“We can fix it.”
Liam let go of his wife and made his way toward the door. “I’m sorry, but this is how it has to be. Otherwise, every time I look at you, all I’ll see are the people who died for nothing. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”
“Please, Liam.”
“I have to go check on Sean. I’m sorry.”
Vanessa wiped another tear that slipped down to her chin. “Check on Sean? What do you mean?”
“He’s still in surgery. They think he’s going to make it.”
“Sean’s alive?”
“Yeah.”
Before Vanessa could say anything further, Liam walked back out in the hall and shut the door, leaving her in the solitude of her own thoughts.
64
Don’s house was empty and still. Word was beginning to spread about what had happened in Camden, but thus far no one had come by. A PBA representative and a priest were out on the back porch talking quietly. Soon, as the sun rose to usher in a new day, there would be a house full of officers, more lined around the block, waiting to pay their respects and offering support. Phillips would let them in, thank them, and then pass them on to Joyce, who would be on the couch, still numb and in shock. That’s the way these things worked.
The shooting had been called in by a Camden PD unit that worked the area. The two uniforms had been patrolling the park and came upon the abandoned vehicle, prompting them to investigate. Phillips had still been at Don’s house when the precinct phoned. The desk sergeant on duty told him Don had been shot and killed in Camden, and he’d had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. For the second time that night, he’d driven over the bridge and had been met at the scene by the investigating officers, a few responding units for backup, and a crime scene unit, all from Camden. They’d escorted him to the car, where he’d positively identified Don’s body. He’d placed a call to the chief and the mayor. There hadn’t been much left for him to do, so he’d driven back to Philadelphia and broken the news to his sister. She’d collapsed in his arms, and they’d cried together. He really couldn’t remember much past that.
Phillips meandered through the living room, looking at the photos of Don and Joyce and the rest of their family. He picked up each one and examined it, rubbing the side of the frame as if rubbing a magic lantern, wishing his friend to return. Each picture showed a happy, playful couple. They had been, indeed. In one, Don had his nephew riding on his shoulders, both of them giving monster faces to the camera. In the background was a Ferris wheel of an amusement park he didn’t recognize. In another, Don and Joyce were holding hands, looking into each other’s eyes as the sun of the Caribbean set behind them. Each photograph stamped a place and time in their lives when joy was abundant and they were shielded from the wickedness of the world. Those feelings were gone now, blown away in an instant. It would return one day, the happiness, but it would never be the same as it was before. Sean had destroyed his sister’s innocence.
Joyce was upstairs sleeping with the help of two Ambien the PBA rep had brought. Phillips tripped over the leg of a chair that had been pulled out from a corner desk and almost fell to the ground. He stopped himself at the last moment, regained his balance, and placed the chair back under the desk. His body was weak. He was tired and still in shock himself. He opened a few windows and felt the cool night air floating in from outside, then went into the kitchen to prepare a pot of coffee.
“What are you doing?”
Joyce was halfway down the stairs, dressed in Don’s navy pajama pants and a white tank top. Her eyes were red and swollen, sunken. She stood on the stairs, swaying slightly from side to side.
“Making some coffee,” Phillips replied.
“I’ll make it.”
“I don’t mind.”
Joyce took a few more steps toward the bottom landing. “Please. I’ll make it. I need something to do.”
He stepped away from the coffee maker and watched her wobble down to the landing. She stopped and sat. He walked over to her.
“What are you doing up?” he asked. “Those sleeping pills should’ve kept you down for a while. You need your rest.”
“I can’t sleep. Don’t want to. Every time I sleep, I dream of him; then I wake up and have to feel the loss all over again like it’s new. I never want to sleep again. Never.”
“I know. But you need your rest. You have to try and gain your strength. Why don’t you go back upstairs, and I’ll hang out here? People from the department are going to start coming by.”
Joyce looked at him, then closed her eyes and allowed her head to fall back against the wall. “I miss him,” she whispered. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I just can’t believe it.”
Phillips sat beside his sister and rubbed her arm. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else I can say. I love you. All I can do is be here for you as long as you need me. It’s all I can give.”
“I know,” Joyce replied. She sighed and pushed tears away from her face, then offered a white envelope she was holding. “Last night Don called me up to the bedroom and gave me this envelope. He told me that if anything should ever happen to him, I should give this to you and only you. When Sean came by looking for that flash drive, I figured he might be looking for this, but I wasn’t going to give it to him. Don said only you.” She handed it over.
Phillips took the envelope, turning it over in his hand.
“I should’ve known something bad was going to happen when he started talking like that. He never talked like that before. I should’ve known. I should’ve stopped him from leaving the house.”
Phillips stood from the landing and walked across the kitchen. He pulled his thumb across the envelope’s lip and ripped it open, not really sure if he wanted to see what was inside. So much had already happened.
“He trusted you,” Joyce said. “He loved you.”
He tipped the envelope, and a single flash drive slid out into the palm of his hand. The cool breeze from the open windows in the living room caressed his bare arms, sending a shiver down his spine. Outside, where life continued unabated, the night moved on. Inside, lives kept changing.
65
Morning had come and the sun was beginning to rise in the city of Philadelphia. Liam pulled into his driveway and shut off the engine. It was still early, and everything was quiet. There was no traffic. No one was out walking a dog or taking a run. It was perfect.
He climbed out of the car, walked up the front stoop, and stopped when he saw a bouquet of paper flowers sitting on the doormat. Just like the ones his mother had left for him the day she tried to kill him. Just like the ones that were left at Kerri’s feet. He bent down and picked them up, studying them, turning them over and over. The paper seemed fresh, crisp, dry. These were just made, untouched by the morning dew. He opened the door and walked inside.
“Vanessa,” he called. He could hear his voice shaking just a bit. “I’m home.”
There was movement somewhere in the house. Sniffling. Vanessa was there, and she was crying.
“Where are you?”
“Right here.”
The living room was empty. The kitchen. She was in the kitchen.
Liam made his way through the house and stopped when he saw his wife sitting at the head of the dining room table. Her eyes were swollen and full of tears. Her skin was pale. Mascara had run down her face, making her look hauntingly ghoulish. A gun was sitting on the table in front of her.
“I didn’t see your car out front.”
“I parked it in the garage. Turns out there’s room enough in there for one car.”
“I thought you weren’t getting discharged until morning.”
“I discharged myself,” she said. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Where’d you get that?” Liam asked, pointing to the gun. From where he was standing, it looked to be a Glock, like the one he’d taken from Phillips, only this one was silver.
“Can’t use the same gun twice,” she repli
ed. “They took Phillips’s after I shot Sean with it. This is the one I had in my purse, but it turned out I didn’t need it. Sean got me this from a runner he arrested a few months ago. Untraceable.” Vanessa slowly wrapped her fingers around the grip, lifted it off the table, and aimed it at her husband. “I need you to sit down.”
66
Lieutenant Phillips walked into his office and shut the door. The rest of the night and early morning had been agonizingly long. He tossed his keys on the desk and collapsed into his chair, too exhausted to even remove his coat.
Joyce had been exceptional, given the circumstances. His sister was so brave. The line to get in to see her had grown as the hours passed, and by dawn it had stretched outside the house, down to the sidewalk, and around the corner. He’d been by her side the entire time, thanking each person who came, ushering the people on so the next well-wisher could step up. Tray after tray of food had been delivered. Phillips had had to assign two uniforms to stack everything in the kitchen to keep the flow of people moving. The other wives had come by and made sure coffee was always on. They’d helped put out a buffet of food and fruit in the dining room. The house was quiet. Hardly anyone spoke, yet they all thought about how fragile life was on the job. This time, it was Don and Joyce. Next time, it could be one of them.
By the end of the first round of visitors, Joyce had directed the two uniforms to take the bulk of the food to Father Brennan to use for his mission. No sense wasting it all. It would take an army to eat what had been delivered before it went bad. The officers had loaded up a squad car and had taken off, leaving Phillips alone with his sister. He’d offered to stay, but she’d pushed him out. She was going to take a couple more pills and try, again, to get some sleep. In the afternoon, they would meet up and take a ride to the funeral home to make arrangements. On the way, he promised he would drop Don’s dress blues at the dry cleaners for one last cleaning. He would be buried in the uniform he was most proud of.
His desk was full of papers, files, and several envelopes he hadn’t opened yet. Phillips started grabbing things randomly, trying to prioritize what should be taken care of in the proper order. As he flipped through a small stack of internal briefings, he noticed the corner of a square black envelope protruding from beneath a PBA newsletter. He took it and slid his finger across the seam.
It was a DVD. On it, someone had written in marker “Francis Guzio Street Surveillance” along with the date of his murder.
“Traffic cam footage,” Phillips said to himself. “Now it comes.”
The footage had been taken from a camera mounted on the signal box on Guzio’s street, installed, like the rest of them throughout the city, after 9/11 with funds from Homeland Security. All the major cities had them. Phillips flipped it around in his hand several times, then opened the disc drive in his computer, popped in the DVD, and sat back in his seat.
The footage was from the entire day. He wondered if anyone had already gone through it and how long it had been sitting on his desk.
It started in the morning. Sidewalks filled with people setting off to work as the general hustle and bustle of a new day began. He fast-forwarded and at midday saw a couple walk down the street with their dog and a homeless man begging for change as people strolled past. A car stopped to talk to the man for a moment and then sped away. Again, he pushed the tape forward to a little before the coroner’s estimated time of death and watched.
It was dark now. A vehicle pulled around the corner and parked at the far end of the block, away from the streetlights. Phillips recognized the car instantly, and his stomach turned. He held his breath as he watched the driver climb out of the car and walk down the sidewalk toward Guzio’s house. As the figure got closer, Phillips paused the footage and zoomed in. The driver filled the screen. Phillips could feel his heart beating in his chest.
It was Vanessa.
Sean had never been there because he had been with Don at the Hard Rock the night of Guzio’s murder. He had the perfect alibi and the perfect accomplice. Vanessa Dwyer.
Phillips let the video roll, and he watched as she climbed the steps, picked the lock on Guzio’s front door, and disappeared into his house. He forwarded until she came out again and scurried back down the sidewalk, the front door left open on purpose so Guzio’s body would be discovered.
Phillips jumped out of his seat, ran around his desk, and threw his office door open to find Keenan sitting at his desk. “Has Liam Dwyer left yet? He was giving his statement.”
Keenan nodded. “Yeah, left about an hour ago.”
Phillips pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Liam’s cell. It rolled to voice mail. He tried the Dwyer house, and that too rolled to voice mail. He hung up and dialed the hospital.
“Connect me to Three West.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“Three West. Nurse Connolly.”
“Vanessa Dwyer’s room, please.”
“Mrs. Dwyer was discharged earlier this morning.”
“On whose authority?”
“She checked herself out. ADO.”
“Dammit!” Phillips hung up the phone and ran out of his office. Vanessa killed Guzio. She’d been working with Sean all along, and now Liam was with her.
Another one of his men was in danger.
67
Liam sat at the table across from his wife, easing himself carefully into the seat. His eyes moved from Vanessa to the gun and back again. He knew he should be confused or shocked or overwhelmed by the situation, but seeing her like this somehow made sense.
“So this is the end of our story,” Vanessa said, her voice calm and in control. “The end of everything.”
Silence. It was if the house itself were waiting to see who would make the next move.
“What are you doing?” Liam finally asked.
“Making things right. This is how it has to be. This isn’t how I envisioned it—I’ll give you that. But there’s really no other choice at this point.” Vanessa sighed and let her shoulders sag. “I always knew this family had a past, but I never realized how many of us had secrets. I thought you and I loved one another. Even during the rough spots when my mom was dying and with us trying to get pregnant, I always thought that our foundation was one of real love that we could always build off of. I didn’t need fairy tales and roses. I just needed to know you’d be there for me through the good and the bad.”
“I was.”
Vanessa looked at him for a moment. “Secrets. I found out about you and Kerri almost right away. A couple of my friends at the hospital saw you with her at dinner one night. Holding hands. Sneaking kisses. I can’t tell you how embarrassed and hurt I was. How could you do that to me? How could you turn your back on us like that?” The gun remained aimed at him, her knuckles white around the smooth mahogany grip. “I couldn’t believe how wrong I’d been about who we were. I was confused. I mean, I was supposed to take care of you. I was supposed to be the mother you never had. And I wanted to take care of you. But you cheated on me and ruined it all.”
“It just happened.”
“I followed you. I watched you put your hands around her waist. I watched you touching, kissing. I could see you falling in love with her. I could see it.”
Liam slowly reached out his hand. “Vanessa, give me the gun.”
“All I ever wanted was to be loved, and I thought I had that. I thought we had that. When my mom finally died, I needed you, and you turned your back on me.”
“That’s crap,” Liam snapped. He scanned the room for something to use to defend himself with, but there was nothing. He was completely exposed at the table. “I was with you every step of the way. I tried to be there for you. I would’ve done anything. You pushed me away. You wanted your sorrow all to yourself, and you pushed me away. Into the arms of another woman.”
“No,” Vanessa replied. Her eyes were beginning to fill with tears. “That’s not true. We were meant to be together. We were the only ones who knew what tru
e hurt was. We were the only ones who knew what it was like to lose a parent as a child, and those experiences gave us a bond no one else could share. That’s in us. Always. Then when I needed you, you weren’t there for me. You were with that slut instead. You shut the door to our future and started a new one with Kerri Miller. You left me all alone.”
“Give me the gun. Please.”
Vanessa ignored him. “It took a little time. I had to go through some stages of grief, like they say in the books. Depression, denial, bargaining. But when I landed on anger, it stuck. I couldn’t shake it. No matter what I did, I couldn’t quell the anger that was boiling inside me. It was like a virus that just kept spreading until it consumed me, and all I could think about was taking that anger out on you and everyone around you. I wanted you to suffer. I wanted you to know what real pain felt like, and I had the perfect plan. I would kill your girlfriend, frame you for her murder, and watch you rot in jail for the rest of your life.”
Liam leaned forward in his seat. “My God, Vanessa. What have you done?”
Vanessa shifted in her seat, but the gun remained steady, aimed. “Secrets. The first part of my plan was to seduce Sean, get him to fall in love with me, and show you what it felt like to be cheated on. This took some time, but that was okay. He was a very loyal brother. He loved you, and the thought of him having an affair with me was, initially, too much. But a woman’s touch can be an intoxicating thing. After a while, that touch took precedence over his allegiance to you, and something real started to grow between us. Believe it or not, I actually ended up falling in love with him.” Vanessa laughed. “Can you believe that? I was supposed to seduce him, and he seduced me.”
Liam looked behind him to measure the distance between where he was sitting and the front door. It was too far to escape without being shot. They were sitting too close. He knew she’d never miss at this distance. He looked back at his captor and saw a woman he no longer recognized. The expression in her wild eyes reminded him of his mother’s eyes the day she tried to kill him. That scared him the most.
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