Dying Breath

by Heather Graham

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay, so, back to the clue,” Griffin said. “It refers to the great smallpox epidemic of 1721. Puritans—and people dying.”

  “Okay, by then the initial charter had been pulled. The Puritans were still a major force, but a new church was being built by a more liberal group. Ben Franklin was born into a Puritan household, but as he came to adulthood, he was definitely one of our first liberals—he was a deist. He believed in a greater power, but also in reason and science and the arts and all that. Of course, he was still a young man, and 1721 was a year when everything was changing, people were beginning to rebel against the authority of the crown...and, of course, there was the smallpox outbreak.”

  “It was common knowledge then that those who had suffered from the disease and survived were immune to it in the future, right?”

  Vickie nodded. “I was never a fan of Cotton Mather—I mean, really! His stance on witches! But it’s true that, after all that happened, his life pretty much sucked. Bit by bit, he lost influence, lost his position at Harvard...lost most of his children. But he was a supporter of the inoculation. He did study medicine at Harvard, but the idea of inoculation came from one of his slaves, Onesimus, an African. There was a huge controversy between the physician, William Douglass and Cotton Mather. Anyway, Douglass had been educated in Edinburgh and argued that they didn’t know what they were doing and would kill more people than they would save. But there was a local doctor, Zabdiel Boylston, who was in favor of inoculating. Remember the times—a lot of people believed smallpox was God’s way of punishing people for sinning—and taking any information from someone from Africa was like dealing with heathens and the devil.”

  “Okay, what about this Zabdiel Boylston?” Griffin persisted. He looked at his phone and read aloud:

  “‘1721, Puritans slipping, but hanging around.

  The dead are quickly filling the ground.

  The talkers are a mix. Oh!

  Doctor, doctor, give me a fix. Let not the church prevail.

  Bumps here and there, pustules everywhere,

  Like a bell you’ll hear me wail.’”

  “Okay, so Cotton Mather wasn’t doing so well...once the witchcraft trials became an embarrassment, his hold on his congregation began to falter. And Zabdiel Boylston had to hide in his own home—both men were attacked. But... ‘Like a bell you’ll hear me wail,’” Vickie said.

  “A church?”

  “Not a current church,” she said thoughtfully. “Cotton Mather was the minister of the Second Church at the time, and the Second Church changed buildings and areas many times over the year. But back then...”

  She paused, hurried to a table, and flipped open one of her books. She turned back to stare at him. “Yes! It was in North Square. Originally Clark’s Square—changed in the 1700s. Part of the Freedom Trail now. In old pictures, you can see how it was just down the street from the Paul Revere house.”

  Griffin didn’t have a chance to reply. There was a knock at the door. Griffin glanced through the peephole; it was Roxanne.

  He let her in.

  “Hey!” she said, looking at him oddly. Griffin realized Roxanne hadn’t expected to find him there; maybe she’d come to tell Vickie about her new relationship, and had thought she’d have some private time with her friend.

  “Hey, Roxanne, please, come in. We’re hoping you can help us,” Griffin said.

  “Oh?” Roxanne looked warily from Griffin to Vickie.

  Vickie didn’t waste time. “Roxanne, we need you to tell us where to find Hank.”

  “What? Ah, me? I—uh...”

  “Roxanne,” Vickie said. “I think it’s great you two are together. But we need to find Hank. It’s really important.”

  “He’s...he’s supposed to be at my place tonight around seven. I’m not sure where he is right now—he’s working,” Roxanne said. “But...how... I feel like an idiot. I wanted to tell you, but it was all so strange and so fast! I was feeling badly for him...the new girl, the love of his life, was suddenly gone. He said she disappeared into thin air! He was really hurt, thinking she’d been playing him all along, using his money, asking about his past, telling him that she’d make everything right, and make him right, and then...then she just disappeared. Her phone number was no good. And she stood him up, and then stood him up again. So, the two of us were just there, in the Common, watching kids play and people walk and I held his hand, and he looked at me, and...it’s just awkward, because at one time he was so crazy in love with you.”

  “We were kids then!” Vickie said. “Oh, Roxanne, don’t be silly, please! I’m happy if you’re both happy.”

  “We really need to see him. Is there any way he can see you sooner?” Griffin asked.

  “I can call him,” Roxanne said. “But what do you want me to say? I can tell him it’s important you talk to him. I’m sure he’ll come quickly, then.”

  “Just ask him if he can meet you now. It’s critical,” Griffin said.

  Roxanne put through the call. She looked at Griffin warily as she spoke, but she didn’t say anything about Griffin, the police, the FBI or anything else.

  She had just finished her call when Griffin’s phone rang; he excused himself to answer it.

  Jackson was on the other end.

  “We’ve got our missing woman. Gail Holbrook, twenty-nine, mother of two. She failed to show up to pick the kids up from school this afternoon. The school called her husband; he got his kids and headed home and found the back door ajar—and a bunch of groceries on the floor in the kitchen,” Jackson said. “Any progress on the clue?”

  “Vickie seems to think North Square—near the Paul Revere house, and again, near the Ballantine house. The Second Church—Cotton Mather’s church—used to be there. It was there during the time of the smallpox epidemic,” Griffin told him. He lowered his voice, walking away. “We have Roxanne here. She’s gotten Hank Fremont to head to her house, now. Hank is a question mark in this thing himself. He’s back in town right when all this goes on. He knew Vickie—Vickie had been with him—she rejected him. He has to know this city right and left.”

  “I’ll get down to North Square with Barnes and get a host of cops down there with me. Go ahead and meet up with Hank Fremont. See what you can find out. When you can, bring Vickie and get on down to meet me.”

  They rang off. Vickie was looking at him.

  Roxanne was staring at him nervously, too.

  “You don’t think Hank...oh, no, no, no!” Roxanne said. “No—I, uh, I’ve um, I’ve been with the man! He can’t be part of any of this.”

  Griffin smiled grimly at her. “Roxanne, we’re really trying to find out more about June Jensen. We’re hoping he can help us.”

  “Oh. Oh, well, she does sound like an evil witch—bitch witch. Wicked mean, getting Hank to fall for her and all and then just disappearing.”

  Roxanne was speaking too quickly. Either she was nervous about Hank herself, or she was nervous about their business with him.

  But she sighed. “Okay, well, he’s coming to my place. Now.”

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  They were talking about a matter of blocks from place to place; Griffin suggested they walk—it would be as quick as anything else. Both women agreed.

  As it happened, they neared Roxanne’s apartment from one end of the block as Hank was approaching from the other.

  Griffin wasn’t sure—did Hank see them and give a little pause?

  The man’s schoolboy smile was quickly in place as he hurried forward to meet them.

  “Roxanne, you didn’t tell me that Vick and Special Agent Pryce were with you.”

  “I didn’t? I’m sorry, Hank. Really,” Roxanne said. “They needed to talk to you.”

  “Oh?” he said, not flinching, just appearing
puzzled as he looked from Griffin to Vickie.

  Roxanne turned and fled up the steps to her building. “Did you want to come in?”

  “Sure,” Griffin said. He lifted his hand, indicting politely that Hank should go first.

  The man did.

  A few moments later they were all seated in Roxanne’s small parlor. Her building, like many turned into apartment complexes and condos, had been built in the late 1800s. It was small, and the parlor was planned around the fireplace and the old carved mantle.

  “Ah...sit down?” Roxanne asked. She sat herself; she almost seemed to plop into one of the old chairs that was part of her sofa grouping.

  They all joined her. Hank was on the chair next to Roxanne’s. He seemed to be sitting on the edge of the chair. He was smiling, still. A ploy to cover his nervousness?

  “So, what do we need to talk about?” he asked. He glanced over at Roxanne. “Okay, okay, so we should have spilled the beans really quickly. Roxanne and I are seeing each other. But you two are seeing each other, right? I mean, the moment you walked into Vickie’s life, I was a goner. That’s all in the past. All silly. Oh... This isn’t about Roxanne and me seeing each other, is it?”

  “No, it’s not,” Griffin said.

  “Then...hey, my business is solid. I work for good people, and I work hard and I do a good job,” Hank said.

  “No one is questioning your business,” Vickie said quickly.

  “We need to know about June Jensen,” Griffin said.

  Hank’s face seemed to darken and pinch. “She’s not a good person,” he said.

  “But what can you tell us about her? Where does she live? What does she do?” Griffin asked. “How can we find her?”

  “You said she had family in the western area of the state—out where you’d been working,” Vickie said. “And she works for an ad agency.”

  “I didn’t meet her out in Springfield,” Hank said. “I met her here. In Boston. I’d applied for and gotten the job with Great Organics and moved back here. About two months ago. I met June when I literally crashed right into her one day.”

  “Where was that?” Griffin asked.

  “Actually, it was right outside of Mario’s place,” Hank told him. “I knocked papers out of her hands and I picked them up. And we were both laughing and I asked her if she’d like to have drinks. Then I apologized and kind of stumbled over myself, thinking she might be married or have a boyfriend. But she said ‘Sure.’ She said she’d been out of the city for a while and just taken a job with an ad agency. She was glad to have a friend for drinks. We had drinks, two nights later, we had dinner. And then...it went from there.”

  “So where was she living?” Griffin asked.

  Hank knotted his fingers together. “I don’t know. Crazy, huh? But she had some kind of a magic to her. She said she had roommates—it was best to meet at my place all the time. She was...yeah, I guess magic is the right word. She was encouraging. She listened to me. When we talked, I’d go all the way back to my childhood, and she’d just listen and never judge. She was so cool.”

  “What about Facebook or email?” Vickie asked.

  He shook his head. “We never emailed. We called or texted one another. And she told me she loathed social sites. She wouldn’t go on one.”

  “And you’ve tried calling her on the number you had, right?” Griffin asked.

  Hank nodded. “Disconnected. She just disappeared. She smiled one morning and left and said she’d meet me later in the Common. I sat there for hours. She didn’t come back. I tried it again and again...and then realized she was just done with me. I was sitting there one night when Roxanne came and listened to me...and she touched me and...well, Roxie is real. Solid and real and we know all about each other, the good and the bad—we’ve known each other forever!”

  “Hank, we’d like to send a sketch artist here,” Griffin said. “Are you willing to help?”

  “Of course!” Hank said.

  Griffin rose and Vickie quickly followed his action. Roxanne and Hank rose as well.

  “You think this woman has done something?” Hank asked. Then he let out a whistle. “Oh, my God! You think she might be the woman who is part of that killing team, the Undertakers?

  “She’s not that big—I mean, she may be cold when it comes to dating, hell, I didn’t find out all that much about her, though she found out just about everything regarding me. We talked about what was happening, of course, I mean...everyone talked about it. A woman had already died when we met, maybe two of them... I don’t really remember now. But Aldridge’s name came up, and I talked to her about what had happened to you, Vickie, at the Ballantine house and...oh, God! But no, she couldn’t be. I mean, she was pretty, vivacious, fit, yes—but she was no hulk! I can’t see her putting a body anywhere, honestly.”

  “Maybe her partner is big,” Vickie said quietly.

  “Oh, no, no, no! Don’t look at me like that. Vickie, for the love of God, I might have been a selfish creep in high school, but you can’t believe I’d kidnap or kill anyone!” He turned and looked at Roxanne and his look of loss and hurt appeared to be very real. “You can’t believe that of me. Oh, Lord. I would never hurt anyone. I’m a big jerk trying to fix my life, not a murderer.”

  “Hank, as I said, we need to find June Jensen. You weren’t the only man that she was seeing. She wasn’t with you every night, right?” Griffin asked.

  “No. Like...every other night. Sometimes two in a row...and sometimes she couldn’t see me for a few days,” Hank said.

  “I need the phone number you used for her,” Griffin said.

  “I told you—the number is disconnected,” Hank told him.

  “I need the number anyway,” Griffin said.

  “Well, it’s off my phone now. I mean, I was angry with her, and after I realized what I was feeling for Roxanne...”

  “Do you remember the number?” Vickie asked.

  He was thoughtful, then slowly said the phone number. Griffin quickly took it down. He compared it to the number that George Ballantine had given them for June Jensen.

  It was the same.

  He looked at Hank, who was still staring at him like a kid in the principal’s office.

  “She also used this number with another man, Hank. One way or the other, you’re well rid of her,” he said softly.

  Hank slipped an arm around Roxanne. “Don’t I know it!” he said softly.

  Griffin wasn’t certain if Roxanne appeared to be assured or not. Her eyes were wide as Hank hugged her and she stared at Griffin.

  “For now, I’d actually like Roxanne to come with us,” Vickie said. “We’re doing some Boston research. I could use her help.”

  “Ah, sure. Do you need me?” Hank asked.

  “Just Roxanne,” Vickie said.

  “Oh. Okay,” Hank said. He moved away from Roxanne. “Call me?” he asked her.

  “Of course—as soon as we’re through,” Roxanne said.

  “Hank, may I have your address?” Griffin asked. “We need to send out a sketch artist. This could be very important.”

  Hank glanced at Roxanne. “Of course. I want to do anything in my power to help the law in any way I can.” He rattled off his address; like most people in this area, it wasn’t far. Not even a half a mile.

  “I’ll be there,” Hank assured them.

  “Thank you,” Griffin said.

  Hank left first. When he did, Roxanne spun on Vickie. “How could you? Oh, my God, how could you? Things were suddenly going good for me. I believed that...we were old friends. We seemed to be perfect together. He’s working—he has a good job.”

  “Roxanne, I didn’t tell you that you had to go with us,” Vickie said. “There is no evidence Hank did anything. He was simply with a woman who has been behaving very strange
ly—and doesn’t seem to really exist. I—I just wanted to give you an out if you wanted one.”

  “I don’t know what I want—I don’t know what I think or feel,” Roxanne said. “I want to cuddle up in the dark and pray you find who is doing this and prove that Hank isn’t involved. And, then, of course, Hank will trust me because I didn’t trust him now!

  “Go, please. You don’t really need me. And I’m serious. I want to go into my room and curl into a ball for a while. Please. Just leave me alone for now,” Roxanne said.

  “Roxanne, I’ll get a man outside your door. Just in case.”

  “Just in case Hank comes back? But I’m in love with him!” Roxanne said.

  “Just so you’ll be safe, whether Hank comes back or not,” Griffin said firmly.

  Roxanne appeared stricken still.

  But they had to leave.

  They had to get to North Square.

  More and more, Griffin was convinced the murderers were playing with Vickie; she was the one who was going to have to figure out the answers.

  Roxanne nodded miserably. “I don’t know what to do. I want to call him back. I can’t believe Hank could hurt people,” she said.

  “We can’t stop you, Roxanne. Whatever you choose to do, there will be an officer outside your building, all right?” Griffin asked.

  Roxanne nodded. Then she let out a wailing sound again. Vickie hugged her; Roxanne held still for a minute and then hugged Vickie back.

  Griffin caught Vickie’s hand, finally getting her out the door.

  “There is a woman who is dying—we have to go,” he told her, once they were outside the door.

  “I know. Hey, there is no policeman out here,” Vickie said.

  “But there will be,” he assured her, calling Barnes to ask him to send someone.

  “Come on,” he said to Vickie.

  “The cop isn’t here yet,” Vickie said firmly.

  “She can’t really be that in love with the guy yet!” Griffin protested.

  Vickie very slowly and pointedly raised a brow to him.

  “All right, all right, we wait for the cop.”

  They did—luckily, it wasn’t long.