Molly Brown

by B. A. Morton

  Connell straightened himself up, cocked his head and forced a weak smile. “Sometimes, Gerry, I just wonder what I’m doing, where I’m going. You know, I’ve got it so good with Lizzie, but that in itself is scary. I’d do anything for her, anything, but right now I wonder if it’s going to be enough.”

  Gerry reached out and patted his shoulder. “Life is scary, Tommy. You just have to be brave. Courage isn’t about being the reckless hero, it’s about facing fears and we all have them.

  * * *

  Connell resumed his seat alongside Lizzie and took her hand in his. He smiled reassuringly and got a quick nod of approval from Gerry.

  “You said there were three men, Porter, Frankie … and who else? Who was the third?”

  Lizzie shrugged. “I didn’t see him. They sent him to search the outbuildings. They must have left him there. He didn’t come back when they called.”

  “What about Parker?”

  “Parker’s lights were out. I suppose he was sleeping.”

  Connell doubted that. The old guy was like a bat - snoozed in the sun and hunted critters at night. He hoped he hadn’t met his match. “You didn’t hear a shot?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, what about Mom and Dad. They were meant to be visiting.”

  Lizzie blushed and looked down at her hands, and her eyes filled with tears. When she replied her voice trembled with remorse.

  “I … I told them not to. They rang quite late. I assumed you’d asked them to come and babysit us but the kids were already in bed. I thought, it would just be another bunch of people for Molly to wake up to and she didn’t need it, not when she and Joe and Parker were getting on so well.” She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry. If your dad had been there, maybe he could have stopped them.”

  “Maybe so,” said Gerry, “but the likelihood is that if they had been there when Frankie arrived, they would have become victims too. It’s probably best they weren’t there, Lizzie. You don’t have anything to feel sorry about. It wouldn’t have changed the outcome.”

  “Gerry’s right. Dad would have put up a fight that he couldn’t possibly have won. I shouldn’t have asked them anyway. I should have been there myself.” Connell pulled Lizzie close. She leaned into him, needing the contact and the support as much as he did. “It’s okay, honey. We’ve just got to wait for Frankie’s call. Gerry has back-up on standby. He’s got alerts everywhere. As soon as Frankie shows his face, we’ll know about it.”

  “Who brought you here?” continued Gerry. “Who drove the car?”

  “Porter. He spent the entire journey telling me what they intended to do with you, Connell, how he was really going to enjoy your last meeting.”

  “All talk. Porter is mad as hell that he backed the wrong team. He’s so tangled up in Frankie’s business, he’s going to follow him to hell, whether he wants to or not.”

  “I told you that guy had no sense of humor,” called Marty from the kitchen. “He’s just mad, Lizzie, ‘cause Tommy wound him up at Frankie’s.”

  “The things he said were awful.”

  “Talk, Lizzie, just talk. Don’t worry about it. I won’t give him the chance.”

  “What about the kids? Are they definitely with Frankie? Did you see them leave the farm?” Marty took a seat on the edge of the table and sipped at his coffee. “I’d hate to think we were waiting here for a call, and all the time the kids had never left and we were two hours away from being able to help them.”

  Gerry shook his head. “I’ve got guys up there now, searching. Tommy’s brother, Will, has the entire Sheriff’s office on alert. The kids aren’t there.”

  “Did they find Parker?” Connell couldn’t bear the thought that somehow the old man, who had been through two wars and remained defiant to the last, had somehow met his end at the hands of the very people he had warned Connell about.

  Gerry shook his head. Connell wasn’t sure whether he was lying, not wishing to alarm Lizzie further, or whether the old guy had in fact managed to stay under the radar. He recalled his last conversation with Parker and the tale of the intruder who’d insulted his wife all those years before.

  “Get your guys to check the West Forest, down by the river. Will, knows it, the place where we used to shoot squirrel when we were kids. It’s a long shot but I think they might find Parker there, and if they hurry, they might even find Frankie’s other stooge. If he’s still alive he might be able to shed some light on where Frankie was headed.”

  Connell got to his feet. Knowing that he had his brother Will on-side as well lifted his spirits. “Gerry, we can’t just sit here and wait. Let’s see if we can’t get the jump on Frankie. So if Will comes up with zilch, if he finds nothing but a corpse and Parker nursing that old shotgun of his, we haven’t wasted any more time.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Frankie is going to hole up some place where he feels familiar. Where he thinks he has an advantage. We just have to think of where that might be.”

  “Vlad Towers, for one,” suggested Marty. That place is like a castle, probably has dungeons, secret tunnels, all kinds of weird shit.”

  “It was built in the fifties, Marty, of the plastic Gothic school of architecture. Not much call for dungeons then, but yeah, most rats run back to the nest, so good call.” He turned to Gerry. “Can we get some guys down there?”

  Gerry smiled. “I’m way ahead of you boys. The place has been locked up since CSI were down there looking for traces of Gibbons. Why do you think Frankie was so pissed?”

  “Doesn’t mean he hasn’t got a spare key.”

  “I’ll have them check it out, Marty.” He turned to Connell. “You’re not convinced though, are you?”

  “No, it’s a little obvious. You know, like following the outlaws back to the hideout.”

  “What about the Lakes Sanatorium?” suggested Gerry “Plenty of places there to stow a couple of kids. They could holler all they liked. That place is so big no one would hear.”

  “Gerry!” He cast a quick glance at Lizzie. The look on her face said it all. The thought of the kids stowed anywhere had set the tears flowing again. Anyway, the sanatorium was something else. He didn’t think Frankie had anything to do with him ending up there. “Tell me, Gerry, did you ever find Gibbons’ body?”

  “Yes, in the river, same as Brown. No evidence that he’d ever been at the Lakes, except vicariously, on your jacket and just about everything you’d touched down there. You must have been rolling in the guy to pick up that much blood.”

  Lizzie groaned and Connell smiled apologetically.

  “What did you make of the room with the spotlights?”

  “What room?”

  Connell shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” No, definitely not Frankie’s doing and obviously a message meant just for him. He turned to Marty. “When you traced Molly’s grandmother, did you find out anything else?”

  “Like what?”

  Connell pulled the now crumpled photos out of his pocket and laid them on the table. “See, that’s Molly’s grandmother, Beatrice, and this other one is Molly’s dad and some other guy.”

  “It’s an old photo, Tommy. They don’t look much more than lanky kids with fishing poles. It could be anyone.”

  Gerry leaned across, picked it up and adjusted his glasses for a better look. “Get another look at him, Tommy.” He tossed the photo back at Connell. “A real good look. Add ten years, a few pounds and a flat iron and who do you have?”

  “Fuck!”

  “Exactly.”

  Marty looked impatiently at Gerry. “Who? Come on guys, who is it?”

  Connell shook his head. He couldn’t believe he’d missed it. “That, Marty, is none other than Luther Pearce, arm in arm with his best buddy Brown, ten years before he shared a cell with him.”

  “What does this mean? How does this help us find Joe and Molly?” Lizzie looked from one to the other, settling on Connell for answers.

  �
��I’m not sure, but I think we just made a huge connection.”

  “In what way?” asked Gerry.

  “Luther intimated that he knew who the serial killer was.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me that?”

  “I thought he was jerking me around.”

  “Yet he gave you Katarina,” added Marty.

  “Yeah, so he knows about both killers, he must do. He warned me that Frankie was still after Molly. How would he know that? He’s had no visitors, he doesn’t speak to anyone.”

  “Molly doesn’t speak to anyone either,” said Lizzie, “but she knows exactly what’s going on, before it even happens.”

  Connell stared at her. “Okay, so the newspapers must be the key here. They’re both getting information from them, but I don’t see how that helps us. We’re missing something.”

  “I’ll get on to Hamilton,” said Gerry. “He and his team must be able to do something with this and cross reference with known associates. They’ve got a heap of stuff at their disposal. This is just the focus they need. If Luther Pearce knew the killer, it’s odds on that Brown did too.” He turned to Marty. “Do you have the grandmother’s number? Maybe she can help.”

  “I think you might be right,” interjected Lizzie, holding the photo up. “This has been cut in half. Maybe Grandma Beatrice can remember who else was in the photo and why it’s been trimmed.”

  Gerry took his phone into the kitchen, seeking the small privacy it offered while he updated Hamilton. Connell paced impatiently. He needed to be out there doing something. He checked his watch. “I’m going to call Will. I can’t just sit and wait.”

  The phone rang out endlessly and Connell was about ready to send it bouncing off the wall with frustration when Will finally answered.

  “Hey, Tommy, you okay?” He was breathless. “You caught me in the middle of a tricky situation.”

  “Will, I need to know about Parker. Did you find him?”

  “Oh yeah, good old Parker turned up and had Frankie’s gopher strung up like a Thanksgiving turkey when we found them.”

  Connell smiled and gave Lizzie and Marty the thumbs up. “Did he get anything out of him?”

  “Well, I guess when you have a snake on your belly, you’d pretty much give up your own mother.”

  “You’re joking?”

  “Nah, the guy was pleased to see us, I can tell you that. Parker is a scary guy when he’s riled.”

  “What did he say?”

  “A lot, but it all came out like vomit, bits and pieces and lots of bile. He mentioned shipments. Said your guy was waiting for one last delivery. The kids are his ticket out, once he’s finished things with you. Does that make sense?”

  Connell punched the air. “Yes, it sure does. I owe you one, Will.”

  “I’d say you owe Parker, but be careful, Tommy. For whatever reason, this guy has it bad for you. Don’t think for one minute you can handle this alone. Stick with Gerry. Let the cops handle it.”

  “This is about Joey. I can’t leave it to anybody else.”

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Connell kept his eyes on the road and his foot on the gas, willing the traffic to disappear and the miles to melt away. More than once he averted a collision by sheer good luck rather than skill, and his knowledge of the city streets from when he’d worked them as a cop had him weaving and dodging to miss the stop signs and the speed restrictions. Marty had told him to wait for backup, Gerry had insisted that he leave it to the professionals, but both knew that Connell would take matters into his own hands. He’d meet them there, he’d insisted, and he was making damned sure he got there before the tapes went up and police protocol forced him to watch from the sidelines.

  Connell sucked in a breath. His gut churned with a whole heap of black things. He chanced a quick glance and caught Lizzie’s distraught expression. Just as he had insisted on heading out the door, against advice, so she had demanded on accompanying him. She couldn’t stay alone at the apartment, frantic with worry, and he couldn’t leave her. She shuddered. Her hand strayed to her hair, twisting the strands between finger and thumb. Connell resisted the urge to reach out and touch. He didn’t want her to fold; he needed her strong. If he’d held her just for a moment, he would have caved in himself.

  “It’s okay honey. We’ll get them back. Frankie isn’t after the kids, he’s after me.”

  He thought of Brown, dragged from the river, Gibbons with a hole where his head should be, Terry, little more than a kid himself, executed at point blank range, and Katarina left for dead on the floor. He knew deep down that Frankie wouldn’t raise a hair over putting a gun to Joe’s head and Molly was the prize he’d been after all along.

  “Frankie loves kids,” he lied. “He won’t hurt them. He’s just after a final showdown. He’s a showman. He won’t hurt them,” he repeated desperately. Please God, he prayed silently, keep them safe, just a little longer.

  “Connell, I’m so afraid. I saw the look in Frankie’s eyes.”

  “Don’t be scared. I won’t let anything happen to them. The guys are right behind us. Gerry’s task force is practically champing at the bit for a piece of Frankie. It’s just a case of me keeping him talking until the cavalry show up.”

  Lizzie reached out, laid a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. “I know you’ll do anything. That’s what worries me.”

  He pulled the car to a halt and leaned across with a desperate kiss. He wanted one last taste of her, just in case. His heart hammered in his chest, adrenalin flooded his system. He pulled away and took a breath.

  “I love you,” he whispered hoarsely. She nodded, unable to speak, her hand in his, fingers slipping from his grasp as he eased himself away. “Stay in the car, lock the doors when I get out. Do not come out for anyone but me, Marty or Gerry.

  * * *

  The warehouse was bathed in sunlight, no outward sign that anything was amiss. He stood a moment, pressed against the corrugated wall, listening to the metal popping as it expanded in the heat. He had the element of surprise. Frankie hadn’t made his call yet and wouldn’t be expecting anything but his shipment. But even so, he hesitated, desperate to get this right. He reached for the gun tucked at the small of his back and gripped it tightly. His palm was sweating, his hand shaking. He remembered Gerry’s words about courage and fear, and slowly he gathered himself together.

  Moving quietly, keeping to the shadows where the walls met the weed strewn ground, he stepped carefully over the scattered debris, the broken glass, desperate not to make a sound that might give away his position. Pausing at the first damaged panel, he peered into the dappled light of the interior. Frankie’s car was parked in the center of the vast space, and alongside it, Porter’s.

  Porter scanned the space while Frankie vocalized loudly, his cell phone pressed against his ear. It looked like Frankie’s bad day was getting worse. He checked his watch, yelled some more and Porter glanced up at the overseer’s office. Connell followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of movement. He double-checked the scene at the cars, leaning in as far as he dared, squinting at the distorting effect of the scattered light. He couldn’t see Molly or Joe in either car. He adjusted his position, narrowed his eyes and concentrated on the office. If Frankie had left the kids in there, then he’d made a big mistake. Connell felt a surge of hope.

  He needed a distraction, something that would ensure Porter was dispatched to investigate. He scanned the space, discounting various options that would take too long to set up. His eyes finally settled on a stack of crates at the far end of the warehouse. It was perhaps a little too far from where he needed to be. He wondered whether he could make it back and up the rickety stairs before Frankie caught on. He would only get one chance. He couldn’t mess up.

  Moving further along the wall, he located the gap he’d used to gain entry the night he’d watched Katarina make her first appearance. He wondered whether she was as well as Gerry had made out to the networks. The fact that Frankie had left her for
dead, just another casualty who wouldn’t lose him any sleep, hardened Connell’s resolve. He squeezed through the gap and edged his way forward. From inside, the crates seemed further away - too far. He cursed silently and glanced again at the office. Where was Marty when he needed him?

  There was movement again at the window, small hands against the glass. Connell flicked his gaze between Porter, who was now circling the cars, and Frankie still bellowing orders. When he looked back at the office, the door creaked open and Joe, no taller than the doorknob, peeped out.

  “Joey …” he muttered under his breath. If ever there was a kid guaranteed not to do as he was told, or stay where he was put, that was Joe. A chip off the block for sure. He willed him back through the door. Instead, Joe took another step out onto the unstable platform. He teetered clumsily on one leg, one hand on the doorknob. Connell’s stomach lurched. If Porter or Frankie were to turn in Joe’s direction, they would see him without a doubt and Connell was under no illusion as to what they would do to a child who proved an inconvenience. He had to make a move before Joe left the relative safety of the platform.

  He’d had a good right arm as a kid, played baseball with his brother and could throw further than Will, even though Will was older and bigger. As he picked up a discarded wrench, he hoped he still possessed the skill. It reached almost as far as the crates, which wasn’t as far as he’d have liked, but further than he had hoped, its journey halted by an oversized oil drum which magnified the noise of impact tenfold.

  “There is a God,” muttered Connell as he sprung to his feet and raced for the stairs. Porter ran the opposite way, fooled by the noise. Frankie ducked behind his car and pulled out his own gun. Connell made it to the bottom of the stairs as Joe started down them.

  “Daddy!” he shrieked excitedly, his high pitched voice cutting through the vast space. Porter skidded to a halt. Frankie swung his gaze, dropped his phone and raised his gun. Connell had no choice but to keep going. He propelled himself up the stairs, grabbing at the rail as the structure swayed perilously beneath his weight. Sweeping Joe up under his arm, he fell through the open door as the first of Frankie’s bullets splintered the wood.