Dirty Daniel

By Jennifer Lewis Williams

Meshelle “Mickey” Stanislawsky has been a detective for one hour before she gets her first murder case. The victim? A janitor at the New Birth Free Pentecostal Church. No blood. No visible wounds. Just one very dead body discovered by a deacon’s wife in the church pantry.

As Mickey begins her investigation, it’s apparent some people know more than they’re revealing—the reverend, the grieving widow, church members, and even Mickey’s detective partner. She soon discovers the man in charge of keeping God’s house clean has some dirty secrets of his own—secrets someone will go to any length to protect. When the case appears to have a link to her later father, Mickey soon realizes her first homicide case may be personal . . . and deadly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Lewis Williams
• Release date: Oct 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9780989144155

Jennifer Lewis Williams

Jennifer Lewis Williams, a recently retired lawyer, spent the last twenty years handling criminal cases, and believes she has insight about why criminals do what they do and why some individuals betray those closest to them. A Kansas native, she resides in a Dallas suburb with her furry friends: a cantankerous and moody Chihuahua and a rescued Siamese cat. She is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Southwest Chapter, Sisters in Crime (national), and Sisters in Crime North Dallas. She loves reading science fiction, mysteries, and tales about the Old West.

Book preview

Chapter 1

First Day

The Peaceton Police Department celebrated its newest detective for a full hour before they got the call about a dead body in the pantry of the New Birth Free Pentecostal Church. The officers stopped stuffing cake into their mouths and stared at Mickey Stanislawsky, the celebrated one. Mickey blew out a slow breath and rubbed her hands together. Now it’s do or die , she thought. She had waited two full years after passing the detective exam. After besting that pesky exam hurdle, as she called it, she continued waiting until Captain Holford finally encouraged Old Man Fullerton to retire. Others told Mickey she could always go to the Dallas or Fort Worth police departments, but she intended to stay with the same police department that had employed her father.

Mickey nodded toward the captain, who gave her a thumbs up, then spun around and headed for her desk. The other homicide detective in the department had already gathered his credentials and weapon and left the building. Outside, sunshine filtered through an aging oak limb and danced a lone finger along the sidewalk in front of her. A light February breeze nudged her ponytail from side to side. Mickey tugged at the hem of her dark-blue suit coat, then abruptly stopped when she recognized the nervous habit. She rubbed an imaginary ball of dust from the nameplate affixed to her left lapel, then replaced her wire-rimmed spectacles with prescription sunglasses that matched her hair’s sandy color.

With effort, she tried not to smile at Daniel Ladenster, the other detective, who stood leaning against their unmarked police car with his arms folded over his chest, as he always did. His eyes moved from her full breasts to her wide hips and back to her breasts. He had always admired how her skin shimmered in the sunlight, like when they had held each other on that beach in Jamaica. She used to crave attention from him. Those days were long gone. Still, he wasn’t the worst person to be around.

Hey Mickey, by all means take your time ‘cause the vic is dead, right? You ready?

Mickey turned around in slow motion, then walked even slower to the car. Been ready for ya, Laddy. She opened the passenger door before he had a chance to open it. I’m not driving today, right! She slid into the seat and fastened the seatbelt.

Ladenster plopped heavily into the driver’s seat. You nervous about being the lead on this?

Naw, I’ve seen dead bodies before.

That’s not what I meant. This is your case. You can do your thing—but I’ll be there to help.

And report back to Captain Holford? Mickey adjusted her coat.

Can I help it if he likes talking to me? Got the address?

The tires screeched as Ladenster pulled away from the station. Head over to Spring Valley and Preston. It’s 6363 Charles Place. I think that’s over there behind the Y. Mickey wiped a smudge off her sunglasses and took a pack of gum from her pocket. She held it toward Ladenster. Want some?

You know better than to say that to me.

Mickey continued holding out the gum. When the car stopped at a red light, she smacked a piece of gum between her teeth.

Oh, gum. You meant gum.

Mickey laughed. You knew I meant gum. You ain’t slick! She snatched a spiral notepad from the glove box and flipped through the pages. When she found a blank page, she began writing, ignoring the cackling sounds from the radio.

It took thirty minutes to go from the station to the New Birth Free Pentecostal Church in the sprawling northern Dallas suburb. The building sat in the middle of a residential area whose houses sported swimming pools and backyard hot tubs. The church’s white marbled facade gleamed in the early afternoon sun, and its manicured and flowered yards invited all to enjoy its expansive vistas. Deep brown bricks laid back to back led from the street to the double glass doors at the apex of the entryway. Three other patrol cars were parked in the east lot next to a children’s play area.

What a lovely place, said Mickey as she surveyed the area. There were no children playing on the swings, slides, or sandboxes even though it was a sunny Saturday afternoon.

You ready, Mickey? Ladenster took his badge from his back pocket and stuck the back flap in his breast pocket.

Absolutely. She tugged at the hem of her jacket before putting her badge in the breast pocket. The badge’s leather casing stuck out at a right angle over her breast. She yanked the badge out and placed it in the front pocket of her jacket instead. Let’s go in the front so I can get a feel for the place.

Without waiting for Ladenster to reply, she walked to the front and pushed open the gigantic glass doors. The entryway was illuminated in shades of light blue. Mickey shuddered. When she heard voices coming from a corridor to her right, she headed down the corridor toward the sounds.

After passing five classrooms, a nursery, an office that had a name plaque on the door that read Reverend Rodney Earl Porter, Pastor, she finally came into a large dining area. Mickey slowly realized she had traveled in an almost complete circle. That’s odd. The outside didn’t look circular, she thought. There were seven long tables in the center of the room with six chairs along one side of each table. Muffled voices coming from a kitchen area to the left of the tables drew her toward them.

Officer Alice Greenberg was talking to a man who was wearing a white collar. Alice’s crisp blue uniform and clunky-heeled boots did little to add to her short stature. Alice said, Are those all the ones you can think of?

Mickey nodded toward Alice, who returned the nod and said, This is Detective Meshelle Stanislawsky and Detective Daniel Ladenster, Reverend. They’ll have some questions for you.

Mickey accepted a green notepad from Alice and looked at the man. His light brown hair was mixed with gray strands that fell into his eyes. He stood about five-ten, Mickey thought, because his eyes met her eyes and she was wearing two-inch pumps. Alice said, This is Reverend Rodney Earl Porter. He’s been the pastor here for six and a half years, and then she took two steps back.

Good afternoon, Reverend. Mickey shook Porter’s sweaty hand. Where is he?

Porter took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his upper lip. He’s in the pantry, over there. He pointed a spindly finger toward another room that was on the east side of the kitchen. Then he shook Ladenster’s hand.

Mickey went to the pantry entrance. Officers Rick Rodden and Stewart Chardone were already inside the pantry. Mickey nodded toward them. Has P. E. S. been here?

Yeah, they just left five minutes before you got here, said Rodden. He moved to Mickey’s side as she breathed a sigh of relief. The PES team’s job was to secure the crime scene and pick up any forensic evidence left behind. It was a tedious and boring task, in Mickey’s opinion.

I’ll take a look around, said Ladenster as he headed back toward the entryway.

Mickey looked down at the corpse in the center of the pantry floor. She mentally hoped this would be an easy-to-solve case, like most of the drug cases she had worked previously. But even some of those drug cases had been complicated with dead bodies.

Rodden handed Mickey a pair of purple latex gloves. Here, if you wanna touch.

I don’t wanna touch. She handed the gloves back and said, So, fill me in.

Rodden flipped open a spiral notebook and glanced over several pages. We got a call about a dead man in the church. The reverend here called to check on something—he’s not the one who found the body. One of the ladies in the, uh, auxiliary, I think, she’s the one who found the body. Rodden flipped through a few more pages in the spiral. Yeah, Mrs. Kyrenne Gentry found the body. She was in bad shape so the fire guys took her to Presbyterian.

It must have been a real shock for her to find a dead body in her church, thought Mickey. I wonder if the poor woman touched him. She looked around the perimeter of the kitchen. Was she injured or did she walk in on the act, or what?

No, she was hysterical when she called it in. Had to be sedated, but I got to talk to her a little. Said she came in to get things ready for something, I think she said a brunch. She found the vic dead.

Any wounds? What can you tell me, or do I have to wait for Shaun? Mickey stood over the corpse and scanned the shelves lining the walls. Cans of food and containers of spices filled most of the space. The corpse looked unconcerned, as if resting there from an exhausting game of hide and seek.

Rodden closed the spiral. No wounds, no blood. Maybe he was dumped. If it was me, I’d wait for Shaun.

Right. Then I guess he’s sending someone to pick him up. She looked at Rodden. He nodded.

Yeah, they’re on the way.

Mickey took two sheets of paper that Rodden handed her, glancing quickly over his scrawled notes. The dead corpse had been identified by Reverend Porter as Daniel Herndon, the janitor at the church.

That’s what we know about him. I’ll wait around if you need to go.

Mickey folded the papers and put them in her breast pocket. Laddy and I’ll go see the widow. Let me know if anything else comes up or you find something. Mickey headed toward the dining area. Uh, Reverend Porter, I wonder if I might speak with you later this evening. She extended her hand to him.

Porter hesitated several silent seconds before he grasped Mickey’s hand. Certainly, Detective. I’m at your disposal day or night because this is just a terrible thing, a terrible thing. I want to resolve this as quickly as possible. Porter’s eyes were as big as saucers as he pumped her arm. With his free hand he whipped out a light blue card. Here is the number to the sanctuary, where I’ll be this afternoon and evening. We have our tarry session this evening, but I can be available after that.

She accepted the card. Thank you, Reverend. I’ll be in touch. She made her way back to the front of the building. Ladenster stood outside, surveying the front yard.

So, you get anything?

Naw. Nobody else was in that entire building except those already in that kitchen. He headed for the car. So, he had a wife and we’re going to see the widow now, right?

Mickey took a cigarette from her pocket and put it in her mouth. I’m thinking it’ll be a piece of cake. I’m already used to telling folks their loved one is dead. Had lots of practice with the druggies.

Hey, you quit!

I’m not lighting it—just feeling it. Mickey threw the unlit cigarette onto the immaculate brick walk.

Uh, that’s a church, Mickey. Show some respect, huh?

Mickey wanted to laugh out loud as Ladenster picked up the cigarette and put it in her breast pocket. She playfully slapped his hand You don’t get to do that anymore, remember?

Come on, let’s go see the widow.

She stood on the sidewalk while Ladenster got into the driver’s seat, then looked back at the golden cross affixed atop the church’s two-story shell. I hope I don’t have to come back here. Only God knows what these nuts are into. A chilly breeze whisked across her left cheek. It felt like a finger. To the widow, said Mickey as she slid into the passenger seat.

Pamela Herndon put the last wine glass into the top rack of the dishwasher and closed the door. Its smooth motor whirred into action. She looked around her tidy kitchen and smiled, satisfied now that it was clean. In the dining room, she watched her reflection in the mirrored walls as she rearranged fresh flowers in the center of an oblong mahogany table. At age thirty-six, everyone thought she looked twenty-five. Her petite frame, small face, and kid-sounding voice helped fuel the image of being forever young. Although her husband had liked the long, straight hair she wore when they had first dated, she kept her naturally curly hair cut short. She had her own mind and never let her husband interfere with it.

When the doorbell chimed, Pamela had been inspecting the barely perceptible lines snaking at the corners of her eyes. That’s probably someone from the church for the brunch tomorrow, she thought. Her eyes nearly popped from her head when she saw a woman and a man with police badges standing on her doorstep. The woman’s light-brown skin gleamed in the sunlight. Pamela hated her already. The woman’s wavy-haired ponytail swung freely in the breeze and she stood tall, compared to Pamela. The even-taller man wore his blonde hair cut shorter than Pamela’s, and she could tell he was muscled and fit under his suit coat. Pamela smiled at the pair. Yes, may I help you?

The woman looked down at Pamela. Mrs. Pamela Herndon?

Pamela looked from one to the other. Yes.

I’m Detective Meshelle Stanislawsky and this is Detective Daniel Ladenster. We’re with the Peaceton Police Department and we’d like to talk to you about your husband, Daniel.

Pamela stood very still. The man said, May we come in, please?

Of course. Excuse me. Pamela stepped to the left and ushered them into a white-carpeted living room with mirrored walls. What about my husband? Is he alright? Pamela beckoned to a low, blue sofa after she sat down in a wide white chair. She noted that the lady cop sat on the sofa while the man stood in the doorway, looking slowly from left to right.

The lady cop said, Mrs. Herndon, I need to tell you some bad news, I’m afraid.

Pamela stared her. What did you say your name was? I’m sorry.

Detective Meshelle Stanislawsky.

Pamela stiffened when the cop repeated her name. She knew that name. The cold reality of it sunk in and she barely realized what the cop was saying.

Mrs. Herndon, I’m sorry to tell you that your husband was found this morning at the New Birth Free Pentecostal Church. I’m sorry to inform you that he is deceased.

When the lady cop’s words finally reached Pamela’s conscious mind, she felt tears spontaneously blurring her vision. She coughed into her hands. What happened at the church? Why is that woman staring at me like that? Hasn’t she seen tears before?

The man said, We’re not sure, ma’am.

The lady cop looked at a spiral notepad that Pamela had not seen her with earlier. She said, We understand your husband worked as a janitor at the church.

What? Pamela wiped her cheeks and stared at the woman. What happened to Daniel? What? When? How did, how did, umm, he die? Pamela sobbed as she folded her hands in her lap.

I’m sorry, ma’am, we don’t exactly know that yet. We do know that a call came in this morning that a deceased person was found in the church.

Pamela wiped her tears with a tissue and blew her nose. She said, Daniel worked for the church. They were good to him.

Right. Do y’all have any children?

Pamela’s head rocked back slightly when the lady cop asked that question. She watched the cop survey the room. She probably wonders how a janitor could live in this neighborhood and with all this. The cop fixated on a replica of a gambling boat chandelier that hung overhead and a corner shelf that was filled with crystal vases and clocks and ashtrays. When the cop tilted her head slightly toward the other cop, the man said, Ma’am, did you know your husband was to be at the church this morning, or was he supposed to be someplace else?

Yes, I knew where he was. Um, he was going to help get the heavy things ready for the brunch tomorrow.

What time did he leave this morning? Do you know if he made any stops before going to the church?

Um, he left at seven. Daniel’s an early riser. Pamela wiped her cheeks. Uh, he didn’t usually stop anyplace because he ate breakfast at home and I always packed him some coffee to take with him. She blew out a long, slow breath.

The lady cop said, Did your husband have any feuds going on or enemies or anything like that?

No. Everyone liked Daniel, when they got to know him. We don’t have any children of our own, but Daniel was good with the children at the church.

Did you and your husband get along with people in the neighborhood, considering, you know, considering the racial thing.

Pamela felt her cheeks warm. How could she go there in front of him? Pamela’s eyes reflexively rolled over the cop’s skin and hair before she could compose herself. Images of her childhood bullies yelling tar baby and black cat spontaneously flashed before her eyes, clouding her vision for a second. She thinks her light skin makes her better than me? Well it don’t. I bet her parents had a racial thing problem, too! I don’t like this woman! Pamela coughed. Yes, of course we did. No one seemed concerned about my race or his. Pamela’s voice strengthened as she looked defiantly at the woman.

The man cleared his throat and said, Ma’am, would you like to come down and see your husband? We can have someone drive you if you like.

Pamela broke her glare toward the lady cop and looked at the man. Do I come now?

The lady cop rose from the sofa and said, If you like. Did your husband have an appointment book or anything like that?

He has a studio downstairs—he was trying to get into photography. Pamela stood up and walked toward an archway to the left. I suppose his calendar would be there.

If we could see that , ma’am.

Certainly. Pamela led the pair down four steps