The detectives chuckled, imagining a scene out of Thriller. They walked around and took some notes whilst a team of CSI specialists took photographs and swabs of the area. The detectives, confident that they had enough to get on with, left the scene of the crime and walked towards the entrance of the cemetery. A crowd of frustrated tourists queued at the gates.
‘What’s going on? I promised my kids we’d see Lincoln. I travelled all this way to see the damn place is closed,’ a mother with three kids shouted from the gate with a southern accent. She held on to the bars and forced her head through the space in between. ‘I want answers. We’ve travelled from New Orleans to be here today.’
Darnell turned to his colleague. Neither were dressed in uniform and they’d ensured anyone official arriving on site did so in unmarked vehicles. They looked towards the tourist information hut, which sat at the entrance. The lady behind the desk shrugged her shoulders and turned to the detectives for answers.
‘I’m sorry, ma’am.’ Vanessa stepped forward towards the tourist. ‘We’re having some renovation work done in the park today. Unfortunately we’ll be closed for the next few days.’
‘Well you could’ve put it on the damn website. There’s been nothing.’ The mother retrieved her smartphone and scrolled through to the web page. The detective picked up her phone and glanced across the page, which stated it was open as usual.
Vanessa apologised to the lady and returned to Darnell, who appeared flustered.
‘Get that tomb swept up as soon as possible. Close off the entrance to the grave itself and just say it’s having a facelift inside. We can’t have too much suspicion around this, we need to get the park open as quickly as possible.’
‘I’m not your PA, Detective Jackson.’
‘Listen, I’m the more experienced one here, so why don’t we just follow what I say for the time being. We can’t afford to mess this up.’
‘Oh no, I’m sure you can mess up the case just fine by yourself, so I hear anyway.’ Vanessa folded her arms, raised her eyebrow and shot Darnell a judgemental glare.
‘What did you just say?’ Darnell said between gritted teeth.
‘I know all about your reputation, Detective Jackson. When you’re not getting police officers killed, you’re storming into innocent people’s houses and dragging them out of the shower. How is Rebecca Fortune?’
‘How do you know about that?’ A dribble of sweat poured down his receding hairline. He wiped his moist moustache, curled above his top lip.
‘I always research who I’m working with, detective. It didn’t take me long to discover your calamities. Don’t worry, neither the President, nor the State Senator are aware. They admire your achievements. But I hope this shows what a good detective I am and you’ll allow me to aid you in finding those responsible and bringing our president home.’
Darnell loosened his tie and grabbed his chest. Vanessa’s findings stung harder than a wasp. He paced up towards the junior detective and leaned into her.
‘Well if you’re so damn smart, why don’t you try and solve this case yourself.’
Darnell threw in the towel and stormed out of the cemetery, leaving his thirty-year career behind.
Chapter 3
Darnell returned home after posting his resignation into the commander’s pigeon hole. Whilst he dreaded the response from his boss, facing his wife and explaining to her that he no longer had an income or health insurance for their family would be a bigger challenge.
A large drive led up to the red-bricked home, a rare feature for the area with his neighbouring houses typically being made of wood. To the side, a double garage protected their matching black Mercedes four-by-four cars with personalised licence plates. Three stone steps led up to the white arched entrance, the windows had turquoise shutters, and a large lawn sat on the rear of the house with an array of flowerbeds around the border.
As the detective stepped out of his car, he heard a commotion inside. His wife, Jasmine, was arguing with their eldest son, Thomas. He’d acquired quite a temper since he turned eighteen, a surprise for the boy who’d always been so well behaved until he left school.
Darnell walked into the house and found his wife, who remained beautiful to him despite the scorn which marked her face. Jasmine, with her unblemished dark skin, had maintained her youthful looks; an achievement for a woman who, like her husband, was approaching fifty. She stormed around the house in a white vest, white trousers and black heels. Her usually curly hair had been straightened and she appeared tired after a day of teaching biology at a local high school.
The disturbance caused a temporary ceasefire. Thomas stormed into the kitchen and glared at his father. Darnell continued to search for any resemblance in their son, but it had long gone. If it was ever there at all. The truth was Thomas never really felt like his son. He was born a white boy with blonde hair. A surprise for the two African-American parents who questioned if the maternity ward had handed them the wrong baby.
It had rocked the Jackson household, tormenting the newly-weds for weeks after he arrived. Darnell was convinced his wife had cheated on him but DNA tests proved her loyalty. Ruling out albinism, doctors explained that, while it was unusual, it was possible for black parents to create white children. There are a dozen genes that control the type of melanin which our genetic make-up consists of, therefore Darnell or his wife must have had some white ancestry for their child to look like he did, which was news to either of them.
Despite their differences, they’d always shown him love and tried to make him feel like one of the family even if
