Beholden (6 page)

“How are you feeling, Captain?” Phil asked.

“My prostate’s the size of Cleveland. How the hell do you think I’m feeling?” Annoyed with his own shitty mood, Marino shifted
on the chair cushion, trying to find a more comfortable position. “Tell me what’s happening on the Simon case. The mayor wants
action, like yesterday.”

Phil adjusted his pleated trousers as he crossed his long legs and began his recitation. They were interviewing everyone who
parked regularly and even occasionally in the garage where the killing took place. They’d talked with the reporters who worked
with Simon and were running down leads on the stories Don had been working on. They’d spoken with downtown snitches, checked
out area vagrants in case anyone had spotted something suspicious, and hauled in a few known underworld characters for questioning.
So far, they had nothing positive.

Calmly, Phil met Marino’s eyes. “I wish I could tell you I expect something to break momentarily, but this one’s got us puzzled.
It smacks of a professional hit, but we can’t pinpoint why Simon was set up.”

“I see.” Regretfully, Ed pocketed the cigar. “Just what would you tell the mayor if you were in my shoes?”

“The truth, Captain.”

Ed checked his watch. He had a doctor’s appointment in an hour. He’d have just enough time to grab some lunch if he left now.
If he didn’t leave soon, he’d probably explode. He stood. “Fine. I’d like you to handle this. Call the mayor and
explain all that your men have done so far, and all that you’re planning on doing.” Some would call Marino’s order a copout.
He called it delegating responsibility.

Skirting the desk, he reached in his pocket for his keys. “Stay on top of this, Phil, and report to me as soon as you know
anything
. I’ll check with you later.” With that, he grabbed his jacket from the wooden coat rack and walked out.

Lieutenant Remington sat for a long moment staring after the captain as he wound his way through the bull pen desks. Marino
had once been a very fine officer, concerned about his men, fresh and innovative. Slowly, Remington got to his feet. He’d
never allow himself to get like that, he vowed. He’d quit the department long before he gave up and gave in to complacency,
fear, and the weariness of age. He had too much pride to allow himself to become a laughingstock.

Leaving the captain’s office, Remington walked to his own desk and dialed the mayor.

Father O’Malley handed a tissue to Terry Ryan as the tears continued to stream from her eyes. He was still in shock, trying
to adjust to the fact that they’d buried the wrong girl. He needed to tell the Ryans and Julia Hartley. But Terry was so broken
up over the news of Lynn’s tragic death that he couldn’t leave her yet.

Terry’s mind whirled round and round. Dead. How could her innocent, fun-loving cousin be dead? She wiped at her eyes with
the tissue, then studied her bandaged hands. The story Father O’Malley had told her, of the accident and all that followed
after, was as if it had happened to someone else.

She remembered driving, then switching places with Lynn. They’d been on their way to Sedona for the weekend because… because…
“Oh, God!” she whispered, as the memory slammed into her.

Concerned, Father took her hand in his. “You’re going to be all right, Terry.”

It all came rushing back, walking into the parking garage with Don, the shots, the men in the gray car, trying to outma-neuver
them, picking up Lynn. A horrible thought, an incredible
fear, hovered at the back of her mind. “Why did my car go out of control like that? It was almost new.”

“They don’t know, dear,” Father told her in his kind voice. “The police haven’t told us anything.”

She knew. Someone had to have tampered with the brakes or something. And, because of that, because of what she’d witnessed,
Lynn was gone. It was her fault, all her fault. She should have told someone, should have gotten help instead of running like
a scared rabbit. Choking back a sob, Terry clutched Father Tim’s hand, ignoring her own bruised fingers. “I need to make a
confession, Father.”

“Certainly, dear.” It wasn’t unusual, a person who’d escaped death, needing to reaffirm her faith. “But shouldn’t I call your
family first? And the doctor, to let him know you’re awake?”

“No, please. I need to confess, right now.” She simply had to tell someone, and Father Tim was someone she could trust, bound
by his vows not to repeat her story. As he bent his head to her, she closed her eyes and began.

Listening, Father Tim could hardly believe his ears. This poor child who’d nearly died had witnessed a murder and, as if that
weren’t enough, had seen an old family friend apparently involved in the killing. Father knew Sergeant McCarthy nearly as
well as the Ryans, and thought him a fine man. Was Terry to be believed, or was she hallucinating? Still, he’d read in the
papers about that reporter’s terrible death happening the same evening that Terry had been in her accident. She wouldn’t have
known about it if she hadn’t been there, since she’d just awakened.

Father Tim gave Terry absolution, then sat back. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” he said, wishing he could remove the pain from the
young woman’s eyes. “Let me call your family now.”

They’d been after her, Terry thought. She was sure of it. The men she’d seen at the garage, Mac and his friends, the ones
who’d followed her in the gray car. She couldn’t allow
them near her family. She couldn’t let them know where she was. Even though they thought she was Lynn, they might want to
kill her, too, just in case she knew something. “Does… does everyone think I’m dead?” she asked Father Tim.

He hesitated, then decided there was no way to keep the truth from her. “Yes. We had your funeral last week.” He leaned forward.
“Terry, your parents will be so relieved that you’re alive.” He rose. “I’ll just go call them.”

She reached for his hand, caught his sleeve, and moaned at the slice of pain that shot up her arm at the sudden movement.
“No! Please, Father. I just told you what I witnessed. Those men mean business. I can’t jeopardize Mom and Dad.”

“Come now, Terry, surely they wouldn’t…”

“Yes, they would.” It hurt to speak with her throat so sore, but it would hurt more to keep still. She had to think, to find
a way. She knew someone who might be able to help. She had trusted Andy enough to try to call him that night. She had a strong
feeling that he wouldn’t let her down. “Father, there’s a man I need you to call for me. He’s a detective out of Mt. Shadows
Precinct. Andy Russell. Please, look up his number and be sure no one can overhear you. Tell him where I am and to come to
me right away. He’s a good friend. He’ll come. Try the station and his home both.”

Father O’Malley looked skeptical. She’d been in a coma for many days. Was she rational? “Are you sure, Terry? Your father
was an officer. Why don’t we… ”

“No, please, please. Do as I ask. And hurry. Talk to no one else, promise me.” In her anxiety, her voice fell away into a
sob.

He patted her arm in a gesture of comfort. “All right, I promise. I’ll be right back. You rest.” Reluctantly, he hurried off.

Terry sank deeper into the pillows, praying Father Tim would reach Andy and that her friend would come, that he’d
be able to help her. She was too tired, too weak to plan her way out of this alone. She had to get somewhere safe. If word
got out that she was alive, they would come after her again.

She felt the tears flow freely, unable to stop them. Sweet, gentle Lynn, a helpless victim. Don Simon shot down in cold blood.
Her life in danger even in a hospital bed. Where would it all end? When would she ever feel safe again?

Closing her eyes, she prayed Father Tim would hurry.

Detective Andy Russell stood in the hospital elevator riding up, his mood impatient. He hadn’t been terribly surprised to
get a call relating to Terry Ryan. When he’d been unable to reach her the morning after that odd message she’d left, and then
had learned of the accident, some sixth sense had warned him that something wasn’t right.

Terry was a careful driver, someone he’d ridden with often and had never seen take chances or use excessive speed. Of course,
she could have lost control somehow, gotten distracted by something. But then there’d been that mysterious message on his
machine where she’d sounded frightened and anxious. Andy’s suspicious nature had had him checking out the police report the
following day. And he’d learned plenty.

And now he’d learned from a priest that Terry was alive and her cousin had been the one who’d died in that fiery crash. The
elevator doors slid open and he stepped out, checking the signs with directional arrows before turning left and heading down
the corridor. He passed the nurses’ station, where two heads were bent over a chart, a third person was talking on the phone,
and a fourth was writing on a wall blackboard. He moved along, finally spotting Room 410. The door was slightly ajar. Cautiously,
he pushed it open.

A bald-headed priest looked up from the chair pulled close to the bed where a heavily bandaged woman lay with her eyes closed.
“Yes?” he asked hesitantly.

“I’m Detective Andy Russell. Are you Father O’Malley?”

Father Tim relaxed, smiling as he rose. “Yes, indeed. Come in, please.”

Terry opened her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. “Andy. Thank God you’ve come.”

He moved to her side, frowning at the bandaged head, the gauze dressings on her swollen face, the wrapped hands. “Terry. I
can’t believe you’re alive.”

“I’m having trouble believing it myself. Father, would you please close the door?” A nurse had looked in earlier, but she’d
feigned sleep, needing them to believe she hadn’t awakened until she’d had a chance to talk with Andy. “Sit down,” she said
to him. “I’ve got quite a story to tell you.” She spoke slowly, her voice low and raspy, sore from tubes that had been inserted
earlier.

While Father Tim pulled over a second chair, Andy settled his six-four frame in the one the priest had vacated, a frown on
his face. “Are you in any pain?”

“Not much.” She glanced up at the tube carrying liquid into her arm. Fear overrode any pain she was feeling. She touched the
largest bandage on her right cheek. “I’m worried about my face, but there’s a couple of other things I’m more concerned about
right now. Father Tim told you what happened, about the mixup and Lynn dying?”

Andy had met Lynn a couple of times, but hadn’t known her well. “Incredible. Do you remember the crash at all?”

“All too clearly. We were going down a curving ramp onto I-17 when suddenly, the brakes wouldn’t hold. We kept gaining speed
and then the steering wheel wouldn’t straighten. Lynn yelled that we were going to crash. We bounced against the sidewall
and the car spun around, then zoomed backward. I felt the impact just before the fire broke out. My door flew open. Glass
was flying everywhere and then there was an explosion and I felt myself being thrown out. After
that, I don’t remember anything.” She sucked in a painful breath.

“You weren’t behind the wheel?”

“No, Lynn was driving.”

“The police report said you were driving, that Mrs. Hartley had seen the two of you leave her home and you were definitely
behind the wheel.”

“I had been when we left Aunt Julia’s, but I had this really bad headache so we switched places.” She had another headache
today, far worse than that one. Terry made an effort to ignore it, knowing medication would only dull her mind and memory.

“And there was a ring, one Mrs. Hartley said Lynn always wore,” Father put in.

Terry glanced toward him. “The silver one, yes. But Lynn had a rash so she’d given it to me and I’d slipped it on.” She looked
at both hands. “What happened to it?”

“I understand they had to cut it off your finger,” Father said.

Terry drew in a shaky breath. “Lynn told me to put on my seat belt, but I didn’t get around to it. I… if we hadn’t changed
places, Lynn wouldn’t have died.” The tears, so close to the surface, filled her eyes again. “It’s all my fault. They meant
for me to die, not Lynn.”

“They? Who is this
they
?” Andy asked.

“I need to start from the beginning.” Terry raised a hand to her throat, hoping she had the strength to tell it all again.
She was so very tired. “Could I have some water first?”

Andy held the glass to her, guiding the bent straw to her mouth while she drank. “If you need to rest for a while…”

“No, I have to tell you, because I need your help.” She took a deep breath and recounted everything she could recall from
the minute she and Don Simon had left the
Phoenix Gazette
offices until she’d awakened here a short time ago, including an explanation of her anxious message left on his answering
machine.

Andy brushed back his longish blond hair as he listened intently. “You’re saying that Don’s story was to be an exposé of high-ranking
police officers who allegedly are on the take, being paid to look the other way regarding certain underworld characters working
some sort of money-laundering scheme?”