by Mae Berry
✽✽✽
Finn pushed his desk chair back and read the telegram again. The words hadn’t changed from when he’d first read it five days ago or the many times since. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. It devastated him, but he had no choice. Things were unraveling. He cringed as the office door opened and a familiar voice exchanged greetings with Thompson. Why did she always sound so bubbly? She laughed at something the kid said and Finn had a fleeting moment of jealousy. Sam walked toward his desk. She was breathtaking. Her eyes sparkled and her grin made his chest warm. He managed a weak smile. She bounced to his desk and sat on the edge close to him.
“Wait until I tell you what happened. Waylin and I—”
“Waylin?” Finn cocked an eyebrow.
“Yes? Waylin Huff, my boss?” She examined his expression, a frown on her own, then leaned over and slapped him on the arm. “Mr. Huff. Honestly Finn, he is married AND old enough to be my father. You are the one who recommended me for the job. Stop looking at me like that or I won’t tell you my story.”
“Hmm?” Finn cupped his chin in his hand. “No story if I do nae mind me ways? Tough choice lassie.” He rubbed thoughtfully.
Sam scowled in earnest and folded her arms.
Finn gave a slight chuckle. “Tuck that lower lip back in or I might have to kiss it.”
Sam mimicked his pose and rubbed her chin. “Hmm? Tuck my lip back in or…?” She cast a quick look at the oblivious Thompson, then leaned forward and placed a light kiss on his lips. “There, Assistant Deputy Marshal Robert Thomas Finnley, is that sufficient for the moment?”
Finn nodded his eyes searching her face a beat too long. She raised her eyebrows, and he broke into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Will you do me a favor Sam?”
“Sure if I can.” She studied him.
“Could you return the picture of Henry to his mother? I saw it as I was putting the case file in order. Do you think you can run it by?” He held it out to her.
Sam reached for the photograph and tucked it into her satchel. Her eyes twinkled as she scowled at him. “Of course, since you are an important, busy assistant deputy marshal and I am a lowly investigator for the county prosecutor’s office with nothing better to do with my time.” She grinned and tipped her head to the side. “Though, I think I deserve some form of… payment?”.
Finn looked at his desk and swallowed. He gestured her to the seat across from him. The grin fell from her face as she shifted off the desk and lowered herself to the chair. Her eyes intent on his face.
“You are scaring me, Finn.”
His smile came out as a grimace as he shifted in his seat. He was stalling, unsure how to begin. He finally slid the telegram over in front of her. She looked at him, a question in her eyes. He nodded at the paper. She picked it up and began reading. Her expression changed from confusion to disbelief to anger by the time she’d finished the missive. She sat back in her seat arms crossed.
“Say something,” Finn croaked.
“What is there to say?” she whispered. Sam grabbed the strap of her satchel and jumped to her feet.
“Wait,” Finn moved to her side of the desk. He hovered for a moment then perched on the edge as she reluctantly sat. “It not be waat ye thinkin’ lassie.”
Sam shook her head. “What am I supposed to think Finn? It says clearly that the transfer you requested to St. Louis has been approved. You start next week. Very succinct. I don’t even need to use my powers of deduction. You asked for a transfer. It was approved. End. Of. Story.” She tried to rise again, her eyes fixed on the door.
“No, please.” Finn laid his hands on her shoulders, “please let me explain. Though I’m afeared once ye hear me tale ye won’t be likin’ it any more than what ye be thinkin’ now.”
Sam glared at him, jaw clenched.
“Promise ta hear me through?” His eyes moved back and forth between hers.
She nodded her head.
Finn sighed and leaned back on the desk. “Ye kin…,” he cleared his throat, “You remember when we met? You and that mealy faced whey boy, Spotwood—” She moved to stand, and he held up his palms. “Yes, well, ye and Spotwood were workin’ a case. The two of you were secretly trying to figure out who was tipping Pendergast off whenever there was a raid planned on his operation?”
Sam nodded.
“Well, lassie,” Finn choked on the word, “ya see, it be me.” He slumped forward, his full attention on her face.
“It be you?” Sam frowned in confusion as she studied him. “You mean, you… tipped off… Pendergast?”
“Aye.” Every inch of his skin twitched as he watched her take it in, analyze it and try to make sense.
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered, “No. Do you realize what this means?”
He nodded his head. “Aye, better’n most. I talked to the Marshal in St. Louis. I… I know him from way back. He agreed to take me on at his office on a probationary basis. Gotta keep me nose clean.” He tried to smile.
“You broke the law. You aided and abetted a suspected criminal.”
“Technically, aye. But all I did was let Pendergast know when the police were goin’ to raid his liquor runs. That’s it. Nothin’ else, I swear.” His eyes implored her. “I… I owe him ye see?” This was going as well as he had expected. But he needed to come clean.
“Owe him? Pendergast?”
He closed his eyes at her look of disgust. “Aye. Between this… and my other… night time doings…”
“You mean your bar fights?” Her eyes drilled into him.
Finn winced. “Aye, I thought it best to leave the area.”
“I can not believe a duly appointed federal marshal is allowing you to… wait…” she narrowed her eyes.
And here it comes. She was too blasted smart for her own good.
“The marshal in St. Louis. He doesn’t happen to be a ‘friend’ of Pendergast too?”
Finn swallowed.
“Perhaps HE owes Pendergast as well?”
Finn shrugged. Sweat trickled from his hairline.
“You realize this is a slippery slope?”
Finn’s eyes implored her to understand.
“No, Finn, I’m serious. The life you lead involves choices. Every time you make a bad one, it becomes easier to make another. Soon even terrible choices don’t seem so horrific.”
Finn swallowed.
Sam looked at the floor by his desk. “Even a person like Gittin faced choices that led to what he did. He didn’t just wake up one morning and decide it was acceptable to kill his family.” She glared at him.
“Sam, please, you can’t be comparin’ me to that… that monster.” Finn winced.
“I’m sure he wasn’t always a monster.” She sighed and rose from her seat. This time he didn’t stop her. “I need to think this through Finn. I can’t—” She bit her lip then turned to leave.
Finn saw her swipe under her eyes as she wrenched open the door. He slumped forward and put his head in his hands. He had messed up the most important thing in his life… again.
Chapter 32
Sam paused at the bottom of the steps to Mrs. Richard’s door. Her mind churned over Finn’s revelation. She needed to complete this task, so she didn’t owe him anything more. She needed to put Assistant Deputy Marshal Finnley out of her thoughts.
Sam sighed and squared her shoulders. A quick task: find the mother, return the picture, a few words of condolence and she was finished. Marshal business completed. No more thinking about green eyes and Irish brogue. Right.
She marched up the steps and knocked. The door opened to a large woman with graying hair. Sam forced a pleasant smile. In. Return the picture. Done. “Mrs. Richards? I’m Samantha Lawton, an… associate of Marshal Finnley’s?” Sam held out her hand to shake. Mrs. Richards stared until she dropped it.
“Von’t you kum in, Miss Lawton?” The woman frowned as she stepped back gesturing for Sam to enter. She stepped into the spartan hallway th
en followed her hostess to the small parlor. She looked around imagining Finn’s large frame as he sat in this tiny room and a corner of her mouth twitched. Her attention focused on the table next to the settee. It was exactly as Finn described, a small well-loved cap next to a now empty elaborate picture frame. It made Sam sad. Very, very sad.
“Vould you like coffee?” Sam shook herself back to the task at hand.
“No, thank you. I won’t take up your time.” She settled herself on the settee away from the end table. “First, I must say how sorry I am about Henry.”
Mrs. Richards inclined her head once, her gaze fixed on Sam’s face. The gesture seemed forced.
Sam tilted her head and studied the woman. She wasn’t upset, she was resigned. “Yes, well, I have the picture Deputy Finnley borrowed. He asked me to return it.” Sam drew her satchel to her lap and dug for the photograph. She offered the image to Mrs. Richards who took it and carefully inserted the picture into the empty frame without a glance.
“Do you have family in the area Mrs. Richards?”
“Nein.”
“Do you need anything?”
“Nein.” The woman’s gaze remained fixed.
Sam frowned. The woman was calm and collected as if she were ordering meat from the butcher. Sam cast about for something to say. She wanted to keep this woman talking until she figured out what was making her uneasy. Sam stood and moved to the table laying a gentle finger on the soiled cap, a soft smile on her lips.
“Was this Henry’s?” She glanced at Mrs. Richards. The woman’s visage didn’t change.
“Ja, it vas his favorite. He alvays vore it. He thought it made him look like his papa.”
Sam picked up the picture frame and smiled. “He has it on in the photograph.”
Mrs. Richards nodded. “He always had it on when he vent out vith Mr. Richards.”
Always wore it. Sam slowly set the frame back on the table then glanced at Mrs. Richards. Was she imagining the challenge in the woman’s eyes? She returned to her seat. “Forgive me, Mrs. Richards, but may I ask you a few questions? I’m trying to finish up the case notes so there are no surprises during Mr. Gittin’s trial.”
Mrs. Richards lips narrowed, but she nodded her head.
Sam removed paper and pen from her satchel stalling for time as she ordered her racing thoughts. If she was right…
“Did you notice anything strange about your husband’s behavior prior to him… leaving with Henry?”
“I already ansver this question vith de marshal.” Mrs. Richards dropped her gaze to her lap.
“I am sorry, I may need to ask some things you have covered. Deputy Finnley has taken another job in St. Louis and well, quite frankly, he didn’t leave his notes in the best of order.” Sam had no qualms making disparaging remarks concerning the quality of Finn’s work true or not.
Mrs. Richards frowned and glanced at her. “Mr. Richards was same as alvays. No change.”
“Thank you.” Sam pretended to write. “So, the portrait of Henry is recent?”
“Ja.” Mrs. Richards clenched her jaw. “Mr. Rich- Gittin suggested it.”
“I see. Tell me, how was Mr. Gittin dressed when he left with Henry?”
Mrs. Richards frowned and raised one eyebrow. Sam smiled encouragingly as she hesitated then said, “In his go-to-town suit.”
“Did he wear a hat?” Sam tapped her pencil on her pad.
“I no see vhat…” A muscle twitched in Mrs. Richards’ jaw.
“Please, it’s important.” Sam laid a gentle hand on the woman’s arm.
“Ja.” Mrs. Richards glared. “He vear a hat.”
“How was Henry dressed?” Sam’s fixed her attention on her notes.
“I jist moved him to knickers. He vas so proud. He had on his little jacket too”
“And his cap?” Sam looked through her lashes at Mrs. Richards.
“Ja.”
“This cap?” Sam pointed to the cap on the table. Mrs. Richards pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and nodded her head. Sam sat forward, her gaze locked with Mrs. Richards.
“You knew Henry was dead from the start didn’t you?” Mrs. Richards’ narrowed lips turned down. She nodded her head and wiped under her eyes with her hankie. Sam studied the woman. Her face had been beautiful once, but time and circumstance had etched heavy lines. Still, a glint of steely determination shown in her eyes. She was a woman easy to underestimate.
“How did you know?” Sam asked.
“Dirt.”
Sam frowned.
Mrs. Richards sighed and scrubbed a hand over her forehead. “I see dirt in back of garden vas moved. It messed?”
“You noticed someone disturbed it?”
“Ja.”
“So you dug it up?”
“Ja.” Mrs. Richards’ eyes finally filled with tears.
“You found Henry.”
“Ja,” she sobbed.
“And took his cap.” Mrs. Richards pressed the hankie to her lips and nodded. “You reburied him?” A note of horror crept into Sam’s voice as she fought with her stomach. “Why? Why didn’t you tell the police from the start?”
Mrs. Richards drew in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She firmed her jaw and glared. “I vas afraid if they did not think Henrich’s life in danger. They vould not be quick to find Mr. Richards and he vould disappear.”
Sam collapsed against the settee back. “You thought Henry’s disappearance would cause the police to work to find him quickly? To save him before anything happened?”
“Ja.”
“So all this time, your motivation was to catch Gittin?”
“He no get away vith killing my baby.” Mrs. Richards’ face left no doubt she had manipulated law enforcement with calculated intent.
Sam’s breath whooshed out of her body.
“I in trouble? Go to jail now?” The woman’s face was stoic, her voice carried a note of relief.
“No,” Sam shook her head and let out a mirthless laugh. “I understand completely. The need to see justice done is a driving task master when its scales are unbalanced. Almost as if the need to correct the injustice supersedes all else.” Sam shook her head. “No, we will keep this… omission between the two of us.” She rose from the settee. “I must be going. Thank you for speaking with me. It has been enlightening.”
Sam left the house and walked to the nearest street car stop. Yes, it was a very enlightening morning. She needed to think. Especially about law, justice and mercy. And a green-eyed Irishman.
✽✽✽
“Thanks for seeing me off boy-o,” Finn grinned and punched Daniel’s arm.
“Not a problem, laddie. I be lookin’ in on yer ma an’ sister while yer gone.”
“Stay away from me sister,” Finn growled. Daniel wagged his eyebrows and laughed. Finn sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “What am I to do wit out ye?”
“I ‘spect yer be ‘round. Ye ‘ave plenty o’ reasons to be comin’ back.”
“I really messed things up with her didn’t I, Danny-boy?” Finn grimaced and shuffled his feet on the marble floor of the waiting area. He was too anxious to sit.
“Nay, laddie, ye messed things up long afore ye met her.”
Finn shot Daniel a sour look. “I should o’ told her about everything earlier. Once we started gettin’… ye know… closer.”
Daniel’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.
“Not like tha’ ye imbecile,” Finn scowled. “I should o’ trusted her. I was always on her about not trustin’ me and what ‘appened? I be the one with a huge secret. Not just a secret, I did somethin’ that goes against all she believes in. How on earth could she forgive me?”
Daniel’s eyes flicked over Finn’s shoulder to the crowded waiting room then focused back. “Waat would ye say to her laddie, right now if ye could?”
Finn tilted his head. “I would say how sorry I be. I took the one thing goin’ right in my life and messed it up. I’d tell her she had touched a
part of me soul and I’m afeard I’ll never ‘ave that again. That I’m a colossal idiot for doin’ waat Pendergast asked in the first place. When I look at her Daniel, I know the man I want to be and I’m far from bein’ him.”
“Wait, go back, what did you say? Something about a colossal… what was it?”
Finn whipped his body around and stared. There she was, all not quite five feet of her. Hands on hips, head tilted, a smirk on her kissable lips.
“Sam,” he whispered. He moved to hug her, but she stepped back, palm raised.
“I’m still angry with you. I haven’t worked out how I feel about all this.”
Finn swallowed, his eyes fixed on her.
Sam tapped a finger against her chin. “Now then, what was it you said? Colossal idiot? Was that right?”
“Auch, now lassie, ye can’t be holdin’ an Irishman to anythin’ he says while he’s not drunk.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“That be true, lassie,” added Daniel with an emphatic shake of his head, “it be the Rule o’ the Irish.”
“Blarney, both of you are full of nothing but blarney.” She shook her head.
“Aye,” said Daniel mournfully, “and I be off to rectify the situation, the not drunk part.” He winked at Sam and clapped Finn on the back. “Til next we meet Finn-O.”
Finn watched Daniel move through the crowd then turned back to Sam. He rubbed the back of his neck. “So you’re still angry with me for bein’ a colossal idiot? You realize that it’s unfair to hold a man responsible for somethin’ he has no control over?” He folded his arms across his chest and stared at her. She looked so good.
“Really?” she drew out the word as she crossed her own arms mimicking his stance.
“Absolutely.” Finn nodded his head while maintaining a somber face. “I’m an idiot for sure, however I donna like the word colossal. The word means somethin’ different to each person. I mean why not enormous? Or huge? Maybe I only deserve big?”
“No, I’m sure we are in the huge to gigantic category.” Sam shook her head.
“Jist words, all of ‘em. When a man can’t help being what he is… well,” Finn shrugged his shoulders, “it hardly seems fair to call him out on it. You wouldn’t call a lame man lame to his face now would you?” He looked at her reproachfully.