Acts of Mercy: A Mercy Street Novel

by Mariah Stewart

  “I’ve been sitting for hours. At least let me set the table. Or make toast or something.” Fiona added, “I can make toast.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Kitty pointed to a nearby cupboard. “Plates are in there.”

  “So what are we being warned about?” Tommy asked.

  “There’s been a murder in Henderson Falls.” Sam chose his words carefully. He’d been hoping that his nephew would have forgotten what he’d heard when he first came into the room.

  “No sh …” Tommy caught the look his mother shot from across the room. “No fooling? A murder?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Sam told him.

  “Anyone we know, Dad?”

  “I didn’t catch the name,” Tom said. “Sam, do you know who the victim is?”

  “A man named Perillo. Jerry Perillo.”

  “That name familiar to you, Kitty?” Tom asked. “Jerry Perillo?”

  “I think there’s a kid named Perillo in school. I think he’s a freshman. Jody would know,” Tommy said thoughtfully.

  “Jody’s in high school already?” Sam frowned. “How did that happen?”

  “Sam. It’s been more than two years since you’ve been here,” Kitty reminded him.

  “I can’t believe it’s been that long.” Sam shook his head.

  “Wait till you see how big Gil is now. It won’t be long before he’ll be almost as tall as you,” Tom told him.

  Over the next ten minutes, the other two children—fourteen-year-old Jody and ten-year-old Gil—joined them in the kitchen. There was a lot of chatter amidst the passing of platters of eggs and bacon and toast, one spilled glass of juice and several refills of the coffeepot before Tommy stood and announced that he had to leave.

  “I’m not ready,” Jody complained.

  “Me, either,” Gil said.

  “Then get ready if you want a ride with me,” he told them. “Else wait for the bus.”

  “I can’t wait for the bus,” Jody whined as she dashed out of the room. “I have cheerleading and besides the bus is always late …”

  Her voice trailed behind her as she raced up the steps.

  Gil shoveled one more forkful of eggs into his mouth before following his siblings from the room.

  “Tommy.” Sam followed him into the front hall. “What we talked about before … let’s keep it between us for now. I’m not sure it’s out there yet.”

  “Okay. Sure.” The boy nodded.

  “In case the family … you know.”

  “Gotcha. I won’t say anything to anyone. Not even Jody.” Tommy grinned. “Especially Jody.”

  “Thanks.” Sam slapped him lightly on the back before heading into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Uncle Sammy,” Tommy called to him. “We have an open practice this afternoon. That’s where people can come and watch us practice. We’re going to be good this year. Coach thinks we could even win our division.”

  “That’s great, Tommy. Good luck.”

  “They moved me to wide receiver, just like you played.” Tommy went uncharacteristically shy for a moment. “Maybe you could come and watch this afternoon.”

  “I’d love to do that. I’ll try to be there, Tommy.”

  Sam’s nephew nodded as if he had low expectations of what adults usually meant when they said they’d try to do something.

  “What time?” Sam asked.

  “We’re generally on the field by three.”

  “I’ll do what I can to be there. Thanks for the invitation.”

  “Yeah.” Tommy nodded. “I hope you make it.”

  Sam went back into the kitchen in time to take the phone from Kitty to explain to his older sister Andrea why he was there, what was going on, and why she needed to keep her family close.

  “Sam, do you think we should all go into town and stay at Andi and Pete’s?” Kitty asked.

  “Go stay in town?” Tom shook his head. “I have crops to tend to, Kit.”

  “You have children who could become the target of a serial killer,” she shot back.

  “They’ll be safe at school,” he countered.

  “And you’ll be safe where, Tom?” his wife asked.

  Tom looked to his brother for assurance.

  “That’s my point, Tom,” Sam told him. “Of all of you, I think you’re the biggest target.”

  “The fields aren’t going to dry up overnight,” Kitty reminded him. “Let it go for a day. We’ll go to Andi’s, the kids will go there after school, and we’ll see what happens from there.”

  Knowing he was defeated, Tom nodded. “Just for today, since I can see you’re so rattled. But just today.”

  “We’ll see,” she told him. “We’ll see …”

  His brother and sister safely under one roof, Sam left for Henderson Falls with Fiona. Sam hadn’t stopped the kids from attending school, but before they left Blackstone, he had a talk with the chief of police. They agreed a cruiser should be posted at the elementary school, and another would make regular runs past Andrea’s house. Sam made a similar request of the Dutton police chief, the result of which was an officer being stationed at the high school.

  Fiona asked for copies of any reports that would be forthcoming from the investigating officers, once they had time to write them up.

  “I understand that there won’t be anything for a few more days,” she told Dean Worth, the chief in Henderson Falls. “But I would appreciate copies emailed to me.” She handed him one of her cards.

  “Tell me again why the FBI and the … what was the name of your organization again?” he asked Sam.

  “The Mercy Street Foundation,” Sam told him.

  “Why are you all interested in this?” the chief asked, and for the second time that morning, Sam explained, starting with the murder of Ross Walker and ending with their trip to Nebraska.

  “Well, sure sounds like someone has it in for you.” Worth scratched his chin. “But why would someone target you? I mean, someone you brought in sometime, I could see that. But I don’t remember you saying you ever arrested someone from around here.”

  “I never did. We’re not sure what the connection is,” he admitted.

  “But we do feel it’s someone local,” Fiona told him. “It just seems as if these killings are bringing Sam closer and closer to home. This latest killing here—in the same hospital where Sam’s sister died—that makes it seem more likely to us that Sam is somehow at the heart of it all.”

  “County Memorial Hospital is the only hospital out here for miles,” the chief noted. “A lot of people have died there over the years—including my wife and both my parents—so I’m not real impressed by that bit. But when you take it all together, yeah, there’s something fishy there.” He turned to Sam. “You being from around here, and all that with the dates. Yeah, there could be something there.”

  “We’d like to talk to the detective who’s handling the case,” Sam said.

  “Well, right now that would be me,” Worth told him. “My detective is recovering from a heart attack, so I picked this one up myself.” He stood. “Let’s take a ride out to the scene and you can tell me if it looks like those others of yours.”

  Sam had to park the car on the street, the entrance to the three-story garage being roped off. They met Chief Worth out front, then followed him inside, walking up the ramp to the third level, where the body of Jerry Perillo had been found.

  “The poor guy was found propped up against the driver’s side of his own car,” Worth told them as they approached the spot. “There was blood everywhere—pooled but, oddly, not spattered.”

  “Because he was already dead when he was stabbed,” Fiona told him.

  “Well, now, I don’t know that that’s been established.” The chief kept on walking without breaking stride.

  “It will be. This killer has been strangling his victims, then stabbing them repeatedly in the chest. The blood isn’t spattering because the heart isn’t pumping.”

  Worth glanced back over his shoulder at her. “S
omeone spent a lot of energy slicing the bejesus out of this man. Why would anyone do that to someone who’s already dead?”

  “He killed him to hold my attention,” Sam replied. “The stabbing is just a means for him to blow off steam.”

  “You’re telling me the guy did all that just ’cause he was pissed?”

  Sam nodded. “That pretty much sums it up, yes.”

  The chief turned and continued on to the crime scene, muttering something about profilers and the FBI and off-the-wall theories.

  Up ahead a crowd of technicians were still working the crime scene.

  “State sent them in,” Worth told them. “We don’t have anyone who can process a scene like this one.”

  He walked closer, Sam and Fiona still in his wake.

  “There’s where the body was found.” He nodded to the crime scene techs as he walked by. “We used to use chalk to outline the body. No need for that here. The blood outlined it for us.”

  Worth’s phone began to ring and he excused himself as he stepped off to one side to answer it. Fiona stopped one of the techs to ask him about getting copies of all the photographs.

  Sam stood in the garage remembering the last time he’d been there, waiting for the release of his little sister’s broken body.

  “That was the ME. He’s finished the autopsy.” Chief Worth walked toward Sam. “I’m guessing you’re not going to be surprised at the cause of death.”

  “Manual strangulation.”

  “All that blood, and the guy’d been strangled first, just like you said …” Worth shook his head. “What kind of a crazy bastard does something like that?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Sam replied.

  “So I’m guessing this looks pretty much like the others?” The chief pointed to the stains on the concrete floor.

  “Right down to the blood stains on the wall.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Sam parked in the lot behind the high school but left the motor running, just in case this time—the third time he’d asked—Fiona decided she did in fact mind that they were taking time off to watch a high school football practice.

  “Sam, I don’t mind. Turn off the car and let’s get over to the bleachers so we can get seats.” She looked around at the full lot. “Unless the team has several hundred players, I’d say there are a lot of other people here to watch, too.”

  “I’m not surprised. Football is big in Nebraska.” He shut off the engine.

  “I thought that was Texas.” She got out and stretched.

  “There, too.” He locked the car and held a hand out to her without thinking. She took it, and they walked down a hill to the field. As expected, the bleachers were half full on both sides of the field.

  “If this many people show up for practices, how many come for the games?” she wondered aloud.

  “They only have one or two what they call open practices at the beginning of the season. The rest of the time, only a few die-hard parents show up. This is sort of like an exhibition, except they’re not playing another team.” He tugged on her hand to follow him up the side of the bleachers. “There are seats about eight rows up. Come on.”

  The seats were not the best for viewing the field, especially when most of the crowd appeared to prefer standing.

  “Where’s your nephew?” Fiona shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun.

  “I don’t know.” Sam scanned the field. “He should be wearing a number in the eighties.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s a wide receiver, and that’s where their numbers are.”

  “Why?”

  “You sound just like Andrea’s three-year-old.” He draped an arm over her shoulder.

  “I’m just curious why numbers are assigned like that.”

  “So that you can look at the field and even if you don’t know the players, you know what positions are on the field and you have an idea of what kind of play might be called.”

  Fiona shrugged. She supposed his explanation made about as much sense as anything else.

  “Boy, I haven’t been back here in years.” Sam looked around with a sort of wonder on his face.

  “Tommy said you played, too?”

  “Yeah. My brother played but he broke his arm his sophomore year and he just wasn’t the same after that. I was lucky—I never had any serious injuries and I was recruited to play in college.” He smiled wistfully. “Man, we had some times here in this stadium. We played some football here.”

  “I thought that was you.” A figure slipped into the empty space next to Sam.

  “Hey, Drew!” Sam greeted an old friend. “I was just thinking about you. It’s good to see you.”

  “Good to see you, too. How long’s it been?”

  “Too long.” Sam turned to Fiona. “Fiona, this is Drew Novak. We went all through school together. Kindergarten through high school. Drew, this is Fiona Summers.”

  Fiona smiled and took the hand Sam’s friend offered.

  “What brings you back, man?” Drew asked.

  “Just wanted to see the family.” Sam turned his attention to the field where the team was lining up for a play. “My nephew Tommy’s out there somewhere.”

  “He’s number eighty-three,” Drew told him. “My son Jake is the quarterback. They hang out together a lot.”

  A smile crossed Sam’s face. “Eighty-three is my old number.”

  “I know. I told Tommy if it was available he should ask for it.”

  “Nice of you to remember.”

  “How could I ever forget?” Drew laughed. “Those were our glory days, pal.”

  “You had your share of glory in college, as I recall.”

  “It wasn’t the same. High school, now that mattered.” Drew glanced around the stands. “You, me, Steve, Vic, Blake—we mattered.”

  “I know what you mean.” Sam nodded. “The five of us were together all those years.”

  “Steve and Blake are around somewhere.” Drew scanned the crowded stands. “I saw them both earlier but I don’t know where they are now.”

  “They’re still in the area?”

  “Some of us never really left, Sam. You’re the only one who did.”

  “Do you still see those guys? I mean, on a regular basis?” Sam asked.

  “Pretty much. Some of us drifted back after college and settled down. Brought our brides with us from school or married someone from town. Me, I married Jessie Makefield. Remember her?”

  “I sure do. Prettiest girl in the class two years behind us.”

  “Yeah, Jessie’s still the same. We have three kids. Jake’s the oldest.” Drew patted Sam on the arm. “I heard about your wife. I’m real sorry. I should have called you but …”

  “It’s okay, Drew.”

  “Well, it’s nice that you’re seeing someone.” Drew nodded in Fiona’s direction. Sam could have corrected him, but didn’t. He merely smiled.

  “How long are you home for?”

  “Just a few days.”

  “If you find yourself with some spare time, give me a call, okay? I’m in the book.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “I better get back down there, gotta keep an eye on my boy. He’s going to ask me when he gets home how I thought his arm looked.”

  “It’s looking damned good to me.”

  “I’ll tell him you said so. You’re still a legend around here, you know.”

  “Oh, Christ.” Sam grimaced, and Drew laughed.

  “Good to meet you, Fiona,” Drew said as he went down the bleachers to the bottom row.

  “A legend?” She smiled. “Sam DelVecchio, local legend?”

  “It was all a long time ago.”

  “Not in the minds of some.”

  Sam turned to look around the crowd. Here and there he saw once familiar faces. Steve Molino, one of his best friends all through high school, was seated on the top row. Farther down and close to the middle sat Blake Carter, another old buddy. Down on t
he field stood Billy Finnegan. Finn hadn’t changed much at all, Sam mused. He wondered what he was doing with himself these days.

  “You said Tommy was number eighty-three?” Fiona poked him in the ribs.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s on the field now.”

  Sam stood with the rest of the crowd to watch, his arm around Fiona. The quarterback—Jake Novak, Drew’s son. Sam shook his head. It was almost surreal to him. His nephew, Drew’s son … probably the sons of other old friends out there, too, he thought. I’ll have to ask Tommy if he has a copy of the roster.

  The crowd ooohed as the lofting pass sailed into Tommy’s hands and he sprinted down the field toward the end zone.

  “The boy’s got some speed,” Sam noted.

  “Is that family pride I hear in your voice?”

  “Damn right. He’s going to be good.”

  “As good as you?”

  “Better.”

  They watched the entire practice, and when it was over, applauded the effort along with everyone else.

  On the way back to the car, Sam encountered a number of people he knew from his past. Several classmates, even some old teachers, caught up with him in the parking lot.

  “I don’t know why I stayed away so long,” he said to Fiona when they were on their way back to Andrea’s. “It’s so good to see everyone again.”

  “Well, it was good to see who’s still around,” she told him. “I think it will help in the long run to identify the killer.”

  “Are you serious? You’re talking about people I’ve known all my life.”

  “One of them is a killer, Sam.”

  “Why does it have to be one of them? Why not someone else from around here?”

  “Someone random?” She shook her head. “You know better than that. It’s someone you’ve known, someone you’ve been close enough to that he’d know things about you. Like your birthday. Like the day your wife was killed.”

  Sam frowned. “How would someone from here know the exact date? The Bureau kept the story out of the news as a courtesy to me, and I know neither my brother nor my sister talked it up around town.”

  “That’s a good question. Maybe we ought to think about that.”

  “What are you saying? You think this guy … this guy we’re looking for killed Carly?” He looked at her as if she’d just sprouted a second head. “Are you crazy? We know who killed her, Fiona.”