Acts Beyond Redemption

by S. Burke

  Again the shared look between the boys, followed by a lengthy silence that prompted Trish to ask again. “Well? Did you meet her?”

  “Not exactly,” said Jeff. “She came to the house a couple of times, I think, although we only heard her the once.”

  James picked up the conversation. “We were meant to go away for the weekend, about three months ago, but decided last minute not to. We had a party invite that sounded pretty full on, so we stayed home. Dad wasn’t alone. We could hear them in the bedroom.” He fell silent and looked at his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “You don’t need to know what was happening. Let’s just say that both Jeff and I decided to get the hell out of the house and give them some privacy.”

  Trish felt sorry for them both, but she needed more information. “Boys, I’m sorry, but I believe this woman may have pivotal information about the shooter. Please. I need you to tell me what it was you heard.”

  “You think she’s connected?” asked James.

  “I can’t be certain until I know more about her relationship with your father.”

  “Tell her, Jeff,” said James quietly.

  “Me?”

  “Just do it. I … I can’t.”

  Jeff looked for an escape route, anywhere but here. The look on both the faces now watching him gave him no way out and Trish’s look of desperation convinced him.

  He began. “James and I were in the hallway about to head down the stairs, and we heard Dad moan. I mean it sounded like he was in pain, so we opened the door to his bedroom. He was, well, he was, you know, tied up. Bound hand and foot, with a hood over his head. It only took a second to take it in and we, well, we didn’t hang around, once we figured he was exactly where he wanted to be, that is.” He looked away from Trish’s astonished face.

  “Are you certain he was willingly tied up?” Trish asked quietly.

  James spoke up, firmly. “No mistaking it, Trish. He was sobbing and begging the cunt to whip him again.”

  Trish had never heard James use language like that, and it shocked her. “What makes you think she was a cunt, James?”

  “Dad was different after he met her. Distant with us, he started going out later at night after we had turned in, and he was drinking heavily. He hadn’t done that since Mom died. This cu … female had him screwed senseless. I knew my dad, Trish. He wasn’t in to all that BDSM shit, well, not until he met her anyway.”

  “Sometimes our parents keep secrets from us, to protect us, James,” Trish said as gently as she could.

  “Bullshit! Dad was never into all that. He used to talk to us about that sort of fetish shit when we hit our teens, said he had nothing against consenting adults participating in it, but he just didn’t understand how a grown man and woman could do that damage to each other.”

  Trish sat quietly, assessing what she’d heard. “Did either of you get a good look at the woman?”

  James said, “She was all in leather, you know, the whole nine yards. She wore a mask. Unless it was a wig I can tell you she had long black hair, and even allowing for the boots she was taller than your average female.”

  “That’s it?”

  “We didn’t exactly figure we’d be welcome to join in, Trish. Dad didn’t even hear us open the damned door. He was too fucking busy begging her to whip him again!”

  Trish understood the bitterness in James’s voice. The boys had revered their father; the scene they witnessed would have been more than a little disturbing. But she needed more, so pressed on with her questions. “Did either of you ever hear him mention her by name?”

  The boys looked at each other and shook their heads. “No.”

  “Did you ever hear him on the telephone to her?”

  “Oh, yeah. Yeah … we did. It made us sick. He called her ‘Baby’ and sometimes ‘Lady Dark’. Do you believe that shit?” said James, bitterness in his tone.

  “Did she come to the house more than that one time?”

  “Not while we were there. She saw us, that night. I know she did, but she can’t have told Dad, he would have said something.”

  “So to the best of your knowledge he always met her somewhere else, after that?”

  “Yeah. He must have. Except that one night when she picked him up out front of the house. Jeff had Dad’s car, and he was really late getting it back. Dad was furious. I remember he called ‘Baby’ and begged her to wait. He said he’d jump a cab. I didn’t hear her reply, but about fifteen minutes later she hooted the horn out the front and he ran … he ran outside like an excited little kid and they drove off. Dad didn’t come home for two nights. He didn’t tear Jeff a new one over the car either.”

  Trish tried not to show her excitement. “James? Can you recall what she was driving?” She held her breath.

  “Easy to remember. We don’t have too many Porsches pull up at our house. The neighbourhood is much too conservative for that.”

  “Trish? Trish? Hey … hello! Where did you go?” Jeff’s voice was concerned.

  “It’s the Porsche, isn’t it? That helps you. Tell us, Trish. We have the right to know,” added James.

  “I wish I could tell you more, you gotta know that. But your Dad trained me well, boys. All I can say is that, yes, the car is vital. You have helped me come one step closer to finding Ted’s murderer. That is all I can tell you. Trust me, please, guys. Any leak of any sort right now will jeopardize this investigation. Can I have your word that you will say and more importantly do nothing until you hear from me again? Please!”

  “Okay,” said Jeff. “But know this, Trish. We want answers, and we want them soon. If we don’t hear from you very soon, we’ll find that cunt on our own.” Jeff stood up and walked out.

  James looked at Trish. “I’ll keep him level-headed, Trish. But I don’t know for how long. Find the shooter.”

  “I need one more thing from you, James,” she said, reaching into her pocket. “Call this number, and set up a meet, make him think it’s just you boys he’s meeting, please. You know him. Tell me, do you trust him? Really trust him, I mean?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. We’ve known him all our lives, Trish. Dad’s death has hit him very hard. Does he know about what you are investigating, on your own I mean?”

  “No. He has no idea. He’s probably had me listed as missing by now. I need to know he comes to this meeting without knowing I’m involved. Can you do this for me? Please, James.”

  “I’ll call him. Phone me later tonight, I’ll give you the details of the meet. Trish, you think you really have something here, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “In that case, I’ll do whatever it takes to help you.”

  James touched her arm gently, and then left rapidly to catch up with his twin.

  Trish ordered a whiskey straight up, then another. She needed to make another stop in Washington. Several, in fact. She looked at her watch; tomorrow would have to be the day. Tonight she had to wait on the twins and hope that they were successful in setting up this meeting.

  Nigel pulled off the road a few miles from the outer perimeter of Heaven’s Gate and headed in on foot. The call from Craig had surprised him.

  Going in on foot was the only way to do it in his estimation, without drawing unnecessary attention to his presence.

  Mike was furious again. He couldn’t contact Nigel Cantrell, and Trish was still missing. Nigel had left some cryptic damned message about ‘following up an important lead’. Mike should have been bought up to speed on anything important. Nigel just didn’t follow protocol.

  Trish’s lack of contact worried him endlessly. She was a good agent, dedicated and absolutely trustworthy. He admitted to himself recently just how very much he cared for her, as a woman. He needed to tell her that, face to face. She hadn’t even attended Ted’s funeral, and they had been close. What the hell has she stumbled into? Why does she remain out of contact? His worn-out brain pumped more questions into his consciousness than he could handle.

  Damn Cantrell! H
e tried the cell phone again and got the same lack of response.

  Mike left the office. He needed a drink.

  Trish used evasive tactics in case she had a tail.

  She walked past where she had parked the rental. She continued for two blocks and then jumped an uptown bus, not returning for the SUV until two hours later; this time dressed in jeans and a windbreaker with a hood. She checked the area carefully, and when she was comfortable she was not being observed, climbed in and drove away, heading to the small motel where she had paid cash and given a fake I.D.

  Chapter 51

  Henry Weisman replaced the phone slowly. James’s call had startled him and made him intensely curious. What could the boys have gotten themselves into that required the assistance of the FBI? James had made it clear this was urgent and that they needed his expert advice, not just as a favoured uncle but as a Federal agent. James had also asked that he meet them in a small park, miles from their home, and that he come alone.

  He checked his watch, annoyed to find it was only 6:00 p.m. He wouldn’t meet with the boys until tomorrow morning at seven. It promised to be a long and worrying night.

  He wasn’t the only one restless and unable to sleep. Trish Clayton lay awake despite a number of straight Bourbons.

  James had done as promised; the meeting was set for 7:00 a.m. Trish did a familiarization walk through the small park selected for the meeting. She checked the nearby streets and carefully memorized them. Now all she could do was wait.

  Sunrise found her wide awake and sitting in the hire car drinking coffee and fighting to stay calm.

  As she exited the vehicle, the breeze lifted her hair and teased it back away from the collar of the jacket she wore. Trish shivered and then smiled to herself in grim amusement. The wind was warm … it was her fear that made her cold.

  It was a huge risk she was taking and she had no way of knowing if Henry Weisman could be trusted, only gut instincts and the word of two young men still in the process of grieving for their father. They needed badly to believe in something and someone again.

  She sat on the bench she had chosen; it was fairly isolated in its position alongside the small pond. She had checked the location well and expected joggers and dog walkers to be in a semi-constant flow on the pathway off to her left for at least the next hour.

  Henry Weisman had been a field agent for too long not to initiate extreme caution when approaching the bench.

  He wouldn’t have thought the meet unusual, if he hadn’t detected the fear in James’s voice, plus the fact that the boys were asking for his help as an agent.

  That they wanted to meet him in an open area away from the house added to the alarm bells already going off in his head.

  Were the boys being coerced in some way?

  The bench was approximately 150 feet ahead. It was occupied by a woman; youngish by her style of dress. She seemed to be looking for something in her purse, not in the least concerned at the stranger approaching slowly towards where she was seated.

  The boys called out from a stand of trees to his left.

  “Henry!”

  Henry Weisman turned and waited for the twins to come over to where he stood. They shared a group hug and Henry spoke first. “Where do you want to have our discussion?”

  James responded, “It won’t be us you will be talking to, Henry. She is waiting over there.” He pointed to the female now unmoving on the bench.

  Henry looked at the boys, noticing the tension lines around weary eyes. “Are we all clear?” he asked as he pantomimed wearing a wire.

  “Yes, we’re fine. I’m sorry for the subterfuge, Henry. Please just listen to what she has to say,” said James. “We’ll wait over by the trees in case we’re needed when you’re done.”

  Henry Weisman was concerned, but the boys appeared to be in no immediate danger. He checked his surroundings again and, satisfied he wasn’t being tailed, strode purposefully to the bench and seated himself next to the woman.

  She turned to him and watched as recognition dawned on his face.

  “Trish?” his voice asked for confirmation of what his eyes told him.

  “Yes, Henry.” She spoke softly, her speech halting as if by speaking at all she drained her energy reserves.

  “You look ill, Trish. What’s going on? Mike and Cantrell are very worried, as am I. I have people looking for you. Can you tell me where you’ve been?” Henry placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and watched her shy away in fear. “Trish? What on earth is wrong?”

  “Henry, I need you to look at something, and then we talk. Okay?”

  Henry nodded his assent and took the sketch book from her shaking hands.

  “What am I looking for, Trish?”

  “You’ll know when you see it.” Trish watched him closely as he went slowly through page after page. He stopped and looked at her questioningly. “I don’t see what …”

  Trish interrupted, “Henry, please just keep looking. Please, Henry.”

  Henry heard the tears in her voice and continued turning pages.

  He stopped suddenly and Trish watched the colour drain from his face as he looked down at a charcoal drawing of a scene straight from hell.

  He read the biblical reference, Revelation 6:8.

  The words written beneath it chilled the blood in his veins.

  Afghanistan. May the Lord have mercy on my soul.

  “Whose book is this?” he asked in a voice filled with tension.

  “Just keep looking, Henry. There’s more.”

  He nodded and returned to the task at hand. His hand moving more slowly now, reluctantly turning the pages.

  “Sweet Jesus! That’s Hamersley, Collingsworth and Christopher Pike. I don’t recognize the fourth man. What is that uniform?” He looked at her again and she turned her head away.

  He kept going. “Fuck! This is the Harrington woman and these other two- that’s a Porsche she’s leaning against. My God! Trish, who did these sketches? How did you find this?”

  “Quentin Hamersley did the drawings, Henry. The date of the last sketch is the last day he was seen alive.” She continued in a voice barely audible. “Henry, I have to ask, were you aware of anything that could possibly have connected our government with the outbreak of Hindu Kush A.”

  Trish was aware that her voice pleaded for a negative response.

  She watched Henry’s face closely as he responded, “No, nothing. Nothing.” He sat completely still, and Trish watched as tears of disbelief and anger ran down his now pale cheeks. “Dear God, what did we do? How? Where did you find this?”

  Trish Clayton was beyond the ability to speak. The relief of finally being able to share the heavy load overwhelmed her, and choking sobs racked her body. Henry Weisman reacted instinctively and pulled her in to his arms. He sat with her cradled there and rocked her like a baby. Trish’s weeping drew attentive glances from passers-by. Henry knew he had to get both of them out of there to someplace safe and quiet where they could talk openly, without fear of being heard.

  He raised a hand and signalled the watching twins to come over.

  Both the young men were clearly worried as they stood looking down at the two people they cared about. Trish was a mess, and Henry looked up at them with tear-filled eyes. James asked, “What … Henry? What is going on?”

  “James, lad, I need to get Trish out of here and quickly.” He fumbled in his pocket and produced his car-keys, handing them to James with what he hoped was a reassuring look. “My car is two blocks south. I’m driving the Dodge your father gave me. I need you to bring it to the entrance of the park, James. Quickly now. Jeff, I need you to help me get Trish to the entrance.”

  James sped off to do as he was bid, and Jeff leaned in and with Henry’s help managed to get Trish to her feet. “Trish, it’s Jeffrey, can you hear me? Trish?” He looked at Henry with fear etched on his young face. “Henry, what’s happening to her?”

  Henry responded quietly as they guided her firmly the two
hundred yards to the park entrance. “She’s in shock, Jeffrey. I need to get her someplace warm and safe.”

  “Where will you take her?”

  “You remember my place near the river? You and James fished there when you were younger.”

  “Of course. They were happy times. What can we do to help?”

  “I’ll need you to help me stock up on supplies. Follow me in your vehicle and once I get Trish settled a little we can go over what we’ll need. Okay?”

  “Consider it done.” Jeff said, unaware he sounded just like his father, who frequently used that exact phrase.

  They had almost reached the entrance, holding Trish’s slumped form as erect as possible, when James arrived, panting a little from running. “Car’s out front.”

  “Good. Let’s pick up the pace a little. James, your brother knows where we are going and he’ll fill you in on what we are going to do on the way”

  They reached Henry’s car and James opened the passenger door and stood back to allow the other two room to get Trish seated and buckled up. She sat slumped in the seat and would have slid to the floor of the car if the seatbelt wasn’t holding her in place.

  Henry unlocked the door, aware of the musty smell as he entered the house. He would open up later. For now he and the boys assisted Trish inside, and sat her in the large easy chair near the floor to ceiling windows.

  He draped a warm blanket around her trembling shoulders and hurried across to the bar, thankful to find a full bottle of scotch from his last visit. He poured a double measure into a glass and took it to where Trish sat. “Trish, sip this for me, honey. It will make you feel a lot better.”

  Trish registered that she was being handed something and took the proffered glass with a questioning glance up at Henry.

  “Yes … yes, Trish. That’s it, sip it down for me.”

  Trish took a slow sip and then drained the glass in one gulp, handing it back to Henry, “More, Henry.”