The Charity (38 page)

Shea paid the fare and watched the cab pull away from the curve. He was pissed. He wanted to have more control over the situation, over her, and now she was going even further into hiding. It was his own damn fault, he muttered to himself as he walked back to his office. He should have been more specific with the instructions to Granger Lipinski, an old friend he had asked to keep an eye on her. He would have to get her back in line, somehow.

He had to hand it to her, though. She knew the score when it came to him. He was willing to help her because he failed to do so as a cop. He stood to great publicity from her. Still, he was more drawn to her than he wanted to be. He would help her, but for a lot of complicated reasons. Guilt. Greed. Glory. What did it matter, he was still helping, right?

He thought about what she said about Granger being eyed by some kid. He knew both Granger and Jessica were good at dropping out of sight, and some kid could not possibly keep up with either one of them. Kids were only used for the easy tags. He decided to test a hunch.

Walking into the men’s room, he placed his files and tapes down and washed his hands. Satisfied no one was there, he quickly entered a stall and used the toilet as a footstool. In fast motions, he hid one set of tapes behind the ceiling tiles.

Leaving the men’s room, he nodded to the guardian receptionist and greeted his secretary as she thrust a fistful of messages at him. He calmly entered his office and made a few phone calls. He left a message for Granger to meet in Back Bay for dinner at six. At quarter of six, he mentioned he was going to do some research at the Suffolk Law School library and left.

It was cold. He pulled the collar of his overcoat up around his neck. He was just one of many men in a gray overcoat, huddled against the cold. He blended in with the commuters and Christmas shoppers.

It was a short walk to the law library along the darkened streets. He came into the courtyard through the back path, pushed himself into a nook in the wall of a building and waited. In a few minutes, a wiry boy with red hair appeared and showed interest in the few bicycles chained outside. He barely nodded to a student entering the building. The student wore the typical uniform—chinos, turtleneck, sweater, parka, backpack. The red-haired urchin walked up and down the walkway, looking in the library’s windows and at the passersby. Occasionally, he looked around in a bigger circle. Shea kept close to the darkened doorway he had taken shelter in.

A few minutes later, the student emerged. He did not look at the boy, but shook his head as he walked down the steps. One minute later, the boy turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Shea narrowed his eyes—his secretary could not be trusted. He walked the long way to the restaurant to meet Granger. The student had arrived first and was joined by a young woman. They emerged from the restaurant laughing. The girl leaned up against the building and the student placed his outstretched arm against the wall, next to her head. It was obvious they were going to stay a while.

“
Shit
.” He spat the word out, and his heart began to pound. His office was totally open. Most likely his phone was tapped and either the secretary was in on this deal or her desk was bugged. Same was probably true for the receptionist. That explained the uncanny abilities of some of the defense attorneys he had been up against. He was just plain stupid to meet with Jessica at the same hotel his office always used. They probably had the suite wired. He had been working in a house of cards and he did not realize it until it crumbled.

As he made his way back home, he considered the quagmire he was in. Part of him wanted to turn her in right now and wash his hands of the whole mess. But the tape had him saying he had notes on an investigation that were not part of the official record. He could be brought up on charges of tampering with an investigation or withholding evidence. That would not play well in the press. He owed her one, and he had to settle the score.

Electra was busily planning her annual Christmas party. She was standing in her front hall, directing the placement of pine rope and red ribbons that were to weave their way up the sweeping staircase. Workmen stood out in the cold, damp air waiting to be summoned. Two huge blue spruce trees lay on their sides on the front lawn.

“NO! I said the ribbons go on every
fourth
pillar,
not
fifth. Please make the change
now
.” She turned to face the workmen outside. “Okay. Now the large tree goes beside the staircase. The smaller one goes in the main living room.” She stood back and watched the workers swarm around, performing their duties. She was pleased with the way things were going today.

“Mrs. Lavielle, a phone call for you.” The uniformed maid timidly handed a portable phone over to Electra.

Electra shot an impatient glance at the cowering girl. “I beg your pardon. I believe I said I did not want to be disrupted this morning.”

“I... I
am
sorry, Ma’am. But she said it was urgent.” The girl could hardly bring her eyes up to Electra’s. The phone remained in an outstretched hand.

Electra snatched it away. “Very well, then.” She began to walk into the study where the noise of the work would not disturb her. “Yes? Electra here,” she chirped brightly into the phone as she settled into her favorite chair for a long chat.

“Electra? Hi! It’s Tess.”

“Tess! Darling! Great Heavens, child! Where are you?” She sprang immediately to her feet and nearly ran up the stairs to her office. “I can barely hear you on this phone, let me switch.” She closed the door firmly behind her. “The house is filled with people today and I can’t hear myself think.” She picked up the handset of the desktop phone and clicked off the portable. “There, that’s much better. Now, where the devil are you?”

There was a short pause. “Well, I decided to take some time off. Things got pretty awful, and I just needed to get away for a bit. How are the horses?”

Electra allowed the conversation to meander to the care and status of the horses. “That foal still needs a name, you know.”

Jessica laughed. “Hey, talk to the owner. I think I’ve done enough for that foal.”

Electra could hear the soft sounds of people in the background. An announcement of some sort was being made. “We all are worried sick about you. It’s been over two weeks! When are you coming home?”

“I am sorry you are all worried about me. I’ve been so accustomed to minding my own schedule that I forget now that people might notice I’m gone. I’ll be away a while longer. I made sure that Jeff Curtiss at the bank transferred some funds over to Chad for the horses he has of mine. I know he’d refuse it if I talked to him, so I won’t call him. I’m sure you can relay the message.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“I’m calling because I need you to do me a favor. Can you get my mail for me? I talked to an old friend in Utah that mentioned he mailed something to me. The return address would be from Saddle String, Jake Masterson. I just need to know the package is there.”

“I’d be glad to send it to you. What’s your address?” Electra reviewed a page of notes on her desk.

“Well, I’ll be moving around a bit, just seeing the countryside, you know? Anyway, I’ll call again after you have a chance to get the package. Jake said it was in a small brown box, and it should be there by now. Sounds like you can’t miss it. Anyway, thanks. I’ve got to go.”

“Tess.” Electra lowered her voice. “Tess. What’s going on with you? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“What? Oh. No. No. Not at all. It’s just that this is a hard enough time of year without your barn burning down. I just had to get away.”

“Tess. I don’t buy that. Michael said he was very worried about you.”

Another announcement could be heard over the phone line. A baby cried in the distance. “Just what exactly did he say?”

Electra considered her response. She looked down again at the papers on her desk. “He said he thought something was scaring you and that you could trust him to help. You should call him.”

“Electra,” Jessica paused as she tried to force her voice to sound normal, “Thank you for all of your help. There is nothing that concerns Michael. I’ve got to go. Good-bye.”

Electra held the dead phone in her hand for a long while. Finally, she replaced it in its cradle and picked up another phone. She pushed the numbers quickly.

“Did you get it?” She was anxious.

“Almost perfect. Concord, New Hampshire. On replay, we’ll catch more of the background noises.”

“It’s got to be the lighter she’s after.”

“Right. I’ve gotten what I need from it. She can have it back. Follow the same procedure when she calls again.”

“She thinks I don’t know about the murders.”

“We’ll keep it that way for a while. Thanks for your help.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What I should have done in the first place. She needs to be stopped.”

“But she’s gotten so far!”

“Not far enough. She just made her first mistake.”

The large screened television flashed images of a battalion of police officers in full dress uniform marching solemnly to the beat of a dirge. A hundred or more white gloved hands moved forward and back, forward and back as polished shoes struck counter beats on the pavement. City officials from all levels of government lined the gray granite steps of the church. The huge casket was removed from the shiny black hearse and carried with honor past the officials, down the aisle, and placed upon the catafalque. Several women sat in the frontmost pews, their heads bowed under drapes of black veils. An occasional flick of a white hanky dabbed their eyes.

The room was suitably silent. Men stood in silence as the images came into focus on the screen and then faded. Their eyes shifted from the television to the old man. They would not move until he gave permission. After a minute, the anchorperson broke in and narrated the scene. The old man turned up the volume.

“Funeral services for Detective Terrance Coogan of South Boston were held today at the Our Lady of Divine Grace Cathedral. Among the many city officials attending today’s services for the fallen police officer were the police commissioner, mayor, and many prominent business personalities. The shock and horror of the Detective Coogan’s death have stricken the closely-knit community to its core and the services today are hoped to serve as a reminder of the dignity and strength this community possesses. Sources state they are following every lead connected to the investigation of the brutal slaying of the police veteran, but look to the community for help in their investigation. Past investigations have been hampered with a “Code of Silence” that intimidated witnesses from coming forward. Officials hope that the display of honor and support for the fallen officer will act to counterbalance the grizzly and horrific circumstances of his death and encourage anyone with information to come forward. This is Colleen Shaunessy-Carillo in South Boston for WBZ-TV News.”

The television was clicked off. The men in the room began to move freely again. Magnus sat back and smiled. He looked at the half-grinning figure standing toward the back of the room. “Well done. As always.” He hoisted himself out of his chair and indicated that he wanted to speak. The room fell silent.

“I trust we all understand the painful circumstances under which our former comrade fell. For those of you who have not seen the tape, please watch the screen.”

On command, the screen popped to life once again. This time, it was filled with an image of a young woman with red hair sitting at a table in a hotel room surrounded by files. The image was fuzzy and grainy from the poor quality surveillance camera used. The sound was equally as poor. The image dashed about wildly on the screen as the video was fast-forwarded. “We’ve all seen this. There. That’s what you need to see.” Again, the picture was difficult to see, but the torture and pain of the man were clear. Coogan pleaded for mercy and was granted none. Testicles of the men watching the death involuntarily recoiled.

Magnus continued. “This is no longer a matter my trusted aide can handle alone. Prior to the resurrection of the woman, we were confident that we did not leave any loose ends. Now, we must retrace our steps from her perspective. We need your help on this. Use all of your contacts. Not one document is to surface, and not one conversation should be had that we have not discussed and approved the content of first. We need to clean every contact we ever had with Worldwind Farm. You know what to do.”