At present, it was eleven-thirty on this last Thursday in February. Jimmy had been driving all morning, and only an hour ago he had passed through Albany, the capital of New York State. Further than he’d been in sometime. The McSwains tended to spend time with Grandmother Hester during the summer at her cottage on Peach Lake, near Brewster, but this was way more upstate than Dutchess County. He was going even further still, to a small town named White Pine, nestled in a valley between a range of the Adirondacks Mountains. There was a man who lived there whom Jimmy needed to see. A man who might just be hold the answer to a key question.
His name was Jonathan Tolliver. He’d been the detective assigned to the murder of Joseph McSwain. He was also the man whom a fourteen-year-old Jimmy had heard tell Maggie McSwain that there were no clues in the case, they were moving forward. This only weeks after Joseph had been buried. The same day Jimmy retrieved his bloody clothes from the trash bins in front of the building on 10th Avenue. The very day he’d sworn this cold case would one day heat up. Jimmy felt plenty of warmth now, the vents blasting air on him as the pushed down on the gas pedal, increasing his speed. Up Route 87, referred to as the Northway, he went, hoping to reach his destination no later than one in the afternoon. He’d told no one where he was going.
It had been a troublesome night after the discovery of his ransacked office. After taking a deep breath and assessing the damage, he called a locksmith, who came over and repaired the door as best he could, all for a high cost. At least Jimmy could lock it again. During his wait time, he’d cleaned up the mess, though he hardly had time to re-organize the files. The Forever Haunt was in complete disorder, the irony not lost on him. It fueled him. Wanting to restore order from chaos. He also knew he needed to get out of town, think things through, because he had a suspicion of who had violated his sanctuary: Mr. Wu-Tin’s thugs, no doubt looking for the flash drive. Jimmy hadn’t left it there. It was still on his person, and it was going to stay there until he figured out how best to negotiate a truce, a trade. For now, though, he would lay low, avoid detection.
Sometimes being an independent operator meant you maintained radio silence.
Except, as he passed the exit for a place called Bolton Landing, Jimmy’s cell phone rang.
He shouldn’t answer, but the traffic was light on the road. He took a chance when seeing who was calling.
“Hey,” he said.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Hi to you, too, Frank.”
“Now’s not the time for kidding, Jimmy. Have you heard the big news out of the NYPD?”
“If you’re talking about the retirement of Lawrence Dean, yeah.”
“Not just that. They say Decca killed my officer.”
“It’s bullshit,” Jimmy said.
He got no argument. “I repeat, where are you?”
“Working an angle on the very case you’ve called about.”
“Which means your father’s case.”
“I’m close on this case, Frank. I can taste it. Do you mind, can I ask you a question—about Officer Luke?”
“Like what? I’m not going to trash a good man.”
“Was he involved in a robbery case, perhaps in the last few months.”
There was silence on the other end. Which confirmed to Jimmy that something was wrong. He touched a nerve for sure.
“What do you know?”
“Let me tell you what I think. The case fell apart because of lack of evidence. A key piece of the robbery went missing—namely, a diamond bracelet.”
“How do you…”
“I can send you a picture of it. I’ve seen it.”
“Where?”
“On the wrist of the widow Luke. After her husband’s death, she hated what it represented. She had her brother sell it. To Decca.”
“You’ve been busy, Jimmy. Yeah, it went missing. The case was dismissed. A career crook put back on the streets.”
“Probably not the only case that went that way. And not only in your precinct.”
“We’ll talk about this later,” Frisano said. “I’m sure my father will want to hear your side of the investigation.” Then came a pause, but Jimmy could still hear the man’s breathing on the other end. Like he was contemplating something. “Speaking of my father, you’ve been invited to dinner.”
“To dinner?”
“Specifically, a Frisano Sunday Italian dinner. At Mama Frisano’s request.”
“When?”
“This Sunday.”
Jimmy thought about the timing. Was the invite for pasta truly from the mother, or was the papa dangling a carrot? He wondered why he always had to be suspicious.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said.
“Is that a yes?”
“How can I possibly say no to an invitation from Mama Frisano? But I gotta ask, you sure your father is okay with this?”
“Jim, you want to look for trouble, or you want to fill up on lasagna?”
Kind of went hand in hand when contemplating the Frisanos. “Are you okay with this? Going…public, at least with family?”
“Jimmy, just tell me what you’re up to. And where you are.”
“I’m headed upstate. Gotta talk to someone. It’s important. I’ll explain when I’m back,” he said. “Trust me.”
“Whenever someone says that—especially you—I don’t.”
“Look, I’m driving. I shouldn’t be on the phone. Don’t want to attract the state troopers.”
“So you’re on the Thruway. Stay safe, Jimmy.”
“Always.”
“Yeah, right,” Frisano said. “Oh, and after dinner, plan on dessert at my place.”
Jimmy saw in the distance a vista of snow-capped mountains, of nature’s conflicting beauty and wrath. The sight brought a smile to his lips. Or maybe Frisano’s suggestion did. Perhaps both. At the moment it didn’t matter. He had much to look forward to, like answers…solutions. He said good-bye to Frisano and returned to concentrating on the road ahead of him. He was only a few miles away from his desired exit per the directions he’d plugged into the GPS on his phone. White Pine was near, and hopefully so too were long-held secrets of the past.
This trip could also prove fruitless. Not like he’d called ahead for an appointment.
The element of surprise often yielded better results. So he’d taken a chance.
He exited off the highway, the ramp curving around a forest of snow-laced trees. He turned left, a sign pointing toward White Pine. He found himself crossing the Paddy Rogers Memorial Bridge, a frozen river in the chasm far beneath. He liked the name of the bridge; the name Paddy a good omen.
Soon he was entering the confines of the small village, quaint and quiet on this wintry day, the buildings typical architecture, its landmarks true Americana. A small park to honor veterans, a brick-built firehouse, a dive bar named Sally’s and a motel, which might come in handy if he had to stay the night. For now, he followed the directions his phone was giving him. Two left turns and soon he’d hit Placid Street, and an address of 309. He pulled to the curb, turned off the engine. Both he and it exhaled. He was here, 12:30, ahead of schedule. Now if only the next phase of his trip went as smoothly.
Jimmy stepped out of the car, grateful to be able to stretch his legs. He immediately noticed the mist from his breath. It was cold up here, probably around twenty degrees. Thankfully no wind. As though the surrounding mountains kept the village protected from the harsher elements of such long winters. So unlike the streets of New York, where there was always activity, always noise, and usually windy amongst the steel canyons. Here it was quiet. Birds might have chirped if they hadn’t smartly flown south. Jimmy stared at the house that interested him. A simple cape style, a two-car garage. Tire tracks in the snow-coated driveway indicated recent activity. That was a good clue.
Jimmy walked up a shoveled path, up onto a small porch that in the summertime would be ideal for sitting out and watching the world go by. Not so now. Before knocking,
he took one more look down the quiet sidewalks. He didn’t see anyone walking around. Guess people knew to stay tucked in during the season. Hopefully he’d be invited inside. He’d never officially met Jonathan Tolliver. But his name had been forever a part of his haunt, one that existed in an article that Jimmy had read endlessly. But he knew nothing about the man. Clearly he’d retired far from the city. Had he run from the city?
Before he could knock, the door opened and a man stood before him. He was sixty at least, with a shock of white hair combed back in a poof-like wave. Five ten at best, with a slight paunch to him. He also had an unwelcoming look on his face.
“Something I can help you with?” the man asked.
“Oh, sorry. You beat me to the punch. I was about to knock.”
“Wanna tell me why?”
“Are you Jonathan Tolliver?” Jimmy asked.
“Who wants to know?”
“Jimmy McSwain. I just drove up from New York City. It’s…it’s important.”
As Jimmy spoke, he wondered if the name would mean anything to the man. But nothing registered. Not even a tic on his cheek.
“If you must know, no, I’m not Jonathan. I’m his husband, Ace.”
That pronouncement caught Jimmy by surprise and he tripped over his next words. “Oh, I, well, I didn’t know. Um, that’s great. Ace. Nice to meet you. Detective Tolliver, he worked with my father years ago…um, is he here? Do you think I could come in? Kinda cold out here for a city boy.” He attempted a friendly smile while he rubbed his glove-less hands.
Ace stepped back, opened the door to admit Jimmy into a tastefully decorated living room. Another man sat in the corner in a recliner. His feet were propped up and he looked like he’d been sleeping. Jimmy also ascertained that the man didn’t look well. His body was thin, almost sickly. From what he knew about Tolliver, he should be around sixty-five, six. He looked older, clearly ravaged by some disease.
“Johnny, we have company. A man from New York City. He’s looking for you.”
Jimmy waited for a reaction, which happened a few stilted moments later. The man waved, his hand motion weak, shaky. Edging forward, Jimmy looked back at Ace for assurance. A quick nod gave him the impetus to sit before the man on a nearby sofa. Jimmy turned back to Ace.
“Can he speak?”
“He can. Just give him a moment. He doesn’t adjust to change so quickly.”
“I know it’s none of my business, but can I ask…?”
“ALS. What some people call Lou Gehrig’s Disease. He has good days and bad. Today is one of those hard-to-read ones.”
“I’m sorry. If this is too much for him…”
Ace continued to stand over him, not intimidating but protective, said, “You’ve obviously traveled a long way for something. You claim it’s important. No doubt involving Johnny’s NYPD past.”
The mention of the NYPD stirred Jonathan Tolliver from his quiet stupor. Suddenly he had perked up. He eased the reclining function, sitting up straight and looking directly at Jimmy. His eyes looked like they were trying to reach back into his memory banks. Jimmy said nothing. Gave the man a chance to work things out. From what he knew about ALS patients, it was the body that failed; the mind remained as sharp as ever. A cruel disease.
“I know you,” he finally said.
“My name is…”
“McSwain, that much I know. I see Joey in you.”
That comment struck Jimmy in the heart, and he fought hard to control his emotions. He had to remain focused on the reason he was here. The truth, not the sorrow behind it. He leaned forward. “That’s a wonderful compliment, thank you. I can only hope to honor him by living as he did. I’m Jimmy. His son.”
“You are here. You seem to be a man of compassion. Not a common trait these days.”
“I wanted to ask you some questions, if that’s okay.”
“I remember you,” Johnny suddenly said. “That day. When I spoke with your mother.”
“Maggie. I was there that day. Both when my father died, and then when you said there was nothing more you could do to kind his killer.”
Jonathan Tolliver hung his head, closed his eyes. Was he reaching back to the past, to that day when a fourteen-year-old Jimmy McSwain secretly listened in on a private conversation that, in the end, would shape his life. Had the seasoned detective known Jimmy was there? Jimmy had a sense he’d missed something, then, and now.
“What has your mother told you of that day? Of the investigation?”
“She’s been evasive. She always has. She understands my need to solve this case. For him and for me, but us all. For some reason, she’s content not knowing.” Jimmy paused, “She won’t tell me the truth. I have come this far and I’m hoping maybe you can enlighten me. Simply, I want to know why the case was dropped. The NYPD is fierce when protecting its fallen brethren. Why was the murder of Joseph McSwain not given the full support of the blue line?”
“Jimmy, you seem like a good guy. A determined one, colorful in your way. But the world is often dark. There are shadows everywhere, and in the case of your father, too many shadows. If your mother won’t speak of them all these years later, why do you suppose I would dredge up the past? I am long retired, far from the grasp of the NYPD.”
“I don’t believe that. You knew me. You remember my father. This case still haunts you.”
“A detective never likes an unsolved case. When you retire, you think of them. Always.”
“Do you know who killed him?”
Tolliver paused. Again, he closed his eyes. But when they reopened, they were as clear as a night sky. Filled with brightness, yet somehow dark. “No, Jimmy. I never knew who pulled the trigger, nor the motive.”
“So my coming here, it was for naught.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Tolliver said. “Ace, honey, what do you say we get out of here. I think our new young friend Jimmy needs to learn a few things.”
“You sure you’re up for this, Johnny?” Ace asked.
“Oh, in a way, I’ve been expecting this visit for some time.” Tolliver turned back to Jimmy. “If you can handle the truths I know, I’ll talk.”
Jimmy’s mouth dried up, this throat tightened. What Tolliver had to say, they were words he was suddenly afraid to swallow. But try he would. “I’ve come this far. No matter where it ends, every journey needs an ending.”
§ § § §
“Welcome to Sally’s,” Tolliver said.
“Not unlike my uncle’s pub. Smells of stale beer and regulars.”
Tolliver laughed. “Sometimes the reverse.”
Sally’s was bigger than Paddy’s, the benefit of the space afforded by being outside of the island of Manhattan. It was a big room, a wide, circular bar in the middle. Most of the tables were empty at this early hour. The three men, Tolliver, Ace, and Jimmy, took up a private booth in the back, Jimmy watching as the retired cop ambled hesitantly. Ace helped get him settled and out of earshot. Sally herself came and waited on them. Jimmy noticed she walked with a noticeable limp.
“Hiya, Johnny. Ace. Who’s the cutie?’
“A friend, from the city,” Tolliver said. “An old friend.”
“Doesn’t look so old to me. Reliving your NYPD glory days?”
Tolliver looked down for a moment, almost embarrassed. “Sort of,” he said, unsure.
“Well, welcome kid. What’ll you have.”
“Whatever’s on tap. Surprise me.”
“Got it. Boys, the regular?”
“If you would, thanks,” said Ace, addressing Jimmy. “We stop in every now and then. Sally knows her gang.”
“No excuses needed here, I’m guilty of a few indulgences myself.”
Their drinks arrived, and only right before they lifted their glasses, did Jimmy stop. Looked at Tolliver. The man’s hand was shaky, a result of the disease.
“You sure you should be drinking?” he asked.
“Kid. I’ve been handed a death sentence. Nothing I can do about it. For
now, I’m living.”
They cheered then to life, Jimmy thinking of his father and how many toasts and blessings he’d missed over the years. It was a bittersweet moment, sitting here with a man who had known his father, worked beside him. Tried to bring him final justice. What did he know, and how had he kept it hidden all these years? Was the answer to Joseph McSwain’s murder to be found nestled in a small Adirondack town, far from the corner deli where he bled out? Was the crimson corner of yesterday to be traded in for the snowy sidewalks of today?
Jimmy knew life was not just about passing years, but passing seasons, times when hope lived, when hope died, and when the world dangled you in its delicate balance. Time wasn’t always on your side. Time ruled, and you went with it. You could win only so often. Eventually everyone lost.
Jimmy took a sip of his beer and then spoke. “You said truths. Plural.”
“Right down to business, huh?” Tolliver said
“The clock is not my friend right now. I’ve got a lot to solve. Limited amount of time.”
“Fair enough. You came this far. Before I start, tell me what you think you know.”
“After graduating from the academy, I forsook the badge and became a private investigator. Six years ago. Taking my father’s murder as my first case. It remains the one major unsolved case in my files. In the past year, I’ve unearthed several clues, some of which led me to others, while some were just a dead end. Almost as though I’m being played by someone…a person with more knowledge than me. Who lives in the shadows. All I’ve done is try and get them out into the light. I’m close, I know it. I just need a few more answers, and,” he said, looking at Tolliver. “It starts with you. My father wasn’t just the victim of a random shooting at a deli. I believe it was a set-up. That whoever orchestrated the killing was trailing him. He took advantage of the situation. Made it look like a robbery gone wrong. It wasn’t. It was an execution.”
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