The Redemption Man

by James Carver

  “Who’s she?” asked Fox.

  “What?” The question derailed Devlin from the track he’d been going down. He got up, put the folder down, and sat on the bed to see what had grabbed Fox’s attention.

  “Oh, that…yeah, she was my wife.”

  “Oh. She’s pretty…” Fox suddenly looked puzzled, her tired eyes opening a little wider, and she said, “Wait, your wife?”

  “Yeah. She died a few years back…before I became a priest.”

  “Oh…oh, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I’m the one who keeps the picture on my cell.” There was a moment’s silence, and Fox almost did the sensible thing and didn’t ask the next question. But being Fox, she went ahead anyway.

  “Do you think it’s good for you to have her photo on your cell still? I mean, after all this time it’s a bit…morbid…don’t you think?”

  For the first time in a long time, Devlin actually looked hurt. “That depends, doesn’t it? Have you ever been bereaved? Had the closest person to you taken away?”

  “No…I…I’m sorry… Oh, fuck, I didn’t—”

  “No you didn’t.”

  Fox felt terrible. And also that somehow this was the one part of Devlin’s life that he understandably couldn’t see with the same clarity that he saw everything else. After a moment Devlin’s scowl began to melt away and was replaced by a guilty embarrassment.

  He said sheepishly, “I acted like an ass, didn’t I?”

  “You have every right to act like an ass.”

  “You don’t deny I acted like an ass though?”

  “No. You were ass-like. But I was insensitive. I speak before I think. It’s my thing. I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

  Devlin gave a small smile and said, “Forgiven. Of course you’re forgiven.” Another moment passed as Devlin reflected and cooled a little more.

  “You’re right. It is a bit morbid and maybe not totally healthy.”

  Fox looked at Devlin. He was a big handsome man with a powerful physical presence. Not unworldly at all. Not what you’d have down as a priest. There was a brute force about him, in his dimensions, his stare, his manner.

  “So tell me about you and God, Devlin.” Then she added with a twinkle in her eye, “Tell me how you put aside worldly things.”

  Devlin raised an eyebrow and said, “I don’t think I put them aside. I canned them up.”

  “How long you been a priest?”

  “Seven years.”

  “That’s a lot of canning up.”

  “I have cigars.”

  “You must get through a hell of a lot.”

  “I do.” A lull followed while the two looked at each other, momentarily relishing the fun of the conversation.

  “You don’t long for women? I’m guessing it’s women.” Another twinkle in Fox’s eye.

  “It’s women,” replied Devlin. Fox was breathing slightly faster now. Each step into the conversation was a little closer to Devlin and felt a little more dangerous.

  “You must take lots of cold showers?” said Fox.

  “I’ve managed seven years. It’s a day-by-day thing.”

  “How much longer do you think you can manage?” They were staring across the bed with some intensity now. The tension found expression in Devlin’s hands as they dug a little into the comforter.

  “I mean to say, Devlin,” Fox continued, delighting in fanning the flames, “have you got it under control?”

  “I keep on top of it.”

  “Maybe you don’t get that many opportunities.”

  “You saying I’m not easy on the eye?”

  “On the contrary.”

  “Thing is, it’s been so long, I figure it’s best that I don’t…lose control. Seven years…all that…canning up…could be dangerous.” They were close now, both leaning in over the bed.

  Fox placed her hand over Devlin’s. It was tiny by comparison. “You saying I’m in danger?”

  They were close enough they could hear each other breathing. Close enough to imagine they could feel the warmth of each other’s lips.

  “I’m saying stand clear, or climb on board.”

  “Oh, God, no wonder the Gypsies left town the night you arrived.” She was close to closing her eyes, her face falling toward his. Devlin’s thumb was stroking the inside of her index finger. Then it stopped. Abruptly. Devlin backed away and became alert and wide-eyed.

  “The night the Gypsies left town…!” he whispered as his mind began to race.

  “What?”

  “That’s got to be it! I’ve been a fool. I’ve been the biggest fool.” He got up, quickly changed into a fresh shirt, and put his clerical collar and jacket on.

  “Devlin? Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got to go. Listen, you can stay here for the night if you want or head back if you want to.” Devlin reached the door before realizing he’d forgotten something. He went back and grabbed Lazard’s folder from the chair he’d been sitting in.

  “I’ll call you in the morning,” he said as he again headed for the door.

  “Devlin?” Fox called after him, but the door closed and Devlin was gone.

  “Jesus! If you were looking for a way out, all you had to say was, ‘I’m gay’!”

  As Devlin raced through the night, a fleet of police cars were heading the other way. Back to the station.

  34

  Most of the officers drafted in had packed up and left Long Pine. Walker and Miller, who had been first people to arrive at the scene of Earl’s death, were still waiting for the all clear to go. The first wave of police who had arrived after them stayed to give their account to their senior officers. After their statements were taken, they had to take a twenty-minute hike in the dark to the state park office, where helicopters were on hand to fly them back to the highway at the south end of the forest.

  Stevens kept Walker and Miller hanging on until last. They stood in silence as he finished speaking to the CSI and walked back over to the address the two men.

  “Tell me exactly what happened,” demanded Stevens.

  Walker was silent, so Miller spoke for them. “We heard a shot and raced up here and found him like he is. Like this.” Miller gestured toward the body surrounded by yellow tape. Earl’s corpse lay outstretched, sprawled out on his front on the wet earth, the side of his face missing and brain, tendon, and blood oozing onto the forest floor. A couple of feet away, a snub-nosed revolver had come to rest, as if released at the moment of death. Stevens didn’t look satisfied by the explanation.

  “Honestly, Greg,” Miller protested. “That’s all that happened.” Stevens looked at both of them, his gaze flicking from one to the other.

  “For Christ’s sake, Greg,” yelped Walker, “you got him. You led a hunt to find a double killer and you got him—maybe not alive, but you got him. So take the stick out of your ass and let us go.”

  But Stevens couldn’t let them go. Not yet. “I know you communicated with the helicopter crew and took off toward Tar Ridge without letting me, the incident commander, know what was happening.”

  “Greg, they couldn’t get in touch with you on the radio,” said Miller. “I waited for you to reply. I had to respond. It was a critical situation.”

  “Did you attempt to contact me?”

  “We’d moved out of range.”

  “I’ve spoken to half a dozen officers who were stationed across the chain, and not one of them heard any attempt from you to pass on this information.”

  “I guess I was impetuous.”

  “Leave the kid alone,” Walker butted in. “He’s a young cop wanting to get to the action.”

  “If you were in my shoes, Caleb, Miller here would be heading right for a suspension. So don’t you start dicking me around.”

  “You may be the incident commander, but I am the senior officer up here doing legwork on a hell of a lot of goodwill, so you just watch your mouth. Just what the fuck are you insinuating?”

  “I’m saying maybe it
wouldn’t have ended this way if someone else had got to him.”

  “How fuckin’ dare you? Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? It’s obvious to a fuckin’ retard what happened here. Earl was surrounded; he’s wanted for two homicides. He decided to kill himself rather than face the law.”

  Stevens didn’t have a comeback. He knew it was the obvious answer. But he didn’t trust Walker and Miller. Not one inch.

  “I think this whole investigation’s gone to your head,” said Walker. “But you better watch what you say, Stevens. You go throwing serious accusations around and it’ll be a long, lonely walk out the door. Trust me on that because I’ll be the one slamming it behind you. And if I were you, I wouldn’t be attempting to spread any blame around. Good and bad, this one’s all on you. After all, you have a press conference tomorrow.”

  “Press conference?”

  “Of course! You wanted to be the big man, the incident commander. That comes with certain responsibilities, and one of them is that you handle the press conference. It’s usually held after lunch at the Clifton Graham Center, but you should check that with the Halton Springs information officer. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a long trudge out of this hellhole up to the state park office.”

  Walker and Miller slouched off together into the dark woodland. Within minutes they were lost to sight. What Stevens wouldn’t give to hear their conversation on the journey out of the forest. Then his thoughts turned to Walker’s parting words. Great, thought Stevens, all this and then a press conference. What the hell does a person say at a press conference?

  35

  Devlin took the road north out of Halton and turned onto the 70. By the time he’d got to Columbus, it was five in the morning and he was dog tired but had reaped the benefits of clear highways. The odd headlight flashed by in the dark as traffic, even at this early hour, began to show signs of building.

  He stopped to fill up halfway between Columbus and Cleveland. Business was still slow, and the guy behind the counter looked like he was coming to the end of a long shift. He struck up some conversation as Devlin paid up.

  “You got an early mass or something, Father?”

  “No. I’m just on my way to Cleveland. I’ve driven up from Halton Springs.”

  Devlin wandered over to the magazine and newspaper rack and picked up a copy of the Cleveland News-Herald. On the front page in the bottom bar was an article on the Romani travelers arriving in Cleveland. He read through the article, which said the travelers had moved from their initial spot in Hudson and had pitched by a river in Cuyahoga Park.

  Devlin dropped the paper on the counter and paid for it.

  “How far’s Cuyahoga Park from here?” asked Devlin.

  The cashier looked at Devlin through bloodshot, heavy-lidded eyes and thought for a second. “It’s a couple of hours’ drive from here. You wanna stay on the I-70 and then take the I-271.”

  Devlin paid up and got back on the highway, heading now toward Cuyahoga.

  He drove until he hit the state park. He carried on for another three or four miles through the park but saw no sign of a river or a camp. He began to doubt the information in the article. He passed an elementary school and at last saw a sign for a bridge over the Cuyahoga River. He took a right off the highway just before the bridge. The turn took him down a smaller road, and he stopped at the point where it withered away into a footpath that ran parallel to the river bank.

  Devlin got out of the car and had a look around. It wasn’t light yet; the sky was beginning to illuminate with the promise of sunrise, but real daylight was still an hour away. There was nothing much in the immediate vicinity: an old iron asphalt roller, a stack of damp timber, and a rusty old container. But farther down, about a quarter of a mile off through a line of trees, he caught sight of what he’d driven through the night to find: a group of trailers. The camp was still quiet, and no one had stirred yet. Devlin got back into the Ford and felt in his jacket pocket for his rosary. He took it out and ran through his decades for penance. After that, he said his morning liturgy, then switched on the radio for company. There was a news bulletin reporting Earl’s death and describing it as a suspected suicide. Devlin frowned as he considered the idea that Earl had committed suicide. It just didn’t feel right. For some reason he couldn’t articulate, despite everything that had happened, he felt Earl had still been open to salvation. He wouldn’t have taken his own life. Then the news bulletin handed over to a phone-in, and within minutes he was sound asleep and, to his slight astonishment, dreaming about Fox.

  36

  Dr. Lazard was making his way to the community medical center to begin a day of work. As he drove, he took long and purposeful drags on a Dunhill cigarette perched in his gloved hand. He was having to get used to driving himself around these days, since he’d lost his chauffeur.

  Though it was May, he wore a suit, a long tweed overcoat, a silk scarf, and black gloves. He even had his heated steering wheel on, the one feature his luxury Jaguar XFR possessed that really pleased him. Though what he discovered when he pulled up by the medical center didn’t please him or warm him up any. There was a police cruiser parked outside the clinic.

  Lazard popped his head around the door cautiously. The receptionist was talking to a young black female police officer, who was listening without a flicker of empathy and appeared to be tired and irritated. The receptionist turned to Lazard, looking distraught.

  “Dr. Lazard!”

  “What’s happened, Helen?”

  “We’ve had a break-in, Doctor. Maybe someone after drugs.”

  “A break-in?”

  “Officer Gray, this is Dr. Lazard,” said Helen. “He comes down to work here a couple of days a week.”

  “Hello, Dr. Lazard.”

  “Officer Gray.”

  “I’m afraid Mrs. Fletcher here is right; your office was broken into last night,” said Gray. “Although nothing seems to have been taken. But I’d appreciate you taking a look and letting us know if you notice anything that might be missing.”

  “Of course,” said Lazard. “How distressing this all is. Didn’t the alarm go off?”

  “Yes, it did. We just turned it off,” said Gray.

  “Well, really! What is the point of having an alarm if no one takes any notice?”

  “Someone from Halton PD would have attended the alarm much earlier under usual circumstances, Doctor. But last night the police department, myself included, was fully occupied by the hunt for a double murderer. I’m at the end of a fourteen-hour shift, so I’m really in no mood for this.”

  Sensing that Officer Gray was on a short fuse, Lazard contained his profound annoyance. “I see,” he replied curtly. “I’ll need to take a look at my office, then.”

  After Officer Gray left, Lazard and the receptionist restored order to his office, tidying away the contents of Lazard’s drawers that had been dumped onto the floor.

  “Your desk is ruined, Dr. Lazard.”

  “Yes. No matter. I shall have another one ordered.”

  “It’s mindless, that’s what it is. Pure hooliganism. Why would they only break into your office? Your office is in the middle of the hall; why would they go past all the others and start with yours first?”

  “Because they were probably out of their minds on drugs or withdrawal. Trust me, Helen, I’ve seen this sort of behavior before. It has no pattern that is comprehensible to the sober mind. Now, I’m sure the reception area is already filling with patients…”

  “Yes, of course.” Helen turned to leave.

  “Oh, Helen?”

  “Yes, Dr. Lazard?”

  “If you could give me five minutes before I see the first patient? So I can take a moment for myself? And may I also have a cup of tea, please?”

  “Yes, of course, Doctor.”

  “You’re very kind.”

  Helen left and Lazard pushed the door closed behind her. Then he made a call on his cell.

  “Hello, Stein. It’s Claude.”
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  “Lazard? What’s up?”

  “I have some troubling news.”

  “What?”

  “My office at the medical center was broken into last night. Just mine. No others.”

  “You sure it wasn’t kids looking for drugs?”

  “Yes. Devlin was here yesterday, and now I have a break-in. It’s not a coincidence. My desk diary and important patient notes are missing.”

  “Shit. What was in the diary?”

  “General things. Nothing detailed.”

  “Why did he take the notes?”

  “I don’t know. But they were important notes.”

  “What kind of important notes?”

  “The most important kind.”

  “Shit.”

  “But they were entirely anonymous. Thankfully I took the precaution of removing the patient’s personal details. Even so, I will have to take precautionary measures and bring things forward. It is far from ideal. I don’t need to tell you this is another complication that we could desperately do without.”

  “If we’re talking about distractions, it was your chauffeur that turned out to be a snake in the grass. I’m the one who keeps getting the cleanup bills for your dirty laundry.”

  “I did not choose that man as my chauffeur. Stein, I would remind you that you are quite dependent upon me. I am integral to your business—”

  “Yeah, yeah, Gloria Swanson. I’m going to call a crisis meeting. We have to get on top of this right away if we’re to hit our delivery date. After all, D-Day is only forty-eight hours away.”

  “What about this man—Devlin?”

  “Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head about him, Lazard. Fortunately for everybody else, I’ve been a busy boy on that front. I got a little guerilla warfare coming his way.”