by LS Sygnet
“Control?”
I nodded. “I try, Johnny. Sometimes… it’s hard to explain. The world sort of turns reddish black. I can’t see anything but whatever is right in front of me, usually something I see as an obstacle to where I need to go. It isn’t my intention to hurt people. At least it wasn’t last night. I think I could’ve killed Southerby for what he did to you. I just wanted to make Tony stop talking last night. He has no idea how some of these things… they trigger something inside me that I don’t quite understand.”
“I get it with Southerby. He hurt me, and you didn’t know how much yet. Of course, it was the deep and abiding love for me that prompted that outburst.”
I chuckled. “Such humility.”
“Do you deny it?”
“No,” I said softly, “but when you say it that way –”
“You needed to laugh. I’m humbled that you love me, Helen. I don’t feel like I did anything that entitles me to it.”
“Now that, I understand completely.”
“I don’t understand what it was about the case last night that got you to the point of losing control, Helen. I’d like to understand it, if you think you can talk about it now.”
“He said some ugly things, implied that because that little girl wasn’t white that it didn’t matter to me how she died or that somebody threw her body away like she was nothing. I’ve never, not one time, cared what race or religion or even sexual orientation our victims are. I worked so hard to find the guilty and bring them to justice – even for a man like Reverend Napier in January. You know I couldn’t disagree more with someone who practiced a homophobic dogma like he did.”
“I see.”
“Do you? Johnny, I don’t think you could possibly understand what the last decade was like for me. The job… at first it was thrilling. I was out there making a difference. I was stopping people who wanted to hurt others.”
“I get it, Helen.”
“But then you start getting called in to work cases that are tougher and tougher. You’re asked to crawl into criminal’s brains and think like someone who does things that defy comprehension. Why does someone beat a baby’s head to a bloody pulp? Why does a parent duct tape his children’s hands and feet together and store them in a suitcase? Why does a mother allow her ten year old daughter to be raped and strangled by casual acquaintances, and then dismember the child in order to cover up a crime she didn’t even commit? Why would a mother keep her small child in a garbage bag in the trunk of her car until the stench becomes so unbearable that the police can smell it on the street and pull her over to search the vehicle on the basis of what they can smell alone? How does a person willingly try to understand the psychopathy that makes a mother cook her child in a microwave oven?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”
“They wanted me to understand it. They required that I spend time talking to these monsters so that next time, maybe we’d get answers faster. We’d recover bodies before evidence was lost due to decomposition and the predation of wild animals who unearth and consume human remains.
“Johnny, these victims,” a single tear sluiced down my cheek, “they weren’t adults with problems, people who intentionally annoy and provoke others into crimes of passion. They were babies. Nobody loved them. Nobody nurtured them. The people that were supposed to protect them preyed on them in such horrific ways, I wish I could wipe the memories out of my mind.”
He thumbed the dampness from my cheek.
“And it was a monster who raised me,” I whispered. “Even he wasn’t that depraved.”
“Baby,” Johnny whispered. “He loves you so much. I’ll never condone what Wendell Eriksson did, but in his own way, I think he wanted to make the world a safer place for you, for other children too.”
I nodded. I knew, or at least had a very strong suspicion, that my father was guilty of more crimes than law enforcement ever uncovered. The morning where he read the paper about a child snatched from her bed one night and was never found, weighed heavily on my mind, at least subconsciously, since Sofia Datello was abducted.
My memory was that Dad wasn’t particularly upset that this child was missing. All he said to me was, hell of a thing, Sprout, to lose your child like that. I don’t think I could bear it if anyone ever took you.
In hindsight, I remembered other missing children who elicited little more than a snort from Dad, a shake of the head, maybe a comment in some cases that the children were better off.
Then I found his cryptic records in a safety deposit box inside his bank in the Caymans. Some of the names triggered more memories than the dates. I knew that my father had taken children from their parents and put them elsewhere. How could I reconcile that with what I knew now? How was he sure he was making a child’s life better? More so, what on earth gave him the right to decide that people wouldn’t change, wouldn’t wake up and do better?
It warred with the other knowledge that I possessed. Some people are born with heads full of bad wiring. I chewed mechanically while Johnny continued to fill my empty stomach with food. Was it merely a simple twist of fate that he was born to good parents and I was born to bad ones? How had my father been so evil on one hand, but so absolutely good and incorruptible when it came to his relationship with me? Surely he was the cast drawn upon for the philosophy of the duality of man.
“I think we should take a trip when this case is closed.”
“Moonlight and balmy sea breeze?”
“I was thinking parkas and wool mittens.”
“Johnny, I’ll take a vacation with you, but I’d prefer we avoid winter.”
“Maybe they’re experiencing a pre-spring thaw in upstate New York,” Johnny said.
I stopped chewing and stared at him.
“I think it’s time that you see for yourself how much he loves you, Doc. Even David agrees. There’s no reason you can’t see him and talk. He’s your father. It’s not wrong to love him, even if he is in prison for the rest of his life.”
“What if he’s upset that we’re still together?”
“Well, maybe he’ll figure it out. I’m not leaving you, no matter what. I love you, and we belong together, Helen. You deserve a life with love and happiness and peace. It might take a little while for people around here to resist the urge to turn to you every time we get a crime that leaves us scratching our heads, but we’ll get there.”
I sucked in a deep breath. “This case, you’re not thinking of cutting me out of it now, are you?”
“I don’t imagine I could if I wanted to. I know it’s personal for you. On one hand, that worries me more than anything else. On the other, I know how hard you work when there’s some sort of personal investment in it for you.” Johnny laid down the spoon and stilled my hands. “What happened to Danny Datello was not your fault.”
“To think that I actually considered shooting him to put an end to what was going on in Darkwater Bay,” I confessed. “And now he’s dead and I feel guilty because I didn’t prevent his murder.”
Johnny stared at the tray separating us. “Doc, what really happened at the jail today?”
I should’ve known he would suspect that I was holding something back. I didn’t want our life together to be built on more lies than those I couldn’t erase. “Saul heard what Datello said to Agent Preston. I told him not to say anything yet. Johnny, I didn’t want to put him in a position where he had to lie, but I cannot let that woman walk away from what she did.”
“Melissa Sherman?”
I nodded. “He managed to wring a confession out of Danny by threatening him. He got Danny to say that he acted alone, that Sherman’s involvement was unwitting, that she believed it was a legal adoption.”
“So now we need to figure out the link between Preston and Sherman.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“Hold that thought.” Johnny lifted the tray from my lap and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with more hot chocolate.
“You’re not mad. You’re disappointed.”
“I’m thrilled that we’re getting a lot closer to you confiding in me without weeks of agony before you believe that I’ve got your back,” he said. “Scoot over.”
I moved to the center of the bed. Johnny flipped back the blanket and sheet and snuggled next to me.
“Hot cocoa?”
“Only if we share,” I said.
“Deal.”
“I think we need to figure out how deep this thing with Sherman really goes. Obviously, Preston was willing to go pretty far to make sure the woman walks away from these kidnapping charges. Dev said that Eugene Sherman wielded a lot of political power in Montgomery.”
“Very true,” Johnny agreed. “Not only that, there’s a somewhat tenuous link between Sherman and Datello that might well call into question whether or not Danny’s confession was legitimate.”
“Because we know Datello supported this Senator Sanderfield as the opposition to Governor Collangelo in the election this fall?”
“And Sherman pulled his support from Joe right around the same time that Sanderfield decided to throw his hat in the ring. While good old Eugene didn’t formally lend his support to Sanderfield, Joe had some pretty compelling evidence that he was illegally channeling a whole lot of money into Sanderfield’s campaign.”
“If he openly supported Collangelo before, why would he be so covert about backing Sanderfield this time around?” I wondered. “And who is this guy, that he had so much influence? Dev said he was some sort of retired diplomat.”
“An attaché to an ambassador in Saudi Arabia,” Johnny said. “He retired quite young if memory serves, early 1970’s. I think he showed up in Montgomery in the early or mid 1990’s and quickly became a political fixture.”
“His service record might be very useful in determining if he’s been part of the trafficking ring –”
“Alleged,” Johnny said.
“Whatever. It’s one thing to buy human beings. It’s another entirely to profit from the sale. Begs the question, doesn’t it?”
“Hmm,” Johnny hummed around the edge of our cup of hot chocolate. “Where’d all this cash he’s dumped into these campaigns come from, and what sort of services did he think he was buying from our elected officials, past, present and future?”
“Including Collangelo?”
Johnny winced. “As much as I hate to consider the possibility, yeah, Helen. Including Joe.”
“Does that mean I get to question our beloved governor?”
“As long as you promise not to get frustrated and choke the truth out of him.”
I grinned and pried the cup from his fingers. “Enough shop talk. I think we should consummate our engagement now.”
Of course, Johnny didn’t disagree.
Chapter 18
Crevan unloaded fat-laden lattes, my favorite: cinnamon. Devlin brought a dozen assorted donuts and other pastries injected with artery clogging creams. Johnny grinned when the sight of it turned me three shades of puke green.
“Sit,” he said. “Breathe through your nose.”
A sleeve of soda crackers and a glass of ginger ale appeared in front of me. “Nibble and sip.”
“Johnny.”
He arched one eyebrow. “We’re not losing ground all of a sudden to whatever little bug is making you queasy at the sight of normal cop food. Behave.”
“Sherman’s lawyer showed up last night demanding face time with his client,” Dev said. “I know the guy. He’s a pricey prick from Montgomery who thinks he’s working out of a posh firm on Park Avenue, if you catch my drift. In reality, he’s a sleaze ball in an off-the-rack suit. We’re not gonna get anything out of her but invocation of her right to counsel.”
“Does Zack know he showed up last night?” I grazed on the soda cracker Johnny thrust into my hand.
“Oh yeah. This guy somehow found out about Preston’s deathbed statement and is demanding an arraignment post haste. Zack’s got the power to put it off until Monday, on account of his golf status with all the judges in the district,” Crevan chuckled. “So we’ve got more than our typical forty-eight to hold this woman before she’s formally charged.”
“Good. Let’s hope we can build a case against both her and Preston before Zack has to slay the demons at the bail hearing. I want this woman held in custody until she stands trial.”
“Given her wealth and connections, I think Zack can make a strong case for her flight risk. Let’s hope the judge isn’t feeling generous. God only knows how many passports she has and under what names. If he revokes the legal one, she could still disappear,” Johnny said.
“Which reminds me. Have we executed the search warrant on the Sherman residence in Montgomery yet?” I asked.
“Dev’s gonna head over there today, unless you think he’s needed here. His old pal from Montgomery is going to help him,” Crevan said.
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with anyone outside this group, or OSI at the very least, knowing what we’re looking for,” Johnny said. “Dev, take some guys from the state police with you instead. I’d hate for any of this to inadvertently leak to the press or to people with whom Sherman was associated in Montgomery.”
“I trust Andy, but if you think I should keep him out of it, I won’t plead my case,” Devlin said.
“I’m going to get started on some background information on Sherman,” Crevan said. “Johnny told me that you’re wondering how this guy got so rich, Helen.”
“I am. I also thought I was doing that part of the research today. Something that lets me stay home close to my new religious icon, the porcelain goddess.”
“Are you feeling sick again?” Johnny shoved another cracker into my hand. “Eat. These are supposed to settle an upset stomach.”
Crevan grinned. “I think they’re supposed to work better if you eat them before you actually get out of bed, Johnny.”
“Ew! I will not eat these crumbly things in my bed. And where the hell did you hear this nonsense?”
“Never mind,” Johnny shot a stern look at Crevan. “If you want to do the research on Sherman, I suppose you can take a phone and the laptop back to bed.”
“I’m not sick! Is it my fault that your disgusting breakfast is enough to make any sane person feel a little queasy? Yuck! Look at that stuff squirting out of your pastry,” I pointed to the confection in Dev’s hand. “It looks like pus oozing out of a wound.”
Devlin dropped his éclair. “Thanks, Helen. Now I need soda crackers and ginger ale. This isn’t some weird eating disorder thing coming out, is it?”
I noticed the nervous glance Johnny and Crevan shared. “All right you two. What’s going on here?”
Johnny cleared his throat. “The case. So if you’re doing the background on Sherman, I guess Crevan and I will work on that other thing you briefly discussed with Maya yesterday.”
“What thing, and since when do you know what I have or haven’t discussed with her?”
Crevan said, “We talked to her at the hospital last night when she came to pick up Preston’s body, remember? She said the two of you wondered where someone might advertise for what kind of person they wanted to… acquire, I guess. It was a good question.”
“Oh, right. I was thinking about that last night before I fell asleep,” I said. “Do you guys remember a few years ago when some guy back east killed some massage therapist cum call girl after he answered her ad on Craigslist?”
“Sure, I remember.” Johnny pulled out a stool beside me at the breakfast bar and sat down. “Didn’t that guy eventually commit suicide?”
“Hmm,” I nodded from behind the lip of the glass of ginger ale. “Craigslist sort of tried to put the kibosh on those kinds of advertisements on their site, but it got me thinking that this might be a way that these people are communicating, you know? Some sort of underground or covert message board system on the internet.”
“That narrows it down to how many billions of websites?” Johnny muttered.<
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“It might not be as difficult as all that,” I said. “At least maybe not if we’re on the right track about Darkwater Bay being a portal for smuggling such victims into the United States. What I know about human trafficking involves less monitored ports. They’re not going to smuggle folks in as easily through New York or Los Angeles. A place like Darkwater Bay however, could be a gold mine for that kind of operation. The location of Analynn Villanueva’s body got me thinking too.”
Johnny perched his chin on my shoulder. “And all this came to you before you fell asleep last night? Here I thought I left you completely spent.”
I grinned. “You’ve forgotten how well I multi-task. Anyway, foreign ships coming into port are subject to searches by customs, yes?”
“They are,” Johnny said.
“Remember when we were waiting to talk to Vinnie Bennett last spring? He was out of town when Gwen Foster was murdered, working for his new boss, Danny Datello. They were in southern California looking for motors for some of Datello’s trawlers, correct?”
“Yeah,” Crevan said. “He’s got a number of facets to his fishing business, Helen. One is as a supplier to smaller scale fishermen.”
“Equipment?” Dev asked.
“Yes, but the major moneymaker he has, or had, was his own deep sea fishing operation. Danny has a number of large trawlers that are used out on the Pacific Ocean,” Johnny said. “Where you goin’ with this theory, Helen?”
“What if that’s not the only thing Danny’s ships were bringing back into port? Think about it. How do you smuggle human beings into port without getting caught red handed?”
“You find a domestic ship that won’t be subject to the same scrutiny because it allegedly isn’t venturing out into international waters,” Johnny said. “So theoretically at least, they make the transfer from the foreign ship coming from Asia or wherever while they’re out at sea, and Datello’s ship delivers the merchandise to Darkwater Bay where it’s slipped in undetected.”
“It makes as much sense as anything else,” I said. “Unless of course, we prefer to go with the theory that since there was one bad FBI agent working out of Montgomery, that it translates to a whole slew of immigration and customs officials in Darkwater Bay that are part of this ring of corruption.”