The Charity (68 page)

The sounds of the snow removal masked the normal sounds of the streets. The noises of engines grinding and gears shifting bounced off brick and glass buildings, causing more echoes. Normally Shea would have forced more attention onto the street’s camouflaged sights and feel.

But tonight he was too tired. Too distracted.

Shea had his head bowed with only his eyes turned wearily upward in their attempt at surveillance. The sharp angles of the shadow bulged and then slid up into the rounded figure of a man. The large trucks lumbering on the pier hid the gritting sound of sand under a soft-soled boot. The footsteps expertly fell into rhythm with their prey.

Shea did not hear the beating heart of his predator, he felt it through the upright hairs sprung on the back of his neck. His muscles tensed as he forced his shoulders and head to remain down, in the posture of a weary man. His eyes darted from side to side trying to catch a glimpse of his pursuer in a storefront window. The location for the attack was well chosen. Only the blank brick faces of tall walls stared back at him. Shea’s mind sifted through the variables. Instinct rather than logic governed. This was not a mugging. A common thief would have sprung at him the moment he passed. This man was too well disciplined.

The rhythm of his breathing and his walk did not change, but his brain leaped into a heightened state of awareness. Colors sharpened. Sounds grew louder.

Alternatives? Choices? He shifted the handle of his briefcase imperceptibly in his left hand as he reassessed its weight and maneuverability. It would be good for an additional two seconds during the attack. That would have to be enough for his defense.

Shea brought his right hand to his face and coughed, allowing his gait to slow. The opportunity was not lost on his assailant. In an instant, Shea was thrown forward by the force of the attack—the power of it was staggering. The body of his attacker hit him with a force like a blast of wind generated by an explosion, knocking the wind out of him and sending him careening to the ground. Rolling to knees, Shea brought his case to his chest and lunged forward, using it as a battering ram.

His attacker was ready for the thrust and dodged first sideways, then forward onto Shea’s back. He slipped one arm around Shea’s neck and pulled back as hard as he could as he pummeled Shea’s head with his free fist.

Tiny specs of light floated in and out of Shea’s vision. He brought his arms up behind his head and downward again, striking several blows before the grip on his neck loosened. He struggled to his feet gasping for breath. The split second delay cost him his life.

A kick to his chest sent him backward against the hard wall of the building. Shea could hear and feel his bones cracking. The ‘Pop! Pop! Pop!’ of his ribs was greeted with a sound that made his blood run cold. The insane laugh of an animal rolled up the brick wall of the building.

The black edges of his vision changed to red as he tried to see past his pain. Bright stars streaked across the face of his attacker. The grin. The face tortured to one side by a thick ribbon of smooth skin. He had seen it before. Where?

Time slowed. He could hear his own heart beat. Thump... thump... thump. His breathing was coming in labored gasps. Something was making him cough. Thick ooze caught in his throat... he only saw the blade coming out of him... never felt a thing. He stared in fascination as a gush of blood rushed out... slipping through his fingers trying to stop its escape... So, this is what it’s like... Events were winding down. He was remotely curious about it all.

Fight. C’mon damn it! Fight! You can do it! Get him!!

A small voice tried to rally him forward.
Get him! You know him!

Do I? Where?

Jessica! You ass! That’s the man Jessica described! John Doe! He’s here! Right in front of you. GET HIM!

He pulled his eyes wide as he tried to focus again on the grinning animal.

Get him now!! Jessica’s next, damn it! GET HIM!

A stupor riddled his senses, saturating his thinking. Everything was happening all at once. But slowly. So very slowly.

Protect Jessica! You’ve got to kill him to protect Jessica!!

Eyes crossed in their effort to focus. Knees buckled as he tried to get them to hold his weight. Frame by frame he saw his fists clench, his head turn, his legs straighten.

That’s it! You’re up. Kill him!!

He felt the deep vibration of the plow as it rumbled toward him. Frame by frame he saw the face of his attacker laugh and fade to black.

“I have always done everything I can to help you, Michael. You know I would do whatever it was you asked of me.”

Electra ushered Michael into the small den off of the dining room. The Lavielles had hosted a dinner party that evening and Electra had insisted that Michael come. It was a small gathering of business people from both Harlan and Cumberland Counties. Michael recognized each of them from either his own dealings or through their reputations.

Both Electra and Michael were casually dressed. Electra wore her trademark wool gabardine dress and Michael was in gray flannel trousers, a turtleneck, and jacket. He accepted the snifter of brandy she offered him.

“Lainely brought me up to see a piece of property today. Nice spot. You know the far point just up from Jackman’s Ravine?”

Electra nodded in recognition. “I didn’t know it was on the market.”

Michael grimaced. “It’s not. Lainely did a lot of research on the property and determined it was just perfect to add to our holdings.”

“‘
Our
’ holdings? Where did she get an idea like that?”

“That part I’m not quite sure on. She said she did some research. I do know that the reporter, Colleen something or other, has been doing an equal amount of digging. If Lainely came across that information, then there is no predicting what the reporter might come across as well. I just don’t want you to get caught up in anything.”

Electra laughed. “Well! I certainly appreciate you worrying about us. But I wouldn’t be concerned. We’ve taken great pains to make sure everything is legitimate. The worst offense here is that you’ve chosen to keep your business dealings to yourself—private. I have a room full of guests that can understand that point. Right?”

Michael took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re right, to a point. I really don’t want anyone to think that they’ve stumbled across something simply because I’m reluctant to talk about it. The same is true for you. Even no news can sound like hot stuff if played in the wrong hands.”

Electra crossed over the room and stood in front of Michael. Looking up at him, she furrowed her brow. “I don’t get it, Michael. All you’ve done is make some money and all I’ve done is make some good investments. In this day and age in the Grand Ole U. S. of A. that’s what heroes are made out of. What has you so concerned?”

“Electra,” he tried hard to find the right words, “I don’t care if my neighbors find out that some small time sheriff made a few bucks. I just don’t want this story to be blazoned all over every newspaper in the country. Any story connected with Jessica right now is going to do just that. Look at what’s happened with her. She can’t turn around without someone thinking they are on to a career making exclusive. People she hasn’t seen in twenty years are climbing out of the woodwork to give an interview about her. Every facet of her past is being examined and the glare of the spotlight is driving people away from her. The conspiracy theories and innuendo drag in anyone they can to sell more papers. The exposure is withering. True, false, or otherwise. I don’t want that kind of attention.”

The edge to his voice made Electra consider his words solemnly. “So, what is it that you want me to do?”

“Can you talk to one of your colleagues in the press, mainly that Colleen woman? She already has a lead on my real estate transactions and I want to make sure she doesn’t learn anything more. Can you gently nudge her interest away from my dealings?”

“Is that all you want me to do?”

“Yes. Just talk to her and find out what she knows. Then convince her there is no story with me. Okay?”

“Why don’t you do that for yourself? I have seen you charm the quills from a porcupine.”

“No. The least amount of contact I have with her the better.”

They both sipped their brandy.

“Michael, I have known you for a very long time. You are one of the most committed persons I have ever known. You’ve created jobs here with your wealth. We both know the Franklin School would have collapsed long ago without your help. I’ve helped you make “anonymous” donations to people and causes in need just so you would be out of the limelight. I’ve respected your need for privacy. Of course, I will do as you ask, but I want to know why.”

“I think it’s best you don’t know.”

Electra straightened her back in irritation at being shut out. “I once told you that you and Jessica reminded me a lot of each other. When you first arrived here, you craved the quiet anonymity of these back hills. Lucky for you, Lainely took a shine to you and helped you secure your position as sheriff. I have never seen anyone root so firmly to a place as you have. I do take a personal pride in how well you’ve done for yourself and am proud of how my husband and I were able to help you. Never once have we questioned what you’ve done with the money you’ve earned because all that we could see and know of you rang so true. We have never tried to stop you from doing what you felt needed to be done.”

She crossed her arms in front of her, lifted her chin and continued. “But I know something’s up with you. Just like Jessica, you wanted your past to remain behind you. It’s more than privacy you’re protecting. I can’t help thinking that there is something you just don’t want to come out in the open and I have to know what it is. That’s the only way I can truly help you. I helped you track down Jessica but if I don’t know the final destination of your trail, then I certainly can’t throw people off the track for fear of inadvertently helping them.”

She settled onto the large couch in the center of the room and waited for a response.

Michael took a breath and looked around the room. He thought of Jessica and exactly how much they had in common. His head shook in concern as he thought of the work he still had to do. The events of the past few months put him directly on a path he had spent years avoiding. Seeing Electra on the couch, he knew she would not give up until she had more information. He drew in a breath as he determined just how much to tell her.

Electra finally broke the silence. “Is all of this about your family?” she prodded.

He nodded. “I’m afraid of what people might say. It would make it difficult to remain in Perc, let alone as sheriff.”

Concern flickered over her face. “What would people say?”

“That I killed my brother and my mother killed herself because of me.”

Electra sat motionless, stunned. “Well, we’ve certainly learned that murder rumors can get ugly but I think that if you were at all culpable for his death, you would have been brought up on charges long ago.” Her head lowered, “But as far as your mother’s death is concerned, well, I just don’t know what to say.” Back straight and chin up, she took on the stance of someone about to fight. “Fine. I agree that certainly makes bad press, but you can overcome that.”

Michael put his head down. “If those fragments of information got into play in the press, I’m afraid a frenzy of investigations would surely follow.” He hated this and knew he had to tell his ally and business partner more than he ever wanted to. He took in a deep breath and continued. “Electra, my father is not dead as I led you to believe. He and I have barely spoken to one another since my mother’s death.”

“And you’re afraid the publicity will help him find you?”

He sniffed at the irony. “No. We’ve already found each other.” He paused, then added, “In Boston.”

Brandy splashed to the floor an instant before it was joined by the snifter. Electra stooped down and began hurriedly picking up the pieces of broken glass. Things were sharpening into focus. She forced her voice to remain calm. “Oh?”

Michael bent down and helped her pick up the pieces. “Yes. I guess you can see why I don’t want any publicity.”

Electra straightened herself up, bracing herself for the questions she had to ask. “The papers have been very specific about the dealings of this Magnus fellow. I have to know everything and I want to hear it from you. Is Connaught your father?”

Michael’s slate blue eyes deepened. “Yes.”

In less than a second, the woman acted. He hardly noticed her movement until his cheek stung with the force of the slap.

“How dare you drag me into your sewer with that monster of a father of yours.”

“He’s my father but he is not a monster.”

She caught herself and mocked an apology. “Oh! I am sorry. I just didn’t think that killing innocent families and spiriting away money to fund a terrorist organization were the acts of an angel.” Sarcasm arced around her words.

“Electra. I don’t condone what he did at all. But you have to understand. He did what he did because he thought he could make a difference in people’s lives. He just lost sight of the
method
because he was too focused on his goals.” Michael’s brow formed a straight line as he acknowledged to himself that his father had indeed lost sight of his own goals. With pain, Michael acknowledged that both the goals and the methods of the Charity were corrupted leaving him trying to make sense of it.