Molly Brown

by B. A. Morton

  He knew she’d picked up the article about Musgrave by her sudden intake of breath. Her hand went straight to her hair and she began to twist her curls mercilessly. She shot him an accusing look. His gut twisted but he stayed where he was.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Musgrave?” she whispered.

  “I just found out.”

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  “Now, tonight, later ...” He took a hesitant step toward her. She was right. He should have told her as soon as he knew Musgrave was dead. He was part of their past and his death naturally held meaning for both of them. But, for Lizzie, it brought back memories best forgotten.

  He spread his hands in a placatory gesture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “You have.”

  “I’m sorry.” He reached out a hand, praying she’d take it. When she turned away from him, he sucked in a breath of his own. “Look, okay, I admit I was wrong. I should have told you earlier. But, honey, the guy’s dead, got what was coming to him and we can close the book on it now.” He rounded the table and caught at her arm. “Lizzie, look at me.”

  She attempted to brush him off but he held on, easily thwarting her half-hearted efforts, pulling her closer, determined not to let the gap between them widen. Her eyes brimmed with tears and betrayal. “It’s happening again and you said it wouldn’t.”

  He shook his head. “What? What’s happening again? Musgrave, Mo, Carl, they’re all dead, honey. It’s over.”

  Yanking her arm free, she stepped away. Her lip quivered. Anger and hurt flared in her eyes. Suddenly she had fallen to pieces in front of him and he didn’t know what to do.

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” she continued, “I don’t care about them, about what happened before. I care about you. Every time you walk out that door with your smile, thinking you can charm anyone you meet, every time you and Gerry have a spat and you rush off to save the world on your own, I’m left worrying that you’ll get in too deep ... and ...” her voice broke on a sob.

  “And what?”

  “And ... you won’t come home.”

  He reached for her, pulled her in and wrapped her up in his arms. He felt the shudders as she sobbed against him and suppressed his own emotions which were so mixed up with guilt, anger and fear of losing her, that for a moment he couldn’t speak. He just hung on, desperately. Marty was right - he didn’t deserve her and he was going to ruin her life.

  “I’ll call Gerry. Tell him to get someone else. Tell him I quit.”

  She pulled away and looked up at him sadly. “You’ve never quit in your life.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.” He risked a smile, swallowed the knot in his throat. “It’s no big deal. Gerry’ll be glad to see the last of me.”

  “If you’d quit before when things were tough, I’d be dead.”

  He shrugged. What did she want him to say? He would slit his own throat rather than see her hurt. It was true, but she wouldn’t want to hear it. Quitting went against everything he believed in but he would do it an instant if she asked him. Where she was concerned, he’d do anything.

  “If you quit now, who’s going to look out for Molly?”

  Connell slumped, deflated, “Lizzie, I don’t know what you want, what you want me to say? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

  She reached for his hand, slipped her fingers between his and released a soft sigh. “I want to wake up every morning and know you’re still safe beside me. But I know that can’t happen until Molly is safe.”

  “So?”

  She smiled, a sad smile that almost broke his heart. “So let’s sit down and work through what you’ve got. Maybe I can see something you missed.”

  “You don’t have to. I can call Gerry.”

  “Yes I do, and, no, you can’t call Gerry.” She stepped back into his embrace and he clung tightly to her. He hadn’t realized how chilled he’d become until he felt her warmth. “You wouldn’t be the man I love if you walked away from a child. And I wouldn’t deserve you if I allowed that to happen.”

  He brushed her damp curls from her face and held her gaze, wanting to see the truth in her eyes. “So, are we okay?”

  “I hope so.”

  * * *

  “So, what you got?”

  He’d received Marty’s call when he’d all but given up on him. He’d been about to chase him down but found himself distracted by the number of Gerry’s texts clogging his phone. He’d copied down the list of addresses, dates and other trivia Gerry had unearthed and passed the list to Lizzie. It was keeping her busy, moving cups and saucers and condiments around the table, replicating the stacks of books in Molly’s room. It was keeping him busy just watching her. While they were both occupied they didn’t have to think about the real issues. He sensed a ‘we need to talk’ conversation was on the cards, but right now he was disinclined to listen. So, it, whatever it might be, had gone unsaid.

  He rose from the table, the cell phone pressed to his ear, and trailed a hand gently across her cheek. Turning, she pressed warm moist lips into his palm. He allowed his imagination to stray in anticipation of a protracted making up, cocked his head and smiled. “Coffee?” he mimed and she nodded. They were in for a long night one way or another.

  He checked the coffee pot on the stove and wandered to the window, his mind everywhere but where it should be. Marty was speaking and he pulled his attention away from Lizzie and back to the phone.

  “Sorry, buddy, I was distracted. What did you say?”

  “I said, I got Gibbons dropping the girl off at an address which is registered to Frankie. Pretty sweet out of town pad. I think you know where this is going, don’t you, Tommy? You worked Vice for long enough.”

  Connell felt his shoulders sag. It seemed his past was coming back to haunt him. “Okay, so get Gerry to send the boys in.”

  “It’s not that simple, Tommy.”

  He dropped his voice to little more than a hiss. “Marty, I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want to hear how fuckin’ difficult things are. Nothing is ever simple. Just figure it, will you? I need this to be over.”

  “Hey, what’s wrong, Tommy?”

  Connell glanced back at Lizzie. Her head was down studying Gerry’s list, one slender hand holding her curls away from her face. Her cheeks were stained with her earlier tears.

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Tommy, this is Marty, your buddy. When I ask what’s wrong, I expect you to tell me. You give me your shit, I give you mine. That’s how friendship works.”

  “You got shit?”

  “Not right at this moment, but when I do you can be sure I’ll share. So come on, let me have it.”

  Connell stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind him. He slumped against the wall and took a steadying breath. “I don’t know. I’m worried about Lizzie. I’ve never seen her this way. Not since ... well ... anyway … The Musgrave thing has really spooked her. I mean, jeez, why am I doing this, Marty? I can’t lose her ...”

  “Hey, buddy, slow down. You’re not going to lose her. You and she are made for each other.”

  “Well, something’s going on. I can see it in her eyes. Like there’s something she’s not telling me.”

  “That’s nothing new.”

  “No, I mean it, Marty. There’s this ... I dunno ... sadness.”

  “Do you want me to ask Charlene if she knows anything?”

  “How would Charlene know anything?”

  “Tommy, come on, get with it, they’re women. Don’t even try to understand them. They commune telepathically. It’s all those hormones. They sense when one of their number is in trouble and gather like a rabid pack to tear us poor guys limb from limb. They’re probably at it now, giving it with the ohm ... ohm ... and re-coloring their auras.”

  Connell smiled into the phone. He could imagine Charlene doing just that, but knew in his heart that Lizzie’s problems were all down to him. “Thanks,
buddy it’s probably nothing. Forget I mentioned it. Maybe she’s just homesick, missing her sister.”

  “Or maybe she’s just sick of hanging around waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “Waiting for you, Tommy.” Marty paused and Connell let the silence grow, not sure how to fill it. “So, Tommy,” continued Marty, “I hate to drag you away from Lizzie when you both need a little lovin’, but this thing with Frankie, I figure you might want to dig a little deeper.”

  “Why?” He was done with digging, he was six feet down already, but when Marty, the most cautious guy he knew, suggested it, he knew there’d be a damned good reason. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. Not now, when he’d other things on his mind.

  “Because there’s got to be a connection.”

  Connell sighed. He wasn’t going to get away from it, no matter how much he might want to. “A connection with what?”

  “I’m not sure, but you’re looking for a truck driver and Frankie’s running some big trucks.”

  “So, let Gerry follow it up.”

  “Sure, you could do that.”

  “But?”

  “Think about it. Why didn’t you tell Gerry where Molly was?”

  “Because he’s holding back.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Marty, what’re you saying? Gerry’s always holding back, it’s the way he is. It doesn’t mean anything other than the fact he doesn’t trust his own shadow.”

  “And do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Trust him?”

  “Marty, you’re spooking me here. Of course I trust him.”

  “Have you spoken to him?”

  “Since when?”

  “Since it went down at the warehouse.”

  “Not exactly. He sent me a bunch of texts. He’s screaming at me to give him a call but that’s usual stuff for Gerry.”

  “Does he know where you are?”

  “Yes. No. He thinks I’m at the apartment. I didn’t intend heading back here.”

  “Let him think that.”

  “Huh?”

  “Let him think that you‘re in town. Spend the evening cozying up with Lizzie and sorting out your problems. Hey, show her how much you missed her. Promise her the sun and the moon if you have to, she’s worth it. But tomorrow you need to have a word with Frankie.”

  “You’re telling me to lie to Gerry and speak with Frankie. What do you know that I don’t?”

  “I’m not sure, Tommy, but maybe by tomorrow I will.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  He was aware of Lizzie’s scrutiny as he took his seat at the table. She chewed nervously at her bottom lip, her hand straying to her hair as she twisted the curls gently between her fingers.

  Connell sagged inwardly; he knew that expression. He wanted to hold up a palm and stop everything, to rewind to a time before he’d hooked back up with Gerry. It had been a mistake thinking he could pick up where he’d left off. They’d promised each other to forget about it and to never speak of it again after the business with Mo and Butler. They’d kept themselves locked away from any horror in their idyllic retreat, the perfect happy family, and now he’d shattered their idyll by bringing reality home with a resounding crash. He couldn’t afford for any of this to touch Lizzie or Joe.

  “What do we have?” he asked, reluctant to involve her further, but wise enough to know that excluding her would merely increase her anxiety.

  Lizzie sighed softly. “This may be a coincidence but the pattern created by the stacks of books on the floor of Molly’s room matches exactly the location of the crime scenes. It’s as if each stack represents a building on the map.”

  Connell nodded. He’d suspected as much but he didn’t have a clue how the child could have known. The information was not in the public domain, and even if it were, why would that be of interest to a ten year old?

  “That’s not all, “continued Lizzie. The number of books in each stack corresponds with the floor or house number where the bodies were found.” She glanced at him, “I know you removed the newspaper bookmarkers, but I’m assuming they were originally placed in the correct stack in the appropriate book. So Musgrave’s marker would have been in the stack that corresponded with the courthouse, and as he was found on the third floor, his marker would have been placed in the third book on the stack.”

  Connell couldn’t recall where all the newspaper markers had been. Most he’d collected from the floor after the room had been ransacked. “So you’re saying she mapped out the crime scenes with the books? After every murder, she clips the cutting and creates another stack?”

  Lizzie reached for her coffee. Wrapping her hands around the heat of the mug she inhaled the rich aroma. She shook her head gently. “No, if it were just that, well, it would be a little weird, but I really don’t think that’s what she’s doing at all. I think there’s far more to this.”

  “Huh?”

  “How many murders have there been?”

  “Eleven.”

  “And how many clippings?”

  “Ten, so far, but Molly wouldn’t have had a chance to get anything about Scott, the latest one. I doubt it made the newspapers before I picked her up.”

  “Scott, is he the policeman, the one you’d been following?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And I’m guessing he was killed at the library.”

  “Close enough - in the alley adjacent to it. How did you know?”

  “Because the stack of books was obviously prepared in advance.” She pointed to a sugar shaker and its corresponding location on the map. “There, you see, that’s the library and there’s only one book on the stack. Presumably when she did get the clipping she’d have placed it beneath the book as Scott’s body was found on the street.”

  “How would she have known the location before it happened?” Connell’s voice trailed off as he recalled the pink pajamas which had mysteriously vanished from Molly’s apartment and turned up at her lair in the bowels of the library. He had wondered then at her connection with the Lizard guy.

  Lizzie shrugged impatiently. “That’s not all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There were twelve stacks.”

  Connell rounded the table, leaning over her shoulder to check the locations. He counted them out and saw how she’d crossed each one off on the map she’d drawn, how she’d printed the name of the victim and allocated the appropriate clipping. Stack number twelve was not as closely aligned to the others, which were crammed together in a tight location. Number twelve had occupied a position adjacent to Molly’s broken closet door. At the time it had meant nothing to him. He’d simply stepped over it while checking the closets contents. Now, seeing it represented on the map, it meant a whole lot more. On the map it clearly announced its true purpose. It marked the position of his apartment building. Three books representing the three floors of the partially converted industrial lot.

  Lizzie lifted her gaze from the map, wide-eyed, fear replacing confusion. “Connell, what’s going on?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Then you need to find out. For some reason, you’re involved in this and Molly knows all about it. Promise me you won’t go back to the apartment.” She reached for his hand, slender fingers quickly entwined and held in a reassuring grip.

  He thought of Marty’s recent puzzling warning, to lay low, to avoid Gerry’s calls and stay off his radar. He trusted Gerry and had no idea why Marty, the most trusting guy he knew, was suddenly so cautious. Once again it appeared he was missing information that might prove vital. More likely, and certainly more palatable, was the notion that Marty had his wires crossed and was pissed at Gerry for some reason and overreacting.

  He gestured at the map and Lizzie’s notations. “Look, I know this looks weird, but there’s got to be another explanation. There is absolutely no connection between me and the killer. There’s no reason why he would want to add me to his list. We’re reading stuff in
to this that isn’t there. But, hey, supposing I did pull the last invite to the party, which is a pretty crazy assumption. The guy is methodical, he kills one per week. He’s already done for Scotty and we’ve got another six days before his next outing, if there is one. Six days is plenty time to work this all out and talk to Molly.”

  “But what if she doesn’t want to talk to you? Children are delicate creatures, their understanding of right and wrong, truth and lies, develops over time and through exposure to the right influences. Molly is disturbed, traumatized. She may never want to talk to anyone.”

  “She’ll come around, I’m sure of it. She came with me. Surely that’s a start.”

  “How do you know she didn’t do that with all the victims? She could just be targeting you, keeping you close.”

  Connell shook his head, recalling Molly’s fear of the alley, how she’d almost attempted to shield him against whatever evil she perceived.

  “Now, who’s getting carried away? She’s a little kid who maybe knows stuff she shouldn’t, but that’s all. We just have to make sure that she tells us what she knows within the next few days.”

  He avoided acknowledging the warning bells that jangled mercilessly in his head and ignored the shift in his gut that screamed for his attention. Instead, he dipped his head and brushed a kiss across her lips. Rising to his feet before she had a chance to respond, he pulled her up against him and slipped a hand around her waist to ensure he kept her close. “It’s late. We aren’t going to solve this tonight. Come on … I’ve missed you.” He cocked his head and sent her his winning smile. He knew it had the desired effect when she colored slightly and shook her head with obvious exasperation.

  “Your life is in danger - again - and all you can think about is sex?”

  “No, Lizzie. All I can think about is you.”

  * * *

  The next morning Molly had gone.

  Her bed was empty her books had disappeared. There was nothing left in the room to suggest that she’d ever been there except for a drawing of a lion under her pillow.