Tic Tac Toe (A Suspense Novel)

by Kel E. Mitchell

  “Believe it or not Phyllis, people in the legal community usually have interest in case rulings, whether or not it affects them directly.”

  “Enough of this boring legal talk. I’m terribly sorry I asked. The truth is that I was just trying to be polite. If it doesn’t hurt your feelings, Duncan, can we please talk about something more interesting?”

  “Like what?” he countered.

  “Oh, anything,” she continued without really thinking about her next question. “How’s Boston?”

  “Boston’s fine.” Duncan paused. “Speaking of Boston, when are the two of you going to come and visit me?”

  “We’re not,” Phyllis responded with a smile to ease the fact that she hadn’t any intention of giving in to what he wanted.

  “But Boston’s beautiful this time of year. I would love it if the two of you came to see me.”

  “I’m sure you would, Duncan,” she replied impertinently with a ready smile. “It would certainly require less effort on your part – and what man alive, may I ask, isn’t interested in things that require the least amount of effort?” Her question required no answer from him, and she continued, “And what man wouldn’t want Irene to come and visit him? Just look at her. But Irene has a lot going for her. Not only is she beautiful to look at, but after she’s opened her mouth, she’s still enjoyable company.”

  He nodded. “Good point.”

  “It is indeed,” she agreed. She paused for several seconds and said teasingly, “Well, I guess that you and every other man will just have to get used to disappointment. Anybody who wants to see Irene can come to her, including you. I don’t care if you’re her father. You know I’m the only one who gets special treatment, and that’s because I’m her favorite. Isn’t that right, darling?” Phyllis looked at Irene. “Please correct me if I’m wrong, my dear.”

  “I will,” Irene responded winking conspiratorially at her aunt. They all started laughing. “I’m sorry, Dad. You know how much I would love to be able to see you more often.”

  “Aren’t you ever going to come back home?” Duncan questioned concerned.

  “Not if I can help it,” she responded without any hesitation.

  He was somewhat confused. “But why not?”

  “Because Boston’s the past,” Irene looked at Phyllis and flashed a confident smile at her before continuing, “and I no longer live in the past.”

  Phyllis nodded her approval at Irene. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see how dessert’s coming along.” With that, Phyllis left the dining room.

  Irene looked at her father who seemed pensive. “What’s the matter . . . you okay?” She was troubled by his mood.

  “What? Oh, I’m fine.”

  “You seem worried about something.”

  “Do I?” Duncan reflected to himself for sometime. He seemed as though something was very much on his mind. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he shook his head. “It’s nothing, really.” He spoke quickly to cover his discomfort, “I was just going to say that I can’t believe how much you look like your mother.”

  Irene smiled sweetly and took a deep breath as she recalled so many poignant memories with her mother. She said wistfully, “I miss her so much. I wish she were still here with me. Don’t get me wrong . . . Aunt Phyllis has been amazing, but it’s just not the same thing.”

  “I understand, Irene.” He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Just remember that your mother will always be with you. Even though she’s gone, she can still lead you in the right direction and help you find the answers that you’re looking for.”

  Chapter 19

  Boston – Five Days Ago

  Duncan glanced over his shoulder uneasily. His tormenter should be here any minute. He had agreed to meeting early in the morning when the chances were good that they wouldn’t be seen. It was early October, and Boston was even colder than usual. He pulled his black wool overcoat tighter around himself in an attempt to help block out the chilly autumn air and the light drizzle of rain. Why did it seem like he’d been waiting so long? With the passing of each second, Duncan became more uncomfortable. He was surveying his surroundings more intently. When they had made contact earlier that week, they had agreed to meet at the Paul Revere Mall just across Unity Street from the Old North Church. He stood listening, his back to the side of the historic statue in the middle of the outdoor square. The only sounds coming from the plaza were the hum of a street lamp and his own uneven breathing that seemed to resonate loudly in the cold, silent night.

  At last, Duncan heard footsteps echo eerily off the brick walkway as someone approached the area where he stood. He held his breath, and the other party finally broke through the mist and approached him. “What took you so long?” Duncan questioned growing irritated. “I thought that we’d agreed on three o’clock sharp!”

  “Afraid someone will see the esteemed judge and question why he’s out on a night such as this?” the person inquired sarcastically.

  “Let’s just get on with it,” Duncan said losing his patience. “What’s so urgent?”

  “I’m here to inform you that I’m no longer satisfied with our current arrangement.”

  “What do you mean?” Duncan questioned in a worried tone of voice.

  “You know precisely what I mean, and it’s going to cost you.”

  “This is ridiculous. Your cut’s already fifty percent. This whole situation’s gone far enough, and I’m not going to put up with it any longer!”

  “You’re not in a position to barter. You’ll play by my rules, is that clear? It would be unfortunate for the public to learn about the honorable Judge Duncan’s dirty secrets.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “You’ll find out!”

  Duncan was silent for several seconds thinking quickly to himself as he tried his best to outmaneuver his enemy. Condescendingly, Duncan said, “You stupid fool! Do you honestly believe that I’m the loser here? Do you think that someone who shapes the lives of so many people could ever be intimidated by a nobody? Aren’t you just the quintessential example of the American dream – you’re pathetic!” He laughed arrogantly at his foe’s obvious embarrassment. “Now you listen to me. I’ve already leaked the story to The Post. I’ve told them I’m being blackmailed and that my life – as well as my daughter’s – could be in danger.”

  Duncan paused, relishing the moment – his blackmailer caught off guard. He could feel his opponent seething, and he wanted to put a stop to this once and for all. He continued, further antagonizing his adversary, “No one will ever believe the story of a crook.” He started to laugh smugly. “Your scheme is dead, and people will only hear my side of the story!”

  Duncan was still laughing triumphantly when all of a sudden his blackmailer’s control snapped. His enemy lunged, grabbed him, and threw him head first into the granite pedestal of the Paul Revere statue. Duncan hit hard. The crushing blow to his head knocked him to the ground. The attacker’s rage didn’t diminish. Grabbing Duncan by the hair, the judge’s head was smashed into the brick paved plaza over and over again. When the brutal beating finally stopped, the judge’s face was broken, soaked in blood, and unrecognizable. The killer stood momentarily looking down at the judge’s lifeless form, assessed the situation, and knelt back down over him. Rummaging through the judge’s pockets with now bloodied gloves – the killer removed Duncan’s wallet, watch, and a tape recorder – and then vanished into the night.

  Chapter 20

  Paris – Three Days Ago

  “Are you ready to go yet?” Phyllis called up the stairs to her niece.

  “I’m coming,” Irene called from her bedroom. “I’m just putting on my shoes and will be right down.”

  “All right, dear, I’ll wait for you in the library.” Phyllis walked into the library and removed a leather bound, first edition from one of the shelves. She might as well read a little while
she waited. She opened the book’s cover, but before she turned the first page, the telephone rang. Phyllis re-shut the cover and walked to the phone. She debated momentarily whether or not to answer it. She didn’t have much time for what could perhaps end up being a lengthy conversation because then her shopping excursion with Irene would be delayed even more. Finally, she conceded and picked up the phone.

  “Bon jour.”

  “Hello?”

  “Yes?”

  “May I speak with Ms. Phyllis Duncan please?”

  “Speaking.”

  “Ms. Duncan, this is Lieutenant Drake with the Boston Police Department.”

  Phyllis stood motionless. Her heart started to pound, and her hands were cold. Why in the world would the Boston police be calling her? In a worried tone she answered, “Yes, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?”

  “Ms. Duncan, there is really no easy way for me to tell you this.” Lieutenant Drake paused, trying to break the dreadful news as gently as possible. “Your brother, Judge William Duncan, was found dead two days ago in Boston.” There was no response, and he continued uneasily. “I’m sorry for your loss.” When there was still no answer, Lieutenant Drake inquired, “Ms. Duncan?”

  Phyllis’s eyes brimmed with tears, and her voice clogged with emotion. “I’m here. I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I’m afraid that you’ve given me quite a shock.” She tried to collect her composure as well as she could. “What happened?”

  “We don’t know everything yet, Ma’am. He had been severely beaten – and no identification was found on his person – so it took us a little longer to identify him. We’re not sure if it was a robbery or what exactly. We’re still investigating – yet let me assure you that we’re doing everything we can to solve this.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Phyllis replied diplomatically, “I’m sure that you are.”

  “We have another challenge, Ms. Duncan. We seem to be having some trouble locating Judge Duncan’s daughter. Do you know where we might find her?”

  “My niece is actually here in Paris with me.”

  “May I speak with her?”

  Just then, Phyllis looked up and saw Irene walk through the double doors of the library. Phyllis felt sick, dreading the moment when Irene was going to hear the startling news for herself. Her mind was racing, wondering how to break it to Irene. Finally, she concentrated again on the Lieutenant’s question and responded tactfully, “No, I’ll tell her myself if you don’t mind. We’ll leave Paris as soon as possible. Once we’ve arrived in town, we’ll contact you.”

  Irene was puzzled and silently observed her aunt, hearing only Phyllis’s side of the ambiguous conversation. As Phyllis ended the phone call with Lieutenant Drake, she jotted down his information and said, “Thank you for doing all that you can.” With that, she hung up the phone and then turned to face Irene. She didn’t want to break the news to Irene about her father’s murder but knew that she had to. She knew that she was the best person to tell Irene the devastating truth.

  Irene could tell from her aunt’s behavior that something was terribly wrong. “What’s the matter?” Phyllis’s grief was visible on her face as she stood facing Irene. “I can tell something’s wrong. Please just tell me what it is!”

  “Irene, that was the Boston police.” Irene stopped breathing and waited anxiously to hear the rest of her aunt’s explanation. “Your father,” Phyllis paused trying to hold back the tears that threatened to overflow at any second, “your father’s dead. He was beaten to death.”

  Irene stood frozen in shock as she tried to register the unthinkable news. She gasped and then started to sob hysterically. Phyllis ran to Irene before she collapsed and put her arms around her. No longer able to suppress her own grief, she began to cry as well. They held one another tightly as they tried to comfort each other. They both were in shock. After some time, Phyllis collected herself. “We need to pack. We’ve got to be in Boston as soon as possible, and I’m sure the police will have some questions for us once we arrive.” Irene nodded her agreement to her aunt. With the news of her father’s death, it seemed as though part of Irene had died too. How much misfortune could one young woman stand, Phyllis thought to herself. She reflected on the numerous heartbreaks that Irene had already endured at her age. She didn’t know whether Irene could bear another heartbreak, especially one of this magnitude.

  At last, Irene said numbly, “I’ll go get ready.” She left the library and returned to her room to prepare for their departure. Under very tragic circumstances, Irene was returning home to Boston for the first time in six years.

  Chapter 21

  Boston – Present Day

  They both just stared at one another, neither moving. Irene’s apprehensive eyes locked with Max’s expectant ones. “Irene, did you hear me?” Phyllis questioned, joining her niece and Christopher Blake at Duncan’s wake.

  The question from Phyllis woke Irene from her reverie and brought her once again back to the moment. “Excuse me?” Irene broke eye contact with Max and turned her attention toward her aunt. Irene tried to compose herself. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening. I’m afraid I’m a little distracted.”

  “Darling, I said that the governor has just arrived and would like to offer his condolences. Will you excuse us, Blake?”

  Blake smiled pleasantly at Phyllis and nodded, “Of course.” Blake affectionately took Irene’s hands as he gave her a parting kiss on the cheek. “Remember what I told you, Irene. We’re always here for you.”

  “Thank you, Blake,” Irene responded sweetly.

  Phyllis surveyed the room and found that Max had started to weave his way through the crowd toward them. Before he was able to reach them, Phyllis took Irene supportively by the elbow and whisked her away from the crowded room never giving him the chance to approach her.

  Max stopped dead in his tracks as he watched Irene leave the room. His mind was racing. He didn’t remember Irene being so striking. Her face was incredibly beautiful. Had she always been so tall and slender? He recalled how she used to dress. Her clothes were often too big – masking her small frame – nothing like the tailored black suit she was wearing today. He stood motionless in the sea of people and thought about Irene. He realized that she had changed a lot during the past six years, but she also seemed just the same.

  From where he stood, Luke witnessed the interaction that had just taken place between Max and Irene. He excused himself from a group of his fellow clerks and walked toward Max – who stood alone in the middle of the room – and moved to his side. He knew why Max couldn’t bring himself to move or speak. Luke had noticed Irene’s transformation as well. He concluded that during the past six years, Irene had become one of the most beautiful women that he’d ever seen. He patted Max’s shoulder sympathetically. “Man, you totally blew it!”

  “Thanks, Luke.” Max took a deep breath and continued, “I knew even before seeing her today that I’d blown it. I’ve known that for years.”

  Chapter 22

  “Are the police going to find out what happened that night?” Duncan’s killer contemplated once again. The murderer had re-played that night repeatedly, speculating on what the police may have learned during the past few days. Following Duncan’s death, the killer had watched and read the news coverage about the murder incessantly to see if anything could be learned from the media, but the police said it was premature to name any suspects or comment on possible motives concerning what may have happened the night Judge Duncan was killed.

  The investigation was beginning to wear on the murderer’s nerves. During the subsequent days following Duncan’s death, the police still hadn’t generated any new leads. With each passing day, the murderer became more neurotic and began to doubt how successfully the crime had been carried out. The killer constantly questioned, “What exactly do the police know? Did I make any mistakes that will point to me? Would there have been a better w
ay of disposing of the judge to prevent him from revealing the truth?”

  The murderer muted the television and picked up the tape recorder that was sitting on the coffee table – the recorder that had been found in the judge’s pocket at the Paul Revere Mall. The killer had listened to it many times since that night hoping to learn something. The murderer pressed play once again and heard the exchange that had taken place moments before the judge’s death. Duncan’s voice resounded through the otherwise silent room, “I’ve already leaked the story to The Post. I’ve told them I’m being blackmailed and that my life – as well as my daughter’s – could be in danger.”

  The killer shut off the tape recorder and wondered which reporter Duncan had contacted. The murderer questioned, “Who did he tell his story to, and how much is known about the blackmail?” While those questions were weighing heavily on the killer’s mind, the question that needed answering more than any other was, “Did I get away with murder, and how long will it be before I know?”

  With questions still unanswered, the killer un-muted the television and tried to focus again on the news coverage. Before his death, blackmailing the judge had been riveting – it was invigorating to inflict pain on someone of his intellectual prowess and social status. Now, however, Duncan’s murderer realized the tormentor had become the tormented.

  Chapter 23

  Max turned on the television in his large, corner office at The Post. He’d had a particularly demanding week. He still hadn’t had a chance to speak with Irene. He’d only seen her from a distance at the wake and on television. Each time Max saw her, he was taken off guard. The local news stations were covering Duncan’s murder – one special report after another – constant footage of Irene and her Aunt Phyllis trying to dodge the media frenzy.

  Max removed his suit coat and placed it on the back of his chair. Then he loosened his tie and sat down at his desk which was hardly visible underneath the mounds of paperwork, photographs, and various news clippings. The police still didn’t have a suspect. Leaks from the investigation pointed to a robbery gone wrong. Max considered this theory very unlikely. If it were a mugging, the criminal would have taken Duncan’s valuables and fled the scene as quickly as possible. A petty criminal would likely not want to get caught up in the middle of a high profile murder. No, based on the brutality of Duncan’s injuries, this was a crime of passion. Max took a frustrated breath as he ran his hands through his hair. His instinct told him that something wasn’t right – but what? He didn’t believe that the explanation given by the police was accurate. He felt that there was more to the murder than the obvious facts, and he was determined to do whatever it took to uncover the truth.