The Displaced: The Jude Anderson Series, #1

By Brishy Dee

Even in the future, truth is a rare commodity…

Jude Anderson, a tenacious Fairfax, Virginia Detective with a knack for remembering the little details, finds herself entangled in a web of secrets after answering the call for a double homicide. Stumbling upon a mysterious birthmark that links seemingly unrelated individuals, Jude uncovers a conspiracy that goes beyond her wildest imagination.

The list of national missing persons grows exponentially, leading Jude down a treacherous path of deception and hidden agendas. With the help of the FBI's newly formed Missing Persons Taskforce, Jude and her eclectic team work tirelessly to make sense of the unthinkable. Amidst the chaos, Jude embarks on a journey of self-discovery, realizing that sometimes the line between hunter and hunted blurs in the pursuit of justice.

Get ready for a pulse-pounding ride filled with twists, betrayals, and a gripping narrative that will keep you on the edge of your seat until the very last page. Buy "The Displaced" today to be transported in time to a place where advanced technology clashes with the age-old darkness of human nature.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brishy Dee
• Release date: Jan 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798989812622

Brishy Dee

My love for writing truly began when I was in the sixth grade. Whenever I felt strong emotions, I was writing them down in notebook or scribbling them on scrap sheets of paper. That time in my life was also when our family owned our first computer, and subsequently, I found out how fast I could type. I would get booted from the computer so that others use it, which is when I would switch to writing poems in lined spiral notebooks. It was my sixth grade ELA teacher that sparked the idea of becoming a published author. She planted the idea and helped me see that it was a real possibility. On the last day of classes she made bookmarks for all of us and even gave us little nicknames. When I got mine, it said "My Little Author." I nearly cried out of excitement; I knew what I wanted to with my life. I knew I was born to write. Fast forward through the rest of middle school and high school. I almost always had a writing project tucked away somewhere that I was saving for later. I had written many things, but never knew what to do with them once I was done with them. Then, the inevitable happed. I grew up, went to college and even got two degrees in English, the second one a creative writing degree focusing on fiction. I had the fancy pieces of paper that told others I knew what I was doing, I was a Master for goodness sake. Even with all of this, and all the knowledge I accumulated, even with the proof that I knew what I was doing, I fell ill with Imposter Syndrome. I told myself that my stories weren't good enough and that no one would want to read them. They sat in a box, collecting dust. My debut novel, The Displaced, remained an abstract thought and the thesis for my Masters program. I thought about it and would work on it on and off for over five years, but it still felt like a pipe dream that it would ever see the light of day. One day I woke up and decided that the best way to make sure that my story made it out there was to publish the book myself. I haven't totally given up on the thought of traditional publishing, but for now my best bet was to just do the thing myself. It's been one of the most empowering things I have done for myself.

Book preview

Chapter One

Displace

Verb dis·​place

1a: to remove from the usual or proper place

specifically: to expel or force to flee from home or homeland, displaced persons

1b: to remove from an office, status, or job.

1c obsolete: to drive out: banish

2a: to move physically out of position; a floating object displaces water

Fairfax, Virginia’s precinct had the distinct odor of yesterday’s sweat and stale takeout. The workstations, some empty without their user in the chair, hardly gave away whose desk it was. All work was digital; some even projected onto the flat surfaces surrounding the units. The only thing that differed from desk to desk was the occasional county-issued thermos or charging Communicator Cuff.

In the middle of the dimly lit room sat Detective Jude Anderson, who was typically in the building before her shift started. She tried to calm her frizzy, dirty blond hair, which usually worked—for about five minutes. Giving up, she tied her hair at the base of her neck. She ignored the flyaway strands of hair that always made their way back out of the hold. She pulled a compact out of her desk drawer and looked in the mirror. Behind the insomnia-induced dark circles, pale green eyes with small brown freckles looked back at her. Her eyes had not yet gone bloodshot reflecting her sleeplessness.

She sighed. It will have to do.

Jude clacked away at the keyboard of her workstation, filling out the forms that she had neglected the day before. The sound was mirrored by the officers who were finishing their night shift. She blinked a few times and then dug the eye drops out of her desk and put two in each eye.

Today marks the 100th Year Anniversary of the St. Peter Massacre in Phoenix, Arizona. Thirty-two men and women were shot down and killed on this day, April 16th, 2021. It was during the sermon that... The news station played in the background and barely reached Jude’s ears. In the breakroom, Jude walked up to the coffee dispenser. On it flashed a warning: Out of Order. Again. Shaking her head, she grabbed her Communicator Cuff out of her pocket and attached it to her wrist.

The CC looked very much like a fitness tracker, except the center of the circular face was hollow with illuminating lights around the rim. These lights created words and images, depending on the function needed at the time. It would also project a keyboard onto her forearm if more extensive notes needed to be included in a report or message. Jude slid the silver unit onto her wrist, which lit up to indicate it had contacted human skin. Once the lights finished blinking, she knew she would be free to tap the device to take notes and calls. Her personal CC that she wore off the clock sat at her workstation, but it was the basic model, for calling and messaging only. The office CC would allow her to record her version of the investigation on the go. 

She tapped it twice. The words Who would you like me to call? scrolled along the small screen.

Joseph Rande, personal, she over-enunciated while slipping the corresponding earpiece into her left ear.

The scrolling dots indicated that the CC was dialing out. She heard some shuffling and grunting noises before she heard the gruff voice. Yeah?

Well, good morning to you, too, Jude said with a half-smirk. She had never been great with idle small talk, so she was thrilled to get partnered up with Detective Joseph Rande, who was a man of little words.

I’m going to be a bit late today, he said with some rustling in the background. You might have to take some calls without me, he said without prompting.

Well damn, I was about to have you bring in some coffee with you when you came in. The coffee machine is down again here. Jude added a dramatic sigh for effect.

Sorry, kiddo. Gotta take care of some stuff, and I will be in.

Okay, then, sir. She disconnected the call. She hated it when he called her kiddo—or kid. She was thirty, and she was no kid.

Joe was a little bit older than Jude, but she had worked with the precinct longer. She had worked more hours than she could count, took every training available, and committed to her patrol job until she made Detective five years ago. Joe was typically her partner, but she occasionally worked with other detectives in the precinct.

With a small pout, Jude made her way back to her workstation and continued her leftover paperwork from yesterday. Shaking her head, she wrote in detail about local dealer John Baxley, who attempted to sell his goods to underaged children. Again.

She had just finished typing out her official statement when she got her first call of the day. Her Communicator Cuff, or CC, informed her she was needed at a crime scene; a noise complaint turned double homicide. Along the screen, she saw the scrolling words that gave her the destination:

314 Sheffield Street, Apartment 1C.

Jude took the monorail system for most calls since this would still be faster than driving to a call. She had a car that she used when needed, but it mostly sat in a parking garage near her building.

Fairfax had grown in the past decades, like most of the country. It was one of the last areas in the country to put in a monorail system, but even then, some preferred to drive themselves. Some areas were so congested, so full of people that the normal residential areas no longer contained them. Major cities across the nation became a pure jungle of inhabitants, and shoebox apartments crashed up against major stores and other commercial areas. It was not uncommon to see walls of nothing but apartments with small little windows and nothing else in sight.

The slightly warmer-than-average 81-degree day had her wishing she could change out of her Detective’s Uniform and into something that picked up what little breeze the skies could muster that day.

Wearing the standard black slacks, starched white button-up, and black tie knotted with precision, Jude’s uniform alerted anyone who paid enough attention to her exactly what her rank and position was. Her badge weighed on the left-hand side of her chest–the customary place to show her credentials. 

Finally reaching her destination, she took the elevator down to the first floor. Many buildings either had rooftop access designated for law enforcement and other emergency personnel, or they had walkways that connected between buildings and across roads. This kept some people off the congested sidewalks where the air felt thicker than the rest of the city. On some humid days, residents could see a light fog hanging in the air. In this case, everyone donned masks. Seeing fog meant the air quality was poorer than usual and could lead to sickness.

The square building was twenty stories high, with eight units on a floor. There was only about a foot in between this building and the next. Some apartments got views of the rest of the city, some stared right into each other's apartments. She stepped out of the elevator and was immediately greeted by the smell of mildew covered up by strong cleaning chemicals that stung her nose.

Walking toward the apartment, Jude could see out the front doors. She did not see anyone wearing masks, so she assumed the fog wasn’t too thick today. Between the tall buildings and all the foot traffic, Jude assumed there wouldn’t be much of a view from the apartment. Most apartments in the area came with a patio to give you somewhere to hang out outside, but it almost seemed like a formality in this situation.

Barricaded off with yellow tape, the door to the apartment was easy enough to find. A patrol officer was stationed in front of the tape with his thumbs hooked on his belt. He merely nodded when Jude flashed her badge and stepped under the tape.

The first thing that jumped out at Jude was the number of plants in the unit. Many landlords and rental companies offered discounted rent if the tenants kept plants alive in their units and on their balconies as an incentive to make up for the lack of naturally occurring vegetation. In residential areas like this there were limited options for plants and greenery, but people made do.

Off the front door was an open kitchen and living room plan, with the kitchen off to the right. The apartment was small but maximized for space and storage use. Jude moved right first. She saw two bodies lying on the ground. One man, one woman. The CSI team was busily taking pictures to capture the scene as it was before heavy foot traffic could potentially disturb the evidence.

She looked through the remainder of the apartment and found no one. She lowered herself to get a better look at the two deceased individuals.   Do we have an ID on the victims? Jude asked the closest tech.

Holly Kline and Jacob Thomspon, said the tech.

Romantic partners?

I believe so, Detective.

Standing back up, she took in the details. The windows were all intact, meaning no one broke through them to get to these two. She backtracked to look at the doorway at the entrance.

Is it safe to assume nothing has been disturbed here? Jude asked the patrol guard.

Been here all morning; I’ve advised no one to mess with it, he pointed to the section of the doorframe where the latch should have been. Instead, there was splintered-off wood.

Forced entry, Jude mumbled, almost to herself. She poked her head outside the tape and passed the guard. Any interior cameras? Would help if we could see who felt the need to muscle their way in.

There is one, he pointed his finger to a corner, and Jude felt herself holding her breath. She let it out in a whoosh when she saw it; if it was in any kind of working condition, then it was probably held together with children’s glue.

Great. She doubted that thing ever worked.

She heard footsteps approaching. She turned to see Detective Richard Clemmons, Ricky to her, round the corner. He ran his hand through his dark brown wavy hair as he approached the scene. His light tan complexion stood out against his white button-up shirt. He appeared to be a little uncomfortable in his work uniform and black tie; he kept fidgeting with his buttons.

Only she knew how much he hated wearing that tie, and he only admitted this fact to her because he had known her since she joined the academy. He was already in when she began her program. She took quickly to Ricky and pretended she wasn’t a little sour when he got promoted and traded in the sirens for a desk before her.

Hey, traitor.

Good morning to you too, Jude, he said and smiled. Rande called out, so it looks like we're partnering on this one.

I will never understand how you can act so chipper without caffeine. She thought wistfully of her empty thermos, wishing she had more.

He shrugged. Just never felt the need. So, what is going on here?

The victims are Holly Kline and Jacob Thompson. Both have four stab wounds, one of which is directly through the heart, likely the killing blow. They eventually bled out on the kitchen floor. With a wave of her hand, she led him back inside to the small apartment. My guess is that she lives alone, she thought aloud. She could faintly hear the officer outside telling people to keep walking, keep moving outside as he patrolled the taped-off area. They couldn’t help that others lived in the high-traffic building, but people became even more interested whenever the perimeter went up. She has her keys in her hand, she motioned toward Holly, so she was either on her way out or in.

Ricky turned to the crime scene. Aside from forcing their way in, I don’t see much that says it was a struggle. It was either more than one person or one very precise unsub. Four clean cuts seem to be part of their M.O. That stands for modus operand-

Jude held her hand up. I know what it stands for. And you must have overlooked the items on the floor, she jerked her thumb over her shoulder, where spilled contents of Holly’s purse lay. Ricky got stuck in this loop of thinking about Jude as if she were still in the academy. She was both amused and irritated by his hazing.

Oh-ho, look at the big shot, he primed his CC. Damnit.

What’s the matter?

I forgot to charge it, he shook his head as he took the device off his wrist.

Some things never change, she handed over one of her backup battery packs. As long as she’d known him, he was amazing at keeping his place clean, but then he turned around and forgot something as routine as the backup battery. Jude was often the opposite; her items were all over the place, her workstation files vastly disorganized, though she somehow knew where everything was—a skill Jude could never seem to explain properly.

The lab techs busied themselves by taking pictures, and Ricky scanned the apartment in detail to see if anything else seemed out of order. While they worked, Jude went door to door and spoke to the few tenants who were home in the middle of the day. Aside from a few perverse comments from a tenant down the hall from the victims, nothing interesting came up. No one ever hears anything.

Reading her notes from her CC, she noted that the noise complaint call originated from the unit across the hallway. A middle-aged woman opened her door, eyes wide, and scanned the hallway.

Are you Maria? Jude stood in front of the woman, priming her CC to take notes.

Her right hand hovered on her left forearm, ready to type on the keyboard projected onto her skin.

Yes, I am. I called because sounds were coming from the apartment across from me, Maria nodded toward the door behind Jude. It sounded like there was a fight. There were some loud noises and ruffling, and I thought I heard someone shout. I called a couple minutes after it started, though it seemed like it did not last very long. Jude broke the news to the neighbor. However, she wouldn’t have been shocked if she had already known this. Maria seemed like the neighborhood watch type who knew everyone’s business.

They’re dead? Maria’s eyes got wider, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

Her response appeared to be genuine. The quick background check Jude had done on Maria revealed no prior criminal involvement. She didn’t even have a traffic violation on record.

I’m afraid so. When did you first hear the noises? Did you know the victims? You seem upset. She primed her CC to begin recording.

Right before I made the call. So, a little after ten. It’s usually quiet over there, so I knew something had to be wrong. I don’t talk to many people in this complex, but Holly was always nice to me. She invited me over to dinner a couple of times after my husband and I filed for divorce. Even played a couple of board games, which was nice since I am new to the area... and I’m rambling, she said, her voice cracking. She looked down at the floor and shifted her weight to her other leg. I only knew Holly, but she had a gentleman over a few times this past week. For a couple of weeks now.

According to our notes, we believe that was her boyfriend. Had you met him as well? No? That's OK, Jude added when Maria shook her head. Do you know why someone would want to hurt her? Did she have any enemies?

I can’t think of anything. She kept to herself and was home around the same time every evening from what I could tell. I don’t know if she even got out much, the poor thing. I thought it was good that she found a boyfriend. She seemed so lonely. You said they were both murdered?

Yes, that’s correct.

I just can’t believe it, Maria said as she stared over Jude’s shoulder. She would never hurt a fly. 

Jude didn’t see any of the usual signs of lying. Have there been any other safety concerns in the area? Break-ins, thefts, violent encounters, anything of that nature?

Not anything that happened to me, at least. That was a concern of mine, you know. I went back and forth on whether I wanted this unit, with it being on the first floor and all. You can never be too safe.

Yeah, no joke. She gave the woman her contact information. We are going to have a team over here for a while, so please let someone know if you think of anything else.

She walked back to the crime scene. The apartment was a loft with the bedroom landing directly over the bathroom and a tiny laundry room off to the left. Going around from room to room, Jude took in the details of the place. It was small. The apartment consisted of one bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom, and one small closet. It didn’t leave much room for someone to hide. Standing near the doorway, Jude found the space from there to where the bodies were found couldn't have been more than ten feet or so. That could work if the killer hid around the corner and struck quickly or waited for them in the bathroom.

In and out. Efficient. This didn’t look like a crime of passion. Aside from the bodies and some small blood spatter patterns on the white cabinets, the apartment looked undisturbed. Storage was used to its greater capacity; most items were multifunctional. The walls were littered with green plants, primarily herbs. Where there weren’t any plants, there were digital photographs and decorative items. Even with barely any wall showing, the apartment looked neat overall. The broken doorway indicated the door was locked, so Jude concluded that she was a neat person in general. She certainly wasn't expecting visitors today, Jude noted.

Then, she could hear some commotion at the apartment entrance. Jude stopped short when she didn’t recognize the slender woman standing in front of her. Ma’am? Can I help you?

Yes, she said, dabbing her face with her tissue. I’m Holly’s mother, Sharon. We spoke on the phone.

You can’t come in; we have to clear the- Before she could stop, the woman looked over Jude’s shoulder and saw the kitchen.

No! No! I came over here because I couldn’t believe it... I needed to come here and see. Sharon tried to push past Jude, but she caught Sharon in a sort of forceful hug.

Ma’am, back up, please, ma’am. Jude felt the pressure shift from insistent to half-hearted as Sharon softened against her. She felt Sharon begin to shake and heard her groan. There would be more tears next. She put her hands on the woman’s shoulders and walked her back out into the hallway.

Ma’am, I am sorry for your loss. We need to hear what you know, OK? She nodded slowly, still shaking with tears rolling down her cheeks.

Did Holly have a boyfriend? There is a man in there as well.

She hadn’t had much time for a social life. She was finishing her business degree, Sharon explained. As far as I know, she wasn’t dating anyone, either. Holly, she’s..."

Jude patted her on the back, unsure of what to say. Sharon was starting to go numb from today’s events; Jude could see it in the way the mother’s eyes glazed over. Sharon, before I let you go, I need to ask you a few more questions.

Ok, she said as she blew out a breath. You said there was a man in there?

Yes. Are you sure that she wasn’t dating anyone? Were you two close?

Normally, she would tell me everything, Sharon said. But... These past two months or so, she seemed more distant. Either claimed she was too busy to talk or wouldn’t respond to my calls and messages. And then this.

Was there anything else different about Holly’s behavior in the past couple of weeks?

No, she’s always been a sweetheart and kept in contact with me, which made her ignoring me strange. I should have come by to see her, she said through more tears.

Do you think she was just taking more time to enjoy her relationship? Work, school, and a boyfriend all at once sounds like a lot. The neighbor said she’d seen the man coming around for at least six weeks now.

That’s possible, Sharon nodded. I really should have reached out to her more often.

Jude took her through more of the basic questions before the rest of the team arrived on the scene. She transferred contact information because she knew she would be calling her again sometime soon.

Jude kept herself busy between the blood splatter, fingerprint scanning, and grilling the techs on preliminary findings. She made requests for certain items to be photographed up close. She was mentally mapping out where the victims were when Ricky approached Jude.

I can’t say for certain how long they were dating, but I did see a second toothbrush in the bathroom, along with some men’s clothing in the dresser. So, it was either regular or convenient for him to leave some items at her place. I also found a used condom, so I sent that off to DNA just in case it's someone other than Jacob or Holly’s profiles that pop.

Good idea. We need to look into their backgrounds and see who might have issues with these two.

Or maybe one of them was the original target, and one of them was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, Ricky suggested.

True, but this is Holly’s place, and so they would need to know when Jacob was around if he was the primary target, Jude countered. Though we can’t really rule it out, not yet.

Chapter Two

Jude spent some time in Holly’s bathroom, looking through her medications. She located both oral contraceptives and an empty morning-after pill box. She was being extra cautious against pregnancies, Jude noted. Didn’t feel she was ready for that yet. Without seeing anything else of note, she moved back to the crime scene.

She looked at the victims. They lay about ten feet apart from each other, legs tucked, indicating they had fallen backward. Both had light blonde hair and strong jawlines. Holly had a more petite build than Jacob; he had strong shoulders and looked fit. She could understand having no problem subduing Holly, but Jacob? He worked out and would have put up more of a fight.

On the counter where she had found Holly’s CC, she turned to focus on the small stack of papers. I think I found something, Jude said. She looked down and found what she deemed to be medical gibberish. The charts on the documents indicated she was looking at DNA profiles.

Oh wow, printed on paper even? Ricky asked.

It