The Charity (52 page)

“Don’t play stupid with me. There have been plenty of cases filed against John Does on thinner evidence than what you may have. If that’s the truth, then you just do it. That’s all.”

“I can’t.”

The words vibrated against a vein of indignation. “If you are so stuck on your reputation that you can’t even think straight, I have really misjudged you.” Abbey curled her lips in disgust. “I can’t believe you’d be led by the situation instead of you leading it.”

He saw her look and understood its meaning. “No. Wait a second.” The force of the idea propelled him forward to emphasize his words. “I mean that
I
cannot give the approval to file that case. The best alternative is to have the appearance that I have removed myself from the case to give the impression of greater impartiality. If the press realizes that the evidence was reviewed by a third party and a separate conclusion was reached, then the fact that I was involved in the case as a cop will no longer prejudice the actions taken. The grand jury is perfect for that. Connaught comes before it later today.”

Abbey sat back and smiled. A strand of hair caught in the corner of her mouth, unnoticed “Is there enough evidence now for probable cause against Connaught and John Doe?”

Shea sighed. “Yes. I just confirmed the final link late yesterday. I have physical evidence supported by photographs taken at the crime scene that Connaught was there.”

“That’s it then. Perfect.” She began to pick up her files and leave.

“No. Wait. It still is not that easy. That group is going to kill whoever touches this case.”

Abbey scowled. “I’m not that easily frightened off. I will file the amended pleadings for the grand jury hearing against Magnus Connaught and add John Doe on all appropriate charges. We won’t even mention Wyeth, although we will need her for a witness.”

“Abbey. You’re nuts. I can’t be responsible for the risk you would take. Besides, like you said, timing is of the essence now. If you stay away from me and the office, it might take you off of their radar screen and you’ll be safer.”

She threw the file at him. It contained all of the draft documents required. Just a few minor revisions were needed. “I had a hunch you would say that.”

Shea looked at her in disbelief. “Why take the risk?”

“I took an oath, like you, remember?”

He was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. “Why this little get-together and test? Why not just come right out and say what was on your mind?”

Abbey weighed her response. “Because I wasn’t sure how far they had gotten to you. C’mon. Court opens in less than one hour. Can you locate Wyeth?”

Shea shook his head. “I don’t know where she is.”

Abbey considered the ramifications. “We can probably get the indictments on Magnus Connaught without her testimony. But we definitely need her for John Doe. She’s a highly prejudiced witness. It’s a good thing this is just the grand jury and not a trial. All the grand jury needs to hear is the prosecution’s case for determining if there is probable cause enough to move forward with charges and a trial. Defense cross-exam would have eaten her alive, but the grand jury just needs to see that she’s a credible witness. Like you said, we’ve got to find her before she gets killed.”

They got up and refilled their coffees for the long day ahead. Shea listened to his young associate’s words. “Easier said than done.”

Michael spent a fitful night in his hotel room. The police scanner he constantly monitored hissed and sputtered throughout the night, unusually active because of the storm. The garble-charged static that emanated from the small box prohibited any attempts at sleep. It was just as well. He could hardly relax as it was.

A call came yesterday concerning a confirmed sighting of Jessica. From piecing together all reports, it was obvious she had retrieved something from a safe deposit box from a small bank on the North Shore. There was a touch of irony that the town she was spotted in was Salem, famous for its history of witch hunts two centuries ago. It was encouraging that the sighting came shortly after the initial stories about her were broadcast. It affirmed his decision to begin a media manhunt.

After speaking with everyone possible, he knew he had no alternative but to call in the press. The final straw came when he learned that Owen Shea had arrested his father and was bringing him in front of the grand jury today. Magnus gave Michael several sources, including some at the court, when they spoke. The court sources said the complaint specified only money laundering, income tax evasion, and racketeering related charges. Nothing was spoken about murder.

The first surge of excitement at having her spotted faded and he suffered through the long silences between any solid bulletins about her whereabouts. There was the usual mix of false alarms and publicity seeking stunts, but no more confirmed sightings were forthcoming. It was late last night when he received a phone call from one of his ears on the street reporting that she had been spotted and pursued again. A spark of admiration glowed for her. She was as difficult to grasp as a bar of soap in a bath, he thought as he smiled to himself. She was back in Boston. That was the mistake he needed to finally get her.

All available forces saturated the Boston area. There was hardly a place in town that did not have some kind of police coverage or informant close by. He used the press as well as he could to whip up as much public excitement as he dared. Painting a picture of her as a fugitive on the run, he created a sense of urgency so that every good citizen felt the obligation to keep their eyes open. He listened constantly to the TV, police monitor, and radio. He had placed himself at the hub of three armies: the Charity, the police and the public. It would not be long before she was spotted again.

Rolling out of bed he quickly pulled a pair of jeans and sweater on over his athletic frame. The right shoulder of his black sweater was encompassed in a leather patch, with two other patches covering the elbows in a style referred to as ‘commando.’ It was his favorite to wear during target practice at the rifle range down South and today it offered him warmth and unconstricted movement. Over that he strapped on a tooled leather holster, checked his Glock 22 .40 caliber handgun, and secured it close to his chest.

He moved to the window. The scene out the window made him smile again. Unmeasured inches of snow rounded the shapes and muffled the sounds of everything in the city. It had been a long time since he saw one of New England’s famed nor’easters. This one did not disappoint him. It had dropped over a foot of snow and it was still coming down. Kentucky did not often get storms like this. The most they received on a frequent basis were impressive ice storms, although they certainly had their blizzard or two. One of the reasons he liked Perc so much was that the mountains were high enough to get more snow than ice. Being back in New England had a familiar feel to it. He could not wait to leave.

Shoving freshly charged batteries into his scanner and phone units and grabbing the handful of spares, he pulled on his coat and strode down to the lobby. The Parker House was not a luxurious hotel, but it was centrally located in Boston. Whatever news got to him in the middle of the night, he would never be too far away from the action.

The scanner barked to life as he grabbed a fast breakfast in the hotel cafe. Two municipal workers were checking to make sure the alley was clear of homeless people before they loaded it with snow. A woman had been found in an alleyway in the theater district that fit the description of the heiress. A split second later his room phone rang.

“Conant.”

“We’ve got her.”

“I just heard it on the scanner.”

“It’s your collar. What do you want us to do?”

“Keep it quiet. I’m on my way.”

The dispatch came in less than a minute ago. The alley was just a few blocks away.

“Awright! We are gonna be famous for this one!” A stout man in the thickly padded Carhartt canvas coveralls favored by maintenance workers slapped the back of his buddy. “We did it! We cornered the Murdering Heiress!”

“She don’t look too scary. Ya think?”

“Scary enough for a few rounds of beer,” he guffawed.

Jessica looked at the two city workers with disgust. They were insufferably pleased with themselves.

“C’mon. You did it, right? You can talk to us.”

“Go to hell.” Jessica snorted at their cartoon attempts to play Perry Mason. “Even if I don’t say one word, the two of you would concoct a confession and blab it to whatever microphone was in your face.”

She had been rousted out of a deep sleep by the sounds of shouting and the fact that her box shelter was being rolled from side to side. She laughed at the expression on the men’s faces as she emerged. It was obvious they expected to find a derelict man encased in filthy clothes reeking of alcohol and urine. Instead, when she emerged, their mouths hung open in amazement. It did not take them long to guess who she might be and they quickly used the radio from one of their trucks to call for help.

The police cruiser arrived, but it was absent of a wailing siren and flashing lights. Two burly officers strode up the street like gunslingers at high noon. She was momentarily encouraged when her identity was not immediately confirmed by the officers. In fact, she was confused when they tried to tell the men that she was most likely not whom they thought she was. The older of the two officers returned to his car to make a quick call on his radio, leaving the remaining five of them to just stand there, looking at one another.

Jessica’s mind raced to process every detail about the alley and the men. The sides of the buildings were encrusted with ice making any thought of scaling them insane. The alley was a dead end. There were no other roads or walkways into it or out of it. The men assumed a casual stance as they stood guard over their prisoner.

She knew the plow drivers called the cops for assistance, but who did the cops call and why were they just standing there waiting? Why would two strong cops call for backup against a lone woman? If they were confused as to who she was, she would do nothing to help them out.

Her questions were immediately answered as she saw a late model American car slide its way up to the alley. It had a large spotlight tucked in on the driver’s side. It was obviously an unmarked police car. Its tinted windows were slightly fogged, masking the occupant. The older officer immediately turned and addressed the driver while the other remained at his post. Pieces of their conversation could be heard over the idling engines.

They were negotiating something to do with her. The officers were treating the driver of the car as a superior. Remembering the power Coogan had over Shea in his position as detective sickened her. Her eyes grew wide and her heart skipped a beat as she saw the distant officer retrieve his handcuffs from the back of his waistband and hand them to the newcomer. The reality of her arrest sunk in.

Desperation forced her out of her thoughts. She tried to formulate a plan. Once at the police station, she would call Shea. Surely he could be tracked down quickly if news got out that she was in custody. She did not know how long she had before members of the Charity found her, if they had not already. Sarge said the Charity had contacts at all levels of the police force. It was naive, but she still felt being in police custody might somehow keep her alive long enough to give Shea the documents pressed to her body.

“Okay you guys. Show’s over.” The older cop returned from his conference and tried to usher away the two gawking men. He was forceful in returning them to their trucks and reluctantly stopped to listen to their stories of discovery. It seemed like he purposely positioned them so that their backs were to Jessica.

Suddenly, Jessica realized that she could easily be gunned down in the street and no one would question the efforts of the valiant police officers shooting a dangerous fugitive in the line of duty.

Her attention and thoughts were so focused on the puzzle of the police officers’ actions that she did not see the figure approach her. She felt her arms get pulled back as the cuffs were snapped onto her wrists. Reluctantly, she gave her captor her full attention.

The strong grasp on her arm was the only thing that kept her standing as her knees buckled. The force of the shock of seeing Michael left her speechless.

The familiar eyes bore into her. “Don’t talk,” was all that he said as he shoved her forward to his car.

The shock was replaced by numbness as she was propelled forward. The other officers hardly glanced in their direction. Michael flung the back door of his car open and pushed her onto the seat. “Stay down.”

Jessica could feel the car slip and slide its way out of the alley. The police scanner was filled with unintelligible blasts of announcements. Neither she nor Michael spoke during their car ride.

They drove for ten minutes when the car stopped and she was pulled out of the car. Jessica was shocked when she looked at the back of an empty school instead of a police station. All schools were closed because of the storm and she figured that Michael brought her here to avoid being seen. He brought her quickly to a door and entered the deserted building.

He glanced quickly around and began to relax. He produced a key and unlocked the handcuffs. Jessica rubbed her chafed wrists and glared at him in silence. Taking off her hat and mittens, she loosened her jacket. Although she had remained warm throughout the night in her cardboard cocoon, the warm air of the school felt very good against her skin.

Jessica looked at Michael with barely contained hate. “Why did you bring me here?”

“I negotiated to share your collar, um, arrest, with the patrol cops if they gave me time alone with you. It was the older cop who knew about the school and told me about it. He’s been around a long time and knows the score, both on and off the books.”

“So you bartered for me like a piece of meat.”

He ignored her comment. “We only have a short time before I have to bring you to the station. The other two cops are going to join up with us here and we’ll all go in together.” He paused as he looked at her carefully for the first time. The bruises from the beating she had taken from Granger had settled into dull yellows and purples. “Jesus Christ, Jessica. What happened to you?” He took a step forward and reached his hands out.