Haunted

by James Patterson

  Sandy and I just sat there. Speechless. I was focused on the smirk on Dell Streeter’s face as he turned from his attorney to look at me.

  He was free to go. Unlike most defendants, he wasn’t even going to process through the rear of the courtroom. He was talking to his attorney and getting ready to walk out the front door.

  Sandy said, “This stinks.”

  I said, “I know. But we can’t just give up.”

  Sandy said, “No—I mean it smells like a payoff. We had things that tubby little ass could’ve mentioned. He could’ve explained that we had forensics being developed in the lab. DNA lab work takes time. This isn’t some stupid TV show. There’s no magic machine to analyze everything.”

  All I could say was, “I know.”

  I watched helplessly as Dell Streeter hugged the attorney and passed through the low swinging gate into the gallery.

  He strutted right up to us and said, “Gonna take a lot more than that to stop me. I heard there might be an investigation into how I was treated.”

  I said, “If I were you, I’d worry about other investigations.”

  Streeter chuckled. “I sure hope that little scurvy cripple girl doesn’t fall down and hurt herself. I guess it might save us some tax dollars. She’s never going to contribute to society anyway.” He winked and then strolled right out the front door of the courtroom.

  I had a serious urge to pull my pistol and put a bullet in the back of his head. It might even have been worth it.

  Part Four

  Chapter 67

  Three days after the nasty court scene, life was back to normal at Mildew Manor—or, as we now called it, the Ghost House. The case against Dell Streeter wasn’t closed. It would move ahead again as the police gathered more information. If I thought I could add anything, I intended to help. I made that clear to Sandy.

  On this bright, beautiful Sunday morning, Mary Catherine and I had woken before anyone else. As the kids got older, I found that happening more and more. We decided to make use of the beautiful weather and spectacular scenery and walk along our favorite path by the lake.

  Mary Catherine knew her nature pretty well and spotted a blue jay. Then she explained the difference between a blackbird and a crow. When a fish jumped, she was quick to point out that it was a trout.

  The morning was perfect as I held her hand and just strolled along. She made me feel alive and connected. It was hard to explain, considering how much my life had changed in the past decade. A few years ago, there was no way I could’ve predicted that I’d be walking with this beautiful Irish girl along a serene lake in Maine and have a huge horde of kids waiting for me. And that I would love every minute of it.

  I happily listened as Mary Catherine told me about her camping trips as a child in Ireland. I guess, like most Americans, I didn’t think about the Irish, or any Europeans, going on camping trips. For some reason it felt uniquely American to me. But her stories were similar to all the stories I had heard about camping. Leaky tents, falling in icy rivers, raccoons stealing your food. Somehow I didn’t miss the fact that I had never camped as a child.

  Then she stopped and took my other hand as well. We were facing each other with the perfect lake and forest background surrounding us. There was something on her mind.

  Mary Catherine said, “No pressure, Michael. I’m not one of those women. But I want to get to the point, and I do have a question.”

  I stared at her, not sure if it was wise for me to say anything at all. Better to let it just unfold.

  “Michael, do we have a future? A real future together?”

  “This isn’t about Sandy Coles, is it?”

  “No, Michael. Not in the slightest. This is about us. About the chances of our spending our lives together. I love you. I know you love me. But life is complicated. No one knows exactly how other people see the future. You don’t have to answer me this second. I just wanted you to know what I’ve been thinking about.”

  Now I knew, and it made me nervous. I don’t know why, but the idea of a long-term serious commitment scared me. Mary Catherine was perfect in every way. It was me. It was my shortcomings that kept me from answering her.

  Whatever the reason, I stayed silent. I was an idiot and instantly regretted it.

  Mary Catherine was right. Life really is complicated.

  Chapter 68

  By ten in the morning, we had somehow whipped our brood into shape and gotten everyone dressed properly in time for mass at the local church. Seamus had met the young priest in charge of the tiny Catholic church in town. They had started talking at the firehouse clambake, and the priest invited Seamus to celebrate mass at one of the day’s services.

  Seamus understood his limitations and that he was still recovering from his heart attack. He chose to celebrate the family mass and was treated like a rock star from the moment we arrived at the church.

  We all sat in the third row. We took up the entire third row. Tom Bacon and his family and friends filled the pews in front of us.

  The young priest acknowledged the Bacon family and gave a good sermon about the need for strong families. Although he mentioned what a good boy Tom-Tom had been, the priest never mentioned Tricia’s name. He also said more than once that Tom-Tom had “passed away.” There was no mention of the circumstances.

  The young priest ended by saying that everyone should cherish time with their loved ones because no one knows when we’ll ever see them again.

  Mary Catherine started to cry. I had a lump in my throat.

  Then it was time for Holy Communion. Seamus was introduced as a “distinguished priest all the way from the Holy Name parish in New York City.” I could see that it sounded great to others. But I still saw the old man who made fart noises when I tried to discipline the kids.

  Seamus was impressive. That’s coming from someone who’s used to hearing his accent and seeing him dressed as a priest all the time. The local people loved it.

  It was always a moving experience to hear my grandfather celebrate Holy Communion. His accent seemed to hit just the right syllables, and his tone changed perfectly as he recited Jesus’s words from the Last Supper: “Take this, all of you, and eat of it: for this is my body, which will be given up for you. In a similar way, when supper was ended, he took the chalice, and, once more giving thanks, he gave it to his disciples, saying: Take this, all of you, and drink from it: for this is the chalice of my blood, the blood of the new and eternal covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.”

  Seamus had told me how powerful those words were to him when he considered the sacrifice Christ made for all mankind. And today, as I looked up at him preparing the communion, it really moved me.

  Mary Catherine and I had been holding hands for the entire service. It was a natural thing for me to do, and I didn’t notice it. That is, until Trent and Juliana both looked over at us and said, “Awww.” Like we were teenagers on our first date.

  Mary Catherine smiled at the kids and squeezed my hand.

  This was the way I always dreamed my life would be. Why hadn’t I jumped to dispel Mary Catherine’s questions about our future? She was everything I wanted and needed in a partner.

  Was there something I couldn’t understand that was holding me back? Was I still too in love with my late wife, Maeve, to move on?

  I was in the perfect place to pray for guidance on the issue. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t still an idiot for not telling Mary Catherine exactly how I felt about her.

  As the service ended, I gathered everyone together so we could pay our respects to the Bacon family. Tom and his wife and ex-wives had formed an impromptu receiving line and accepted everyone’s sympathy.

  When my turn in the line came up, I took his hand and mumbled, “I’m so sorry.”

  When I tried to move on, Tom wouldn’t release my hand.

  He said, “You should be sorry and ashamed. That maniac killed my boy, and a lot of people in town think he’s responsi
ble for other missing kids. No one is happy. They think you and Sandy Coles took money to let him go. Or are you just incompetent?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He released my hand and said, “You’ll find out. We’re not gonna stand for this.”

  “Stand for what?”

  “Injustice. That Texas redneck is going to pay for what he did. You and the local cops have a lot to answer for, too.”

  I wanted to answer this crazy accusation when Mary Catherine gently tugged on my arm to move away.

  She whispered, “Let it be, Michael. He’s crazy with grief.”

  As usual, she was right.

  Chapter 69

  Later that evening, after a nice dinner with the family and another group fishing event, I tried to relax on the couch with Mary Catherine. She knew me better than anyone. That’s why she understood how much Tom Bacon’s comments bothered me. The fact that we hadn’t found the teenagers alive was bad enough. The idea that others thought we hadn’t tried our hardest made it hurt that much more.

  I tried not to be distracted and to give my full attention to Mary Catherine and Chrissy, who was nestled in on the other side of Mary Catherine. We had watched a Disney movie about some princess in a cold, icy land. I really didn’t pay that much attention. Now we were trying to get everyone calmed down for bed.

  I allowed the older kids to sit out on the dock and just do what teenagers did. That group didn’t worry me much.

  My phone rang, and I knew before I picked it up off the table who it was. I wasn’t expecting the phone to ring, but only one person would call me at this time of night.

  I looked at Mary Catherine as I held the phone to my ear and said, “Hello, Sandy. What’s gone wrong now?” I meant it as a joke, but as soon as I heard her voice, I knew it wasn’t funny.

  “Mike, I need some help.”

  “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “I am for now. But there’s a crowd growing outside city hall. They’re upset with how things went with Dell Streeter at his arraignment. Tom Bacon has got them riled up. A couple of them are armed.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Mary Catherine understood instantly what was going on and gave me a kiss on the lips. All she said as I slipped out the door was, “Please be careful.”

  “I always try to be careful.” I gave her a wink, hoping it might lighten the mood. It didn’t do much.

  Once I was on the road, racing down Route 2 toward town, all I could think about was Sandy having to face an angry crowd. As I pulled into the lot, I could see around ten people in front of her. She was at the top of the five-step stairway leading into the tiny city hall.

  I was shocked to see several men holding rifles and several others with handguns in holsters on their hips. Then I remembered I wasn’t in New York City anymore. Maine is an open-carry state. No one was breaking any laws. At most, some local jurisdictions made it illegal to discharge firearms within the city limits. It was still unnerving.

  As I walked up to the rear of the crowd I heard a heavyset man wearing a neatly trimmed beard and holding a Remington 30-06 rifle yell out, “How can you tell us you’re doing everything you can when Dell Streeter is free to come and go? Who knows how many people he’s killed? My Marjorie disappeared two years ago. That might be her body they haven’t been able to identify yet. And you want us to be calm?”

  Sandy kept her cool and looked directly at the man. “Look, Anthony, all I can tell you is we’re doing the best we can. No one around here has ever seen anything like this. The case against Dell Streeter isn’t closed. We’re trying to develop more evidence against him.”

  Anthony said, “That’s not good enough.”

  Sandy said, “Arguing about it out here isn’t going to help anything. What if we all go over to the firehouse and sit down and try to discuss it?”

  Someone shouted from the middle of the crowd, “There’s nothing to discuss. Dell Streeter needs to pay for what he did.”

  Then Tom Bacon said, “I don’t think you’ll be able to do much to stop us, Detective Coles.”

  That’s when I said from the rear of the crowd, “I bet both of us together could stop more than half of you. Anyone want to try your luck?”

  I could tell by the way all the heads swiveled toward me that I had caught everyone by surprise. I could also tell that no one wanted to try his luck.

  Chapter 70

  It only took a few minutes to get everyone settled in the training room of the firehouse. The fire chief didn’t look like he appreciated being woken for something short of a three-alarm fire. But when he heard what Sandy had to say and saw the group of armed men milling around in front of the station, he opened the side door.

  Most of the fifteen folding chairs set up in the training room were filled by the crowd that had been outside. They weren’t all men. There were four women. Each of them was armed as well.

  I leaned against a table that held half a dozen CPR dummies and let Sandy run things.

  The guy who’d spoken outside, Anthony, said, “For all we know, you take your orders from Dell Streeter. You’re not doing us any good here. I’m not even sure why we have our own police department. The state police could cover the town more effectively. Maybe we don’t even need them.”

  One of the women said, “Aside from writing a few tickets and harassing us about stupid shit, the cops here don’t do anything. Here’s the first chance for you to be useful, and you blow the case.”

  Sandy, ever the professional, let the woman finish her thoughts. Then Sandy said, “As I said before, the case against Streeter is not closed. It is an active investigation. I promise you we’re working on it day and night. I haven’t spent five hours at home since those kids went missing.”

  Tom Bacon said, “But you’ve had time to visit your boyfriend out at the Ghost House. A couple of people have seen your car out there.”

  “I’ve stopped there. I think I ate a meal or two with his family. But I’ve been focused on this case. And frankly I don’t appreciate the innuendo in your comments.”

  This was not the same town I’d seen at the Fourth of July parade. The town that greeted all its police officers and showed them respect. This town had fallen into an anti-cop mind-set. This had nothing to do with a police shooting, either. Suddenly I realized how much people needed a reason or an excuse for the tragedies they suffered. The cops were convenient scapegoats.

  Sandy tried to reason with the crowd, but people were done listening. I watched silently as everyone started heading out the door.

  I stepped over toward Sandy. The bearded asshole named Anthony looked at me and said, “I know how New York cops are. I watch the news. Someone got to you guys. Someone has paid you off.”

  I looked at him and shook my head. “That’s right, Anthony. I accepted a freezer full of venison and moose jerky just to let a killer walk free.” As I walked past him I muttered, “Jerk-off.”

  Anthony said, “What did you just say?”

  I turned around until we were nose to nose and said, “I called you a jerk-off. I did that because you’re acting like a jerk-off. What are you gonna do about it? You can’t fire me from the Linewiler Police Department.”

  The man shifted his hand on the rifle he was holding.

  I stared him down and said, “You move that hand on that rifle one more time and you’ll lose it.”

  I heard car doors slam and tires squeal as people pulled away. I realized that I had not helped the situation dramatically. I also knew that the people of Linewiler were not happy.

  I figured I could live with both those situations.

  Chapter 71

  The next morning I met Sandy at her office. She didn’t say why she needed me, and I didn’t ask. She was my partner. She had been since the days we both worked the Bronx.

  We sat in the conference room at the police department with a uniformed sergeant, the chief of police, and the chief assistant district attorney. The chief
ADA was a beautiful Latin woman named Addy Villanueva. A graduate of the University of Maine, she was petite but fiery. No one would mistake her for shy or quiet. Her long dark hair flipped from side to side as she talked to us about the calls her office had been getting from various politicians.

  She said, “One of your residents, Tom Bacon, had the US congressman call our office and demand action on the case. The ADA who handled the Streeter case in court for you has called in sick, and no one can get in touch with him. Two different county commissioners called my office and demanded to know what was going on. My boss, who is an elected official, told me to make sure things wouldn’t get any worse. I don’t see how they could.”

  Sandy said, “I guess it’s worse if some vigilante does something crazy, like shoot Dell Streeter.”

  I liked her casual tone. It was an old police trick that helped put people in their place and keep situations calm.

  The ADA said, “Is that a possibility?”

  Sandy shrugged and said, “Based on what I saw last night, yes.”

  The beautiful ADA said, “We can’t let that happen. You can’t let that happen.”

  Now I cut in. “Do you expect the police of this department to provide protection to a guy like Dell Streeter?”

  She stared at me for a moment. She was trying to decide if she even needed to answer an outsider like me.

  I said, “What’s the use of Streeter’s bodyguards if they can’t scare off a few vigilantes? Seems like a waste of money to me.”

  The ADA didn’t appreciate flippant comments. That was all I had right now. She gave me a dirty look but still didn’t answer.

  I kept going. “So I guess you’re saying he needs police protection. Police resources that could be used to make a case against him instead of protecting him.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. And don’t give me that bull about resources. Everyone works with less. The town has an overtime budget for emergencies. I’d call this an emergency.” She took a moment to catch her breath. She looked right at me and said, “Are you telling me the NYPD has never been in an awkward position like this?”