Here I am. Send me--Chapter One

Evelyn Dunham, a co-responder with the Nashville Police, is called to an emergency.

CHAPTER ONE

Officer John Toland sipped his coffee during his mandatory fifteen-minute afternoon break. After twelve years on the job, his eyes darted out the front window of the posh new coffee shop in Old Hickory, Tennessee. The coffee was good, but the reason he was sitting there was that he knew it to be one of the few shops in the area that kept their bathrooms clean. His glance lit on the idling squad car, which was backed into a parking space in front of the storefront window.

The woman sitting across the table was wearing a black shirt with her name, Evelyn Dunham, on one side and the words Psychiatric Health, Inc. on the other. She was speaking through a mouthful of scone which dripped honey while her words dripped sarcasm. "Yeah, right. You think that the Titans need just one or two pieces to the puzzle to make a run at the Super Bowl? The problem is that those pieces are new ownership, a new head coach, a new offensive line, and a new quarterback. And I'm being kind in not mentioning the receivers."

Evelyn smiled. She wasn't as emotionally vested in Nashville's NFL team as was Toland, but she enjoyed winding him up.

Toland's radio squawked, "3397 Bravo Foxtrot, Dispatch."

Toland looked at Evelyn, "Let's go." They both stood and headed out to the vehicle. Toland was speaking onto the radio as he went. "Dispatch, 3397 Bravo Foxtrot. Copy."

They were getting into the car as the dispatch voice came through the car speakers, "Respond to a ten-thirty-five, Delta, Juliet at 4117 Valley Grove Drive in Hermitage, Code 2."

Toland responded, "Code 2, Roger. 3397 Bravo Foxtrot en route." He looked down at the screen on the dashboard, which showed the address. He pressed the button next to the screen, and a blue line flickered into life superimposed on the street map, which showed the best directions to make it through the ever-worsening Nashville traffic. He pulled out of the parking lot and into the crowded public travel lane.

Evelyn knew the radio codes. They would be dealing with a person suspected of mental health issues in a domestic situation with children present. Being a mental health co-responder under contract with the Metro Nashville Police Department Partner-in-Care program, this type of call was her job.

She kept her head on a swivel as per her training, looking for anything that might pose a threat to their speeding car as it made its way through the heavy traffic along Old Hickory Boulevard. Nine minutes later, they arrived at the destination, which was a small single-story brick house of about one thousand square feet, shoehorned onto a quarter-acre lot.

A middle-aged woman stood in her night gown in the middle of the small front yard. She came running toward the car, screaming. Evelyn was required to wait until Toland got out and assessed the situation before she could exit the vehicle. He stepped around the car and raised his hands as the woman ran toward him. Whatever he said, she stopped short, and he gestured for Evelyn to get out.

"She's got my grandbaby! There's a knife! She's going to kill my grandbaby!"

Toland asked his most important question, "Mrs. Marshall, is she threatening your grandchild?"

The older woman nodded her head violently. "Yes! She has a knife!"

He put his microphone to his lips, "Dispatch, 3397 Bravo Foxtrot. We are 10-97, and we have a 10-54. Requesting back-up."

"3397 Bravo Foxtrot, Dispatch. Received. Request in process."

Evelyn took over with the woman. "Who is she? Who is threatening your grandchild?"

"She's crazy!" That wasn't helpful.

"What's her name?"

"Josey. Josey... Marshall."

"Has she ever threatened you or your grandchild before?"

The woman was becoming less manic. "No. But she's been acting off the last few weeks. Why are you standing here talking to me? Do something!"

Evelyn used her most professional tone. "We need to get some information to make sure that we don't make things worse. We want everyone to get out of this safely. What's your grandchild's name?"

The response was almost calm. "Leyla. She's seven years old."

Toland stepped in again, "Do you know what part of the house Josey's in?"

The woman shook her head, "She's pacing all around and talking to herself. Like I said, she's acting crazy."

They heard a siren in the distance coming their way.

Toland looked at Evelyn, "Are you ready?" He pulled his weapon and pointed it at the ground.

She had not yet been in a situation with a child in jeopardy, but she understood that they couldn't wait. Taking three quick, deep breaths, she nodded, "Ready."

"Stay behind me."

They walked toward the house and carefully approached the front door. Toland stood to the side of the closed door, knocked, and then projected his voice without yelling, "Ms. Marshall? This is the police. Can we come in?"

A wordless, female, adult scream came from inside the home.

"Crap!" Toland muttered and tried the front door. It opened freely. He swung it inward and took a step inside, giving his eyes a few seconds to adjust. "Ms. Marshall, we're entering the house."

They heard gasping sobs coming from an open doorway to their right. Toland made his way toward the doorway, taking one step at a time with a pause after each. He held his pistol in both hands and pointed downward. He peered through the door and then stepped gently inside the kitchen of the house. It was compact with counters running down both sides. The sink was on the right, under a window, and the refrigerator and stove were on the left. All the appliances were old, and everything was filthy.

Evelyn stepped in and stood next to Toland. A woman was sitting on the floor at the far end of the room, about ten feet away. She was holding a knife to the throat of the seven-year-old girl, Leyla. The mother was about fifty pounds overweight and in her mid-to-late twenties. She had never been beautiful. The grimace of pain and fear on her face exaggerated her worst features.

The child was dazzling--a picture of physical perfection. With almond skin, large green eyes, and wavy, almost red hair, she would make good money as a child model--if she lived through the day. Evelyn consciously registered the anomaly that the mother looked terrified, and the child appeared calm.

This was a full crisis assessment, and it was time for Evelyn to do her job. "Josey, is that your daughter?"

The mother nodded.

"What's her name?"

Josey took a big sniff to clear the tears from her sinuses. "I can't say her name."

"Why not?"

"Because her name has power."

"What kind of power?"

The temporary respite broke, "I have to stop her! Don't you see?! I don't want to! I have to! She's... She's..."

"She's what?"

The scream made Evelyn jump backwards, "SHE'S EVIL!"

The mental health clinician took a deep breath and mastered the tremble in her voice. It came out calm. "She looks beautiful."

For a moment, the terrified woman transformed into a proud mother. "She is, isn't she? Heaven knows, she doesn't get it from me. And her dad's no looker, either." She looked past Evelyn's shoulder and through the kitchen door toward the front windows. "I'm a good girl. Cal wanted to live together but I wouldn't unless we were married."

"Right, Josey. You are a good girl. And you don't want to hurt your beautiful daughter, do you?"

Josey shook her head, but the knife didn't move from her daughter's throat. Her voice came out in a whisper, "No. But I have to. She's evil."

Evelyn tried a dangerous gamble: "Why do you think she's evil?"

"Because God told me so."

"I don't think God would tell you to kill your daughter."

"He told Abraham to kill Isaac."

"But God didn't make Abraham do it. When Abraham passed God's test, God saved Isaac. Josey, I think you've passed God's test. You don't have to kill Leyla anymore."

"I don't?" She sounded like a child.

"No. You're a good girl. You did what God told you to do. You passed the test. Just let Leyla go now."

Josey's right arm dropped slowly away from the girl's throat and drifted toward the floor. The knife was just about to drop when something changed in Josey's face. Toland saw it first and dove, reaching out with his free hand. Josey's arm jerked back upwards, arcing the knife toward her daughter's neck.

Toland's dive gave him just enough distance to catch the woman's wrist and slam it back to the ground just as his chin, chest, and stomach all hit the floor with a dull whump. The old house shook. The child pulled away from her mother, jumped to her feet, and ran to Evelyn, clutching both of Evelyn's legs together in a startlingly strong bear hug which almost brought Evelyn to the ground.

Josey's scream was inhuman. She thrashed and kicked at the police officer while he twisted her wrist, trying to dislodge the weapon. She landed several punches and kicks before the knife fell from her grasp. Toland knocked the knife out of reach as his superior weight, strength, and training exerted itself and he turned the enraged woman over onto her face and got plastic wrist restraints in place, tying her hands behind her back.

Two more police officers came charging into the room. One assisted Toland, and the other held back with her weapon ready.

Once things were under control, Toland, still breathing heavily, spoke into his microphone. "Dispatch, 3397 Bravo Foxtrot. We are 10-98, disposition twelve."

The radio crackled, "3397 Bravo Foxtrot. 10-98, disposition twelve. Acknowledged."

Evelyn had been able to wriggle free of the child's embrace enough to get down on one knee. The child seemed strangely calm but continued to cling to her in a brutal grip.

Toland looked down. "What do we do with her?" He gestured at the child.

"Confirm that the woman out front is who she says she is and then leave Leyla with her." She whispered into the child's ear, "Leyla, do you want to stay here with your grandmother while we get your mother to the doctors?"

Evelyn felt the nod against her shoulder.

"Can you go outside with me?"

Another silent nod.

Evelyn stood, took the small hand in her own, and they walked out front. The older woman came running up, and Leyla released Evelyn's hand to reach both arms up. The grandmother dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her grandchild.

The older woman looked at Toland. "What are y'all going to do with her?" She jerked her head back toward the house.

Evelyn let Toland do the talking. "Since she endangered the life of her child, she's going to be arrested. But Ms. Dunham's mental health team will stay involved and will make sure that she gets a psychiatric evaluation and appropriate mental health treatment, as required."

"Throw away the key! She's crazy and dangerous!"

Evelyn winced at what the child was hearing but remained calm and asked, "Is the child's father still in the picture?"

"Of course he is! I didn't raise my Cal to shirk on his responsibilities. He dropped out of school to get a job and support his child. He drives a truck now. He's in Kansas. They're trying to get a backup driver to meet up with him so that he can get home."

"So, you're good, keeping Leyla here with you?"

"Of course. This is her home. And her daddy will be home in a couple of days."

The back-up officers came out of the house with Josey between them. Her arms were restrained behind her back. She glanced over at her daughter and mother-in-law and then dropped her eyes. Evelyn couldn't make out the look on the woman's face: fear, relief, anxiety? All the above? She watched Josey being placed into the squad car and driven away.

Then she and Toland took a moment, leaning against his vehicle. Toland inspected some of the cuts and bruises on his arms. "Nobody's dead. I call this one a win." He held up a fist. She bumped it.

"My boss won't agree. Having this one end with an arrest rather than treatment looks bad on our stats."

"Your stats didn't have a knife to a little girl's throat."

"No, I guess they didn't." She allowed a small smile to curve the corners of her mouth. "You know, your dive across the kitchen like that was pretty macho for an old fart."

"You should live to be as old as me."

She stepped back, looked him up and down, "I'm not sure I want to."

"She's decided she's funny. Get in the car. The shift's almost over. That means paperwork time."