The Charity

by Connie Johnson Hambley

  All available forces saturated the Boston area. There was hardly a place in town that did not have some kind of police coverage or informant close by. He used the press as well as he could to whip up as much public excitement as he dared. Painting a picture of her as a fugitive on the run, he created a sense of urgency so that every good citizen felt the obligation to keep their eyes open. He listened constantly to the TV, police monitor, and radio. He had placed himself at the hub of three armies: the Charity, the police and the public. It would not be long before she was spotted again.

  Rolling out of bed he quickly pulled a pair of jeans and sweater on over his athletic frame. The right shoulder of his black sweater was encompassed in a leather patch, with two other patches covering the elbows in a style referred to as ‘commando.’ It was his favorite to wear during target practice at the rifle range down South and today it offered him warmth and unconstricted movement. Over that he strapped on a tooled leather holster, checked his Glock 22 .40 caliber handgun, and secured it close to his chest.

  He moved to the window. The scene out the window made him smile again. Unmeasured inches of snow rounded the shapes and muffled the sounds of everything in the city. It had been a long time since he saw one of New England’s famed nor’easters. This one did not disappoint him. It had dropped over a foot of snow and it was still coming down. Kentucky did not often get storms like this. The most they received on a frequent basis were impressive ice storms, although they certainly had their blizzard or two. One of the reasons he liked Perc so much was that the mountains were high enough to get more snow than ice. Being back in New England had a familiar feel to it. He could not wait to leave.

  Shoving freshly charged batteries into his scanner and phone units and grabbing the handful of spares, he pulled on his coat and strode down to the lobby. The Parker House was not a luxurious hotel, but it was centrally located in Boston. Whatever news got to him in the middle of the night, he would never be too far away from the action.

  The scanner barked to life as he grabbed a fast breakfast in the hotel cafe. Two municipal workers were checking to make sure the alley was clear of homeless people before they loaded it with snow. A woman had been found in an alleyway in the theater district that fit the description of the heiress. A split second later his room phone rang.

  “Conant.”

  “We’ve got her.”

  “I just heard it on the scanner.”

  “It’s your collar. What do you want us to do?”

  “Keep it quiet. I’m on my way.”

  The dispatch came in less than a minute ago. The alley was just a few blocks away.

  “Awright! We are gonna be famous for this one!” A stout man in the thickly padded Carhartt canvas coveralls favored by maintenance workers slapped the back of his buddy. “We did it! We cornered the Murdering Heiress!”

  “She don’t look too scary. Ya think?”

  “Scary enough for a few rounds of beer,” he guffawed.

  Jessica looked at the two city workers with disgust. They were insufferably pleased with themselves.

  “C’mon. You did it, right? You can talk to us.”

  “Go to hell.” Jessica snorted at their cartoon attempts to play Perry Mason. “Even if I don’t say one word, the two of you would concoct a confession and blab it to whatever microphone was in your face.”

  She had been rousted out of a deep sleep by the sounds of shouting and the fact that her box shelter was being rolled from side to side. She laughed at the expression on the men’s faces as she emerged. It was obvious they expected to find a derelict man encased in filthy clothes reeking of alcohol and urine. Instead, when she emerged, their mouths hung open in amazement. It did not take them long to guess who she might be and they quickly used the radio from one of their trucks to call for help.

  The police cruiser arrived, but it was absent of a wailing siren and flashing lights. Two burly officers strode up the street like gunslingers at high noon. She was momentarily encouraged when her identity was not immediately confirmed by the officers. In fact, she was confused when they tried to tell the men that she was most likely not whom they thought she was. The older of the two officers returned to his car to make a quick call on his radio, leaving the remaining five of them to just stand there, looking at one another.

  Jessica’s mind raced to process every detail about the alley and the men. The sides of the buildings were encrusted with ice making any thought of scaling them insane. The alley was a dead end. There were no other roads or walkways into it or out of it. The men assumed a casual stance as they stood guard over their prisoner.

  She knew the plow drivers called the cops for assistance, but who did the cops call and why were they just standing there waiting? Why would two strong cops call for backup against a lone woman? If they were confused as to who she was, she would do nothing to help them out.

  Her questions were immediately answered as she saw a late model American car slide its way up to the alley. It had a large spotlight tucked in on the driver’s side. It was obviously an unmarked police car. Its tinted windows were slightly fogged, masking the occupant. The older officer immediately turned and addressed the driver while the other remained at his post. Pieces of their conversation could be heard over the idling engines.

  They were negotiating something to do with her. The officers were treating the driver of the car as a superior. Remembering the power Coogan had over Shea in his position as detective sickened her. Her eyes grew wide and her heart skipped a beat as she saw the distant officer retrieve his handcuffs from the back of his waistband and hand them to the newcomer. The reality of her arrest sunk in.

  Desperation forced her out of her thoughts. She tried to formulate a plan. Once at the police station, she would call Shea. Surely he could be tracked down quickly if news got out that she was in custody. She did not know how long she had before members of the Charity found her, if they had not already. Sarge said the Charity had contacts at all levels of the police force. It was naive, but she still felt being in police custody might somehow keep her alive long enough to give Shea the documents pressed to her body.

  “Okay you guys. Show’s over.” The older cop returned from his conference and tried to usher away the two gawking men. He was forceful in returning them to their trucks and reluctantly stopped to listen to their stories of discovery. It seemed like he purposely positioned them so that their backs were to Jessica.

  Suddenly, Jessica realized that she could easily be gunned down in the street and no one would question the efforts of the valiant police officers shooting a dangerous fugitive in the line of duty.

  Her attention and thoughts were so focused on the puzzle of the police officers’ actions that she did not see the figure approach her. She felt her arms get pulled back as the cuffs were snapped onto her wrists. Reluctantly, she gave her captor her full attention.

  The strong grasp on her arm was the only thing that kept her standing as her knees buckled. The force of the shock of seeing Michael left her speechless.

  The familiar eyes bore into her. “Don’t talk,” was all that he said as he shoved her forward to his car.

  The shock was replaced by numbness as she was propelled forward. The other officers hardly glanced in their direction. Michael flung the back door of his car open and pushed her onto the seat. “Stay down.”

  Jessica could feel the car slip and slide its way out of the alley. The police scanner was filled with unintelligible blasts of announcements. Neither she nor Michael spoke during their car ride.

  They drove for ten minutes when the car stopped and she was pulled out of the car. Jessica was shocked when she looked at the back of an empty school instead of a police station. All schools were closed because of the storm and she figured that Michael brought her here to avoid being seen. He brought her quickly to a door and entered the deserted building.

  He glanced q
uickly around and began to relax. He produced a key and unlocked the handcuffs. Jessica rubbed her chafed wrists and glared at him in silence. Taking off her hat and mittens, she loosened her jacket. Although she had remained warm throughout the night in her cardboard cocoon, the warm air of the school felt very good against her skin.

  Jessica looked at Michael with barely contained hate. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “I negotiated to share your collar, um, arrest, with the patrol cops if they gave me time alone with you. It was the older cop who knew about the school and told me about it. He’s been around a long time and knows the score, both on and off the books.”

  “So you bartered for me like a piece of meat.”

  He ignored her comment. “We only have a short time before I have to bring you to the station. The other two cops are going to join up with us here and we’ll all go in together.” He paused as he looked at her carefully for the first time. The bruises from the beating she had taken from Granger had settled into dull yellows and purples. “Jesus Christ, Jessica. What happened to you?” He took a step forward and reached his hands out.

  Jessica could contain her anger no longer. She backed away. “What the hell is this? What is going on with you?”

  “Jessica, listen to me. I had to talk to you before you got to the station.”

  “Talk? What is there to talk about? What? Do you want to gloat at how clever you were to track me down? It must be a real coup for a two-bit hillbilly cop from the mountains of Kentucky to track down the, what is it they call me? Oh, yeah. The Murdering Heiress.”

  Michael barely flinched at the attack. “Listen to me. There is more going on with this than you know.”

  “Don’t be a fool. What the hell can you know about this? All you care about is being a hero bringing a fugitive from justice to face her future.” Contempt edged her words. Her fury and frustration snowballed upon each other in at last having an avenue to vent. “I can’t believe you called in the press cavalry the way you did. You’re nothing but a glory seeking jerk.”

  “Stop it! You have to be arrested for the murder of Gus Adams and placed into high priority protective custody. It’s the only way you will be able to stay al—”

  “What? I did not kill Gus Adams! You have no idea what happened. Do you think I would be crazy enough to come back here if I was guilty? Do you even think for one minute that I would stick around Boston after my face was on the cover of every newspaper and news broadcast if I had a choice?”

  “You confessed.”

  “I did not confess to killing Gus. I... I might have said it was my fault. It... it was but I couldn’t stop it... any of it. That’s why it’s my fault.” Jessica was exhausted and confused. She knew she had to get herself together. And quick.

  “Then why did you come back?”

  “I came back here to find out what happened, and that’s exactly what I did. I did not kill anyone. And I can prove it.” The last words were spoken as a direct challenge to him.

  Michael’s jaw betrayed the tension he was trying to hide. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I believe you when you say you are innocent. Jessica, we don’t have time to argue, you have just got to trust me when I tell you that you must be incarcerated and that you cannot talk to anyone about what you think you know.”

  Jessica shook her head. “Wait a second. Let me get this straight. You want me to go to jail for a murder you say you know I did not commit. You just want me to trust you and keep my mouth shut about any information I may have that will prove my innocence. That seems like a pretty wild concept. Why should I trust you?” Her eyes were wide with mock disbelief.

  “You have to. Your life depends on it.” He paused and tried to find the right words. “I can’t explain. Not yet, at least.”

  His words were met with a blast of disgust. “You want me to believe that you are interested in keeping me alive?” She stifled a laugh. “If you were interested, then you never would have come after me to begin with. I think you know as well as I do that I’m a dead woman as soon as I step into that police station.” She memorized her surroundings and began to pace back and forth.

  “I know about the Charity.”

  Jessica spun around and faced him. “What about the Charity? What do you know?”

  Michael watched her reaction carefully. He did not respond.

  “Just who is it that you are trying to protect? Me or them?” She paced around in a circle and stood by the door.

  “Listen to me. I don’t want to see you get hurt. That cowboy of an attorney is using you. His eyes are on the Governor’s office. The best thing for you to do is to drop out of sight. Right now, jail is the safest place for you.”

  Jessica looked at him. “Let me get away, Michael. Please. I just have to hide a little while longer, then this should all be over with. Shea says th—”

  Anger crept to his surface and he struggled for control. “Damn Shea, Jessica! He’s not watching out for you. You’ve got to get to jail and I have to be the one behind your arrest.”

  Jessica began to turn to voice her attack. “You must think I’m an idiot. I—”

  The sharp sound of ice falling off the roof grabbed Michael’s attention. She did not waste a second. She dashed for the door and thrust her body against its thick metal frame. It was much heavier than she anticipated. The miscalculation cost her precious moments.

  Her feet slipped on the icy walk as she tried to pick up speed in her escape.

  “Freeze!” The booming command was followed by the tight metal clicks of the Glock being readied to shoot. She felt the cold chill of imminent death. Defiantly, Jessica obeyed and turned around.

  Michael stood crouched with his arms extended. Both hands were wrapped around the black metallic gun. Jessica stood still, staring down the chamber of the Glock.

  “You’d kill me for my silence, wouldn’t you.”

  He did not respond. His eyes left her for only a second as he watched the patrol car pull into the school’s lot.

  The tall sheriff walked over to her and quickly re-cuffed her wrists. This time he squeezed them on much harder than before. Jessica refused to give him the satisfaction of a flinch.

  “Coward.” She spat the word at him as the other officers approached.

  When he turned to look at her, Jessica could hardly recognize the man she once almost thought of as a friend. His face was set in a firm mask. Whoever he really was remained deeply buried inside.

  After having coffee with Abbey, Shea grabbed a few spare minutes to shave and put on a fresh shirt from the supply he kept in his office. The rough edges of sleep deprivation were brushed away with the energy he gave to his task. The adrenaline sharpened his mind and the caffeine helped propel him forward. Abbey was by his side. He made a mental note to write her a good review.

  He and Abbey spent most of the morning making frantic telephone calls and emergency trips to court. The proceedings were within a hair’s breadth of being postponed because of the storm. They had argued forcefully that any postponement would be highly detrimental and that justice required a speedy resolution of the matters at hand. They were relieved when the court clerk came back to report that the proceedings would occur as planned and as amended by the prosecution.

  Trying to get to the courthouse was treacherous, and not just because of the piles of snow which now lined the city streets. A group of reporters descended upon them as they sloshed their way there. This case was newsworthy from several angles, and the aggressive reporters were hungry for every one of them. Camera flashes popped in Shea’s face and the large single eyes of several video cameras focused in on him with the unnerving concentration of a cyclops. Microphones were shoved in his face and reporters jockeyed for position to shout their questions and to make their inquiries.

  “Shea! What is your position on the Murdering Heiress? Why haven’t you t
aken any action on that case?”

  “There have been rumors that you have been in contact with Jessica Wyeth. Can you confirm or deny them?”

  “How do you think the murder case of Gus Adams will advance your career?”

  “How do you feel about letting a murderer get away from you when you were a junior detective assigned to the case?”

  The more persistent reporters were answered with a terse “No comment” as he continued fighting his way into the courthouse. Once at the top of the snow-covered steps, he paused and addressed the reporters. He chose a vantage point where he would be seen easily by most of his pursuers.

  He raised his hand to indicate he wanted to make a statement. “I have been focusing my efforts in completing the mission the citizens of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts have entrusted me with. You are all aware of my continuing efforts against organized crime in our fair state. Since today is a grand jury proceeding, no reporters will be allowed inside. I will address your basic questions and concerns about this proceeding now. After the session is complete today, I will be ready and able to respond to each and every one of you in more detail.”

  “What’s the point of today’s proceeding?”

  “The purpose of the grand jury is to hear the evidence gathered thus far by the prosecution to determine whether there is enough probable cause to justify an indictment and further proceedings on the case’s merits.”

  “This isn’t a trial?”

  “No. If there is a determination of probable cause that a crime or crimes were committed, then the defendant will be indicted and the case will be sent to trial. There, the jury and judge will decide the guilt or innocence of the party to a legal standard of beyond a reasonable doubt on all criminal charges.”