What tales these walls could tell, he thought as he looked about with nostalgia. His best and worst moments began and ended here. Now, they would be witness to another of his finest and happiest moments.
The soft chimes of the doorbell could be heard through the thick walls. Smart footsteps clipped dutifully to the front door to let in the expected guest. A short time later, the mahogany doors swung open to allow the visitor to enter. The young police officer barely contained his surprise and made only the most cursory of searches.
Michael Conant looked at the officer. “I won’t be here long. Why don’t you take a break? No one will question your being relieved from your watch by me for a half hour.”
The officer straightened his head. “Is that an order?”
“Yes.”
Satisfied, the officer let the two men be alone.
They stared at each other in silence for a long while. Magnus, suddenly remembering his manners, extended his arm, motioning toward a chair by the fire. “Please come and sit down.”
Michael did as he was told. “It’s been a long time.”
The old man smiled. “Yes. Yes it has.”
“I did not come here to talk business.”
The old man’s mouth twitched into a smile. “No? What else is there between us?”
The study was filled with an awkward silence. The wind blew outside, causing a drift of the past day’s storm’s sugary snow to scratch against the windowpanes. The younger man looked around at the expensively appointed room. “Is this where all of the money has gone?”
“And if I said ‘Yes’?”
“Then I would say that my mother was right. Money and power corrupted you.”
Magnus laughed. “Time has not changed you however, my son.”
“Damn you!” Michael jumped to his feet, restraining himself from pouncing on the old man. “What has happened to you? You used to care about whether or not your homeland was united. You used to take me on your knee and tell me stories of revolutionaries and freedom fighters. You told Liam and me the hopes and promises of one Ireland, free from the British.”
The old man drew in a breath and held it. “I will not have your brother’s name uttered from your lips in this house.” Hurt edged over the old features.
Michael ignored his father’s pain. “You have changed. You started changing when your schemes of raising money for the IRA became wildly successful, too successful to even imagine.”
“I’m not the one who has changed.”
“Don’t. I have spent my entire adult life living up to the standards my mother set. She taught me to use my American born freedoms and the money we raised for the benefit of others. And for what?” He looked around the room with increasing disgust. “It seems like the only groups benefiting from the work of the Charity are those who deal in black market arms.”
“Your mother was a meddling, dimwitted fool. I would prefer to think of your adult life as being spent on maturing into your role as chairman.” The old man smiled and put on a mock air of formality to discharge the tenseness in the air. “Brandy?” He held up his snifter in a gesture of offering.
Michael stared mutely at his father.
Magnus poured a snifter as Michael rigidly stood his ground and continued. “I saw your interview on the news tonight. The reporter, what was her name? Yes, Colleen Shaunessy-Carillo, some combination there, eh? Anyway, she has quite a nose for a story. I had heard that you were doing well, too, but I never imagined things were going that well for you.”
Michael’s mouth set even further into a straight line. “You know I’ve done well.”
“Quite. I understand that over the past few years, numerous mysterious transfers have been made to our friends abroad. I am beginning to think they were from you.”
“Keep out of my affairs.”
“You’ve helped me, you know. By keeping the money flowing, no one ever questioned where my money was.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“Listen to me, my son. You know now that you can never escape your duties to the Charity. I have let you play at being a sheriff. It was quite ingenious of you to assume that role as a cover.” He waved his hand to dismiss the amusing thought. “No matter what you do, your destiny will always be with you. Surely the fact that the Charity has never lost a member’s heart cannot be lost on you.”
“You know as well as I do that the only way to leave the Charity is in a hearse.”
Magnus angered. “That surprises you? Don’t be naive!”
“It was Liam who you wanted to follow in your footsteps. He was the first-born son, heir to the fiefdom you created for yourself. He’s the one that carried out your orders, complete with assassinations.”
Magnus did not flinch. The hooded eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “The assassinations were a necessary part of gathering support and credibility for our Charity. Liam was of considerable help to me in that regard. Of course, even then the truly meticulous work was left to my most loyal aid. What do they call him now? Oh yes. John Doe. Liam was a hero and a true follower. The pain of his lack of leadership abilities and death has not faded.” He sadly repeated his request. “Do not talk about your brother in my presence again.”
“Why not? He was behind the Belfast and London bombings. How many people died? He was following your orders to kill.”
“If you only cared about our cause half as much as he did.”
Michael strode angrily around the room. “I do care, damn it! I care about the country that is still divided today despite the efforts of thousands of people. That division caused the death of my brother and mother. How can I not care?”
“Your brother was a hero and your mother was a fool.” The old man’s anger was growing in its intensity.
“I think it was my brother that was the fool in getting himself blown up.”
“Enough! I won’t tolerate him being spoken of like that!”
Michael yelled. “Don’t you ever tire of manipulating people? Why are you still doing this? History has moved on without you. There is a cease-fire! Your dreams are so close to being fulfilled. Why do you keep destroying lives for a cause you’re so out of touch with?”
“Because I’m building a future for you.”
“For me? Forget it. I don’t want your future.”
“Don’t you? You’ve used the same mechanisms and procedures for moving money that I set up years ago. You have seen what money does. It motivates people and—”
“It corrupts people!”
Magnus held up his hand to stop the interruption. “It motivates people and enough of it destabilizes governments. The Charity is a political organization that—”
“It is a terrorist organization and nothing you can do can make it otherwise.”
“It is a political organization dedicated to the creation, support and funding of groups of people intent upon seeking independence from oppressive governments worldwide.”
“Worldwide? What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that the world is changing. While you’ve been gone the Charity has grown beyond your biggest fantasies. These schemes that this Owen Shea says I’m connected to are meaningless. He’s been focused on the details and doesn’t see the connection to the larger picture.” A racking cough stopped his conversation. Michael waited until his father caught his breath. “Your actions have done nothing but help me.”
“So you said, but I don’t see how.”
“Don’t you? The first action of any group that wants to endear itself to any population is to come bearing gifts. Your humanitarian aid was done in the name of the Charity.”
“No. I never used its name.”
“But you never claimed ownership. You did many of the donations anonymously and the Charity quietly went around and took all the credit. You kept the potentially discontente
d fed and happy. Now, when we take away that aid, unrest will start easily. How could you not know that?”
Michael did not answer directly, but said, “The angel of darkness came cloaked as the angel of light.”
Magnus chuckled. “You can say you’re driven by lofty and altruistic goals. But you are as ruthless as I am.”
“And Ireland?”
“Ireland is our history. It is what we cut our teeth on. We learned how to get the attention of the world onto our cause. We learned how a government can be humbled by a well-trained cell of mercenaries. She was only a small introduction to the power and change the Charity can produce. We have time tonight. I’ll tell you about the changes I’ve made.”
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence after the spate of harsh words. Michael was looking for answers, not a fight. This argument would go nowhere. He tried another angle to keep his father talking. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Are you ever going to tell me why my mother died?”
“She killed herself over dreams crushed because of you. You caused her the greatest amount of pain any son could bring to a mother. Death was her only escape.”
Michael threw down his drink and grabbed his father by the throat. Through clenched teeth he said, “I had nothing to do with her death.”
Magnus released himself from the grip and straightened his clothes. “Tsk. Tsk. You remind me so much of myself when I was your age. Pig-headed. Altruistic.” An old hand raised in a condescending gesture and cloudy eyes misted with memories. “You had everything to do with her death.” His mind wandered backward on a path of visions. A young father looked down into the eyes of his two young sons. “This is your time of learning. Blood ties are superior to love.”
“You let it be told that I was the one who killed Liam.”
“Of course. You earned quite a lot of loyalty when that news got out.”
“And you made sure my mother heard that lie?”
“Yes. And that thought tortured your mother and I could enjoy that small amount of revenge.”
“I asked you a question.”
Magnus brought himself back to the present and snorted in disgust. “And I answered you. Your mother was a fool and killed herself because she learned you killed your brother.”
“Damn you!”
“None of that really matters, you know. All that’s important to know is why you are here.” He reemphasized his point, “Blood ties tighter than love.”
“You’re wrong.”
“You’re here.”
Michael controlled himself by turning his back to his father. In a steady voice he said, “You don’t have to kill her.”
Magnus raised his eyebrows, surprised at this change in the topic of conversation. Yet, he knew it could not be avoided “Of course I do. I can’t let her actions and testimony go without retribution. Besides, you know that by her death, you’ll be seen as strong enough to hold the Charity together. Without a strong leader, it will fall apart. But, of course you know all of this.”
“I want to know who’s trying to kill her.”
“A very loyal and trusted soldier. My closest aide.”
“He’s an animal.”
A deep chuckle rumbled in Magnus’ chest. “Yes. Indeed he is. You will find him quite useful to you.”
Again there was a long pause. “They’ll find out who he is, you know.”
“It won’t be the first time the police have tried to track him down. They might find out who he is, but never where he is. He’s a bit of a master at that, you know.”
“Owen Shea is very good. It won’t take him long to find out.”
“You’re right. And when he does, it will be at the point of a dagger.”
Michael looked at the old man as if he was seeing him for the first time. “I want you to promise me you will stop the killing. Now.”
Again, the study was filled with a chuckle followed by a spasm of coughing. “It’s not my job anymore. It’s yours, remember?”
Shea had spent two sleepless nights in his office. It wasn’t that the couch in his office was uncomfortable—it was just that he could not get the image of Jessica out of his head. He was encouraged when news arrived at his office this morning that the grand jury had finally reached its decision. It was not even eleven o’clock, but it could have been midnight for all he knew. He and Abbey sat in the courtroom and waited.
Judge Rivers addressed the defendant. “Will the defendant please rise and face the jury.”
Magnus complied with heavy movements.
“In the matter of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts versus Magnus Michael Connaught, what say you, the jury, on the following counts?”
The jury foreman, a round woman in her mid-fifties, stood up and faced Judge Rivers. Shea sunk back in his seat as he waited for their decision. The findings of whether or not probable cause existed were read one at a time, each to correspond with a count in the complaint. This was going to take a while.
“On the matter of count one for income tax evasion, what say you?”
“We the jury find sufficient probable cause on count one.”
Shea had filed nearly twenty of them. He counted backwards in his head. The indictments he was most interested in would be last. The jury dutifully read each count and responded with their decision.
“In the matter of count three for embezzlement, what say you?”
“We the jury find insufficient probable cause on count three”
One hit. Survivable, but a hit. Then the racketeering charges. Seven. Shea could barely keep still. He had his head slightly bowed as he concentrated on the words echoing off the walls of the court. Four. His jacket breast pocket pulsed in time with his pounding heart.
Finally. “In the matter of conspiracy to murder and accomplice to murder counts one and two?”
“We the jury find sufficient probable cause on all counts.”
He threw his head back as he heard the words. If he had any doubt as to what he heard, he merely had to look over at the defense table to know what happened. The team of hotshot lawyers and their client stood stone-faced. Magnus Michael Connaught and the as yet unidentified ‘John Doe’ were indicted for the murder of Gus Adams.
Judge Rivers performed the additional matters of the court, but Shea could not focus on her words. She was addressing most of her statements to the defendant and his counsel, remanding the case to trial. Shea could only focus on one thought.
Jessica Wyeth was a free woman.
Now he wanted to go to her. To tell her the news. He could not get out of the courtroom fast enough.
He stood up as the judge adjourned the session and retired to her chambers. He glanced at his watch. The session that morning lasted little more than one hour. The bulk of the time was spent just trying to enter the courthouse without being stampeded.
Shea and Abbey looked at one another. “Good job, Counselor,” she said.
“Abbey. Thank you. Your help was invaluable to me.”
They gathered their papers from the desk and shoved them into the huge valises they had lugged to the courthouse through the snowdrifts.
“No problem. It was kind of fun.”
“Well, then, if that’s your idea of a good time, consider this case your next full time assignment as of right now. You’ve got to be out in front bringing this to trial. This is only step one, remember.”
Abbey nodded her head. Her stringy hair swung in emphasis. “Yup. That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”
They exited the courtroom and were swarmed by photographers and reporters. “Attorney General Shea! Did your secret meetings with the Murdering Heiress provide you with information against Mr. Connaught?”
Shea shot back. “I suggest you call her by her name, Jessica Wyeth. According to the grand jury, they found probable cause that it was Mr. Connaught and a
yet unnamed associate who murdered Gus Adams. She has never been and is no longer to be considered the Murdering Heiress.”
He looked over at Abbey. She had a slightly stunned expression on her face. This was all still pretty new to her and she was trying to get used to it. Being at the center of a reporting maelstrom was a unique experience. It was not for everyone.
“There have been rumors about charges being levied against you for harboring a fugitive. How do you respond?”
Shea looked the reporter directly in the eyes. “It was always my understanding that a fugitive was a person who had broken the law. Miss Wyeth did not break any laws nor was she the subject of any current proceeding, therefore, she should never have been considered a fugitive.” He was laying the groundwork for the reasoning behind his involvement with the case without going through the proper channels. He could use the press as well as the press used him. The way this was playing in the media so far, he realized he had little to fear. The press would soon treat him as a hero, not a viper.
“Is it true that there is more than just a professional bond between you and Miss Wyeth?”
Shea smiled at the thought. “No comment.”
The two attorneys fought their way outside. The day was incredibly bright and crisp. No storm threatened, and the weather was providing them a jewel of a day. Huge piles of snow lined the walks and the ever-present plows and dump trucks groaned away at removing the frozen obstructions. The day was sunny but cold, and the drifts were not going to disappear quickly. Shea remembered it had been a long time since he enjoyed a day like this. He thought of going cross-country skiing. Maybe Abbey and Jessica would like to join him? No, just Jessica.
He had been answering the questions being blasted at him mechanically, without really noticing the dynamics of the crowd. The day was too perfect and the questions too predictable to grab his entire interest. Suddenly, the shift in the direction of the questions brought him back to the business at hand. The reporters were busy snapping away at their new villain, Magnus Connaught.
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