The Last Commandment

by Scott Shepherd

  “Probably a good idea,” agreed Frankel.

  He’d asked her what she was doing the following night.

  After telling her what he had in mind, he was a little surprised when she actually said yes. “Sounds like fun,” she told him.

  And then Frankel realized something else.

  He’d suddenly felt happier than he’d been in the longest time.

  Later that day, he had kept expecting her to cancel as they’d worked the case that brought them all together. Rachel never brought it up, so Frankel didn’t either. He wondered if she’d forgotten about it or if maybe he’d had one too many and only imagined that he’d asked her out in some kind of drunken stupor.

  But shortly before Rachel had left with her father to get him situated at her place, she’d ducked her head into Frankel’s office and asked if they were still on.

  It had caught Frankel off guard. “Absolutely,” he practically sputtered.

  “I’ll meet you at the corner at eight-thirty like we talked about,” Rachel said.

  The conspiratorial way she’d uttered it actually caused butterflies to start fluttering in Frankel’s stomach.

  But when she climbed in the car at the agreed rendezvous, Frankel didn’t need his first-grade detective classification to see that her mood had changed.

  He immediately asked what was wrong.

  “Just some stuff with me and my father.” She tried to make light of it by shrugging it off, but Frankel noticed her eyes drift back toward her building.

  “Want to talk about it?” he’d asked.

  “Not particularly.”

  Frankel told her if she didn’t want to go, he would completely understand. “Maybe you want to go back up and hash it around with the commander.”

  “That will definitely not be happening.” She’d managed a smile and gave him a small nudge. “C’mon, I’m looking forward to this. You can tell me more about this Stone Horse you’re taking me to.”

  “Stone Pony.”

  “Right. That one.”

  A few minutes later, they were headed east on the George Washington Bridge into Jersey and Frankel was giving her a brief history of the Stone Pony, the club in Asbury Park that had been his father’s musical touchstone back in the ’70s.

  The emergence of Bruce Springsteen, then other local acts like Bon Jovi and Southside Johnny, had given a voice to men like his dad (who’d spent their entire lives in shipyards and factories) by transforming the Jersey Shore into a force the music scene needed to reckon with. He’d inherited his father’s musical taste, and then his record collection after he’d passed away (including a mint pressing of Springsteen’s Greetings from Asbury Park). The albums were the one thing he wouldn’t let Julia near before she fled for sunnier skies with Pablo the super.

  On this night, Frankel had been lucky enough to snag a couple of tickets to the Pony’s annual Christmas show, with Southside and his Jukes as the headliner. Each year, the club played host to a number of local bands doing their renditions of yuletide classics, raising funds for charity, with gospel singers from neighborhood churches who would do Aretha and Mavis Staples proud.

  And there was always the possibility that Springsteen might sneak in during an encore and treat his rabid fan base to a few rockin’ carols and some of their favorite hits.

  The show had been in full swing when Frankel and Rachel got their hands stamped by the bouncer at the door. They’d ended up in the back of the small club, but it didn’t matter as Southside and a six-piece horn section were blowing the lid off the joint with a rendition of “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home).”

  By that time, whatever had been troubling Rachel was left back in Manhattan. For the next two hours there was no talk of commandments, serial killers, or suspects—just pure rock and roll, and they liked it.

  Yes, as the Stones would tell you. Yes, they did.

  Then, around one in the morning, sleigh bells had begun to shake along with the entire building when a gravelly voice called out from the side of the stage. “So, tell me, New Jersey—have you been naughty or have you been nice?”

  And suddenly Springsteen, the Boss himself, was up on stage.

  The first thing he did was let all the die-hards who were “freezing their asses off outside” waiting for a ticket come into the club and “let the fire marshal be damned!” Then Bruce made good to rock the place “all night long”—or at least for another hour—pounding out hit after hit and a version of “Merry Christmas Baby.” A finale of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” left every person in the place exhausted but exhilarated.

  Rachel had tears of joy in her eyes when she turned and gave Frankel a hug. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she whispered in his ear.

  “My pleasure,” Frankel told her. “It was . . .”

  “Unexpected,” she’d replied with a smile he knew he would never forget as long as he lived.

  About an hour later, Frankel had taken Exit 13 off the New Jersey turnpike in Elizabeth.

  There had been a short discussion about heading back to the city but neither wanted the evening to be over. Going back to Rachel’s was out of the question with her father sleeping on the foldout couch. And with Frankel’s Murphy bed being the only piece of real furniture Julia had left him, he didn’t want to force an issue that he wasn’t sure either he or Rachel was quite ready for.

  They ended up stopping at a White Castle drive-through and picked up burgers dripping with all the fixings, fries, and the obligatory chocolate shakes.

  Then he’d headed up a hill not far from the tiny house he’d grown up in.

  At a stoplight, Frankel flipped through his music on his iPhone. He punched a few buttons until Springsteen’s “Drive All Night” poured softly from the speakers.

  “Nice,” murmured Rachel.

  Frankel had turned the wheel and brought the car to a stop on a small ridge.

  “I’ve been coming here since I could look over the dashboard of a car,” Frankel told her. “It might be my favorite place in the entire world.”

  He pointed out the windshield—a drop-dead view across the Hudson of lower Manhattan was spread out in front of them.

  Rachel audibly gasped at the endless brilliant vertical string of lights.

  “I see what you mean.”

  “You should see it first thing in the morning.”

  “I’m willing to wait if you are.”

  Frankel pointed out that dawn was still three hours away.

  “Well, we haven’t had dinner yet,” Rachel responded.

  The burgers, fries, and shakes were gone in a flash. Frankel had checked his watch. “I think we have two hours and fifty minutes left till the sun comes up.”

  “I’m just happy to sit here for a while.”

  So, they’d leaned back and listened to The River— his all-time favorite album.

  He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes and fallen asleep until he heard Rachel murmur beside him.

  “Oh my God.”

  Frankel glanced over to see her face dappled with the first strains of morning light coming from the east. She was also wiping tears from her eyes.

  “It might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she whispered.

  It was the sun rising over the East River and illuminating New York City.

  And directly below them—a glistening Statue of Liberty.

  It looked close enough to touch.

  “You should have seen it when the towers were there.”

  “I really wish I had.”

  “It’s not the same thing but . . .”

  He had dug around for his phone and scanned through his photo file.

  “I took this back when I was in college.” He showed her a picture of the same view—only this one had the Twin Towers rising majestically at the tip of Manhattan.

  “Wow. It’s breathtaking.”

  Frankel nodded. “I think about it all the time.”

  Rachel handed him back the phone. And ga
ve him a mischievous grin.

  “What?”

  “You took that from a car? Just like this?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “With a girl like me?”

  “Definitely not one like you.”

  Rachel had laughed. “I bet you bring all the girls up here.”

  “Sheila Rice was the only other one.”

  “Not Julia?”

  Frankel had shaken his head.

  “Why not?” Rachel had asked. She inched a teensy bit closer to him.

  “She wouldn’t have appreciated it.”

  “Her loss.”

  “Yeah. Well.” Frankel found himself moving closer to her as well.

  “So, what did this Sheila Rice think of it all?”

  “Not that much. She was sort of interested in other stuff.”

  Rachel raised her eyebrow. “What kind of stuff?”

  She had moved even closer.

  “You know,” Frankel murmured. “Stuff . . .”

  “Mmmm.”

  Then something in the car had buzzed.

  An alert on Rachel’s phone from Sergeant Hawley.

  It was the information about Prior Silver having taken a flight to New York City the day before Father Adam Peters was murdered in Saint Patrick’s Cathedral.

  All hell had broken loose after that.

  The frantic search for Silver, Hawley dropping off the radar, and the three of them winging across the Atlantic only to discover the massacre waiting for them in the Esher mansion.

  During that time, Frankel and Rachel barely had a moment to themselves.

  She’d spent the whole trip from New Jersey texting back and forth with the now-dead Sergeant Hawley.

  It was only when they had both ended up near the bathroom on the 777 together that they managed to have a regretful quick chat about what might have been.

  “I feel awful about the bad timing yesterday morning,” Rachel told him.

  Frankel let out a sigh. “Duty calls, I guess.”

  “Duty sort of sucks if you ask me.”

  “Pretty damn much,” agreed Frankel.

  So when she had called him at the Covent Garden Hotel that night and asked if he wouldn’t mind some company, Frankel hadn’t hesitated.

  He had told her to head right on over.

  And this time, he made damn sure that he kissed her.

  20

  Rachel woke up to the first rays of light coming through the window. For a moment, she needed to shake the cobwebs out of her brain and get her bearings.

  She had slept the last three nights in completely different places—none of them her own. Going from the passenger seat of an unmarked police car to the 777’s window seat and now in the comfy queen bed at the Covent Garden Hotel—she was entitled to being a little out of whack. Not that she was complaining.

  She turned to see John still asleep beside her.

  The sex had been alternately passionate and tender—exactly the way she would have imagined and desired if she’d taken the time to consider what she was getting herself involved in.

  The past few days had been such a whirlwind that Rachel hadn’t thought about where things were headed; hardly her norm. She usually explored any given situation from every angle, trying to make an informed decision before making any definitive move. She would invariably regret her choice and spend the next few hours, days, sometimes even months thinking about the road not taken.

  But this time Rachel had thrown caution to the wind and didn’t regret for one second where she now found herself.

  Except that it was almost seven in the morning and she was certain her father was wondering where the hell she’d disappeared to.

  “Hey.”

  She glanced from the clock on the nightstand back over at John.

  His baby-blue eyes were half-open. She felt a fluttering deep inside.

  “Hey,” she said back.

  John stretched, then gently reached for her. She folded into the crook of his arm and shoulder—where she fit quite nicely, thank you very much.

  He smiled. “That was . . .”

  This time they said it at the same time.

  “. . . unexpected.” Both laughed.

  John looked past her at the clock.

  “You’ve got to go, I bet.”

  “They taught you well in detective school.”

  “Graduated top half of my class.”

  “Higher than that, I bet.”

  John gave her a tiny shrug. “First, actually.”

  “False modesty,” Rachel said with a smile. “I sort of love that.”

  “We aim to please.”

  “You did just fine in that department.” She kissed him on the cheek. More than a peck; she let her lips linger, then eased herself out of his arms. “I really have to go.”

  “I wish you didn’t.”

  “And I’m really glad you said that.”

  She planted a similar kiss on his other cheek. Then she got out of bed and started putting on the clothes she had left draped over a small sofa. Rachel could feel him watching her but didn’t mind. She didn’t make a show of it, but didn’t rush to cover up either.

  When she had finished putting herself together, she turned to see he was sitting up in bed—still watching her. The sheet covered him from the waist down, but his naked sculpted frame was tempting her to think about another go-round.

  “That isn’t exactly fair,” she told him.

  “What’s that?”

  “Me all dressed—and you sitting there like—that.”

  “I’m not meeting your father until nine-thirty at the Yard.”

  “Dear old Dad.” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Had to bring that up, huh?”

  “This is going to be rather awkward, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Oh yeah,” Rachel said as she climbed back onto the bed.

  As Rachel approached the house in Maida Vale, she considered climbing up the trellis to her second-floor bedroom. More than once in secondary school Rachel had done just that when she had stayed out past curfew—until the time she found her mother waiting by the bed. She moved on to a method suggested by her best friend Matilda (Mattie for short). Rachel would dial home and as soon as one of her parents answered, she’d say “Don’t worry, I’ve got it—you can hang up”—pretending like she was actually in the house on a different extension. It had initially worked with her father, but when she tried it again, her mother had just remained on the line.

  “I suppose you find this amusing, Rachel Michele Grant,” Allison had said. “Your father and I are here waiting for you.”

  Mattie’s Folly, as Rachel came to think of it, resulted in her being put under Grant House Arrest—no telly or socializing for the better part of a month. Sometimes Rachel thought her father might have only been the second-best detective to reside under the roof of the small Maida Vale house sandwiched among the posher ones on the Grand Union Canal.

  Rachel reconsidered the trellis as she walked down the street. Less nimble and daring than in her adolescent years, she abandoned the thought when she saw it. It looked rather rickety, and Rachel suspected dry rot had set in; further proof that her father wasn’t the same since her mother had passed away. Allison never would have let it get to that point.

  She headed up the stone walk and through a barren garden (another sign of Austin’s increasing neglect) and pulled out the key he’d given her the day before.

  Before she could place it in the lock, the door was thrown open from inside.

  “For a moment, I thought I was going to be denied the pleasure of your company.” Everett stood there with a beaming smile.

  Rachel grinned and gave her uncle a giant hug.

  As they broke apart, Rachel’s eyes welled up with all the emotions that had been bubbling under the surface the past few days: sadness, frustration, and a melting heart all rolled into one big mess.

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Everett asked as Rachel wiped her eyes.


  “Everything. Nothing.” She hugged him again. “I’m just really happy to see you.”

  Rachel had always treasured the relationship with her father’s brother. She could talk to him about things she had difficulty bringing up to either of her parents. Everett knew about her struggles with hard science and he’d patiently helped her study until she passed with flying colors. She had told him about Teddy Chapman, the first boy who’d ever tried to kiss her, and he had sworn not to tell his brother, knowing her father might court-martial the lad. (She’d lost track of Teddy over the years—the last she heard he’d been living with a lovely chap named Ralph in Bath, much to her amusement and chagrin.)

  Even during the estrangement with her father, Rachel had remained in close contact with her uncle. On more than one occasion, Everett had urged her to make peace with his brother—but also knew better than to push the issue.

  Now, he ushered Rachel inside the tiny foyer and hung up her coat.

  “You and your father have had quite the few days.”

  “Tell me about it,” Rachel said. “I’d no idea you were coming here today.”

  “Austin called me shortly after you left to go see Mattie last night.”

  Rachel breathed a sigh of relief, realizing her father had bought the story she’d pulled out of thin air the previous evening.

  “He told me the news about Sergeant Hawley,” Everett continued. “Such a tragedy. This entire mess seems to be spinning out of control.”

  “I can’t imagine how it could get much worse.”

  “Well, numbers eight, nine, and ten for starters.”

  “Heaven forbid.”

  “Your father wanted me to know about the sergeant before I saw it on the news. I said I’d come right over, but he told me he really wanted to be alone.”

  “He said the same to me. It’s why I ended up going off to see Mattie.”

  Everett nodded. “So, I insisted on the three of us having breakfast instead.”

  “I’m so glad you did.”

  “What else is family for but to be there in times of need?”

  It was Rachel’s turn to nod. “Hawley was like the son Dad never had. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this—even after Mom died. It’s different; that was pure grief. But this . . .” She hesitated, fumbling for exactly how to put it. “This is something else entirely,” she said, finishing the thought.