Acts Beyond Redemption

by S. Burke

  “I’m implying nothing. Get a hold of yourself and think, man. I’m following orders.”

  “Whose orders? You had better tell me now, and make it fucking good, Cantrell. I’m about to make a call to the acting director if you don’t.”

  Nigel Cantrell nodded and made a decision. He removed a phone from his pocket and punched in a number. He spoke briefly. “Matheson needs confirmation.” He handed the device to Mike.

  Mike said, impatience clear in his manner. “Hello … hello, who is? Oh. Oh, yes … yes, understood.” He looked startled. He handed the phone back to the waiting man.

  “Are they certain it was directed at Prendergast? Good, yes … yes. Unfortunate. Understood.” Nigel Cantrell slipped the cell into his pocket, and looked into the face of the other man. “Well?”

  “Fuck! What is going on here, man? For fuck’s sake, I need to understand this!” Mike ran both hands through his hair, a look of stunned disbelief on his pale face.

  “Mike, believe me, if I could tell you I would. I believe you need to know. I will make a call to that number shortly and try to get consent to fill you in. Do you believe that?”

  Mike looked at the man, and nodded. “I do.”

  “Good. That’s the best I can offer. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks, Mike. I’m sorry about Ted Prendergast, he was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was.” Mike lit a smoke and walked away. He stood and puffed on it a few times and then went back inside to talk to the team.

  Nobody paid attention to the young policewoman as she made her way out of the area after the Director had been killed. She was in uniform wearing a warm duffle coat and driving a marked patrol car. She drove for twenty minutes, ascertained that she was not under surveillance, and parked the vehicle outside a strip mall. Carrying a paper sack she went into the ladies room.

  A blonde woman in jeans and a black tee shirt and dark coat exited the ladies room carrying a paper sack, which was placed in a dumpster three blocks south.

  The attractive young woman flagged down a cab and was dropped outside a small boutique hotel. She entered, signed in, and made her way to the fifth floor.

  Sheila showered, invigorated by the morning’s work. The reception desk called a taxi for her when she left an hour or so later, and she made her way back to Park Avenue.

  She made a quick call to her favourite bar, made a reservation for 10:00 p.m. in a corner booth, poured herself a chilled glass of Moet, and relaxed.

  It had been a very successful day.

  “Where was our suspect at the time Ted was shot?” asked Nigel.

  “We know she left Heaven’s Gate three days ago, driving the Porsche. The tail picked her up about an hour and a half north east. She drove into a small garage and left the vehicle there. It was put up on hoists and looked to be undergoing a routine service. She checked in to a local hotel,” said Mike.

  “How long did the car remain in the garage?”

  “It was still there this morning.”

  “Did she leave the hotel?”

  “No.”

  “For three entire days and nights?” Nigel raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s right. She had room service meals. And ran up quite a bar tab.”

  “You’re certain it was her doing the eating and drinking?”

  “Yes. She didn’t leave the room.”

  Sheila made a cell call.

  “Hello?”

  “Did you do as I asked?” Sheila said.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “You ordered and ate all the meals, and emptied the bar?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Did anyone approach the room other than to deliver room service?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t use the phone or leave the room?”

  “No, Ma’am. No, I did not.”

  “Excellent. Well done. Now, put one of the maid’s uniforms back on. Leave the hotel by the back entrance. The remainder of the funds will be in the place we organized. Leave the other uniform where I instructed. Speak to no-one. Leave town the same way you came in. I will be in touch if I need you again. Follow the instructions to the letter, understood?”

  “Understood.”

  “Good.” Sheila hung up, well pleased. She looked at her watch; perfect. She had eight hours left to pick up the Porsche. Tight, but do-able.

  The bus deposited a young woman in dirty jeans in the centre of town. She pulled a map from her backpack and appeared to be looking for something. She was tallish and nondescript, dirty blonde hair and torn jeans. Scruffy looking.

  She headed slowly west for a couple of blocks, stopping to check the map. She entered a small strip mall, and headed for the ladies’ room cubicles. Shortly after, a red haired woman in a maid’s uniform with the insignia of the local hotel on it exited the mall carrying groceries and entered the rear of the hotel. She dumped the grocery bag at the back entrance and headed up to the fifth floor using the stairs. The woman with the housekeeping trolley knocked and entered the room. She left again fifteen minutes later.

  One hour later, Sheila Harrington left the hotel, walked slowly to the garage, paid for all the work done on the Porsche and drove east, heading home to Heaven’s Gate.

  Her phone rang. “Yes?”

  “Bravo.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be in touch.” The call ended.

  Trish called across the room as she hung up from the incoming call. “She’s just left the hotel and picked up her car, and looks to be heading back to the lodge. Oh, and people, the Porsche is now black. Shiny new black.”

  “Tell the tail to be careful. She’ll be watching.”

  “Already done, Nigel.”

  Sheila parked in the lock up garage on the boundary of the property, wound back the mileage as she did every time she returned to Heaven’s Gate, and climbed into the SUV. She was anxious to get home, idly wondering when the next hit would be, and if she would again get to fly solo. She hoped so, it was better if she had to trust no one else. But the remaining hits must look like the work of a deranged serial killer or killers. She grinned- it was such an apt description.

  The house was quiet when she entered. No one expected her. She let herself in and headed into the kitchen. Tempted to wake Cookie to have a late night supper, she decided instead to have a few drinks in celebration of a job well done. She made her way upstairs and into her private apartments. The bar had been restocked and the room was spotless, as always. She poured straight bourbon and opened the French doors out to the balcony and fresh air. It was a still night with a heavy cover of cloud. Humidity was high and no breeze ruffled the night air.

  She caught a flicker of light off in the distance. She stood back against the wall and watched the direction it came from. There it was again. A pinpoint of light. Someone was outside smoking. She supposed it could have been one of the staff, yet the direction didn’t indicate that. It was well away from the staff quarters.

  It flared again, and then the light dropped rapidly. Whoever it was extinguished the cigarette. Sheila went downstairs and into the study. She’d been away for four days and other guests may well have arrived.

  She checked the log book. Yes, as she suspected, six other guests had arrived over the past three days.

  Obviously one of them was out for a walk. She checked the register to see who requested a smoking cabin. Three guests were sharing a cabin set aside for smokers, with another three due to arrive tomorrow. It appeared Jack Crenshaw was still in a cabin on his own. She’d ask Connie about that peculiar development in the morning. It was late; she would do no more than shrug it off for the moment. She would chat with the new intake tomorrow and ascertain who had been unable to sleep. Until then she refused to concern herself with any other possibility.

  She showered, had another couple of hits of bourbon and went to bed.

  Chapter 29

  Henry Weisman was shattered; Ted Prendergast and he had b
een friends for a very long time.

  They went through the academy together and partnered for a few years. Ted received his Presidential appointment as head of the FBI when Elizabeth Shea came to office, and asked Henry to come on board as his deputy. Ted’s murder left a gap in his life no one else could fill. Henry was gutted. He had only one thing on his mind; he wanted the shooter and wanted him now.

  It took a few drinks and a smoke before he recalled the strange conversation he’d had with Ted only a few nights before.

  Henry had been working late, going over a few of the ‘Countdown’ murder files. Ted came into the room and poured himself and Henry a drink. That in itself wasn’t out of the ordinary- they quite often had a drink together in one or the other’s office if they were working late- but Henry noticed that Ted looked ill. When he asked if he were okay, Ted hesitated quite some time before answering and when he did respond, it wasn’t what his friend expected to hear.

  He tried to remember exactly what it was Ted said; weird stuff, but in light of what happened yesterday, it was imperative that he remember every word.

  Ted had given him a key. He muttered something about if anything should happen to him, there was an envelope in his safe in the library of his house for Henry’s eyes only. Plus his last will and testament to make sure the boys got all the money and the house.

  Henry had tried to pry further, worried his friend had been diagnosed with some terminal illness. Ted wouldn’t say another word, he’d just handed Henry the key and left the office.

  Now his hand shook as he removed the key from his safe. He’d drive over and get that envelope tonight. It would give him a chance to look in on Ted’s boys and see how they were doing. He had to remind himself they were in their twenties now, and not dependent on Uncle Henry looking out for them, but he still wanted to check how they fared.

  Henry parked the car and tried to compose himself; it would do the twins no good if he were to break down in front of them. The press were here in force, climbing over one another to get a photo of anyone leaving or entering the property. He climbed out of the vehicle and walked with leaden steps over to Ted’s house.

  “Director Weisman!”

  “Director!”

  “Henry!”

  The cacophony of flashing bulbs and voices met him as he came within the circle of vans surrounding the house. They were like hostile Indians surrounding a helpless wagon train. He hated them. Vultures all.

  He avoided responding, and refused to answer to being called Director. Ted’s body was not even laid to rest and they had promoted him. Only the President could make the new appointment. He would fill in only until she had made her decision.

  The place was huge and the grounds extensive; Ted had made a joke about wealthy relatives and wills when the topic of the size of the residence came up. Henry rang the bell, and it was answered by an aunt of Ted’s.

  “Oh, Henry, thank you for coming. I don’t know what to do! The boys are in their rooms. I don’t know what to do,” she repeated. “There were men here, they searched through the place. They said they were from the President’s security people, very pleasant and didn’t make a mess or anything. The boys said it was okay. I didn’t know what to say. Did I do the right thing?” The woman dissolved into sobs and Henry put a comforting arm around her.

  “Hush now, Delia, hush. Yes, you did the right thing. They needed to check to make certain no threat was present here because of the boys. It’s okay. I’ll speak to the boys and we’ll work it all out. Hush, now. Could you fix me a coffee, do you think? I have papers I must secure from Ted’s safe. I’d appreciate a moment. Then I’ll go upstairs and see the boys, okay?”

  The woman looked relieved at having something to do. Henry had been Ted’s closest friend. She felt comforted knowing he would take control of the madness erupting all around her.

  Henry walked into Ted’s large study, jolted into remembering that Ted was gone and he’d never again see him sitting behind that desk, or sit with him laughing and drinking and shooting the breeze about baseball scores.

  He took the key and opened the safe. There were numerous papers and documents. He located the last will and testament and placed it on the desk. The envelope he was looking for was marked ‘read first’. The second envelope with his name on it contained the obvious shape of a video cassette.

  Both envelopes were clearly marked with his name, in Ted’s familiar handwriting. He didn’t open either of them. He would attend to the boys’ needs and get arrangements underway for the funeral after discussion with them. They may want to do this on their own, but he knew the President wanted Ted buried with full honours. She intended to milk this murder for all it was worth.

  “Uncle Henry?”

  Henry turned to Ted’s boys standing at the door. He walked over without a word and enfolded them in a group hug. No one spoke for a while. The boys were men really, yet in that moment they were twelve years old again and Henry was consoling them as he had when their mother left.

  “Why? Why, Uncle Henry? We can’t get our heads around this thing … why Dad? What had he done to deserve that? He was just doing the job he was paid to do, why kill him?”

  Henry had no convenient answer for the question he’d been asking himself since Ted was murdered.

  “I don’t know, Jeff.”

  Jeff looked at James, pale and crying. Jeff had always been the leader of the duo. He put his arms around his twin, and turned to Henry. “We have to know, Uncle. We have to know.”

  “Boys, I promise you this, I will not stop until I find who was responsible, and why. Believe it.”

  “And what then, Henry? They get a fair trial and do some time?”

  Henry noticed that James hadn’t used the title Uncle. James was a surprise sometimes. “Jamie, lad, I’ll be asking for the death sentence.”

  “Listen up, Henry. If you find this bastard, he won’t ever make it to trial. Understand?”

  “I’ll forget you said that, boy. You’re distraught, understandably. I also know exactly how you feel. I’ll be battling to do this the right way myself. But your dad set high standards, boys. We aren’t going to betray those, are we?”

  The two younger men shared a look between them Henry couldn’t quite decipher. They talked for a while, and then Henry sat down with them and went through Ted’s wishes as set down in his will. No surprises there. The boys would be wealthy young men. Henry was relieved Ted had sewn the will up tight.

  He was shocked to find that Ted had left him the vintage cars, he’d always loved them. It was an incredibly generous gesture, and one the boys knew all about. He left them then, and made arrangements to see them the following day to discuss the funeral arrangements and offer any assistance he could.

  Henry was anxious to get home and read the letter burning into his torso from its place on the inside of his coat.

  Chapter 30

  Craig woke before sun-up; he had a quick breakfast then headed up to the big house to have a swim before dawn. After that, he planned on riding out with Ali again.

  He was convinced there was another cabin further out. He’d ask Leonard, and see what he had to say- or not say- about it. Last night he checked further afield again, frustrated at finding nothing. He heard the SUV pull up outside the main house, and assumed Sheila Harrington was home. He’d received the news of Ted Prendergast’s assassination; he’d also received some updated information and fresh instructions.

  Sometimes he hated what he did; not often enough to stop doing it, however. An order was an order. ‘Keep it simple’ was a rule he lived by.

  Sheila hadn’t slept well, and was in a filthy temper. The anti-climax after the hit; it happened to her every time and she needed excitement to fend off the low feeling.

  Leonard brought her coffee and the paper as always. He hadn’t heard her arrive, but the vehicle parked outside was hers alone, no one else had consent to drive it.

  “Morning, Ma’am,” he said as he placed the stea
ming brew in front of her. She grunted. He left the paper where she always wanted it put, and turned to leave the room.

  “Wait,” she said. “Leonard, why is Jack Crenshaw in a cabin on his own?”

  “Ma’am? I think it will be occupied by another group coming in tomorrow.”

  “Hrmph! Just as well. We don’t play favourites with our guests, Leonard. That’s all, go.”

  She waved her hand and dismissed him like a trained dog. He bridled but said nothing.

  He muttered under his breath all the way back to the kitchen. Cookie was busy when he walked in still muttering.

  “What’s up, Len?”

  “Bitch face is in one of her moods, so watch your ass, Cookie. Says she don’t play favourites with the guests. What? Does she think we are all blind? Maybe she don’t count fuckin’ ’em as playin’ favourites.”

  Cookie laughed. “I’ll bet they don’t think so either when she’s finished with ’em. I’ll warn Connie to watch herself as well. She seems to be the one that gets most of the shit to deal with.”

  “Better her than me, with my temper.”

  Leonard stomped off outside to have a smoke, and caught sight of Jack Crenshaw on Ali heading out for an early ride. He carried a hunting rifle on the saddle bags. Good, he hoped he’d get one. Nice guy. And even better was that he didn’t seem to find the bitch as fascinating as most other men did.

  Henry poured himself a stiff drink and sat in his study looking at the envelopes, oddly reluctant to open the one marked ‘read first’. He was worried about the contents, given that Ted’s strange manner and the assassination both occurred within forty eight hours of each other. He wondered if opening it might be a wise thing.

  He needed to know. Ted’s wishes won out. He opened the letter.

  Dear Henry

  If you are reading this I am dead. The reasons are important, I don’t expect I’ll be permitted to live much longer. I have a video tape I want you to watch. It helps explain everything that has led you here to my home, and to reading this. I know the boys will rely heavily on you, and my one comfort is in knowing you will be there for them throughout what must assuredly come.