The Charity

by Connie Johnson Hambley

  The pounding of her heart stilled for what seemed like a full minute before she was able to talk. She weighed her alternatives. “Yes. Please, get rid of that guy and the car. I’ll pay you all I have.” As hard as she tried, the shrill tones of terror crept into her voice. She fumbled with even more cash to incent the driver to obey her.

  “Dey cops?”

  “No! No, I don’t know who they are. Just go!”

  “Okay, Missy. Hang on.” The cab made a sharp right turn and bumped over a curb down a pedestrian walkway. The cab thunked back onto the road at the other end. Jessica was rolled back and forth several times by the force of hard, quick turns. She heard a guttural groan as the man was thrown clear.

  The cabby made several other sliding turns and doubled back to take another route.

  “Hey Missy. Ya come in here and ya flash money to git me to go. No gun. No threat. Jest money. I see lots of bad in my day, Missy, back in my home. You runnin’ from bad. No one’d be crazy to come back from the dead if they was guilty.” He smiled broadly. “I don’t get a chance to drive like that too often. That’s a good time.”

  Jessica smiled as he croaked his response to her. “Thank you. Thank you so very much.” She let her head turn to watch the progress of the other car. It was nowhere in sight.

  “Ya gotta place to go?”

  “N-no. N-not yet.” The streets were deserted. The only other vehicles they saw were an occasional snowplow and other taxis. “Just let me out at a T stop. I can make the rest of the way from here.” She glanced at the meter and peeled off several bills. She put them in the little cup hinged to the scratched plastic partition as the cab pulled up to the curb. “Thanks.”

  As she was stepping out of the cab, the raspy voice followed her. “It’s none of my bizness, here Missy. But when I heard dat you was alive and back in Boston, I knew ya was either crazy or innocent. I know ya dint kill nobody. Good luck to ya Missy. I ne’r seen ya.” And with that, the cab sloshed away.

  The storm added blustery winds to its near whiteout conditions. She opted not to go on the T to avoid people and to make sure that even if the cabby radioed in her location, she’d be gone. His reaction to her was oddly encouraging. It was the first time in many years that she allowed herself to hope that this nightmare could indeed end.

  The thought of spending a night on the streets was a heavy one, but no other option existed. Even pausing to make one phone call was stopping for too long. She trudged along the streets, looking for an alley to curl into. After what seemed like hours, but was most likely only one, she found a suitable alley. It was behind an old theater, sandwiched between two better-looking apartment houses. Large cardboard boxes were piled up in the far back corner. They were perfect for building an igloo.

  Three large boxes were flattened into an insulated floor. One box was placed inside of another to make a slightly insulated shelter. Before entering, she shook off as much snow from her clothes as possible. Staying dry was the larger part of the battle of staying warm. The shelter was cramped, but there was enough room to either sit up or lie down in a curled position. Being out of the brunt of the storm and hidden away, Jessica allowed herself to sleep.

  Shea accessed his home answering machine from his office line and nearly threw the telephone receiver across the room when he heard Jessica’s voice. He listened carefully to her chosen phrases and understood that she had found out something more and was desperate to give it to him. His secretary had not mentioned any other calls coming in to him so he had no way of knowing how frequently or at what time she called.

  He stood at the window of his office for a long time looking over the snow-choked streets and the currents of wind that twisted and swirled bands of snow. He shivered at the thought of her out there. Her messages said that she would try to stay in Boston until they connected. After that, she was going to get as far away as she could. He only wished she did not find whatever it was she did. She would be infinitely safer the further away from Massachusetts she could get. She could have disappeared to anywhere, but she chose to stay toward the center of the bull’s-eye. He had a hard time deciding whether that was a smart move or not. Right now he wasn’t feeling very good about her choices. Or his own.

  He thought about his conversation with Abbey. If he filed the complaint against her for murder—or even allowed the complaint to be filed—based on past evidence, he would be going against the promise he made to himself and to Jessica. At the time of Gus’ murder, his gut told him that she was an innocent person caught up in something much larger than herself. The fact that he let Coogan run roughshod over him back then only toughened his convictions of her innocence. Filing the documents now would make him look like the good public servant with nothing but the safety of the citizens of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts in mind. His own role in her presumed faked death and subsequent resurrection would be forgotten in the hail of publicity.

  He had to admit it to himself, the publicity generated by this case would set him even more firmly on the path of election to be Governor of Massachusetts if he played his cards right. The Murdering Heiress’ original disappearance would be easily explained away as the cunning of a criminal mind against a rookie. After all, he was only weeks into his assignment. Coogan would take the fall for her getaway. Now that he was dead, it was even easier to point out his blunder. If Jessica did go to trial, the evidence they had recently gathered would surely help to acquit her of murder. That is, if she could get a fair trial without it turning into a circus. With all of the publicity, he doubted that would be the case.

  If he did not file the documents, he knew with certainty that it would come out that he had been in contact with a known fugitive for weeks. That was in strict violation of every oath and pledge he took when he became Attorney General of Massachusetts. In fact, he would be opening himself up to obstruction of justice charges. That would be a pure death knell for his future career.

  He sat down in his chair and rubbed his face with his hands. There was no way he could have known the scope of the mess he was getting himself into when he first agreed to help her. The calculated risks failed to equate to this situation. He thought he would be in control of the whole case and that everything was to progress on his own time schedule. What had gone wrong?

  Sheriff Michael Conant. The sheriff’s presence in Boston raised far more questions than it answered. Why would the son of the leader of an organized crime group become a law enforcement officer in Harlan County, Kentucky? Shea could only surmise that it was part of the overall goal of the Charity. The Charity had members strategically placed in all levels and positions of society. Becoming a police officer in a small southern knoll known as an enclave for the very rich would enable him to use his position as he wished, perhaps building a reputation that could help him become better placed later in his career. The change of name from Connaught to Conant was to better hide his true identity. But why didn’t the sheriff kill Jessica when he had the chance? Why chase her to Boston, the stronghold of the Charity, and notify the legitimate authorities that she was alive? It would have been much easier for all involved if a body of an unidentified woman washed up on shore somewhere.

  Shea leaned forward on the desk and propped his head up on his hands, palms to forehead. No, Sheriff Michael Conant had more on his mind than tracking down a fugitive. Shea needed much more information. He looked at his watch. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning. Well, he said to himself, no time like the present. He grabbed the phone and began to dial.

  He made as many calls as he could and was getting a better picture of what was going on. Still, he could not be sure. Five and one half hours later, at six thirty sharp, the door to his office flew open, sending a shock through his slumbering brain. Shea looked at the intruder standing at his office door. He rubbed his face vigorously and felt the stubble sprouting from his face. “Yeah?” he asked with little inflection.

  “
Excuse me.” There was a slight pause as Abbey looked around the office at the disheveled attorney behind the desk. “Hey! You didn’t sleep here or anything, did you?” she said shaking the melted snow from her shoulders like a wet dog.

  “Yeah. Late night. A lot is going on. As usual, you’re the first one in and during a blizzard no less. What do you need?”

  Abbey looked down at the papers in her hand. “Let’s go for coffee and we can talk. I won’t take long.”

  Shea smiled at the thought of a strong cup of coffee chasing the cobwebs out of his head. “Right. Let’s do it.”

  The storm had diminished slightly in its intensity, but the city was paralyzed from the huge dump of snow. They picked their way carefully along the street and found the only establishment open. They stamped inside the door to the small bakery, ordered two large dark roast coffees and muffins and nestled themselves into a table in the far back corner.

  “You’re really screwing up, you know that?” Abbey brought her steaming brew to her lips and played with the paper edge of the cup with her tongue.

  Shea looked at her in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

  “I hate to say ‘I told you so,’ but you should have jumped on filing those papers as soon as you heard from that sheriff guy and the commissioner. Last night’s news was full of innuendo about you stalling to protect your reputation. Wasting any more time in addressing that Heiress case is going to cost you your reputation as well as your run for governor.”

  “I didn’t see the news last night. I take it that you’re recommending I file today as soon as the courts open.”

  “You got it! You have to file something on that murder as soon as possible. If it’s what you want, those mock filings you prepped on Jane Doe are all set to go. We just need to print them out with Wyeth’s name inserted.” She paused and looked at her boss carefully.

  “State your case.”

  “Look. We’ve worked closely together for a long time and I’ve gotten to know your moods pretty well. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a real self-centered bastard, but an excellent attorney. I hunched that something was up a couple of weeks ago. At first I thought it had something to do with you finding a romance. The office was full of rumors about a hot redhead and a pile of clothes in the men’s room. I figured it was something else and I noticed you got a lot more skittish than usual about information and building security, just like you always do when one of your cases is heating up against that group you’re constantly trying to pin down.”

  Abbey took a loud slurp of coffee and continued. “The final pieces to the puzzle came when your pal, Granger, came snooping around the office when you were out with the flu. Something about that guy always gave me the creeps. It was like he was always trying to play some kind of angle with me for info or something.”

  “You’re right. One of the things I want you to do is to file charges against him for kidnapping, assault, battery, attempted murder, and attempted rape.”

  “Whoa! What happened?”

  “I’ll give you the specifics later. So finish what you were saying.”

  “Anyway, that package from Perc, Kentucky arrived with ‘Personal’ and ‘Confidential’ plastered all over it. I had just enough time to reseal the package after I looked at the lighter and read the letter from Electra Somebody stating that Tess White wanted you to have it. After that, the sheriff from Kentucky appeared on the scene. It didn’t take much effort to figure out that Jessica Wyeth was back in Boston as a redhead and that you were working on her case off the record. Putting all of those pieces together was a walk in the park. Now the tough part was figuring out just where you fit in to all of this.”

  Shea listened to the case stated by his associate. “I wish the press would just stay out of it.”

  Abbey jabbed a finger in his face, the nail of which had long been gnawed off. “Hey. Listen, Bucko. The reality is the press is going to be in your face for the duration of this little story. You have to decide what you are going to do with this case within the next hour. After that, they will drag your body behind their freight train just for the hell of it, and nobody is going to get a fair trial.”

  “It’s not as easy as that.”

  Abbey sat back and pursed her lips. Progress. “She’s innocent then.”

  Shea fixed his stare directly at her. “Right.”

  “Okay. So who do you think did it?”

  He let the question stand for a moment and then answered, “I don’t know.”

  Abbey slammed her coffee on the table, sloshing its contents over her hands. “Bullshit! I can’t understand why you don’t nail that Magnus guy to the wall with this one.”

  “I won’t deny that he had something to do with it. While he was a conspirator and an accomplice, he did not perform the actual murder. How do you propose I file documents against him on those charges and not file against the murderer? The press will annihilate me for harboring a fugitive and then not including the alleged murderer in the suit.”

  “Don’t play stupid with me. There have been plenty of cases filed against John Does on thinner evidence than what you may have. If that’s the truth, then you just do it. That’s all.”

  “I can’t.”

  The words vibrated against a vein of indignation. “If you are so stuck on your reputation that you can’t even think straight, I have really misjudged you.” Abbey curled her lips in disgust. “I can’t believe you’d be led by the situation instead of you leading it.”

  He saw her look and understood its meaning. “No. Wait a second.” The force of the idea propelled him forward to emphasize his words. “I mean that I cannot give the approval to file that case. The best alternative is to have the appearance that I have removed myself from the case to give the impression of greater impartiality. If the press realizes that the evidence was reviewed by a third party and a separate conclusion was reached, then the fact that I was involved in the case as a cop will no longer prejudice the actions taken. The grand jury is perfect for that. Connaught comes before it later today.”

  Abbey sat back and smiled. A strand of hair caught in the corner of her mouth, unnoticed “Is there enough evidence now for probable cause against Connaught and John Doe?”

  Shea sighed. “Yes. I just confirmed the final link late yesterday. I have physical evidence supported by photographs taken at the crime scene that Connaught was there.”

  “That’s it then. Perfect.” She began to pick up her files and leave.

  “No. Wait. It still is not that easy. That group is going to kill whoever touches this case.”

  Abbey scowled. “I’m not that easily frightened off. I will file the amended pleadings for the grand jury hearing against Magnus Connaught and add John Doe on all appropriate charges. We won’t even mention Wyeth, although we will need her for a witness.”

  “Abbey. You’re nuts. I can’t be responsible for the risk you would take. Besides, like you said, timing is of the essence now. If you stay away from me and the office, it might take you off of their radar screen and you’ll be safer.”

  She threw the file at him. It contained all of the draft documents required. Just a few minor revisions were needed. “I had a hunch you would say that.”

  Shea looked at her in disbelief. “Why take the risk?”

  “I took an oath, like you, remember?”

  He was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. “Why this little get-together and test? Why not just come right out and say what was on your mind?”

  Abbey weighed her response. “Because I wasn’t sure how far they had gotten to you. C’mon. Court opens in less than one hour. Can you locate Wyeth?”

  Shea shook his head. “I don’t know where she is.”

  Abbey considered the ramifications. “We can probably get the indictments on Magnus Connaught without her testimony. But we definitely need her for John Doe. S
he’s a highly prejudiced witness. It’s a good thing this is just the grand jury and not a trial. All the grand jury needs to hear is the prosecution’s case for determining if there is probable cause enough to move forward with charges and a trial. Defense cross-exam would have eaten her alive, but the grand jury just needs to see that she’s a credible witness. Like you said, we’ve got to find her before she gets killed.”

  They got up and refilled their coffees for the long day ahead. Shea listened to his young associate’s words. “Easier said than done.”

  Michael spent a fitful night in his hotel room. The police scanner he constantly monitored hissed and sputtered throughout the night, unusually active because of the storm. The garble-charged static that emanated from the small box prohibited any attempts at sleep. It was just as well. He could hardly relax as it was.

  A call came yesterday concerning a confirmed sighting of Jessica. From piecing together all reports, it was obvious she had retrieved something from a safe deposit box from a small bank on the North Shore. There was a touch of irony that the town she was spotted in was Salem, famous for its history of witch hunts two centuries ago. It was encouraging that the sighting came shortly after the initial stories about her were broadcast. It affirmed his decision to begin a media manhunt.

  After speaking with everyone possible, he knew he had no alternative but to call in the press. The final straw came when he learned that Owen Shea had arrested his father and was bringing him in front of the grand jury today. Magnus gave Michael several sources, including some at the court, when they spoke. The court sources said the complaint specified only money laundering, income tax evasion, and racketeering related charges. Nothing was spoken about murder.

  The first surge of excitement at having her spotted faded and he suffered through the long silences between any solid bulletins about her whereabouts. There was the usual mix of false alarms and publicity seeking stunts, but no more confirmed sightings were forthcoming. It was late last night when he received a phone call from one of his ears on the street reporting that she had been spotted and pursued again. A spark of admiration glowed for her. She was as difficult to grasp as a bar of soap in a bath, he thought as he smiled to himself. She was back in Boston. That was the mistake he needed to finally get her.