Acts of Mercy: A Mercy Street Novel

by Mariah Stewart

  “So why don’t you fill us in on the backstory here, Sam.”

  Sam nodded. “Come on inside, and I’ll bring you all up to date.”

  *

  He came into the house through the door that led from the garage into the kitchen. The house was quiet, as he knew it would be. His wife would be picking up the kids from their after-school activities, and she’d be stopping on the way home to pick up dinner. Of course, he could have hung around school when he finished for the day, picked up the kids himself, but he was too jumpy. It had been all he could do to get through his last class. The last thing he needed right then was a few more kids working on his nerves, even if those kids were his. Especially if they were his.

  He opened a beer and took it out to the screened porch and stared into space. Things weren’t going the way he’d wanted. He’d figured that out by noon, when he overheard a couple of seniors talking about how Tommy DelVecchio hadn’t been at practice the day before. He’d been in school, but his dad and someone else had come to get him and he wasn’t in school again today.

  He hadn’t needed to drive by the DelVecchio farm on the way home, hadn’t needed to see those cars all lined up across the barnyard to know what was going on. Which meant Sam had figured it out and had called in the troops. The chances of getting to any one of them now was pretty damned slim, he had to admit. He’d just have to be patient.

  As soon as he’d thought it, he grimaced. Patience was not something he had a whole lot of right now. He’d already waited longer than any mortal should be asked to wait, hadn’t he? And who’s to say how much longer Sam was going to stick around? He could leave that night, could be packing right at this very second. Shit, for all he knew, Sam was already gone.

  He got up and began to pace. It was so hard to think sometimes when he was sitting still.

  All right, he told himself. So he won’t be able to get to Tom. He’d really wanted that sixth one to be Tom. That would have been the best. He’d never liked Tom, thought he was a real know-it-all, and he’d never been nice to them when they were all out at the farm with Sam. But the smartest people in life, the most successful, are the ones who can adapt, right? Survival of the fittest, and all that.

  So he’d adapt. He’d think it through. He’d come up with the right one, of course he would.

  He walked out into the backyard and waved to a neighbor who was out watering her flower beds. He didn’t stop to chat as he might otherwise have done. He didn’t want to break his concentration.

  When it came to him, he smiled with satisfaction. Why he hadn’t thought of it sooner … well, it was even better than what he’d planned.

  He walked briskly back to the house, his game plan falling quickly into place, a line from his favorite Stones song—the one about getting what you need rather than what you want—running through his head.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Sam, wake up. Come on, Sammy.”

  Sam opened his eyes to see his brother standing over him. Tom’s face was sheet white, his eyes wet, his expression one of total disbelief.

  “What?” Sam sat up. “What’s happened?”

  “Vic’s on the phone. It was Drew he went after.” Tears rolled down Tom’s face. “He got Drew.”

  “Who got—” Sam’s heart stopped in his body as the meaning of his brother’s words became clear. “Where’s the phone? Is he still on the phone?”

  Sam jumped out of the bed, grabbed a pair of cutoffs on his way to the door, and struggled to get them pulled up as he made his way downstairs. The phone lay atop the kitchen table, and he picked it up.

  “Vic? You there?”

  On the other end of the line, Vic was sobbing. “They found Drew, man. Sliced up like … I don’t know what like. Like that last guy over in Henderson Falls. He’s dead, man. Drew is dead …”

  “Where is he, Vic? Where’d they take him, do you know?”

  “No. I don’t know.”

  “Where’d it happen?”

  “I don’t know, man. All I know is that Drew is dead …”

  County Memorial Hospital was the most likely place, Sam told Luke when he asked the agent to accompany him. For the second time in only a few days, Sam was on his way back to Henderson Falls.

  “I don’t think you should be going off the farm,” Luke had said at first. “It’s one and done now for our killer. He only has to get to you, and then he’s finished with whatever twisted thing he’s got going on.”

  “I’ve known Drew since we were four years old. We did everything together back in school. Played on the same teams, took all the same courses.” Sam smiled sadly. “Even went for the same girls. I’m responsible for his death. I have to go.”

  “I understand why you want to go, and yeah, I’d do the same thing. But as far as being responsible for his death”—Luke shook his head—“that’s all on the killer. It’s not on you.”

  Sam drove silently.

  “Sam, you know what I’m saying is true.”

  “What I know is that this guy is killing innocent people because of some grudge he has against me. What I know is that if I hadn’t come back here, Drew would still be alive. What I know is that I am mightily pissed off.”

  “Pissed off is good. Pissed off requires action. Feeling guilty over something that you had no control over just means you’ve let the guy have control over you that he isn’t entitled to. Don’t give him that power, Sam. Keep the guilt focused on the killer. Don’t let him hand it off to you.”

  Too frustrated, too angry, too emotional to continue the conversation, Sam turned the radio on softly. He could think of nothing else to say.

  When they arrived at the hospital, Sam told Luke, “Get your badge out. They’re going to want to see something, and I don’t have anything to show them.”

  “We’re looking for the medical examiner’s office,” Luke said at the information desk in the lobby.

  “You mean Dr. Jensen?” the man behind the desk asked.

  “Jensen’s the pathologist?” Sam asked.

  The man nodded. “Downstairs, fourth door from the elevator.”

  “Why the pathologist?” Luke asked as they waited in the lobby for the next elevator.

  “Because he does the autopsies. In Nebraska, the county attorney is the coroner. He can investigate deaths and sign the death certificates.”

  “Your county attorneys are also doctors?”

  “No, but they are coroners, and that’s where we get into problems sometimes.” Sam looked around for an exit sign and found one. “Let’s take the steps. The elevators here have been slow since the day they were installed.”

  “I feel as if I’m missing something. Go back to the part about the pathologist doing the autopsies?”

  “Autopsies are only required in this state in cases of sudden, unexpected deaths involving young children.”

  “But how do they establish cause of death if no autopsy is performed?”

  “Sometimes they don’t. Nebraska has traditionally ranked high in number of deaths recorded as ‘undetermined’ cause.”

  Luke was still frowning when they reached the stairwell.

  “Yeah, I know. Fortunately, some of the doctors who do perform autopsies have taken classes in forensics. Dr. Jensen has the reputation of being one of the best in this part of the state.”

  An orderly wandering the basement hall directed them to Dr. Jensen’s office. His assistant permitted them to wait in one of the autopsy rooms while Dr. Jensen was located.

  “Haven’t done that one yet,” the doctor told them when he came into the room. “Will probably take a look at him later, but I don’t see the rush. The cause of death is obvious.”

  “I think if you take a closer look, you’ll find he was strangled,” Sam said.

  The doctor’s eyebrows rose. “He was stabbed, must have been fifteen, twenty times.”

  “Postmortem wounds.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “We’ve been studying this killer for
a while now.”

  Dr. Jensen nodded. “All right. Leave your number,” he told Luke, “and I’ll give you a call as soon as I’m finished.”

  “May I see him?” Sam asked before the doctor could leave the room.

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “He was my friend.” Sam didn’t trust his voice to say more.

  The doctor turned to his assistant and said, “Pat, take these gentlemen back to room one. But just for a moment. I may start that one a little sooner than I’d planned.”

  Sam had tried his best to remain objective, to see the crime but not to dwell on the fact that this victim was a man he’d known all his life, one he’d called friend for as long as he could remember. If nothing else, seeing Drew on the table would fuel his anger at this unknown killer. Drew had been a good man, from all accounts a good father, a good husband. Why he had been targeted …

  Oh, of course Sam knew why. Because the killer couldn’t get to Tom and was happy to hurt him in any way he could.

  Jensen’s assistant opened the drawer and pulled out the shelf upon which Drew’s body lay. Sam had to remind himself that his old friend was no longer there, that he’d gone on to someplace beyond this existence, but found it hard to believe when the features were familiar ones.

  “Where are the clothes he was wearing when he was found?” Sam asked.

  The assistant shrugged. “I didn’t see any clothes. He came in just like that.”

  “The police must have kept them,” Luke said. “They’re probably processing them right now.”

  Sam cast a dubious glance in Luke’s direction but said nothing. With a heavy heart, he turned from the body and nodded to the young assistant. “Thanks. We can find our way out.”

  As soon as they passed through the hospital doors, Sam took his phone from his pocket and had just started to dial Chief Dean Worth’s number when he saw the patrol car pull into the lot. He returned the phone to his pocket and met the chief halfway.

  “Sam.” The chief shook his head. “You weren’t kidding about this guy, were you?”

  Sam shook his head. “No. I wasn’t kidding.”

  “Damned shame about young Novak. Damned shame. I’m on my way in to see him now. Want to make sure he’s cleaned up before his folks come over.”

  “Chief, who found him?”

  “The guy who opens up Jackson’s over there found him propped up against the back door when he got there this morning.”

  “Jackson’s?”

  “Clothing store over there on Prairie Avenue.”

  “I’m assuming you took his clothes, whatever he had with him at the time, and had it all processed,” Sam said. “Could we get copies of your reports once they’re ready?”

  “I had one of our techs go over the body earlier to see if we could pick up any hair or fibers that we can’t otherwise explain, but Drew wasn’t wearing any clothes.” Worth shook his head. “Nope. Naked as a jaybird when we found him.”

  It took a second, but Sam got it. Clothe the naked.

  Six down, one act left. And that one, he was certain, was being saved for him.

  Bury the dead.

  The dinner hour at the DelVecchio farm had been a much subdued one. The kids ate earlier, Kitty having cooked hot dogs on the grill for the agents before they took up their evening posts. At eight thirty, Sam was sitting in the kitchen with Kitty and Tom when his phone rang.

  “Sam, it’s Trula. Are you near a TV?” she asked excitedly. Without waiting for an answer, she said, “You have to put on Entertainment World Today. Right now. Hurry.”

  Sam watched little television and had no idea what Entertainment World Today might be, but he asked Kitty if she knew the show.

  “Sure.”

  “Can you put it on right now?” He covered the receiver with his hand. “Someone thinks there’s something on that I need to see.” He rolled his eyes.

  Kitty turned on the TV and found the show.

  “There. What’s the story?” Kitty leaned closer to the set. “Oh, my,” she said. “Isn’t that …?”

  “Fiona,” he said and without thinking, hung up on Trula. He approached the set and leaned in.

  “… Fiona O’Neill, who played Hugh Davenport’s daughter, had rushed to the bedside of her TV dad,” the male voice-over announced.

  Fiona, dark glasses covering her face, her hair pulled back in a bun, was filmed as she left the cemetery holding the arm of a woman who was similarly dressed in black.

  “Fiona, how long has it been since you’ve seen Hugh?” a reporter called out.

  Then another: “Fiona, did you make it to the hospital on time?”

  “Fiona, are you back in California for good? Is there any truth to the rumor that you’re going to be doing a pilot for Fox?”

  Without acknowledging any of them, Fiona turned her face and got into a waiting car.

  “What the hell …?” Sam said aloud to no one in particular.

  “See, Tom?” Kitty punched her husband on the arm. “I told you she looked familiar.”

  “Who is she?” Tom put his newspaper down.

  “She was Fiona O’Neill. Remember? Little Nora on McGuire, Boston PD? You used to watch it all the time when it was on.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Tom nodded. “It’s still on cable. That was Sam’s Fiona …?” He turned to look at his brother, who still appeared dumbstruck. “Sam? You look like you didn’t know, either.”

  Sam shook his head. “Completely blindsided me. I had no idea. She never mentioned it.”

  He walked from the room and went upstairs, where he called her number.

  “You’ve reached Special Agent Fiona Summers. Please leave a message …”

  Damn.

  “Fiona, it’s Sam. I know your secret. I don’t give a crap about any of that. Just call me and let me know when you’ll be back so I can be there when your plane lands.” He paused, then added, “I’m sorry for your loss. I hope you’re okay.” Another pause while he debated whether or not to tell her about Drew. He decided against it. She looked as if she’d had enough for a few days. There’d be no avoiding it once she returned, but for now, he skipped it. “Anyway, call me when you get this. Please.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The call came at seven the following evening, just as they were finishing dinner.

  “It’s Fiona,” she said, as if he wouldn’t recognize her voice. “I’m on my way back.”

  “Where and when?” he asked.

  “I’m being dropped off in Brightcliffe. We looked at the map, and that appears to be the closest airport to Blackstone. If it’s too far, I can—”

  “No, no, it’s not a problem. What time does your plane land?”

  “A little after two in the morning. I’m sorry, it’s such an odd time, but the offer was made and I hated to turn it down and then try to get a commercial flight.” She paused. “Did you know there are no direct commercial flights into Nebraska from here? Not even into Omaha.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you, Sam. I’ll see you soon.”

  Sam waited to hear her hang up before he did, and then slipped the phone back into his pants pocket. He walked outside and looked around at the vehicles in the yard, then went back into the kitchen where Kitty was feeding the agents in shifts. She was an accomplished cook who wouldn’t hear of them driving in to town to eat.

  “Luke,” Sam motioned to him from the doorway. “Could I speak with you for a minute?”

  “Sure.” Luke excused himself from the table where he’d just finished eating, and followed Sam out to the back porch. “What’s up?”

  “I need to use your car,” Sam told him.

  “Sure. Where are we going?”

  “We aren’t going anywhere. I’m going to pick up Fiona.”

  “No can do, bud.” Luke shook his head. “I’m here to keep an eye on you. There’s no going off the reservation.”

  “First of all, I agreed to have you guys h
ere to keep an eye on my family. I can take care of myself, but I can’t watch everyone else at the same time. That’s why you’re here. Look, I won’t be leaving until after midnight, and I’m only going to be driving for an hour.” Well, it would be closer to two, but what was the difference? “Fiona is on her way back. I told her I’d pick her up at the airport.”

  “Sam, what if this guy’s watching the house? He follows you? Game over.”

  “Even if he’s watching the house—which I doubt, since everyone has to sleep at some point—he won’t know it’s me driving the car. The windows are tinted. I’ll even let you loan me your spiffy jacket with FBI on the back. He won’t know who’s behind the wheel, so he’d have no reason to follow me.”

  Sam sensed that Luke was softening, so he added, “Fiona and I have some things we need to talk about. I’d do it for you, Luke.”

  “Are you carrying?” Luke asked.

  “Not at this moment, but I have my Glock upstairs. It’ll make the ride with me.”

  Luke took the keys from his pocket and handed them over. “If anything happens …”

  “Nothing will. I’ll be back before anyone knows I’m gone.”

  “If you’re not here when I get up tomorrow morning, I’m putting out an APB. And I’m telling Mancini you stole the keys.”

  “Fair enough.” Sam pocketed the keys and slapped Luke on the back. “Thanks, buddy. Let’s go back in and see if Kitty is serving dessert yet. She makes one mean peach cobbler …”

  The drive through the Nebraska countryside was dark but fast. The road ahead was practically a straight line through farm fields that seemed to stretch on forever. The night sky was clear and the stars as bright as he remembered. There was no other place he’d been where they’d shone more brilliantly. A very rare wave of something that was not quite homesickness washed over him. It wasn’t that he was sorry he’d left, or that he wanted to stay, he told himself, but it was good to be back, if only for a little while. He hadn’t had much of a home these past few years—only a small apartment he moved to after he moved out of the house he and Carly had shared—and he hadn’t been aware of how much he missed that feeling of warmth and acceptance and genuine affection he found when he came back to the farm, to his family. It had been comforting, and it had been a while since he’d had much comfort from any quarter.