The Fens

by Pamela Wechsler

  “Call Charlie and tell him to meet us at the freakin’ Mass General,” she says.

  Ty gives in and veers on Storrow Drive. I call my brother, sparing him all but the most essential details.

  “I’m on my way,” he says.

  When I hang up, I yell at Ty, “It’s your fault.”

  “My fault?”

  “I told you to change that lightbulb.”

  Ty is having none of it. “This has nothing to do with the porch light. This is your fault. It’s your job.”

  “Both of you—shut up!” Missy says. “The baby is coming.”

  Ty accelerates; he’s driving so fast a police car pulls behind him and activates the light and siren.

  “Don’t slow down,” I say.

  “I have to or we’ll have a police chase on our hands.”

  “Listen to me for once and drive.”

  I call 911 and tell the operator what’s going on. She radios the cruiser, tells us to let him pass, and he leads us to the emergency room. As soon as we arrive, Missy is rushed to the delivery room.

  A nurse points to my side. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Your blouse is wet with blood.”

  I look down at the stain. “Oh, I was stabbed.”

  “That’s definitely not nothing.”

  She has a point. She gets me on a gurney, pulls up my shirt, and takes a look. “It’s not too deep. You’re lucky.”

  I don’t feel lucky. Ty holds my hand as she cleans the wound and summons a doctor, who stitches me up.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to Ty as soon as they’re done. “I never should have said that. It wasn’t your fault.”

  He kisses me on the forehead. “Your parents are right, you should quit your job.”

  “That’s not what I need to hear right now.”

  “It’s exactly what you need to hear.”

  We sit in silence for a while, waiting for Charlie to arrive. I close my eyes and pretend to doze off, until Ty nudges me.

  “You have a visitor. I’m going to see how Missy is doing.”

  I don’t have to ask who it is—I can tell by Ty’s tone it’s Kevin.

  “I haven’t even reported it yet,” I say. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I don’t sell shoes for a living.”

  Ty and Kevin exchange a quick handshake, then Ty disappears.

  “You should rethink your career path,” Kevin says.

  “Not you too.”

  He looks at his watch.

  “You’re due in court in a few hours. I’ll go tell the judge what happened and ask for a continuance.”

  “I don’t need a continuance.”

  I sit up, slowly. The pain is sharper than I had anticipated. I flinch.

  Kevin clocks it. “Ouch.”

  “I’m fine,” I lie. “I want to go upstairs and meet my niece.”

  “You have to file a report. You were attacked and stabbed. And the assault was probably funded by Moe.”

  “Later. There’s no rush. I can’t ID the guy—none of us can. It was dark and his face was obscured.”

  Kevin knows this isn’t an argument he can win. “I’ll get you a wheelchair.”

  I ignore him, hobble to the elevator on my own. My side feels like it’s burning. Kevin follows me down the hallway, pushing an empty wheelchair. I ignore his plea to sit down. When I get on the elevator car, he abandons the chair and joins me.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Kevin and I stand in the doorway of Missy’s room, unnoticed. Missy is in bed, hugging the most adorable baby I’ve ever seen. Charlie is sitting on the side of the bed, admiring his new family. My parents are there, sans Will, and Ty is explaining what happened.

  “Why won’t you go in there? Are you afraid of your family?” Kevin says.

  “I’ll take a gangster over my angry family any day of the week.”

  He touches my arm, looks me in the eye. “See you in court.”

  “You’re not supposed to leave your partner on the battlefield.”

  I enter the room quietly; the area around my wound stings when I drop into a chair. I release a quiet moan. No one looks over. I sit and listen to the sounds of dysfunction.

  Missy: “We’re naming her Joy.”

  My mother: “Did you say Joy? Did she just say Joy?”

  Ty: “Yes, she did. I think it’s beautiful.”

  My father: “It certainly is unusual.”

  My brother: “Her middle name is Elizabeth, after grandmother. Joy Elizabeth Endicott.”

  My father: “What about Elizabeth Joy?”

  My mother: “What about Eleanor, after my side of the family?”

  There’s a tap on the door.

  “Knock, knock,” Will says.

  Will enters, carrying a bouquet of wilted carnations. He probably got them from the guy who sells them out of a plastic bucket in front of CVS. Missy and Charlie exchange looks.

  My mother races over and accepts the flowers. “How lovely.” Her chirpy delight over a bunch of cheap flowers is proof positive she’s not in her right mind.

  She looks over and acknowledges me for the first time. “Abigail, please get a vase. They might have one at the nurses’ station.”

  I ignore the command. “I wanted to meet my goddaughter, but I can’t stay. Congratulations, she’s beautiful.”

  Missy and Charlie don’t look at me or acknowledge my presence. I guess I deserve it.

  “I’ll walk out with you,” Ty says.

  As Ty says his goodbyes, no one even looks in my direction. The elevator is crowded, relieving us of the burden of having to speak to each other. Downstairs in the lobby, Ty starts to walk to the parking garage.

  “It’ll be quicker if I walk to the courthouse,” I say.

  “You’re not going to work. There’s blood on your shirt.”

  “I have to. Rebecca will be there.”

  He leaves without pressing further. When I arrive at the courthouse, Moe is seated on the bench outside the courtroom. I ignore him, find Anthony, and then ask the clerk to see the judge. Anthony and I wait outside his chambers.

  “Didn’t you wear that suit yesterday?” Anthony says.

  “I was attacked last night. By someone who wants me to drop the charges against your client.”

  Anthony eyes the bloody evidence of my assault. “Sorry to hear it. Did they get the guy?”

  “Tell Moe I’m not backing down. I’m going to nail his ass.”

  “Look, Abby, I hope you’re okay, but we can’t be held responsible for the acts of crazy fans.”

  “Moe is behind this and we’re going to prove it.”

  “Sounds like another baseless accusation.”

  The door to the judge’s lobby opens and Judge Levine motions us inside. “I know it’s not proper to comment on a woman’s appearance, but you don’t look well.”

  “I don’t feel well. I need a one-day continuance.”

  Surprisingly, Anthony doesn’t object, which makes me wonder what he’s up to.

  “If you bring in your witness, Ms. Maddox, I’ll recognize her and order her to be here tomorrow,” Judge Levine says.

  Outside in the hallway, a couple of jurors straggle in, but there’s no sign of Rebecca. Kevin gets off the elevator. I expect to see Rebecca with him, but he’s alone.

  “Where is she?” I say.

  “I went to pick her up this morning, but she wasn’t there. Rebecca Maddox is among the missing.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Rebecca is nowhere to be found. Her home in Cohasset is dark and a FedEx delivery from yesterday is sitting on the back porch. We ask the local police to do a safety sweep of the house, and when they’re done, they report there’s no sign of a struggle. That’s little comfort. Rebecca could have been abducted in the driveway or someplace else.

  She’s not answering her phone so we track down her namaste nanny at a Mindfulness-Based Harmonica retreat at the Kripalu Center in Stockbridge. The
yogi tells us she’s tied up in a purposeful-breathing session, but he’ll relay the message. As soon as she’s done, Holly returns our call.

  “Do you know where Rebecca and the baby are?” I say.

  “I don’t work there anymore.”

  “She fired you?”

  “Not exactly. She can’t afford to pay me.”

  The connection is staticky, I’m not sure I heard correctly. “She doesn’t have enough money to pay your salary?”

  “She told me she’s going to lose the house.”

  There’s nothing wrong with the connection. Turns out, Rudy left Rebecca in bigger debt than we realized. He was making millions but he was spending a lot more. I apologize for interrupting Holly’s retreat and she promises to contact me if she hears from Rebecca.

  “Where do you think she is?” I say.

  “I’m not sold on the idea of a kidnapping,” Kevin says. “Someone could have disappeared her, but it’s more than likely she disappeared herself.”

  “Do you know if they have a summer house? Or a winter place?”

  “Negative.”

  “Then we should check out Rudy’s apartment in Weymouth. She probably knows about it. That’s where I’d hide.”

  “You wouldn’t last ten minutes at that dump,” Kevin says.

  An hour later, Kevin and I are at the door. The walls are thin enough to hear a baby’s cries coming from inside the apartment.

  “Bingo,” Kevin says.

  We knock, and after a little back-and-forth, Rebecca opens the door and invites us in.

  “I’m sorry I subpoenaed you to testify, and I know you feel sandbagged, but I had to make a judgment call,” I say.

  “She’s my sister. She’s blood.”

  “Remember, she’s protecting the man who killed your husband.”

  The baby starts to wail. Rebecca picks her up, but she’s inconsolable. Rebecca starts to lose it too. She stands, passes me the baby. “Please, hold her.”

  I take the baby, who is kicking and drooling on my jacket. I hold her on my shoulder, walk around, rubbing her on the back. She burps, then barfs all over my suit and my hair.

  “Sorry about that,” Rebecca says.

  “Anything for the cause.”

  She takes the baby and hands me a wet cloth, which only increases the size of the stain.

  “Did Moe offer you money to hide from us?” I say.

  Rebecca doesn’t respond.

  “How much did he offer?” Kevin says.

  “When the case is over, he’s going to set up a trust fund.”

  “You can’t rely on that.”

  “I don’t have a choice. I’m broke.”

  “He’s made a lot of empty promises to a lot of people. When he’s convicted, we can get court-ordered restitution,” I say. “They can freeze his bank accounts.”

  “I can’t wait that long.” Rebecca looks at her baby. “Please, leave us alone.”

  “Did he threaten you?” Kevin says.

  She walks to the kitchen, pours herself a glass of water. I’ll take that as a yes.

  “Is Cecilia afraid of him too?” I say.

  “I think so.”

  “We’ll find you a safe place to live,” Kevin says.

  “I’m not going into witness protection.”

  I try to convince her to cooperate but decide not to force her. I know what it feels like to be afraid, and I know Moe is capable of making good on his threat. Plus, I know it won’t do any good. She’ll disappear again, or worse, she’ll take the stand and damage my case even further. I’ll have to figure out another plan.

  When I return to the office, I spend the rest of the day preparing to cross-examine Moe. It’s no guarantee he’ll take the stand—he doesn’t have to testify, and he doesn’t have to tell me what he’s going to do—but I have to be ready.

  The next day, I file a motion to revoke Moe’s bail.

  “He threatened my key witness,” I say. “And I have reason to believe he attempted to threaten me.”

  I explain what happened on my front porch. Anthony lets out a groan and jumps to his feet. “There’s no evidence my client had anything to do with it. It’s an inflammatory, baseless allegation.”

  “Do you have any reasonable reason to believe you are in jeopardy?” Judge Levine says.

  I start to tear up, check myself. “Two years ago, a member of my office was gunned down by a man he was prosecuting.”

  I don’t have to explain further. Even Judge Levine won’t dispute the horror of what happened to Tim Mooney. No jurist wants that type of incident on his or her watch.

  “Deputies, take Mr. Morrissey into custody,” Judge Levine says.

  “Hold on,” Moe says.

  The deputies look at each other, as though they’re unsure about whom they answer to—the judge or the all-star.

  “There’s no basis for bail revocation,” Anthony says.

  “The trial is almost over,” the judge says. “If he’s acquitted, he’ll be released.”

  The deputies apologize to Moe but they do as they’re told. Moe is cuffed and removed from the courtroom. Suddenly, it feels as if being attacked outside my home, seeing my sister-in-law almost lose her baby, was kind of worth it.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Kevin and I go back to the lab to double-check the security tapes of Moe’s home, focusing on the backyard and the driveway. We come up empty. If Moe passed a gun to Cecilia, he must have done it outside the range of the cameras.

  “If you can tap-dance for a few more days, I’ll figure something out,” Kevin says.

  “I’ve got nothing left. The judge is going to issue a directed verdict and dismiss the case.”

  Kevin starts to shut down the monitor.

  “Not so fast,” I say. “I’m going to queue up the video to the day before Rudy went missing.”

  Kevin and I sit in front of the screen, squinting, until we want to rip our eyes out. I get a splitting headache, but we finally find what we’re looking for. Kevin takes a screenshot—the image is fuzzy and the gun is blurry, but there’s no mistaking what’s going on. It’s Moe and he’s holding a gun.

  “Now all I have to do is figure out how to get it into evidence,” I say.

  “He’s standing outside his house. With what could be the murder weapon. It’s relevant—even to this lefty liberal judge.”

  “It’s relevant to us, but that doesn’t mean it’s admissible. I need someone who can authenticate it. Someone who can say that it’s a fair and accurate representation. And I have to be able to tie it to the murder.”

  “Work your magic.”

  When court reconvenes, I’m excited to show the picture of Moe with the gun. I set up the projector and smile as Moe is escorted into the courtroom. The court officers remove his shackles, the judge takes the bench, and the jury is brought in.

  “I’d like to offer a photograph, taken from one of the surveillance tapes in Moe Morrissey’s home.”

  Anthony stands to object. “We already established there’s nothing of value on the tapes.”

  “The tapes are blank on the days Rudy and Wayne were murdered, and I’d submit that’s evidence of the defendant’s consciousness of guilt.”

  “Do you have proof that the defendant erased them?” Judge Levine says.

  “No, but I have something better. There is important evidence from earlier in the week.”

  I struck a nerve with that one. For the first time since he took this case, Anthony looks unsure. “I haven’t … I don’t … she didn’t.”

  “Come on up here.” Judge Levine motions us up to sidebar.

  Anthony keeps an eye on Moe, who walks slowly. Moe seems unfocused and has to stop at my table to gain his balance. When they step in front of the bench, I show them the still photograph, pulled from the security video. I can tell they’ve been dreading this moment and I couldn’t be more delighted. Anthony takes a long look at the picture. He clasps his hands, purses his lips.

  �
��It looks like a gun,” Judge Levine says.

  “It’s relevant and admissible,” I say.

  “Not unless you can prove it’s the murder weapon,” Anthony says. “Otherwise it’s irrelevant and inflammatory.”

  “Can you prove it’s the murder weapon?” the judge says.

  “I don’t have to.” I realize that sounds a little bossy, even for me, so I rein myself in. “Respectfully, case law, directly on point, states that if the weapon could have been used to commit the crime, we don’t have to prove that it was the actual weapon.”

  I give the judge the citations, and he pulls the cases from the books behind him. When he’s done reading and rereading, he looks disappointed by what he’s found. “She does have a point.”

  “This is an unfair surprise,” Anthony says.

  I speak quickly, before the judge rules against me. “One more thing.”

  I signal Kevin, who walks up to the front of the courtroom, holding a shiny, new .357 Magnum. Being this close to a firearm, even though I know it’s not loaded, brings back memories of the night I was almost shot. I can almost hear the deafening sound of a bullet being ejected.

  “What the hell is this?” Anthony says.

  “I’d like to show this firearm to the jury,” I say. “It’s for demonstrative purposes. So they can see what the murder weapon looked like.”

  A camera snaps as I take the weapon from Kevin’s steady hands.

  “I’m not going to let you play the speculation game,” Judge Levine says. “If you can’t find the actual murder weapon, then I don’t want to hear about it again.”

  Moe blurts out, “They’re never going to find it.”

  Anthony grabs his arm to quiet him and tries to deflect: “That’s because only the killer, Paul Tagala, knows where it is.”

  My motion is denied, but I made my point. Hopefully, the jury got a peek at the .357. When we adjourn for the day, I find Kevin in the hallway.

  “Moe was a mess in there,” I say.