Page 36 of Judas

"I think so," Eliza wiped her face and stiffened her back. The public-facing, professional Elizabeth Arthur is starting to emerge. She's the strong one, the confident one, the one that can conquer the universe.

"Ms. Arthur," Detective Grable turned a page in his notebook. "Your father, Paul Arthur, is a lawyer, is that correct?"

She nodded, "Yes, a real estate attorney.”

The detective scribbled on his pad before looking more intently at Eliza, "Wait. Didn't you work in the prosecutor's office a few years ago?"

Judas watched a smile cross her lips. He understood her micro-expressions and knew the act is one of necessary politeness. It's similar to the way she would greet her father's constituents.

"Yes," her voice is professional, "I mostly worked on special victims cases."

"I thought I recognized the name! Oh, Ms. Arthur, I am sorry about your father," Grable is the perfect amount of empathy without any pity. "Did he have any enemies that you can think of?"

Eliza glanced at Judas for assurance and he shook his head.

"No… not that we're aware of," the tears are starting to well in her eyes once more, but she fights them back relentlessly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get your name," the detective's question is directed at Judas.

He stands to shake Grable's hand, "Jude Christian, I'm Mr. Arthur's head of security."

Grable's eyes widened, "Oh. Not a lot of attorneys with a personal security detail. Did he have a security issue, Mr. Christian?"

"No," Eliza's eyes look up at the men, "Mr. Christian was hired several months ago as a preemptive measure for my father's campaign for the state senate."

Judas gave the detective an assuring nod. It actually quite surprised him that Paul didn't have any threats against him. On a good day, he is a demanding, sexist, know-it-all, bigot; but Paul didn't always have good days.

"No threatening letters, texts… emails? No one is getting out of hand at a fundraiser or event?" Grable writes more in his little book.

‘No one except the man who was shot’,Judas thought to himself.

Judas shook his head, silencing the thought, "We had an incident at a rally last week. But it was contained quickly. So far, everything has been pretty normal."

Grable continued scratching in his pad. Judas can't imagine anyone who would hate Paul enough to want him dead. He was a profiteering loudmouth with an abrasive personality, but in Judas' experience, there were millions just like him; especially since the advent of the internet. But, there isn't anything special about Paul or his life; except Eliza.

"Just a couple more questions, Ms. Arthur," the detective paused. "Is your father seeing anyone?"

Eliza snickers with a sound so sardonic the men felt it, "I wish he were… but no. My father's only relationship is with his campaign."

More notes before, “Does he own a gun?”

“Yes,” she chuckled, “After all, he is Texas born and bred.”

“Does he own anything special or old?”

Judas could sense that the detective was leading her somewhere but before he could respond, Eliza was quick with her sharp retort, “Why are you asking? Do you think my father was shot with his own gun?”

The officer looked from Eliza to Judas, “Ma’am…we won’t know for sure until the ballistics are back, but, from the x-rays, it appears he was shot with a black powder weapon.”

Shock washed over her face. Eliza’s head spun as she tried to concentrate on the implications. She was thankful for Judas’ warm hand on the small of her back, tethering her to Earth.

“Yes, he owns old guns…but none of them are loaded. They’re displayed around the house. I don’t even think he has the supplies to shoot them,” she shook her head.

A feeling of aggravation and uneasiness settled over her. It terrified her to think that her father’s hobby may have in some way contributed to his attack but she couldn’t let it affect her right now. As they watched the police detective walk back through the double doors of the ER, Eliza cleared her mind to prepare for the battle that awaited.

Chapter twenty-three

Judas watched Eliza pace the cold floor of the OR waiting room. He could offer no comfort to her right now because she wasn't willing to accept any from anyone. She was quiet, reserved, and stoic. He knew she was just holding her breath until her phone vibrated and it was her turn to get information from the desk. It took five hours, but finally, the wait was over.

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