ABSOLUTION (A Frank Renzi novel)

by Susan A Fleet

  Better do something about the bleeding.

  “Marie’s okay,” he said to no one in particular. “Tim shot himself.”

  A superfluous statement since the cops were already crowded around Tim’s body. Someone took Marie by the arm and led her away. Woozy and light headed, Frank sank slowly to his knees and then to the floor.

  He blacked out for a time, and when he came to, Lieutenant Murphy was kneeling beside him, barking orders. “Get the goddam medics in here. He’s bleeding like a son of a bitch!”

  He drifted in and out, bobbing on a sea of calm. Marie was okay. Marie was alive at least. Then he remembered Marie was the one who shot him. He drifted off again and then Dana was kneeling beside him, offering him water from a cool plastic bottle.

  “I couldn’t save him,” he said.

  Dana’s eyes glinted with tears. She seemed giddy with relief, smiling and crying as she stroked his cheek. “You did what you could, Frank. How could I expect you to talk him into some sort of sanity in twenty minutes when I couldn’t do it in four years of therapy?”

  “At least Marie’s safe.” His eyelids felt heavy and his eyes closed.

  “Yes,” Dana said, “and so are you. That’s the important thing.”

  He rubbed his chest where the slug had hit. His chest hurt almost as much as his leg. He was going to have a nasty bruise.

  “Marie shot me.”

  “Marie shot you?” Dana gasped. “Why?”

  “She thought Tim killed himself because of me. She said I ruined everything. She said Tim was her knight in shining armor.” His body ached all over and he was feeling lightheaded again.

  Two EMTs come through the door rolling a stretcher

  “Over here!” Dana yelled. “Hurry! He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  An EMT with a stethoscope dangling from his neck examined his thigh and muttered, “Uh-oh, this looks like trouble.”

  “You have to stop the bleeding,” Dana said urgently. “He’s going into shock.”

  He gripped her hand and tried to tell her he’d be okay, felt himself slipping away, and everything faded to black.

  CHAPTER 30

  Two weeks later

  Favoring his injured leg, Frank approached the hospital bed where Sean Daily lay against the pillows, propped up at a sixty-degree angle. Stacks of get-well cards lay on his bedside table and the sweet aroma of two large floral bouquets on a side table wafted through the room.

  Sean beamed him a smile, but his face was as white as the bandages that swathed his head. At least the tubes in his nose and the IV line in his arm were gone, unlike the last time Frank had seen him.

  “You’re limping, Frank. Sit here.” Aurora rose from a chair on the opposite side of the bed near the window. She looked exhausted, dark circles beneath her eyes, though her silvery hair was perfectly coifed.

  “The Limping Detective. Great title for a movie,” he joked, waving her back into the chair. “I can’t stay, just stopped by to see how Sean’s doing.”

  “He’s looking a lot better, isn’t he?” she said, smiling now. “The doctor said he’s going to be fine.”

  “Can’t keep an old Irish Mick down,” Sean said with a cocky grin.

  He perched on the edge of the bed to take the weight off his sore leg. “How did it go with Ralph? Aurora told me he came to see you.”

  Sean’s grin broadened. “Wonderful, Frank, just wonderful. The three of us had a great talk, didn’t we, Aurora?”

  “Indeed we did. Ralph is a fine young man,” she said, adding with a mischievous smile, “Handsome, too, like his father.”

  Sean’s eyes grew somber. “Mary sent her regards. Ralph said she would have come with him if she’d been well enough to travel. But now that Ralph knows where I am, she’s at peace.”

  “I’m glad you worked things out.” Frank smiled at Aurora and said, “Sean’s a lucky man to have a woman like you for a partner.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that, Frank.” Sean reached out and took Aurora’s hand. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

  “Luckier than you know. After I got out of the hospital I made some calls to check into that New Hampshire case—”

  “Frank, I swear I didn’t—”

  “Sean, I believe you. I’m not going to turn you in.”

  Sean puffed his cheeks and blew out air, visibly relieved. “That’s twice you saved my life, Frank. If you hadn’t come to the rectory that morning, I’d be dead now.”

  “He’s right,” Aurora said, nodding. “Dr. Ornstein told me so. He said Sean wouldn’t have made it if he’d gotten to the hospital ten minutes later.”

  “I’m grateful you won’t turn me in, but—” Sean struggled to sit up, then sank back against the pillows. Aurora handed him a Styrofoam cup with a straw. He took a sip and swallowed. “I wish I knew who killed Judy.”

  “We may never know. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I tracked down the private investigator Judy’s parents hired and talked to him. Thirty years ago when Judy was murdered, DNA evidence wasn’t even a blip on anyone’s radar screen, but the PI collected a sample from the semen they found on her underwear and had it tested.”

  “DNA,” Sean said, and nodded slowly. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “You’ve got the luck of the Irish, Sean. After you split, the cops took several items out of your room, including a hairbrush. The PI found it in the evidence file, got a DNA sample from your hair, had it tested and compared it to the DNA from the semen.”

  Sean’s face lit up in a confident smile. “And it didn’t match, right?”

  “Not even close. Someone else killed her, Sean. Case closed.”

  “Halleluiah!” Aurora exclaimed, leaning forward to embrace Sean.

  Watching them was ample reward for the many hours he’d spent on the phone, tracking down the PI and talking to the New Hampshire State Police. He eased off the bed. His leg was better, but still sore.

  “Sorry I can’t stay,” he said, edging toward the door. “I have to pick someone up at the airport.”

  “Your therapist friend?” Aurora said with a faint smile.

  He grinned. “How’d you guess?”

  “From the happy look on your face and the wicked gleam in your eye.”

  _____

  “You ditched the crutch,” Dana said, giving him a stern look as he stopped for a traffic light at the Louis Armstrong Airport exit. A jumbo jet rumbled overhead, taking off into a cloudless blue sky.

  “I got sick of it. The doc won’t let me go running for a month. He didn’t want me driving either, but—”

  “But he doesn’t know your relentless determination.”

  “Stubborn, you mean, too stubborn sometimes. If I’d let you come into the store with me, you might have talked Tim into surrendering.”

  “I doubt it. I’ve done a lot of thinking these last two weeks, Frank. Nobody could have convinced Tim to surrender. He knew he was facing all those murder charges. What did he have to live for?”

  The light turned green, and Frank turned left onto Airline Drive. “Tim was a control-freak to the very end. Choosing when to die, and how.”

  They fell silent as they passed several motels and then the Garden of Memories, its lush green lawn dotted with pink-and-white geraniums, the final resting place of many New Orleans area residents.

  But not Timothy Krauthammer.

  “Tim’s father wouldn’t come and pick up the body,” Frank said. “He called the DA’s office and said he’d pay them to ship the body to Wahoo.”

  “Sad, but not surprising. What happened with the murder cases?”

  “The DA closed them. Tim’s DNA matched the DNA evidence they collected from Patti Cole’s fingernails, and the taskforce collected a ton of evidence in his room linking him to the other murders.” He looked over at Dana. “Tim kept their tongues in glass jars with labels on them.”

  She combed her fingers through the sable-brown hair that fell to her shoulders, no ponytail t
oday. “Tim was mentally ill. He needed help and he didn’t get it. That’s a shame, but I feel worse for all those women he killed and their families. Those women never had a chance. What will happen to Lisa Marie Sampson?”

  “There’s another sad case. She didn’t have much of a chance either, but at least her father stood by her. He dropped out of the movie, said he needed to help the lawyer prepare her defense.”

  “What are the charges?”

  “Attempted murder of a police officer, failure to stop for a police roadblock, a few others. I think Tim bamboozled her, like he did the other victims. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t charge her, but it’s not up to me.”

  _____

  When they got to his apartment, Frank felt nervous and edgy. He unlocked the door and led Dana into his living room. She looked around and went straight to his bookshelves. He set her suitcase on the rug and watched her study the photos of Maureen. He got the feeling Dana was nervous too, stalling for time.

  At last, she turned and came to him, her lips forming a lopsided grin.

  His cellphone chimed and Dana laughed. “Better yours than mine,” she said. “Go ahead and take the call. I’ll get us something to drink.”

  “Great idea,” he said, waving in the direction of his kitchen. “There’s beer in the refrigerator, or wine, if you’d prefer.”

  He sank onto the couch, set his bum leg on the coffee table and answered his cellphone. And Rona Jefferson said, “How you doing, Frank? Sorry I didn’t call sooner, but I’ve been busy.”

  “I noticed. I’ve been reading your columns.”

  “What? Too edgy for you?”

  “Just keep my name out of them is all I ask.”

  “Not even a whisper, Frank. Not one.” Rona chuckled. “Just about killed me though, after Norris did his weasel act at the press conference. He wouldn’t even admit you were the one who cracked the case. ‘Helpful in apprehending the killer,’ the man said, words oozing out of his mouth like shit through a candy press.”

  “We stopped the killings, Rona. That’s the important thing.”

  “Folks are resting easier, for sure. Everybody, not just the women.” She paused and he waited for her to go off on the race thing, got a surprise when she said, “I called to thank you, Frank. Hadn’t been for you, I’d have been asleep in my bed when that bastard torched my house.”

  He laughed aloud. “Where were you? I’ve been dying to know.”

  “Aunt Emma’s Bed and Breakfast,” she said, laughing along with him. “Not my aunt, someone else’s. Listen, I gotta go finish my column. You take care and keep in touch.”

  He said he would and punched off. Dana returned from the kitchen with two bottles of Heineken, handed him one, and sat beside him on the couch. “One of your many fans?” she asked with a wry smile.

  He burst out laughing. “Fan? No. But at this point I think we might be friends. That was Rona Jefferson, the columnist I told you about. Tim torched her house but she wasn’t home.”

  “Thank goodness for that.” Dana set her beer on the coffee table and turned to him, a clear look of invitation in her eyes.

  His cellphone chimed.

  “Damn!” he said.

  “Nice to know you’re so popular.”

  He checked the caller-ID. “Sorry. I’ve got to take this.”

  “No problem. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He punched on and Maureen’s voice chirped, “Hi Dad. I’m on duty so I haven’t got much time, but I wanted to call and see how you’re doing.”

  “Doing great, Mo.” He glanced at Dana, who smiled. “I ditched my crutches yesterday.”

  “Daaaaaad! You have to give the muscles time to heal.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, enjoying her concern. “I’m being careful.”

  “You better. I worry about you, Dad. How much time off did they give you?”

  “Three weeks medical leave. Nowhere near enough.” He winked at Dana, and she grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “I agree,” Maureen said. “You should take six weeks at least.”

  “Six weeks,” he echoed, and watched Dana’s grin broaden. “Well, I’ll ask, but I doubt they’ll give it to me.”

  He heard Maureen’s beeper go off.

  “Sorry Dad, gotta go. Call you tomorrow, okay?”

  He powered off his cellphone and put it on the coffee table. “If it rings again, I’m not answering.”

  He pulled Dana closer and brushed her lips with a kiss. Without a word, she climbed into his lap and he kissed her again, deeply this time, holding her face with his hands, enjoying the sweet pliancy of her lips.

  After a while she pulled away and murmured, “I missed you.”

  “Not half as much as I missed you.”

  “This long-distance thing will be a challenge.”

  His heart thrummed in his chest. “We can handle it.”

  She gazed at him, her sable-brown eyes intent on his. He waited for what seemed like an eternity, willing her to agree. At last, she smiled and her eyes were warm and liquid brown. He loved her eyes.

  With a decisive nod she said, “Yes, Frank, I think we can.”