Daily Bread

Todd had left her a message on her cell phone at four in the morning:

“Where the hell are you? One of the biggest scandals in the history of Denver just came to light and you’re no where to be found. When you finally peel your ass out from between those sheets, turn on the television to any damn channel you please. The story’s gonna be on every last one of them.”

She sat in front of the television for hours, flipping channels, watching report after report, commentary after commentary on the incriminating acts of the city’s Mayor. He’d fallen like a star from heaven, and still managed to look like a rock star, even in his mug shot. The man’s smug expression dug deep down into the core of Fatema, and she cringed just thinking about the fact that she’d spent any time alone with him at all, and that Toni had actually been intimate with the creep.

One woman outside the precinct where he’d been taken reported:

“Inside sources say that the mayor has admitted to soliciting what he thought was an adult woman, and that he had no idea the girl was underage and being held against her will.”

Of course, every so-called expert who’d ever taken a high school psychology class had to chime in with their opinions:

“It’s highly unlikely that he didn’t know. Pedophiles are predators. They hunt for their prey and they know where to find it. I doubt his claim that this was his first encounter with a child.”

“It’s a disease. And men like Lucas Shaw hide behind the order in their lives, and their success, covering up the truth of who they are and choosing to turn away from their transgressions rather than to face them head-on and take action to correct the behavior.”

Toni knew. Somehow, she’d found out and that was the reason she’d left him. Fatema shuddered and tears unexpectedly stung her eyes.

“Oh, dear God,” she gasped.

In the e-mails she’d saved on her computer, Toni had called him disgusting and told him that he needed help. If a man like Lucas Shaw had felt threatened that his secret would get out, how far would he go to stop it?

They flashed his photograph and images of him being escorted into the precinct in handcuffs. Fatema fixed on his face, particularly his eyes—cobalt, hard, and even after everything that had unfolded on national television, she saw in his eyes a man who was convinced that he was still untouchable.

 

That afternoon, she hurried over to The Broadway knowing that Nelson would be there. It was relatively quiet at the shelter, except for the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen.

A few of the volunteers were busy preparing dinner when she walked in. “Hello.” Fatema smiled. They looked as stunned as she felt. “Is Nelson here?”

“He’s in his office,” one of them responded quietly.

Nelson’s door was open. The man was like a stone, sitting with his back to her, staring out of the window at a brick wall on the building next door.

“You heard?” she asked, trying not to startle him.

He didn’t turn around.

“We own that building,” he said, solemnly. “The plan is to make it livable to give people a place to stay until they can get back on their feet.” Nelson sounded so defeated.

“I really believe Shaw killed her, Nelson.” Fatema walked up behind him and pressed her hands on his shoulders. Nelson reached up and touched one of them.

“That’s some pretty messed up shit.” His voice cracked.

Fatema sat down in the chair across from his desk. Neither one of them knew what to say exactly and so they sat reflectively not saying anything for some time.

“I think Toni knew about him,” she said quietly. “I think she found out what he was doing.”

“Maybe she did,” he said simply.

“And,” she continued hesitantly, “I think he killed her because of it.”

Nelson stared at her. “You think he’s a child molester and a murderer.”

She shrugged. “Don’t you?” She waited for an answer, but Nelson’s answer came in the form of an averted gaze. “It’s the only thing that makes sense, Nelson. She didn’t stop seeing him because he was married. She stopped seeing him because he’s, for lack of a better term, perverted. The man solicits children on the Net. He’s mayor of a big city. His career is planned out all the way up to the Senate level. Not to mention the wife and kids. Who else would have a better reason for killing her?”

“They say that kid was a sex slave, bought and paid for a hundred times by men like him. Do you think he knew?”

“I don’t know. But Toni must have suspected something because she was obsessed with human trafficking. Maybe that’s why.”

“Do you think the police suspect him?”

“If they don’t, by the time I’m finished talking to them, they will.”

“They need to solve her murder, Fatema.” Nelson looked like a man weighted down and tired. “I feel like someone’s left the door open on my life, and until it’s closed, I can’t move forward.”

Fatema walked over to him, and held him. “I know, Nelson. I feel the same way.”

“She was the one. Know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah. I do.”

Fatema eventually left on a mission to see Bruce Baldwin. If he had any kind of common sense whatsoever, he’d have figured this out by now, and she’d be wasting a trip. Heading west on 14th Avenue, Fatema spotted Lazarus crossing in front of her half a block ahead on Delaware Street. Without even thinking, she turned abruptly onto Delaware and quickly pulled into an illegal parking spot on a side street a few blocks behind him. Fatema jumped out of the car and hurried to catch up with him. For an old man, Lazarus moved fast, and for every two of her steps, he took one. She called after him, but he didn’t stop. The thought that Baldwin had suspected Lazarus for murdering Toni had been absurd, and she couldn’t wait to look him in the eyes and make sure he knew how out of line he’d been.

“Lazarus!” she called again. The old man seemed to pick up the pace, until Fatema was practically running. He turned right onto Washington, and right again. By the time she caught up with him, Fatema was out of breath.

“Hey, Lazarus,” she said, still struggling to keep up with him. “Where you going?”

He ignored her and never said a word. There was something determined about him. She knew he’d heard her by the way he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but he seemed to be a man on a mission, and he didn’t deter her from coming along. Fatema followed without saying another word. He led her back to West 14^th and they walked for another four blocks into an alleyway between Lincoln and Sherman. Fatema recognized the back of one building as being The Broadway Shelter. Suddenly, Lazarus stopped and stared down at a small window of the basement of an old brick townhouse. She realized she was standing right below Nelson’s office.

Lazarus stared fixated on a small, dark window near the dumpster and he waited. Moments later, a ghost appeared. Red rimmed eyes, oily brown hair, a narrow face with sallow skin stared back at first him, and then Fatema. Tears streamed down her face as she mouthed slowly, Help me.

“Is she real, Sweet Thang?” Lazarus asked, staring at the girl. “Or is this old man just seeing things?”

“She’s real, Lazarus.”

“She got some pretty lips,” Lazarus said.

“Yes,” Fatema responded, stunned. “She certainly does.” She looked up and saw Nelson’s office.