by Alan Chaput
Trey wasn’t sure why the priest had shut down his second command center. His profile made him out to be tenacious as well as effective. Did he know the Cotton Coalition was onto him? Probably not. He went straight from his second hideout to his van, making no obvious effort at evasion. Now he was driving without regard for being followed. Was he intentionally baiting them?
“Time to switch,” Trey radioed.
Wheels thumping on the cobblestone roadway, Alton slowed the Mercedes and dropped back. Beau pulled his Jaguar up into primary position. The car with Bishop Reilly and his bodyguard kept up with them on a parallel street.
Tires screeched. The Mercedes abruptly stopped, throwing Trey forward into his shoulder strap. Pain raced through his shoulder. He bit his tongue to keep from commenting on Alton’s driving.
Alton drummed the steering wheel as a horse-drawn carriage with a half-dozen tourists clip-clopped through the intersection. Down the block, the priest’s van turned right.
“He’s headed your way, Reilly.” Trey shifted in his seat and checked the GPS. “Going west on Bay. Pick him up if you can.”
“Got him,” Reilly responded.
“Go primary, Reilly. Beau, take up secondary. We’ll go parallel.”
They continued all the way to the western suburbs and the Interstate. Had the priest had enough? Was he leaving town? That wouldn’t do until he’d shared all he knew about the killer with the Coalition.
Alton pulled out a white handkerchief and mopped his pale face. “My old body is decaying,” he said softly. “I don’t have much time left. Before I go, I want to bring Henrietta’s killer to justice.”
“According to Bishop Reilly, the priest’s information might fill in a lot of voids. Don’t worry, Alton, you’ll be there when we get the killer.”
The homes of the Coalition’s mercenaries started to appear on the GPS. Father John’s van slowed. Trey straightened. What business could the priest have in Pooler?
* * *
Patricia’s secure phone chirped the arrival of an incoming call. She glanced at the display. Hayley. Patricia prayed school was going well.
“Hey, Mama. How’re you doing?”
Patricia, phone to her good ear, headed for the great room, thinking about how she’d answer her daughter’s question. “I’m doing fine, sweetheart, considering.”
“Considering?”
There was no point in beating around the bush. Hayley would find out sooner or later, and Patricia would rather tell Hayley the story accurately than have her daughter get some distorted version. “Meredith got shot and is in a coma—”
“Oh my God.”
“And someone tried to ram my car, and our wireless network and my computer have been hacked. So, Daddy got us live-in security.”
“Why security? What’s going on?”
“The police think your grandmother was murdered and suspect her killer might be the person who attempted to kill Meredith and me, and who broke into my computer. Then yesterday when I was visiting Judy, someone threw a brick at us with a note that said, ‘You’re next.’”
“Oh my God.”
“Daddy had the locks changed and we have round the clock, armed security in the house until this is over.”
“Why would anyone want to hurt you?”
“Who knows? We Falcons have many enemies. But we’ll find out who it is, believe me.” She glanced out the back window. The twilight sky had darkened to gray. “How’s school going?”
“Mama, you just told me someone might be trying to kill you. Why would I want to talk about my stupid classes?”
“Oh, honey.” Patricia sighed. “Thinking about my situation right now is something I’d like a break from. Talk to me.”
“Well, I’m still not connecting with my classwork. Maybe it’s because I’m more advanced.”
“You might be. But for right now, and especially with what’s going on here, you really should finish the semester.”
“Well, I, uh, tested out of all my classes. Passed them all.”
Patricia let out a surprised breath. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“I’m sorry. That’s great, honey. I had no doubt you were as smart as can be. But home isn’t a safe place for you. Don’t come home.” Patricia gritted her teeth. She missed Hayley terribly, and she was so very proud of her.
There was a long pause, then Hayley said, “If I went to Europe for a while this summer, would you come over?”
“Why Europe?”
“I have a friend who scored a summer job in Paris. He invited me to visit him after school is out.”
A chill rippled up her arm. “He?”
“Mom! He’s just a friend. So, would you come?”
There was no denying Hayley’s ingenuity once she became focused on something. “Europe is probably safer for you right now than Savannah. Summer weather should be nice on the Greek Isles. But I’m needed in Savannah until this nasty business is resolved.”
“So it’s okay if I go to Europe for the summer?”
There was no telling how long it would be until things settled in Savannah. “Since you passed your courses, I suppose so. But let me talk with Daddy first.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
“So, tell me about this friend of yours.” Patricia rearranged the sofa pillows.
“His name is Shawn.”
“Shawn? Isn’t that the boy you’ve been seeing since the beginning of school?”
“Yeah. That’s the one. He’s cute and charming. A couple years older than me. He wants to go to law school.”
“That takes top grades.”
“He’s got them.”
“Where’s he from?” She picked up the morning paper from the coffee table and put it next to Trey’s chair.
“Virginia. His father is a corporate attorney.”
“His mother?”
“A Mayflower blueblood. Clubs, afternoon teas, and the usual volunteer work.”
She’d fit into Savannah nicely. “Brothers? Sisters?”
“Only child.”
“What’s he going to do in Paris?”
“Work in the US embassy.”
Wow. She didn’t see that coming. “Family connections?”
“I suppose.”
“Sounds like a nice guy.”
Hayley giggled. “He is.”
“Is this relationship going anywhere?”
“Not so far.”
Another surprise. She wondered if Hayley was being forthright with her. “Do you want it to be more?”
“Yeah.”
That was certainly forthright. “Is he reluctant?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“What’s standing in the way?”
“School. He’s totally focused on acing every class.”
Good for him. “There’s no school in the summer.”
Hayley laughed.
The prospect of a marriage tiptoed through Patricia’s mind. “Text me a picture of him.”
“He’s on Facebook. You can look him up. His name is Shawn Wright.”
“Okay, I’ll do that. And I’ll call you back after I talk with Daddy.”
“Thank you, Mama. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
* * *
Night had finally arrived. Sweet magnolia scented the air. Crickets chirped. The black-clad snatch team had extinguished the parking lot lights and waited in the shadows. All that remained was to lure the priest out of his motel room and into lot. Given his penchant for electronic security, that wouldn’t be hard.
“Now,” Trey radioed.
One team member thumped the priest’s van triggering a screeching security alarm.
Fifteen seconds later the priest, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, rushed out the exit door closest to the van. Two snatch team members slipped in behind him and cautiously moved forward.
Trey, filled with anticipation, watched from a safe distance as the priest entered the takedown zone in th
e center of a relatively empty parking lot, well away from his van. The two massive takedown men rushed the priest, knocking him off his feet. Before the priest could scramble up, one man shackled his feet, the other cuffed his hands behind him.
As soon as the priest was searched, bound, and gagged, the searchlight was extinguished. The two takedown men carried him, struggling, back into the motel to an isolated room for interrogation.
Trey and Beau followed and waited as the priest was strapped to a chair in the room. Their work done, the snatch team left.
Trey removed the priest’s hood.
The man’s eyes snapped shut in the bright light.
“You were invited to meet with me and refused,” Trey said. “Do you recall that?”
The priest didn’t respond.
“I know you can hear me, and I know you can nod,” Trey said. “I’ll take your silence to mean that you need encouragement to answer my questions. I’m prepared to provide you more than enough incentive to talk, but I’m sure you already know that. So, one more time. Do you recall refusing my invitation to meet?”
The priest nodded.
“I’m truly sorry for the way you’re being treated, John,” Trey said.
At the sound of his name, the priest straightened.
“I reached out to you for cooperation and you refused, forcing me to take these measures. Do you understand?”
The priest nodded.
“Since you’re cooperating, I’ll let you speak.” Trey removed the gag, then ran a damp washcloth over Father John’s sweaty face. “I represent a local organization that vets certain unwelcome visitors to our fine city. You, unfortunately, fall into that category. Would you please explain the purpose of your visit?”
“I’m here on papal authority.”
Trey gave a slight grunt of acknowledgement. “Purpose?”
“Confidential.”
“Here’s a revelation for you, Father John.” Trey lowered his voice. “I know why you’re here.”
“Then why ask?”
To ensure Father John’s attention, Trey took his time to answer, then said, “To assess your willingness to cooperate.”
“I’ve told your representative I won’t cooperate.”
“I know. So, my friend, have you—”
“You’re not my friend.”
“Wrong, Father John. At this moment, I’m the only friend you have in Savannah. You can spare us all a lot of trouble by cooperating.”
Father John’s eyes softened. “I’m not looking for trouble.”
“I’m not asking you to betray your instructions, just alter your methods. We both have the same objective—the quick apprehension and successful trial of Henrietta’s killer. Correct?”
Father John nodded.
“Of course, I can progress my investigation without you,” Trey said. “The fact that I could find you, send my good friend Bishop Reilly to see you, track your escape, and put you in custody should give you an idea of the scope of my resources. Resources that could be useful to your investigation. Here’s what I pr0pose. In partnership with you, we can accelerate our mutual investigations and get the killer into jail as soon as possible. What do you think?”
“I work alone.”
Trey reached into his pocket and brought out a note. “This is a message to you from Bishop Reilly verifying who I am and confirming I do good things for the community.” He handed the note to Father John. “Father, I need your help.”
Father John eyed the note. “He said the same thing to me in person. It’s just that—”
“I know, you work alone. Ah, you and the young lady that is.”
“Where is she?” Father John glanced around the room.
“Your daughter’s fine and in her room.”
The priest rocked back ever so slightly. “How do you know she’s my daughter?”
“I know many things, such as how a priest can still wear vestments and have a daughter. And I didn’t learn that from Bishop Reilly. Now, will you help us, Father?”
Father John eyed Trey up and down, then sighed. “It might work.”
“You won’t be disappointed,” Trey said warmly as he removed the straps from Father John’s legs. “If I remove the rest of your restraints, can I trust you?”
“Of course.”
“I believe you.” Trey removed the strap from John’s left arm. “Have you determined who killed Henrietta?”
“Nothing conclusive.”
“Any suspicions?”
“Herman Stockford and Sonny Carothers are probably involved, though neither seems capable of orchestrating a crime of this complexity. One’s a hired gun. The other’s a CPA. The CPA has handled other people’s money for years. Why would he take money now?”
“Conditions change,” Trey said.
“How would a CPA find a reliable hired gun or a sophisticated poison?”
“Who’s Herman Stockford?” Trey asked.
“The late Herman Stockford shot Meredith Stanwick.”
“Her assailant is deceased?”
“Recently. In Jasper County. Autopsy will probably show he was poisoned. Likely the same poison that killed Henrietta, but we’ll never know.”
“You have conclusively linked Mr. Stockford to Meredith’s shooting?”
“Herman was in his truck in the parking lot at the time she was shot. I’m sure a forensic exam of his front bumper will provide paint fragments from Meredith’s car.”
“But you’re not certain.”
“Correct.”
“How does Herman relate to Henrietta?”
“I don’t know, but my Vatican office is looking into it. They’re quite thorough. If there’s a connection, they’ll find it. So, what do you know about Mr. Stockford?”
“Never heard of him.”
Father John squared his shoulders. “You’re kidding?”
“Not at all,” Trey said. “What about Sonny Carothers?”
“I have nothing on his location or degree of involvement, if any.”
“We’ve drawn a blank too,” Trey said.
“Did you know Meredith Stanwick was working on what happened to Henrietta’s money?” Father John asked.
“Yes.”
When Father John flexed his fingers, Trey noticed one was arthritic. “I believe Ms. Stanwick got too close to finding out who the killer was, and the killer wanted her out of the way.”
“Did she find where the money is kept?”
Father John locked eyes with Trey. “Probably.”
“Have you?”
Father John nodded.
Beau stepped close. “Sorry to interrupt. There’s been a new development.”
Chapter 25
Patricia put the case file aside and keyed a text to Alisa.
PF: Any update on Sonny’s acquaintances?
When Alisa didn’t reply, Patricia phoned Alisa without success, left a voicemail and then glanced at her cell phone. Nine-thirty. Like the evening outside, the den was dark and still. She tapped her fingertips on the arm of the upholstered chair. The smooth rhythm of her life had turned to chaos. Unfamiliar had plunged like a knife into familiar.
She grabbed the mohair throw and tossed it over her legs.
The doorbell chimed, bringing her back to her senses.
Patricia shoved the throw aside, turned on a lamp and waited for Simon to summon her.
He promptly appeared in the wide doorway with a glum-looking Chief Patrick. Simon left as Chief Patrick, dressed in a dark suit, entered.
Patricia stood, taut, sensing something was amiss, hoping Trey and Hayley were okay. Thoroughly worried, she struggled to maintain her composure.
As was their custom, they greeted each other with a polite hug. When Chief Patrick stepped back, she noticed his brown eyes were bloodshot.
Seeing hesitancy on his round face, she asked, “Long day?”
He nodded. “And a sad one as well. Alisa had a heart attack earlier this evening—”
“What?” Her knees failed her and she plopped down in a chair. “Oh no, not …” The lump of despair in her throat made it difficult for her to talk, to swallow, to breathe.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but she passed away before her husband could get her to the hospital.”
“Oh my God.” She shook her head as a pain-induced moan pushed past her clinched lips. This was too much. The last straw. She clutched her arms and rocked back and forth.
The front door slammed. Rapid, thudding footfalls came down the hall. Trey surged into the room, hesitated when he saw Chief Patrick, and then rushed to her, pulling her up and out of the chair into his arms.
“You already know,” he said, stepping back to arm’s length. “We’re leaving. Don’t bother packing. Just get your passport and come with me.”
Trey’s unexpected arrival and actions interrupted Patricia’s shock, forcing her to look at him. The deep shadows accenting his ashen face, his urgency, jerked her back to the reality of her situation, her vulnerability. Alisa was dead. Her security was penetrated. No one was safe.
Trey grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the hallway. “Now.”
He’d said passport? Yes. Escape the madness. Just the thought of leaving brought strength back to her legs. As she departed the room, she thought she heard him ask Chief Patrick for immediate transportation to the airport.
Amid her grief and misery, now muted by purpose, hope, and retribution, she searched with trembling hands for her passport in the hidden compartment in her dresser. She ached with cold. Her torso shivered uncontrollably. She rubbed her upper arms. Nausea rose. The contents of the hidden compartment went in and out of focus. Shapes shifted. Colors ignited. The room tilted. Panting, she staggered to the bathroom, doubled up over the toilet and vomited over and over until her stomach emptied.
Head whirling and disoriented, she sank to the cool tile floor and palmed sweat from her face. Or was it tears? Or both? Not that it mattered.
“Patricia, it’s important we leave. We have to go. Now,” Trey yelled from the other room.