She looked down her nose at him when she answered his knock. He really didn’t think she was going to let him talk to her husband, but then Ernest approached to greet the new visitor, not realizing it was one of Bedford Springs finest at the door. Tony certainly didn't inform him of his suspension.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Detective Preston?”
“I’m working on a case.” Tony took a seat on the leather chair the mayor indicated.
“Can I get you a drink?” March padded to a bar tucked into a mahogany-paneled wall.
“Whatever you’re having.” Tony wanted to lure the man into a false sense of security. No, what he really wanted was to wrap his hands around the governor’s fat neck and squeeze.
Maybe he did have anger management issues.
But if what Elizabeth Bennett and Will Dempsey discovered was true, this was huge, bigger than any case he’d ever worked. The man the majority voted to serve the people as leader of the state was instead a predator, a child molester. A killer. Tony had to be careful and do this right. Strictly by the book. He couldn’t risk March getting off on a technicality.
His heart pounded but he forced himself to remain calm. This was the reason he’d become a cop–to find justice for the innocent, the victims. If not for Will and Lizzy, Tony would have been one of them. His existence reduced to a statistic.
“Scotch okay?”
“Sounds good,” Tony responded.
“How can I help you?” March asked over his shoulder as he removed two glasses from a cabinet and added ice from a bucket.
“I just have a few questions. I’m working on a cold case from twenty years ago.” Tony watched March closely. “A young couple shot and dumped in Winston Lake.”
March’s hand stalled halfway to a decanter, but he covered it with a nervous laugh. “I don’t see how I can help, but ask away.”
“Look how March’s hand is shaking,” Will pointed out to Lizzy.
The governor sloshed liquid over the side of a glass before setting down the bottle.
March wiped his hand on his pants. "I appear to be out of the good Scotch," he declared. "Let me go grab another bottle. I'll be right back."
Tony sighed in exasperation. March fled before he could tell him not to worry about the drink.
Will and Lizzy followed March down the hall where he ducked into a bathroom and poured contents from a bottle in the medicine cabinet into a crystal tumbler.
“That’s not Scotch he’s pouring.”
Will’s jaw clenched. “Poison.”
March grabbed another bottle from a nearby room and did add Scotch to the mixture, presumably to cover the taste, then hurried back to the study. “Here you go, Detective.”
He handed Tony the glass filled with cyanide but before Tony could accept it, Will knocked it from March’s hand.
“Oh, how clumsy of me,” March mumbled, his face revealing he was clearly vexed.
“That’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m not thirsty, anyway.” Tony whipped out a notebook and pen. “Let’s just get down to business.”
Without tipping his hand, Tony detailed the facts of the case leaving out names. He watched March’s face closely for any signs of guilt. He had to give the man credit…after the initial shock, his face became a hard, unreadable mask.
March rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Let me think. Twenty years ago, right?” At Tony’s nod, he continued, “I would have been mayor back then.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, now that you’ve reminded me of the story, I think I do remember that. Sad, very sad.” He shook his head. “But I still don’t know why you’re here or why you need to speak with me.”
“I read somewhere that you used to volunteer at St. Jerome Emiliani’s Orphanage.”
March’s eyes widened for a moment before his expression slid smoothly into a politician's practiced self-satisfied grin. “I volunteer for a number of worthy causes, yes.”
“The victims were former residents and donated their services to the orphanage as well.”
“Did they? I didn’t realize that.”
March feigned surprise very well, Tony gave him that.
“What did you say their names were?”
He hadn’t revealed their identities yet. “Elizabeth Bennett and William Dempsey.”
March’s brows furrowed and he shook his head thoughtfully. “No, I don’t recall those names. I don’t believe I knew them. Probably weren’t at the orphanage at the same time. It was twenty years ago, after all.”
Knowing he couldn’t push, Tony flipped the notebook closed and stood. “That’s all my questions for now.”
“Sorry I wasn’t more help, Detective.” March started to rise.
Tony stilled him with a hand. “No need to walk me out, I know the way.” He took two steps and turned. “I may have a few more questions later.”
“You know where to find me,” March said congenially.
~7~
Macy Greene impatiently tapped her foot and checked her watch for the hundredth time. Tony had only been gone for ten minutes. He had another twenty before she took action.
Patience had never been one of her virtues.
She couldn't sit still another moment. Unbuckling her belt, she opened the door and stepped out of the car. She reached back in to grab her gun and slid it in her pocket. The decadent smell of a Christmas feast scented the air and festive music hummed lightly in the distance. Tony had to park at the very end of the driveway because of all the vehicles, but that was good. No one would notice her. Thunder rolled overhead, the indicator of a rare winter thunderstorm. Tugging her jacket higher to cover her ears, she padded along the fence spanning the compound, careful to avoid contact with the metal bars. Sinister-looking, razor-sharp wires wrapped around the top and signs every five feet warned of high voltage. Apparently the governor took his security seriously. Macy kept the house in sight in case Tony returned. She needed to burn off this nervous energy.
She couldn't believe how forward she’d acted with him. She had been in love with him for over a year, since she first started working in the crime lab, but he had yet to make a move. She’d recently spent the money her parents had sent her for Christmas on a makeover, hoping to entice him to notice her as more than a friend. If the look in his eye was any indication, it had worked. His asking her out for dinner later was her first glimmer of hope. She shivered.
Her Christmas wish was to spend not just dinner, but the rest of her life with Tony.
Macy's foot encountered something solid and she stumbled forward, barely managing to keep her balance. Twisting, she inspected the area. Her head tilted to the side. Something was down there. Bending closer, she ran her hand over the ground. It appeared to be some kind of handle.
Macy glanced around, making sure she was alone. Satisfied, she slid her fingers under the knob and lifted. A trap door opened with difficulty, the top camouflaged by the earth. Macy checked the area again–still alone–and peered inside. Steps. Leading to where? A storm shelter? Root cellar? The bowels of hell?
Her head jerked at a faint sound floating up the steps. Was her imagination working overtime or was that a whimper? Leaning closer she waited and yes…there it was again. Definitely a whimper. And definitely human.
Fumbling along the wall, her hand encountered a light switch. With one last glance at the house, she slipped into the opening and waited until the trap door closed before she engaged the light.
A strong musty smell assailed her nose as she gingerly navigated the steep stairs. The temperature rose ten degrees as she descended deeper into the ground. The sound drifted to her again, this time sounding like crying. Once she reached the landing, she encountered a firmly locked solid door. Macy jiggled the handle. The crying stopped abruptly.
"Hello?" she called out softly. No response. Louder she added, "My name is Macy and I'm with the Bedford Springs Police Department.” No need to admit she wasn't actually a cop, but worked in the fore
nsics lab.
"Are you weawy with the police?" The voice was young and very scared.
"Yes, honey, I am."
"Hewp me."
~8~
"What's your name?" Macy asked the disembodied voice on the other side of the door.
"Benji."
"How old are you, Benji?"
"Five."
Anger surged through her as if she’d been punched in the gut. Five years old and locked in a dungeon. Benji would have nightmares for the rest of his life.
"I'm going to get you out," she stated firmly.
"Pwease hurry before the bad man comes back."
Macy's heart took another blow. She needed to find Tony. He could get Benji out. He could do anything.
"Listen, Benji, I'm going to go get—"
"Don't weave me, pwease don't weave." Benji started crying again and Macy's own eyes welled with tears.
Steeling her voice, she said firmly, "I'm not going to leave you, Benji.” She could do this. She could save this little boy. "How big is the room you’re in?"
A sniffle. "I dunno."
Macy lips twitched. "Do you have a light in there?"
"Just a nightwight. I can't see much. And it smews weawy bad."
"Okay, listen to me, Benji. I’m going to get you out but I need your help. Can you move to the very back wall, as far away from the door as you can?"
"I guess so. Why?"
"Because I'm going to shoot the lock off."
"Cool!"
Macy's smile was bigger now. Maybe Benji would be okay after all. With quick jerks, she whipped off her coat and crumpled it into a ball, hoping to silence the sound of the gunshot. The party was in full swing so she didn't think anyone would notice. Though she had yet to see any, Ernest March probably had security patrolling the area.
Using deep breathing techniques from yoga, she relaxed her muscles, positioned the gun inside the coat and aimed them at the lock.
Bang!
The door creaked open. It worked! Feeling inordinately proud of herself, Macy shoved the plank wider. "Benji?” She wasn't prepared for the blow of a five-year-old boy launching himself at her with full force. She staggered from the impact, his arms wrapping around her neck cutting off her air, his legs clenched so tightly around her waist she couldn't pull in a much needed breath.
"It's okay, Benji. You’re safe now. I've got you. No one will hurt you again."
Benji's deep, heart-wrenching sobs set Macy's own waterworks off. She cried with the little boy, stroking his downy-soft hair and murmuring words of comfort.
Benji's body racked with shivers so severe, Macy shook with him. Her stomach clenched when she realized all he wore was a pair of little-boy underwear.
Glancing around the dim room, she spotted a blanket on a small mattress in the corner. She was afraid to look any closer at the contents of the room for fear of what she would discover. She was a lab technician, had processed blood and sweat and every bodily fluid imaginable. But she couldn’t bear to know what Ernest March had done to this fragile boy. Easing her way to the bed, she snatched up the cover and wrapped it tightly around Benji. His choke-hold had loosened, but not much. She didn't plan on letting him go until she absolutely had to, until someone pried him from her arms.
First, she had to find Tony.
Spinning around, she carried Benji up the steps and killed the lights before inching the trap door open slowly to peek outside. The coast was clear. Shoving the flap open, she stepped into the stormy night.
~*~
Ernest March waited until the dangerous detective departed before sagging against the doorframe and exhaling deeply. He whipped out a silk handkerchief and dotted at his brow. That had been close. Too close. Preston knew something.
He’d have to make sure the nosy detective met with an unfortunate accident before he shared his findings with anyone else. Nothing was going to stop Ernest from becoming president. His approval rating was at an all-time high. The country was primed for his leadership. Some punk, two-bit cop wouldn’t ruin it for him. He had been planning for this, working toward one goal his whole life: President of the United States of America.
Before making a call that would silence Preston permanently, March padded to the wall and triggered a secret compartment. He drew out his most treasured possession with extreme care. The scrapbook was his talisman, his personal bible.
Flipping through the pages, he smiled fondly at the beautiful faces of the young men he had loved. And he had loved them, each and every one.
The first picture he encountered was Ronny, Ernest's first love. He had been twenty-two at the time, fresh out of college. Though he’d felt these impulses for as long as he remembered, he’d never acted on them. Until he’d met a seven-year-old orphan who reminded Ernest of a stray puppy. Ah, he had loved Ronny so much, until he became too whiny, too frail. They all became whiny and weak, and when they did, Ernest had no choice but to end their suffering.
Matilda had no idea what transpired right under her snooty nose. The dried-up old hag wouldn't notice anything unless it benefitted her directly. If she ever found his hidden sanctuary, she would faint in horror. Oh, she wouldn't turn him in or divorce him. Hell, she’d already picked out china patterns to replace the dishes in the White House. But she would make his life a living nightmare.
Thank God she hated sex as much as he hated her. A handful of times decades ago still made him shudder with repugnance. Matilda simply used Ernest as her ticket into the social echelon she thought she deserved. Ernest used Matilda as a cover for his true proclivities. Tender young boys.
No, Matilda must never find out. He couldn't hire security personnel to patrol the grounds for that same reason. The only time he felt safe was when he could schedule a quick trip home and leave Matilda at their house in the Capital. Then he spent most of his waking hours with his young lovers.
He thought of the tow-headed Benji, waiting patiently in the sanctum for Ernest to return, and his blood heated. He’d not had the chance to do anything with Benji. He would tonight, when the last guest left for home. He would give Benji a Christmas present he’d never forget.
But first, he had to take care of that meddlesome detective.
~9~
Tony navigated the hallway to the front door, feeling like he was dropping the ball by not arresting March right now. When he returned to his car, he was going to call his captain and fill him in. If there was any chance of obtaining a warrant, Tony had to take it. He couldn’t leave March on the loose.
He had just stepped outside when a warm breeze tickled his ear.
“Go back, Tony…you must go back inside,” Lizzy whispered urgently.
Tony brushed at his ear, as if feeling her breath. He turned around and grabbed the door before it clicked shut. Mrs. March wasn't around to look down her nose at him again, thank goodness. Puzzled at his sudden about-face but determined, he retraced his steps to the den.
“What are you doing?” March bellowed, hurrying from the room. “You were supposed to leave.” March tried to close the door.
With her hands on his back, Lizzy propelled Tony into the study, past a stunned March.
“I just have a few more questions.”
“We are done here,” March sputtered, moving to block Tony’s advance.
March spun around in horror as the secret compartment in the wall creaked open and the book tumbled out.
“What the hell is that?” Tony moved forward to better see the book.
Lizzy smiled broadly at Will, his hand still on the panel.
Tony’s gaze moved from March to the book.
A pistol suddenly appeared in March’s grip. “You’re not ruining my chance at the presidency.”
Tony held his arms out to the side to show he was unarmed. "What? You’re going to shoot me with two hundred guests less than fifty feet away?"
March pulled the trigger before Tony, Lizzy or Will could react.
Damn! Apparently the man was going to s
hoot him with two hundred guests less than fifty feet away.
Tony staggered, blood pouring from the wound in his chest. Stunned, he lifted a hand to his shoulder, close to his heart. March aimed again, but Will reacted this time, wrenching his arm to force the shot wild. That split-second hesitation was all Tony needed. He knocked the gun from March’s hand. March let out a primal scream and lunged but Lizzy stuck out a foot, tripping him. He thudded hard to the ground, his head bouncing off the wood floor. Tony pounced, muscling March’s wrists into cuffs. “Don’t move, you sick son-of-a-bitch,” he growled when March attempted to stand. With one foot on the man’s back, Tony hefted the book with his good arm and flipped through the pages, his mouth gaping in horror. Dozens and dozens of faces, all young, all male, stared back at him, names, dates and final resting places noted below.
Ernest March had stolen these boys, abused them and then killed them.
Dropping the book with disgust, his hand hovered between his weapon and his cell phone. God, he wanted to put a bullet into this man's brain. But that would be letting the animal off way too easy.
He removed his cell and called for backup and an ambulance. His next call was to Macy to fill her in. He punched in her number and heard the ring through the phone lines and the open doorway. Puzzled, he spun around.
"Tony, oh my God, you've been shot."
Macy clutched a small blanket-covered bundle to her torso. It was a little boy wrapped as tightly around her as the cover was on him.
"What—" was all he got out before an unholy wail cut him off.
“Benji,” March cried. “My sweet, darling Benji.”
Benji whimpered and struggled to climb higher on Macy.
“Benji, listen to me,” she asserted, “he can’t hurt you anymore. The bad man will never hurt you again.”
Benji quieted and looked into Macy’s eyes. “Neva?”
She shook her head. “Never again.”
A Christmas Miracle Page 4