Never Alone

by C. J. Carpenter

  She went into detail with Detective Gold about meeting the woman in the cemetery and the Saint Joseph’s ring, and requested more information on the house that went up in flames, especially the woman named Bridget who’d lived there. He knew what she was looking for and was all too eager to help.

  “I also want to see where Quinlan was murdered,” Megan said.

  He nodded. “It’s up on Seneca Lake. About a thirty-minute drive.” He pulled out his wallet. “This is on me. Lori, sweetie, can we get the check, please?”

  “You’re a regular.” Megan smiled.

  “That’s my daughter. That’s the only reason I can get away with calling her sweetie,” he said, smiling.

  “I love small towns.”

  They drove through Watkins Glen at the base of Seneca Lake, home to NASCAR events and Seneca Lake wine country. Megan would have preferred a few wine tastings as opposed to a walk through a decades-old crime scene, but she was there for only one purpose: get into the mind of the killer. And she was certain Elmira had spawned this killer.

  The driveway was steep down into the Quinlans’ summer retreat.

  “The family haven’t been in the house since the murder. They tried to sell it for years, but it’s hard to get rid of a place when the town knows of its history. I think they’re planning on tearing it down and selling the lot this year.”

  Megan nodded, took out the Quinlan crime scene photos, and followed Detective Gold through the house. There was little to add to what was in the photographs. Megan didn’t need a point A to point B tutorial. This murder mimicked the McAllister scene completely. After half an hour, she went outside on the deck to get a breath of fresh air. Detective Gold was returning a call on his cell.

  Seneca Lake was choppy, white caps topping the water as the wind forced itself over the lake. A chill swept through the air, as if meant to warn her. In her gut she was nearing the end; she just wasn’t sure how it was going to play itself out. And she was afraid to even guess at the outcome.

  Detective Gold suggested stopping in Watkins Glen for a topper, his version of saying a drink. Megan rarely negated such an offer. They sat at the bar at the Harbor Hotel looking out on the basin of Seneca Lake sharing war stories of being on the job. Megan spoke of her father’s tales more than her own. It was easier, and probably more interesting to Gold. After a few cocktails Megan excused herself to the ladies room. As she washed her hands, she looked into the wall mirror. A decoration made to look like a fisherman’s net hung behind her. It held faux seashells, starfishes, and thick rope tied into knots. She whipped around, forgetting to turn the sink off.

  “Bastard!”

  She returned to the bar and opened the copy of the McAllister file. “Look.” She handed the photos to Detective Gold.

  “What?”

  “What does this knot look like to you? Our ME hasn’t been able to detect what it is, but it’s different. Look at the suturing.” Megan turned the photo on its side. “Look at it from this angle.” She waited. “Did Quinlan have this done to her?”

  “This is neat, hers was haphazard, but I see what you mean.”

  “Is it what I think it is?”

  “Yeah.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I missed that. I’ve been sailing for years.”

  “I have to call my partner.”

  “Bad reception here, better off waiting to get back to the hotel,” Detective Gold suggested.

  “Let’s go through this again.” Megan needed to be right before giving Nappa information that could be off the mark.

  _____

  Megan woke the next morning on the tip of a dream. She was walking down a path through a park. The trees were green, the sky clear. There was a large picnic table in the grassy field at the end of the path. The table was filled with people eating, laughing, and toasting one another. They welcomed Megan with smiles, motioning for her to sit at the head of the table. The faces she recognized were familiar, but some of them seemed different: younger, happier than the last time she’d seen them. A woman put a hand on her shoulder. When Megan turned, it was a face she’d recognized immediately: her grandmother, her dad’s mother. Megan looked up curiously at her, wondering what the purpose was for all of this. She pointed for Megan to turn around. Pat McGinn stood a few feet behind Megan, doing what he always did at family picnics, manning the grill. He looked peaceful and younger than the man she’d buried so recently. He smiled.

  Megan walked over, wrapping her arms around him, holding him so very tight. She heard his voice as clear as if he were standing right in the room: Go to her. He turned Megan around, and the only person now seated at the picnic table was Rose. Not a youthful version of her mother, but the woman she was today: sick and confused.

  The cell phone Nappa gave her rang like an old-fashioned telephone, but really loud. Megan tunneled her way out of the mound of pillows she’d covered herself with and answered, “What.”

  “Nice. You were supposed to call me when you arrived in Elmira.”

  She rolled over on her back, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Six thirty.”

  “Christ.” Megan climbed out of bed and started the mini coffeemaker while she relayed the last twenty-four hours to Nappa. “We’re close, Nappa, really fucking close.”

  “The Bridget connection is no coincidence.”

  “No shit.” Megan poured four Splenda packets into her coffee, along with the creamer packet. “What about the nurses?”

  “I’ve been able to meet with two out of the three: Gary Palmer and Macey Spevack. Both met McAllister, both worked at a blood drive with her. I double-checked all donors on the day McAllister volunteered, no AB–blood type matches. I’ve left two messages for the third nurse. Rasmussen is heading over to meet with her this morning. I also got word from the computer whiz kid. He said the best he could come up with is it looks like a bracelet of some kind. The quality is terrible.”

  “Great fucking education Cornell is giving him.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m hitting the road as soon as I’m more awake.” Megan started the shower for the water to warm. “Can you do me a favor? Reception is shit here, and I got a text from Uncle Mike, will you call—”

  “He called me as soon as he was unable to reach you. I covered for you.”

  “Thanks. Meet me at my apartment later, I’ll text you when I’m close.”

  forty-nine

  Megan dumped her overnight bag on the couch. She poured a glass of red wine and threw herself in front of the television waiting for Nappa to arrive. NY1 had the city’s latest news, and it centered on the McAllister case, highlighted by the recent Caroline Dacey murder. A public relations nightmare that Walker had clearly thrown Nappa into the middle of.

  Nappa arrived and, much to her surprise, didn’t flash a judgmental eye when he saw the glass of wine at noon. In fact, he joined her.

  “Love the latest interview, Nappa.” Megan motioned to the muted screen. She clanked his glass. “You’re a natural.”

  “Thanks. Here.” He handed her a copy of the latest file on the case. “This is some background on the nurses who worked at the camp with McAllister.”

  She scanned through the papers. “You could have gotten in a lot of trouble for doing this, Nappa.”

  “I left Rasmussen and Palumbo out of it. They don’t know.”

  “I’m sure they assumed,” Megan said.

  “They didn’t ask, I didn’t tell.”

  “None of these nurses’ backgrounds are from upstate.”

  “I noticed that, too,” Nappa answered.

  “Rasmussen is meeting with them?”

  “Yeah, Walker had me doing damage control with the press. I gave it to him. I think the first on the list is Buddington, then Daly.”

  Megan brought the wine bottle out from the kitchen, filling their glasses. “Nap
pa, why does Walker have you on television? You’re so damn ugly.”

  He laughed. “Fuck off, McGinn.”

  They sat at opposite ends of the couch, but each had the same idea in mind. Their hands found their way to the middle, the neutral zone. They intertwined fingers. “Glad you’re back safe,” he whispered before her phone rang.

  “Me, too.” She didn’t want to let go, but she had to—and not just to answer the phone.

  “McGinn.”

  “Detective McGinn, it’s Detective Gold. Something has been bothering me ever since you left. That sailor’s knot.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up over it, we all miss things.”

  “I know, I know. It’s not so much that. I went back to the Quinlan site. There were a few photos on the wall of she and some friends boating on Lake Seneca. If you don’t mind, I’m going to scan them and email them to you.”

  “I’m not sure why, but that’s fine. Do you have anything more on the house fire on Davis Street?”

  “There was a break-in the night of the fire, that I know.”

  Megan’s cell clicked in her ear. “Can you hold on, I have another call.”

  “Take it. I’ll send you the scans soon. Thanks for your time.”

  Megan switched over to the other line. “McGinn.”

  “Is this Megan McGinn?”

  “Who wants to know?” she asked curtly, assuming it was the press.

  “My name is Ani, I’m a nurse at the Olsen Facility.”

  She cringed. If her mother had heard how rude she’d just been, she surely would have earned a smack on the hand. If Rose had a few Manhattans in her, Megan would’ve gotten smacked in a few other places. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else. Yes, I’m Megan McGinn, Rose McGinn is my mother.”

  “Miss McGinn, I’m sorry to call, but the next of kin appears to be Brendan McGinn, in Ohio.”

  “What’s wrong? Is my mother okay?” Her unnerved tone startled herself more than Nappa.

  “I’m sorry, I should have said from the start, you’re mother is fine. She did, however, have an allergic reaction to a medication.”

  Megan’s hands began to shake. “Where is she?!”

  “She’s in her room. We administered Benadryl to stop the allergic reaction. However, she’s still very agitated. I think it’s best you come.” Nurse Ani had a calming voice, more importantly the sound of reason. “She’s so new here, I think a familiar face might help. She’s calling out for her baby girl. I assume that’s you.”

  “I’m on my way.” Megan hung up, grabbed her jacket, and grabbed Nappa’s arm without hesitating. “Come on, Mom’s in a state.” Of course she probably thinks it’s fucking Nebraska, but what the hell.

  fifty

  Megan opened the door to the Olsen Facility. The nurse at the front desk greeted her. “Hi, Megan.”

  “How’s my mom doing? Better?”

  “She’s calmed down a bit. Do you and your husband mind signing the visitor sheet?”

  Megan laughed. “Hon, do you want me to sign your name?”

  “I can handle it, sweetheart.” Nappa rolled his eyes. “I’m going to use the facilities, then I’ll catch up with you.”

  “Don’t be long, honey-poo.” Megan’s cackle followed Nappa down the hall to the men’s room just as her cell phone vibrated, signaling an incoming photo message. Detective Gold’s picture. She started the download, and the first words on the note were: Quinlan and both Dalys.

  “Daly?” Megan said aloud. The picture was of Erin Quinlan, another girl, and Fintan D. Worth.

  Both Dalys?

  “Just so you know, Miss McGinn, your mother has a visitor.”

  Megan stopped in her tracks. “Who?

  “Breton Daly. The day nurse who admitted her.”

  Megan stared down the hall, feeling as if the length had just expanded into a mile between her and her mother’s room.

  BD. BD. BD. Not blood drive. Breton Daly.

  And Fintan Daly Worth.

  She ran toward her mother’s room just as an orderly entered the hall with a stack of trays. She knocked him over like a linebacker. She flung open her mother’s door to see a nurse pressing a pillow down over her mother’s face. “Noooooooo!!!”

  The nurse’s possessed glare intensified as she tightened her hold.

  “Stop! Police!” Megan flew around the bed, shoving the nurse into the wall. She moved to pull her gun as the nurse pushed off the wall and knocked Megan down. Megan’s gun flew out of her hand, landing with a clatter only a few feet away from her. The nurse then threw a roundhouse punch that connected with Megan’s already bruised jaw. Megan fell to the side, clawing for her gun, but the nurse hung on to her leg, dragging Megan back to her. Megan turned, kicking at the woman’s face, then grabbing at her shoulder, but the motion only served to rip the nurse’s uniform shirt.

  Breton Daly’s scars were now in full view, something that startled as much as disgusted Megan. The nurse was momentarily stunned as her entire secret life became exposed.

  “What in God’s name …?” They stared at each other a moment as if a referee had blown a whistle for them to stop. Megan kicked the nurse in the chest and pulled her backup pistol from her ankle holster. Their struggle forced Breton’s fresh scabs to open and blood began to seep out of the wounds on her shoulders, her chest, and her arms. Her body was virtually weeping blood.

  Megan was completely shocked at what she was seeing. “What kind of monster are you?” She was so close to the nurse that she could smell the faint traces of antiseptic soap emanating from her.

  With a last, desperate move, the nurse twisted her entire body in an attempt to use leverage to her advantage. Suddenly, a shot rang out. Then another. The nurse slowly let go of Megan and began a long, slow, bloody slide to the floor.

  Megan kicked herself free and ran to her mother’s bedside. “Momma! Momma!”

  fifty-one

  Megan sat by herself in a small waiting room down the hall, staring at the blank green wall. Nappa was outside in the hallway speaking to Lieutenant Walker. Uncle Mike and Aunt Maureen rushed down the hall; Nappa had notified them.

  “Where is she?” she heard Maureen ask.

  “In there.” Nappa pointed to the door. “She’s hasn’t said anything, not to us.”

  “Where’s the perp?” Uncle Mike demanded.

  “She’s still in surgery,” Nappa answered.

  A doctor approached Nappa. “Excuse me. We have Mrs. McGinn intubated. She’s on the eighth floor. I’ve checked her chart. It seems that her son, Brendan, has the power of attorney. We’ll need his signature to proceed.”

  Uncle Mike interrupted, “I’ve spoken with him. He’s getting on the next flight possible. He should be here, if not late tonight, first thing in the morning.”

  “When will Ms. Daly be out of surgery?” Walker asked the doctor.

  “They’ve closed her up and are moving her to recovery now,” he answered.

  “I want men posted up and down this entire hospital and on whatever floor she gets moved to. Nappa, I want you there when she wakes up,” Walker said.

  “No.” Megan’s voice was loud and clear when she approached the group. “I’m going to be there when she wakes up. Me, not Nappa. Me.” Megan walked down the hall, then turned. “Nothing happens until I get back. Do you hear me?! No one speaks to her until I get back!”

  “McGinn! Where are you going?” Walker demanded.

  Megan didn’t answer. She slammed her middle finger on the elevator button to go down to the lobby.

  _____

  Fintan entered the conversation room with a glint in his eye. “I told you, you’d be back. Oh, by the way, shame about that Dacey girl.” He rested his chin on his clasped hands. “Your luck just isn’t changing, is it?”

  Megan stood against the w
all, arms folded. She stared at him, a nice long, silent, cold gaze waiting for the appropriate moment. Like when a lion pounces on a gazelle. “I killed your sister today.”

  It was the first time Fintan didn’t have a witty remark. His eyes filled with rage, then he quickly pulled back. “I don’t have a sister.”

  “Joan Breton Daly. Shot her twice in the heart. Slow death. Very painful.”

  “I don’t have a sister!”

  “When I caught you, the only file we could find on you said your father died in Vietnam and your mother of a drug overdose, and then you were placed in foster care. The family that adopted you, their last name was Worth, but not yours.” Megan walked around to the table so she could look down at him, eye to evil eye. “Now, what didn’t come up in the file was who put you in foster care: Bridget Daly, your grandmother.”

  “Fintan D. Worth.” She leaned one hip on the formica table, “Let me see if I can surmise as to why. You had a younger sister and you started to do things to her. Very bad things. Your grandmother caught on and got rid of you.”

  Fintan’s face reddened.

  “She had you removed because you were a threat.” Megan squinted. “How am I doing so far?”

  “I don’t have a sister,” he repeated.

  “So, what? You consider her your wife? Lover? Southern cousin,” she said, using a sarcastic drawl. “You both have the AB blood type.”

  He clenched his teeth.

  “Here, look at this picture.” She held her phone out for Fintan to see the photo of he, Breton, and Erin Quinlan. “Take a good, hard look; it’s the last time you’ll ever see her.” Megan raised two fingers. “Two shots. Right through the heart.” Megan knocked for the guard. “Oh, Fintan.” She turned. “Such a shame about Breton, your luck just hasn’t changed, has it?”

  Before Megan left the Hudson Psychiatric Center, she bribed a few of the orderlies for Fintan not to be allowed television privileges for a few days. She wanted him to get a taste of what he’d put the victim’s families through, thinking Breton was dead. Not surprisingly, the orderlies were all accommodating; some didn’t even take the cash.