The Charity

by Connie Johnson Hambley

  “Did he, now? An expert at munitions blew himself to bits? I don’t think so. Most people think yer the one who gave him the unstable explosive. A very nice job, if I may be so bold as to say so.”

  “His death is not on my hands.”

  “No? Well yer mother seemed to think so.”

  Michael’s heart began to pound at the mention of his mother. “She was told lies.”

  The killer snorted. “No matter.” He reached up and put a loop of rope around Jessica’s wrist. “Your father and I won a great deal of support by dealing with her disloyalty.”

  Michael willed his hand from not clenching the trigger and firing the gun. He had to learn the truth.

  “She drowned.”

  The killer smiled. “Aye. That part is true. But she died thinking that her beloved son had killed his own brother. The idea was yer father’s. She had been a thorn in his side for too many years, she never kept in her place. Always meddling where she shouldn’t. Once, she even put herself right in the middle of one of our targets just to prevent our operation from going through. Magnus nearly strangled her himself over that one. But he decided on the most beautiful revenge. It cost him dearly, but the suffering she had made the pain worth it.”

  “Bastard.”

  The killer’s plan was working. Michael was focusing more on his words than the girl. “No. No. It was just business he was tendin’ to. All of the hope and promise that yer brother showed in the beginning years began to fade. It began to gnaw at Magnus that you were the one who should carry on the fundraising efforts.”

  “I shared my mother’s vision of action.”

  “Your father had one of our soldiers plant the unstable gel-ignite in your brother’s stash of explosives. He staged a conversation with other members of the board and made it sound like you were seeing the light, sharing the vision. He knew the thought that you would kill your own brother would drive yer mother to distraction. He was so right.”

  He moved closer to the unfurled green roll of knives as he spoke. He looked down at them and chose a different knife, one with an ornate handle in a Celtic design.

  He continued speaking. “She began losing sleep at night. She tried to contact you, but your father made sure she was never alone, so she could never talk to you to find out the truth. It was driving her crazy, thinking that one son could kill another. Magnus would look at her from under those deeply set eyes of his and chuckle. It was all too grand.” He shifted the knife in his hand and brought it even with Jessica’s belly.

  “She used to walk the beach whenever she was troubled. Something about the wind and waves soothed her nerves a wee bit. Magnus would go out on the rocks and watch her torment. He and I aren’t so different, you know, in how we savor our victims’ hell. Well, one day she saw him on the rocks and walked over to join him. The joy of the game had been going on long enough. The way he told the story, it was actually quite easy. He just put his hand around her throat, struck her head against a rock and held her under the water until she died. Simple, really.” The evil glint shone more brightly in his eye. “And she died thinking you betrayed her.”

  The truth rocked Michael. Hatred for his father and brother freshened. He closed his eyes as he tried to block the pain of his mother’s death.

  That was the one moment the killer was waiting for. The long knife disappeared into Jessica’s side.

  The chilling laugh of the insane animal mingled with the scream of the woman.

  The last light of the day quickly faded from the mountain peaks. The storm blew itself out and a small army of volunteers again scoured the mountains. The state police sent in their helicopters despite their limited airtime. One craft was piloted by Jim Reedy, a seasoned pilot with flight experience in Vietnam, who always volunteered for these aerial searches. Devlin liked him. Good man.

  Devlin checked the information in front of him and barked out commands to the small group of search volunteers. “The chopper should go down the east ridge and sweep north. Another team may have picked up weak transmitter signals which seem to be directly north of Cumberland in the Pine Chasm. She may have fallen in there. Get three teams over there as soon as you can. Use the camp trail to get the snowmobiles as far up the mountain as you can.”

  Topographical maps and coffee cups littered the table. The time spent waiting for the storm to clear only served to sharpen his resolve when the search resumed.

  Reedy’s voice boomed in the small room. “Base Twelve. This is Air Unit One.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “We’ve spotted something moving in the woods two miles east of Pine Mountain Point. We’re moving in to investigate.”

  “Roger, Air Unit One. Report back when you have contact. Base out.”

  He switched off the radio and rubbed his eyes. That was the third time since the search began that someone saw something in the woods. Everyone was a little on edge. He could feel the emotions rise with hope when news of a sighting crackled through the radio, then fall with the pain of disappointment when the spotting turned out to be a deer or some other animal. Keeping a level head was tough.

  With the weather clearing, Devlin deployed ground and air units and busied himself tracking their progress as they covered every square inch of the mountains. The storm for the past two days frustrated him. Not only could he not perform the search as he wanted to, but the weather shortened the window of time they had for a successful search. People could survive in the cold for days, but in blizzards, people made mistakes that cost them their lives.

  He was glad to have even the short amount of airtime he did with the helicopter teams. Reedy knew how to assemble the best teams for each craft. Since this was a mountain search, no helicopter left the ground without a seasoned copilot, medic, and mountaineer. Finding an injured party was one thing. Having the right personnel and gear available for immediate assistance could mean the difference between life and death.

  More volunteers arrived and he helped coordinate the teams and their gear. He prepared to rotate out teams with fatigued members with rested teams.

  “Base Twelve. This is Air Unit One.”

  Reedy’s voice again. Devlin gripped the microphone in his hand. “Go ahead.”

  “We’ve spotted a red horse heading down Pine Mountain. It seems to be injured.”

  “Anyone or anything around it?”

  “Negative. No saddle. No rider. It looks like it was headed straight down the pass.”

  No rider. “See if you can follow its trail through the snow.”

  “Understood. We estimate another 30 minutes of air time, then we need to put down for the night.”

  “Understood. Base out.”

  “Air Unit One out.”

  Pain scorched through her frozen body. She was only vaguely aware of voices and focused on trying to slip away... trying to escape with the only means that she had left... sleep? It didn’t matter. She found the blackness inviting.

  Now the pain thrust her to the surface again. Her scream was one of pain as well as one of disappointment. Let me go. Just let me go. Surroundings came into sharper focus. Through a red haze, she saw Michael, arms still outstretched, gun still pointing at her head. Words spoken close to her ear filtered closer to understanding.

  “Make yer decision, Mickey. Killin’ her will prove your commitment to the Charity. She’s the only one who could link me to any murder. Kill her, and the road is clear for us and you’ll have the loyalty of our brethren both here and in our motherland.” Her captor looked down at the shining blades in the roll. This time a curved blade was extracted.

  The barrel of Michael’s gun shone as a small black circle engulfed in his hands. It was pointing directly at her.

  She needed to take a deep breath, but her lungs seemed to stick on her ribs. Why couldn’t she breathe? Something was in her, but it didn’t make sense. It was hot. Or was it col
d? The trees were changing their watery shapes. Straight trunks shimmered and seemed to flow upwards. Fascinating. She wanted to watch it longer, but was mildly curious about that circle in Michael’s hand.

  Why was he here, anyway? She looked at the rubbery trees and at the fluid snow. Where was everyone else? This was all too confusing. She just wanted to go to sleep.

  “Jessica! I can see you!” Bridget’s voice was heard far off in the distance. Jessica smiled as she anticipated her warm embrace.

  “We’re all here, Sweetheart.” Jessica’s eyes began to roll back into her head and close. She fought to straighten them out and took another look at Michael. Where had she seen that look before? Oh. Right. Michael wanted to shoot her in Boston. She wanted to laugh.

  The blue slate of his eyes had hardened into two bolts of steel. There was something more in his expression than vengeance. She understood the look at once.

  Meeting the pain, she closed her eyes and pulled herself down as hard as she could as two shots rang out.

  The final wave of teams was out on the mountains. Devlin and Tracy took shifts at manning the radio and charting the progress of the units. The minute hand of the clock ticked forward. Ten more minutes of airtime.

  “Base Twelve. Come in please.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “This is Chasm Team. We just checked out that transmitter signal the chopper picked up. There’s nothing there. Our guess is that the transmitter must have fallen down into the chasm somehow. We combed through the place.”

  “Understood. Any trails or other signs of life?”

  “Negative.”

  “Understood, Chasm Team. Return to base using the Summit Trail. Base out.”

  “Chasm Team out.”

  “Jessie! Jessie! Over here! Come on! Keep going. You’ll be here soon.” Erin danced in excitement.

  Light pulled her closer. It was so warm. How funny. The light was so warm.

  “Jess! Sweetheart! We’ve been expecting you.” Bridget opened her arms and waited to envelop her. Margaret smiled.

  Hmmm. This is so nice. Hi. I’ve missed you. Where’s Daddy?

  “He’s here, darling. We’ve waited so long to see you.”

  You have?

  The light was so warm. She tried to swim toward it. Her arms and legs floated and she could not control them.

  I’m so tired.

  “I know, Sweetheart. Come to me and you can rest.” A mother’s arms waited to be filled by her child. Bridget’s face floated above the arms

  “You did it, Jessie, I’m proud of you.” Her father’s voice boomed at her from somewhere in the background. Gus smiled back at Bridget.

  “Come on Jessica! You can do it!”

  Erin stopped dancing for a moment and looked at her.

  Why am I so cold?

  “Don’t give up! You can do it!”

  The smile faded from the young girl’s face. She looked to her mother for help.

  Hmmm. I just want to sleep.

  “Come on, Jessica. JESSICA!”

  “It’s your time now Jessie. Come home.” Jim’s voice deepened in welcome.

  Time? I am home.

  “Where are you going, Jessie?”

  What? Oh, here, I guess.

  “DAMN IT, JESS! YOU CAN DO IT!

  I am so cold.

  “Jessica! Jess?”

  Leave me alone. I want to sleep. Why am I so cold?

  The storm must have started again. There is wind. So much wind.

  “Jessica, that’s right. Take it easy.”

  She took a deep breath to protest. Pain again rammed her to the surface. A gasp escaped from her mouth. The blackness pulled her back in.

  “Come away from the pain, Jessie.”

  “Jessica! It’s Michael. Jess, please, you’ve got to fight.”

  “Why go back? There’s nothing for you there.”

  Michael? No. You shot me.

  Breathing was hard. It was too cold. Wind. Get me away from that wind. That light was so warm. Where did it go?

  Hmmmmm. There it is. I’m coming. I’m home now.

  Michael dove for his radio as soon as he fired the gun. He knew he hit his marks and that he had less than five minutes left.

  “Base Twelve. Conant here.”

  There was a slight pause as Devlin grabbed the microphone. “Where are you?”

  “Fix receivers to frequency five-zero-zero. My transmitter signal will bring you up the Gap Pass. We need a chopper here, fast. “

  “Jessica?”

  “Advanced hypothermia and substantial loss of blood. Alert medical staff. What’s the chopper’s ETA?

  Another pause as Devlin checked his records. “Three minutes.”

  “Make it one. Conant out.”

  He ran over to the two slumped figures and made a fast evaluation. The two bullets landed squarely on their marks. The killer was dead with the first bullet. The second was just for insurance.

  His stomach rolled over in dread as he touched Jessica. Her skin was so cold that it was firm to the touch. The knife imbedded in her side had been twisted and jerked out when her assailant died. It was as if he was trying to inflict one last vestige of pain.

  Bandages he brought in his pack were not enough to stem the flow of blood. He packed what he could into the wound and listened for the sound of the approaching helicopter. He could hear nothing more but the soft shiftings of the forest.

  He wrapped his parka around her and grabbed the bedroll from the tent and gently rolled her onto it, getting her off the snow. Much care was taken not to jar her leg which jutted from the ankle at an odd angle. His attempts to give her warmed water failed. She seemed so far away. He never stopped talking to her. He would not let this woman die not knowing the truth about who he was.

  That had happened once, and the pain was too great to allow it to happen again.

  There was no noise until the helicopter rose over the ridge. Instantly, the forest was attacked by circular thrusts of wind as the craft hovered overhead.

  Once, she even gasped. The sign of life spurred him on, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

  He guided the orange rescue basket through the small clearing of trees and helped the medic to the ground. All he could do now was stand back and wait.

  “Sheriff. You’ve done enough. Go home and get some rest.”

  Dr. McCarthy patted the sheriff’s shoulder. He was in a very ill temper to have been called out again after he put in a double shift at the hospital. It was not his usual night to be on-call and he blamed his untimely rousting on the addlebrained on call service he had recently joined. The service had made mistakes like this before and he thought that the wrath he placed on them would have been sufficient motivation for them never to make that mistake again.

  Once she arrived at the hospital, he knew why he was summoned and his anger vanished. He remembered her as the woman who fell from her roof. The patient before him now bore little resemblance to—who was it? Yes. Tess White. He saw the tension on the sheriff’s face and remembered the concern Conant had when she fell.

  “I’ll stay, thanks.”

  The doctor flipped through the series of test results and reports on the medical chart he held in his hand. “We had to raise her body temperature with regulated flow blankets before we put her into surgery.” He was referring to the large, rectangular ‘blankets’ that were really a series of plastic tubing with warmed saline solution running through them. The temperature of the blanket could be closely controlled, enabling the medical team to gently raise the body temperature of a hypothermia victim.

  “The good news is that she’s shivering. That’s her body trying to generate heat on its own. The bad news is that the bleeding keeps recurring because she’s shaking so badly. We’ve had to sedate her. We’ll know mor
e later.”

  “Thanks. Good night, Doctor.”

  Dr. McCarthy closed the chart and left to attend his next patient. As soon as Michael was permitted, he entered the ICU and sat by Jessica’s side. A nurse came in, adjusted the temperature on the blanket, assessed the patient with a critical eye then left as efficiently as she came. He did not move for hours.

  A light sleep crept over him. The sounds of the hospital were muffled in the early morning hours. He heard Jessica stir and leaned over her, taking her hand in his as he did so.

  It was a few more minutes before her eyelids began to flicker. He watched as she tried to open them, then focus. They rolled back into her head.

  Finally, they opened and fought for something to focus on. “Jessica. It’s over. It’s all over.”

  She closed her eyes and slipped back into unconsciousness.

  March 1996

  COLLEEN SHAUNESSY-CARILLO surveyed the surroundings with a keen eye. Sheriff Conant’s home was a brick colonial with chimneys guarding each corner of the house. A small barn and paddock, with weathered wooden rails, stood off to one side. A patch of tulips had sprung up from bulbs planted long before, and the last of the snow was in scattered patches of shady areas along the hillsides. The pasture fell away, leaving a view of quiet countryside green in the warm spring light. She was seated on the small stone wall bordering the driveway and had been at this post for nearly three hours. The wait had given her enough time to reflect on what she had learned over the past months and to mull over her strategy.

  Her preliminary research based on tips she received in Boston proved fruitful and she needed to follow them. The first leads brought her to Lainely Smythe. Lainely seemed thrilled just to talk about all she knew about everyone, especially the sheriff. Colleen got the impression that Lainely wanted to be very connected to the dynamic man and would say anything to impart the impression of ‘inside knowledge’.

  The additional leads Lainely gave took a few weeks to follow up on completely. Colleen was about to file a story focused solely on the sheriff based upon her conversations with Lainely when two things happened. The first was Electra Lavielle herself invited Colleen up to her home for a little ‘professional luncheon.’ The other was the heiress risking her life to save a little boy lost on the mountain. That story was gripping, current, crisp and it took up a great deal of her time over the last couple of weeks to cover it from all perspectives. The angle of the sheriff and his role in the heiress story and position in town took a back burner—until now.