Molly Brown

by B. A. Morton

  Marty shook his head “Now I’m worried. So, getting back on track, did he give you the name of the guy, the serial killer, the guy who’s been righting wrongs on behalf of the city’s good and honorable?”

  Connell’s lip twisted into a sour smile. “He was going to.”

  “And?”

  “He offered me a choice. I chose Molly.”

  “That was the right choice.”

  “It was the only choice, Marty.”

  “So, you did right. Stop beating yourself up about it.”

  “Yeah, but what’s the deal with this guy? Why is he so interested in what I do, what I think? And why did Gerry send me down there? I mean the guy didn’t give me anything I didn’t already know.”

  “I guess Gerry is just trying to close a case. He must have thought it worthwhile.”

  Connell replaced his empty bottle on the counter and pushed himself away from the bar. “There’s nobody wants to close this case more than me, so I suppose it’s time I rattled one more cage. You coming?”

  “Where to?”

  “To see if Frankie still keeps an office upstairs.”

  Connell made his way to the stairwell, leaving Marty to finish up his beer and follow. There was no one to prevent their access to the private rooms, which Connell considered odd and a little careless, considering the business Frankie was in. It was almost as if the circus had upped and left town and all that was left was a field full of litter and the bearded lady.

  “Hey, buddy wait up,” Marty muttered as he lumbered up the stairs after Connell. “You know I’m not built for athletic pursuits. You left this on the bar.” He held out the scrap of paper. “Who is Katarina Dubrovnik?”

  “Katarina who?”

  “Dubrovnik. What did Pearce say about her?”

  “Luther? I don’t follow you.” Connell paused at the office door. There was no noise to indicate that the room was occupied, just the steady bass from the club below. He withdrew his gun and Marty took a quick step back.

  “Whoa, are you sure you want to be doing that?”

  “Quit worrying, everything’s cool. I’m only going to point it. So, you were saying, about this Dubrovnik chick?”

  “Her name is written on the back of the paper Pearce gave you.”

  Connell turned the handle and eased the door open. He turned back for an instant, glancing at the name written in Pearce’s hand on the scrap of paper. He couldn’t believe that he’d missed it, although he had no idea who she was or what it meant.

  He pushed the door open, and on a count of three swung around it, arms outstretched, gun held rigid in both hands. As he jammed on the brakes with a muttered curse, Marty slammed into the back of him and the gun almost jumped from his hand.

  “Jeez, Tommy, you scared the hell out of me. What’s wrong?”

  “Fuck,” Connell exhaled slowly. “I think Frankie just shit in his own bed.”

  The office was in chaos, filing cabinets overturned, papers strewn across the desk, the safe open and empty. At the center of the room, tied to a chair and slumped forward over his bindings, was Lydia’s punk of a boyfriend, Terry. On the floor at his feet was the girl who had dropped out of Frankie’s truck.

  “Katarina Dubrovnik, I presume,” said Connell as he crouched at her side and felt for a pulse.

  “Is she still alive?”

  “Barely. Get the emergency services down here. I don’t care if this place is supposed to be under surveillance, somebody messed up big time.”

  “What about the kid?” asked Marty as he pulled out his cell phone and punched out 911.

  Connell reached across and lifted Terry’s head by his fringe. A neat hole was positioned just above his right ear. There was no exit hole.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Connell shrugged. “Terry sold out to Gerry’s buddies and Frankie found out? Terry got caught with his hands in the till? Who knows? But it’s definitely down to Frankie.”

  “And the girl?”

  Connell gently smoothed her hair from her face. She was older than he’d first thought, a young woman rather than an adolescent. Her hair was badly dyed. She had an open wound at her temple, maybe where she’d hit the desk on the way down or more likely delivered by the butt of a gun.

  “I’ve no idea why she’s even here. Maybe Gerry or Luther Pearce can explain it.” He held out a hand. “Where’s Luther’s note?”

  The girl roused. A stream of incoherent rambling whispered from her lips.

  “What’s she saying?”

  Connell scanned the scrap of paper again. “Fucked if I know. Some European shit. But at a guess I’d say it was something along the lines of ‘officer down’.”

  “What?”

  “Check the paper, Marty. UCO Katarina Dubrovnik. I think Luther was trying to tell us that Frankie was under surveillance alright. Katarina here is an undercover operative.”

  “Nah …”

  “Yes. Why couldn’t Gerry just trust me for once in his life?”

  “Maybe he didn’t know. You said it was a multi-agency operation.”

  “Yeah, well she saw what happened, and if we can keep her alive till the paramedics get here, Gerry has the witness he’s been looking for.”

  * * *

  “So, I guess that’s it, honey.” Connell collapsed back onto his bed and held the cell phone to his ear. He was way past tired. After waiting for the emergency services, and almost coming to blows with Gerry, he’d finally made it back to his apartment. It was almost 2am. He had been going to wait to ring Lizzie, but figured she’d want to know that Frankie was all but in the bag and that Molly was safe. Plus, he craved the sound of her voice and knew that he would sleep better for hearing it. There was so much going around in his head, he needed sleep more than anything.

  “Gerry’s put it out over the networks that his undercover agent is alive and well and they’ve staked out the hospital. He’s just waiting for Frankie to play his hand. They don’t expect it to take long. Frankie’s empire has begun to implode, and if he wants to make sure he doesn’t end up on a chain gang, he has to silence his witness.”

  “And you’re okay?” Lizzie stifled a yawn. He heard the soft intake of breath and smiled.

  “Lizzie, I’m better than okay, totally beat, but relieved it’s all over. I’ll wait until its light, then I’ll head on home to you. I have some good news for Molly.”

  “You do?”

  “Marty managed to trace her grandmother.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. She’ll be so pleased.”

  “How has she been? Has she said anything?”

  “Not to me, but she seems happier, less afraid. She and Joe have been keeping company. They’ve been helping Parker in the barn. She seems quite drawn to him. He’s harmless, in a grumpy old grandfather way. Finding her own family, her own grandmother can only be a good thing.”

  “Well, it’s a mixed bag to be honest.” Connell thought of the body pulled from the river and the likelihood of it being Brown. “Not all good news and I figure things will likely get worse before they get better, but we’ll be there for her till things are sorted, and they will be, I can promise you that.”

  “You’re such a good man, Connell. I’ve missed you so much.” Lizzie’s voice was full of longing; it matched his own. He closed his eyes and let it sink right in. Whatever had been going on to upset Lizzie was behind them, he felt sure of that. All he needed was to be with her and everything would be fine.

  “Not much longer now, sweetheart. It’s late. I shouldn’t have woken you. Go back to sleep and I’ll be there in the morning.”

  “And you’re sure it’s over and we’re all safe now?”

  He rubbed wearily at his eyes and doubted he’d be able to keep them open much longer. “Absolutely.”

  “I’m including you in that.”

  “Hey, if it makes you feel happier, I’ll check all the locks before I turn in.”

  “Make sure you do,” she scolded softly.
<
br />   “Love you, Lizzie. I’ll be there when you wake up.”

  “Love you too. Now get some sleep.”

  * * *

  The banging on the door woke him and dragged him kicking and screaming from a nightmare where fear was all he could recall. He kicked at tangled sheets, wiped perspiration from his brow and struggled to his feet.

  It was still dark out, that murky time just before dawn.

  The noise was relentless. He’d dropped the latch the night before and done up all the locks and chains just like he’d promised Lizzie. Now, he couldn’t co-ordinate, his senses confused, the noise, the back taste of fear and broken sleep, all interfering in an essentially straightforward task. He slammed a hand at the door in an effort to shut out the din so he could think. Four bolts, two locks - where was the fucking key?

  “Okay, Jeez, I’m coming,” he cursed. “Give me a goddamn minute!”

  The banging stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and in the subsequent eerie silence Connell became aware of a different sound. A muted sob, the whispered wail of someone so desperate, so alone, that he felt his own throat constrict. His nightmare paled as his fear grew exponentially.

  “No, Lizzie! I’m coming. I’m here, babe, hang on.”

  When he finally wrenched the door open, she was crouched on the floor, hugging her knees, rocking on the balls of her feet. She looked up through a curtain of wet curls, her cheeks streaked with tears, her eyes rubbed red. He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms tight around her slender frame. She trembled beneath his hands.

  “What’s happened? It’s the middle of the goddamn night. Where’s Joe?” He leaned away from her and caught her face gently between his hands. “Lizzie, honey, you’re scaring me. You’ve got to tell me what’s wrong?”

  She looked at him and he was stung by the accusation in her eyes.

  “You promised me we were safe.”

  He felt it then, a churning deep in his stomach. He dropped his hands, felt the room sway and steadied himself against what he knew was to come.

  “What’s happened, Lizzie? Just tell me, honey.”

  “They came, after you called,” she sobbed, the words fractured, forced between desperate gasps for air and normality. “They took Joe and Molly. I tried to stop them. I pleaded with them.” She took a breath and seemed to draw strength from somewhere deep inside. “They said you’d gone too far and now it was time to pay.”

  He stared at her, looked through her, past her, and the moment hung, the gulf between them widening in front of his eyes, as if he stood at the edge of a precipice of his own making and the only way forward was down. He re-focused and saw that her face was bruised, her lip swollen. When she raised her hand to shield the bruises from him, he saw angry finger marks on her pale wrist. She had fought to protect his son and a child she barely knew, and despite her efforts she had failed. His nightmare returned with sudden clarity, the fear, the uncontrollable anger and despair. He could not lose any of them. This couldn’t be the end.

  “Did they hurt you?”

  “Of course they hurt me. What did you expect? They wrenched Joe from my hands. I’m more than hurt ...”

  Connell reached out his hand and begged her silently to take it. “I ... I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” He needed her now, more than he’d ever needed anyone in his entire life.

  “It’s a little late for sorry.”

  She dropped her gaze, seemed unable to look him in the eye. He understood. He’d let everyone down. Despite the warnings, and there’d been plenty, he’d ignored those closest to him and gone his own reckless way. He’d played the wrong hand and the consequences were too terrible to contemplate. He felt his stomach lurch. His own hand, hovering in the void between them, began to shake. He wanted to shout and rage, and felt the anger and frustration building inside. Instead he took a step toward her, caught her arm and pulled her to him.

  “I’ll fix it,” he murmured, his voice calm despite the tumult inside.

  “How?”

  “I’ll get them back.”

  He felt her arms around him, tight around his waist, and his confidence was instantly recharged. He pressed a kiss on the top of her head, inhaled the scent of rain and flowers, and forced his inner demons back in their box.

  “Did they say anything else?”

  “Yes,” she stammered “You’re to meet them.”

  Despite a real need to get out there and do something, he sat her down instead. Frankie was no fool; he was playing a game and wasn’t about to lose his advantage by risking his ace cards. Connell knew he wouldn’t harm Joe and Molly, yet.

  “Okay, honey. Take it real slow and tell me everything they said.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  They had tied Lizzie’s hands and bundled her into the back of a car for the long journey back to the city. She’d sat curled in the back, all the while knowing that the children were alone and scared and there was nothing she could do about it. They could easily have kept them all together and called Connell themselves. It would have been quicker. He’d have come running and they knew it. But Frankie wasn’t after quick and painless. He wanted to draw things out, he wanted Connell to suffer and he knew tormenting Lizzie would just add to his pain.

  “Tell me again,” he said softly. “What happened when they arrived?”

  They’d been through it a number of times. Lizzie was about done in with replaying the scene over and over, but Connell knew that the tiniest thing could make the biggest difference. And they had plenty of time while they waited for the phone call that would finally reveal where Frankie had orchestrated his showdown.

  “I told you,” sobbed Lizzie, “they dragged us from our beds and put a gun against Joe’s head. He cried so loud and they said if I couldn’t get him to stop they would make him. I told him to be very brave and he was, Connell, so, so brave. Molly took his hand and held him tightly. She glared at the men. I think they were a little unnerved by her.”

  “How many men?” asked Gerry.

  Connell shot him a look. He hadn’t wanted to involve him. Truth be told, he was the last person he wanted to see. As far as he was concerned, if Gerry had been more forthcoming from the outset, his family would not now be at risk. He’d been persuaded by Marty, who was doing a valiant job as peace maker, keeping the men at arm’s length while they all tried to get to grips with what had happened. Connell was ready to lash out at someone, and until he had Frankie in his sights, he figured Gerry was a good substitute.

  “She already told you,” he muttered sourly.

  Gerry sighed. “A word, outside.” Connell made to shrug him off. Gerry could go screw himself. “Now!” added Gerry. Connell pulled himself to his feet. Sure, if Gerry was fool enough to want to step outside, he’d oblige, but he wouldn’t be held responsible for what might happen. He clenched his fists and followed Gerry to the door.

  “Connell …?” Lizzie called after him, hesitantly.

  “It’s okay, honey. Gerry and I just need to straighten a few things out.”

  Marty shook his head, a silent warning that Connell chose to ignore.

  They stood in the dank hallway amidst the builder’s crap - Connell, fired up, muscles bunched, adrenalin pumping; Gerry, calm as usual, with only the pulsating vein at his temple betraying his emotions.

  “Tommy, get a grip. I know you’re mad, at me, at Frankie, at the world in general, but you’ve got to quit with the attitude. It’s not helping.”

  “Fuck off, Gerry. You’ve been leading me by the nose for the past week, drip feeding me with half-truths.” He flung an arm at the closed apartment door. “That’s the result. My son’s life is in danger. Molly, a little kid with nobody but me to look out for her, is in danger, and Lizzie is in fuckin’ pieces. And you dare to tell me to quit with the attitude.”

  He took a step closer. Gerry stood his ground, personal space not just invaded but held to ransom as they squared up almost nose to nose.

  “Who are you really mad at
, Tommy? Me, for playing by the rules - ‘cause we do have rules, Tommy, whether you accept that or not? At the world in general, for dealing you a bum hand? Or are you mad at yourself for fucking around and ignoring advice, and leaving the kids with only Lizzie and an old man to look out for them?”

  Connell paused. The churning cauldron of guilt in his gut was a real pain now, white hot, tearing at his flesh. His heart pounded and his head was crammed with jangling alarms and self-hatred. Suddenly he understood why good men did bad things. He dipped his head, inhaled slowly and tried to regain control. Gerry was on the money. He wasn’t mad at the world, he was mad at himself.

  “Okay,” he said slowly, on the verge, panic flooding every cell, almost ready to drop to his knees and admit he was out of his depth. He reached out a hand and braced himself against the wall, determination alone holding back hot tears of fear and regret. “I need to do this, Gerry. You have to understand that. I need to finish what I started … I … I just don’t know whether I can anymore.”

  Gerry nodded, his demeanor softening. “And that’s why we’re here, Marty and I, to help you, to make sure this ends the way it should. It doesn’t matter who did what, who should have or shouldn’t have. We have a situation, a terrible situation, and we all need to pull together and use whatever resources are available to us. If we start pulling each other apart, looking to apportion blame, then we may as well accept failure now.”

  “We can’t fail, Gerry.”

  “Exactly. So we’re going to go back in there and you’re going to pretend you’re in control, even if you’re not. Don’t imagine for one minute that you’re the only one who has a bucket load of regret to lug around. We’ve all made mistakes, we all have to live them. So, you’re going to bury yours, turn on that Connell charm and make Lizzie believe that you can fix it. We are going to go over everything that’s happened since you started tailing Gibbons and Scott, right up to the point where Frankie invaded your home. If that means getting Lizzie to repeat the story as many times as we need her to, then that’s the way it’ll be.”