical characteristics put his origin somewhere in the Middle East.

Make sure to get that burned rubber over there. She pointed a tech toward black tire marks that stopped only a few feet from the victim. Could be the getaway vehicle.

Detective, the witness is right over there. A uniform pointed Sarah down the sidewalk a few yards. "He’s got a friend with him. Good thing or we’d be scraping him up off the pavement. Guy’s a mess."

Two men stood by a chiropractor’s storefront. Sarah blinked and squinted in the glare of strobing red and blue lights. Hank Driscoll, a dear pastor friend from East San Gabriel, short, slightly overweight, balding, sobbed in the arms of an even more startling presence. Sarah’s husband, Don Groben, still pretty thoroughly tall, blond, and handsome, sporting a gray-flecked beard and blue steel-rimmed glasses, stood off to the side of her crime scene.

Don, what are you doing here? Sarah didn’t have to add at six o’clock in the morning. She knew that Don had left their house very early to attend a meeting of his fellow leaders in an organization called Martyrs for Christ. MFC aided those who worked with a different face of Christianity from the happy, carefree culture most Americans saw in their churches. Hank would have been at the same meeting.

Sarah and Don had moved to Los Angeles just over a year ago. One reason was to allow Don to head up that work. Don had told her about converts they ministered to worldwide. These believers came from religions that persecuted and killed those who left their ranks. Those persecutions, including violent attacks, were becoming more and more common everywhere. They’re coming here, if they aren’t here already, Don had warned.

The other reason they had come to L.A. was because Sarah had won a prestigious governor’s award as a detective back home in Fargo, North Dakota, and somehow attracted the notice of the L.A. county police.

So to L.A. they had come, from the wilds of Fargo, North Dakota. They had settled in a tiny house in South Pasadena. Sarah had joined the Arcadia police. Both of them had been enormously surprised to learn that they loved living and working in this sprawling megacity they had never even considered even visiting before.

Something clicked in the far distant back of Sarah’s mind. Could this be –? She tried to steal another glance at the body but the techs had moved in and she could barely see him. She started to pull out her notebook. What’s the victim’s name again?

Don spoke. Hank … he … he found the body just after our meeting broke up, Don said. We met in that Korean lawyer’s office over there. I can give you the details if you need them. We were all sort of straggling off to the Rainbow coffee shop, where the shopping center turns the corner up there. The owner is a friend who agreed to open early for us. I found Hank out here, pretty much like this, so I haven’t had a chance to call you.

Hank Driscoll could barely stand and he sobbed like a child, supported by Don. Sarah took a closer look at Don. His eyes were red-rimmed and he kept glancing toward the body.

Did you know the victim? Sarah consulted her notes. Fares Nour? Both of you? Was he —? She bit off the words.

We both knew Fares. He was at the meeting. He was one of our own, came the unspoken answer to her unspoken question. Don shifted the subject. The first officers on the scene had already decided it was a mugging. Well-dressed man walking alone just before daylight. But Sarah, do you honestly think —?

We don’t know anything for certain yet, Sarah said. But it looks like nothing was taken. We found this in his breast pocket. She held up an evidence bag containing a bloody, torn piece of paper. "It’s a printout of a Google Maps location. There’s an X in red marker in the middle of what looks like another shopping center."

Sarah shifted gears as she saw that their pastor friend seemed to be getting himself under control. Hank? Can you tell me what happened? What did you see?

Sarah, Hank said, taking a huge breath. "I’m sorry. I was just leaving the meeting. We’d only broken up a few minutes ago, like Don said. I passed the bushes and I saw – I saw the streetlight reflect off that blue and bronze silk tie of his. It was Fares. I knew it was him. We’d just been teasing him about having the nicest suit in the place. He was always such a Dapper Dan."

Hank swallowed hard. "I started to try to help him, but I could tell he was already dead. I didn’t want to touch anything. I remembered that talk you gave us about the need to preserve a crime scene. You have to find out who did this, Sarah. Fares was a good man. A godly man!"

You didn’t see anyone leaving the scene? Is there anything you can tell me that would help us find whoever did this? Sarah persisted gently.

I did see a cab screech away, Hank replied. "This must have happened so fast! We were just talking to Fares, joking around. He was just there —"

What kind of cab, Hank? Sarah asked.

Uh … a green Toyota, I think. I’m sorry. They’re all Toyotas nowadays, aren’t they?

No, that’s good, Hank. Bright, dayglow green? Could it have been an Angeles cab?

I’m not sure, Hank said.

Sarah, Don said, a pillar of calm, why would Fares have that piece of a map in his pocket? He didn’t need a paper map to find our meeting places. We do move them around, but he’d just use his phone. And he’d never tear off a raggedy piece like that. Fares was a very tidy man; fastidious, just like Hank said.

"You think the murderer planted this on him? Sarah breathed. She called a uniformed officer over. Reinhardt, we need to find out what’s at this location."

"Isn’t that your job, Detective? the man sneered. And where’s your partner? The lady partner you insisted you had to have, because men aren’t good enough to ride with you? Why can’t she do it?"

Hey, Don said, "Officer Reinhardt. Phil, isn’t it? How are you settling in to the new assignment?"

Chaplain? the young man said. "Hey, I didn’t recognize you at first. Wait – Groben? You’re – you’re married to her? Sorry, I didn’t realize –"

My wife insisted on a female partner out of respect for me, Don explained. She wanted to avoid gossip. And yet, it seems like some people just don’t get how important it is not to gossip, do they?

Yeah, no, I guess they don’t, Chap, Reinhardt grunted. Sorry, Groben, he said to Sarah. Sure, I’ll check it out. He took the evidence bag from her. "And hey, techs found this in the vic’s wallet. Looks like an emergency contact card. Same last name. Relative, I guess. Maybe his son? Da Vinci apartments downtown. Whew. Pricey! Anyway, somebody’s gotta notify him."

Thanks, Reinhardt. I’ll take care of that.

*****

Ameena Yasin paced the kitchen of her small San Gabriel apartment. Uncle Navid had ridden home with her father and his Lyft driver after the argument they had all gotten into. She had thought he would just get her father calmed down and then come home. But it was almost sunrise now. They had agreed it was unwise for him to show himself around too much. Many from their homeland in India had settled nearby. Few had kindly feelings toward a man who still willingly lived in a country they had all been glad to leave behind.

Ameena donned her hijab and picked up Tariq, her thirteen-month-old son. She stepped into the hallway of their floor. Uncle Navid? she called. Her husband Irshad would be home from working the night shift any minute now, and he would not be happy if Uncle Navid was nowhere to be found.

Her maternal uncle had arrived from India over a week ago. He had surprisingly spent more time with her father, Kashak Faisal, than with them, which relieved the tension a little. Faisal lived in a downtown apartment, in the Level high rise building on Olive Street. He traveled internationally as an importer and exporter of Indian textiles but had recently been spending more time at home.

At least his apartment was a two bedroom corporate suite, and it was a relief when Uncle Navid chose to stay there instead of on Ameena’s couch. It’s just that Uncle Navid hadn’t said he was going to stay the night when he had left. Ameena had to admit she had been so angry, she hadn’t paid much attention to what was being said when she had all but shoved her father out the door.

Her father had frequently offered to help Irshad and Ameena move to a better neighborhood but Irshad was so very proud. He had accepted her father’s sponsorship to come to the United States but he insisted his job was enough for them to make their own way. Her father’s occasional kindness wasn’t a justification for the way he had acted last night. His talk was outrageous. They could get into so much trouble if anyone found out what he had suggested.

 It wasn’t as if Uncle Navid hadn’t stayed with her father before, Ameena admitted again in the turning of her thoughts, but he had always announced that plan; not just disappeared for the night. Ameena did not know what the two talked about all these times they were together, except possibly that Uncle Navid was seeking sponsorship from her father to stay in America as well. Navid frequently returned red-faced and simmering with anger. She assumed if that was the topic, negotiations weren’t going well. Even when at home, Uncle Navid had no conception of how to keep his voice down during the day in a one-bedroom apartment with a third-shift worker and a napping baby. She wondered if he disturbed her father’s peace as much.

In Irshad’s mind, her uncle had already worn out his welcome. She knew he would have no qualms about sending him packing right back, relative notwithstanding, hospitality customs notwithstanding. Some of their neighbors would do anything to avoid calling attention to themselves, and Uncle Navid was a master at garnering attention. For all that, Ameena still had no clear idea of why he had come to visit. She did know her father planned to leave on a business trip this morning. The tensions were about to rise when Uncle Navid came home to stay with them full time again.

Ameena ventured downstairs to the lobby. Still no Uncle Navid. She tightened her grip on Tariq and headed for the front door. Irshad would also be angry with her for going out unaccompanied, but she couldn’t let Navid get in trouble. She laid a trembling hand on the crash bar of the lobby door.

Uncle Navid! She gasped, almost tripping in her haste to back up as the stocky, bearded man pushed his way into the lobby and glared at her. He put his thick, hairy fists on his hips.

What are you doing out, Ameena? he growled.

"I wasn’t out," she protested. I was just looking to see if you were finally coming home. Irshad said you shouldn’t stay outside long, and you were gone all night.

Well, we wouldn’t want to upset Irshad, would we? Navid’s expression had looked strange to Ameena at the first moment she had seen him, before he recognized her. Satisfied might describe it. Triumphant, even, perhaps. He pulled Tariq from her arms and swung him up in the air. The child laughed and Navid laughed up at him. Navid handed him back to Ameena. What are you staring at, my sweet niece?

Ameena cast her eyes down and fussed with the child. Nothing, Uncle Navid. It’s just that you’ve seemed so troubled since you came to visit, but now you are more at peace. I am glad.

Yes, Navid said. Yes, now I am at peace, my dear child. We shall all be more at peace.

CHAPTER TWO: HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?

I appreciate you coming with me, Don, Sarah said as they got out of the unmarked police car outside the Da Vinci downtown Los Angeles high rise. Will Hank be okay?

Don had carpooled with Hank to the meeting that morning. He had driven Hank in his car to his home and delivered him to his wife, Grace. Sarah had followed him in her unmarked car and brought him along on the notification trip.

Grace seemed to think so, Don replied. She did say Hank hasn’t broken down like this since their son died.

"Will you be okay? Sarah asked. You must have known Mr. Nour pretty well."

He reminded me of Dedo, Don said.

Dedo? Sarah echoed. Oh, wait ... Dedo in Iraq?

Yeah. That Dedo.

*****

Nagle, snap out of it! Staff Sergeant Reese snapped. She’s dead, and we have to move! Your ‘chaperone’ just went bye-bye thanks to that IED, but we’ve still got a mission to finish, and Daddy isn’t around to bail you out, so come on!

Lance Corporal Sarah Nagle stared at the shattered remains of Army Corpsman Andrea Lauchs, the only other woman accompanying this ground combat unit of nine Marines. Sarah was motor transport on a mission in Iraq. It was early post-Saddam days in Iraq but insurgents were everywhere, as were Improvised Explosive Devices.

All the years spent by her father drilling her to never be alone with a man had suddenly paralyzed Sarah. She could see and hear Air Force Colonel Andrew Nagle snap at her, in his uniform or out of it, about the moral dangers of the military; especially the dangers of fraternization.

Yeah, it’s an old-fashioned word, her father had said, but you know how I fought you on enlisting. And you know how I finally agreed, but only if you agreed to the Marine Corps, because of the segregated by sex boot camp. Nobody believes hot young service members can or should control their urges anymore. Blow off steam. Have some fun. Consenting adults. And you know one of them won’t be you, young lady.

Colonel Dad had the clout to make it happen, too, once Sarah joined. It wasn’t hard during Boot Camp. Training took every scrap of time and energy. Afterwards, though ... Oh, boy. She tried to come down hard on the dirty talk, the flirting, the outright propositioning, and all the rest at first. She did it because she knew that’s what her dad wanted.

Before long she had run the gamut of Ice Queen and Killer Frost nicknames, more and far less appropriate for mixed company. Eventually the word got around and many started shying away from her. Some just blamed it on her dad, because he was legendary on the subject of sex and the military. Most, however, felt free to hold it against Sarah. She kept getting meaningless, busywork assignments. Latrine cleaning would have been a relief.

Now, when she had finally gotten a real assignment as motor transport, it turned out to be a rescue mission searching for a missing Army intelligence officer, the only survivor of a Blackhawk helicopter crash. The area they were to search had largely been abandoned by both sides and wasn’t supposed to be particularly dangerous. Nobody, however, could predict when and where the enemy would decide to bury an improvised explosive device along a roadbed. Nobody could see one before it went off under a vehicle, either.

Sarah tried to drown out the booming of her father’s voice, though it penetrated even past the ringing in her ears from the IED. She threw a tarp over Andrea’s body, turned around, and came face to face with an Arabic woman wrapped to the eyes, staring up at her. Beside her stood a man who was equally anonymous in his desert garb. He spoke to Sergeant Reese, but the woman continued to lock eyes with Sarah.

I am Dedo, the man said. This is my wife Nazik. We are Kurds. We have been tending the man you were sent to rescue. Come with me, please, and hurry, before others come to see what they managed to blow up.

Sarah breathed a prayer of gratitude as the woman seemed to attach herself to Sarah and followed her around. They managed to dig out the truck. Sarah quickly checked it over mechanically and found it to be in drivable condition. Nazik automatically seated herself beside Sarah in the front bench seat. Sarah drove as fast as she dared with Dedo directing from the other side of his wife.

Before long they stopped alongside a street of mostly deserted, ruined houses. On impulse Sarah grabbed Andrea’s abandoned medical bag. Dedo signaled for quiet as they made their way down the street. He led them around the back of a dilapidated building and inside a ruined door that merely stood against its frame.

Sarah and Nazik followed at the rear of the group. The woman kept looking up at Sarah but she never spoke. They all pushed their way into the darkened back room of the house. Sergeant Reese cautiously used his flashlight and all of them stopped dead. Five children, ranging in ages from a baby to possibly ten years old, huddled in the far corner of the bare room, surrounding a man wrapped in blankets on the floor.

Lieutenant Colonel Donald Groben? Staff Sergeant Reese asked, shining a light toward the man’s face.

The man winced but immediately tried to sit up. He failed. Yes, he replied. Thank God … Dedo found you. His poor family’s been … holed up here with me for … a week. They need to … get home.

Sarah came nearer and saw a weary, pain-filled face with a ragged blond beard and lines that still couldn’t cover up a downright beautiful, peaceful glow about him. She tried to stop staring but he met her gaze and smiled.

You must be … Sarah, he said. His voice barely broke a whisper. She had to lean in to hear him, but what he said make her sit back sharply.

How do you know my name? Sarah asked.

We need to get you out of here, Colonel, Reese said. Can you walk?

Sorry, no, Colonel Groben replied. Not a … chance.

He pulled back the blanket covering him and revealed that one of his legs was gone just below the knee. A clean bandage had recently been wrapped over the stump but the sight still sent a shockwave through the group.

Most of the men cursed at the sight. One ran outside and Sarah could hear him retching. She leaned in again beside Groben, opened the corpsman’s bag, and searched rapidly through it.

You’re a … Marine? Groben asked. Not … corpsman.

Sir, our corpsman was killed just down the road from here, Sarah said as she attached a blood pressure cuff. "But I trained as an EMT before I got my dad to agree to let me