The Dead Room

by Chris Mooney

  She lifted her head again. No nausea but a new kind of pain, one that felt like nails were pressing against every square inch of her skull. Her stomach hitched and she lay back against the pillow.

  The male doctor who came in to examine her looked as if he had just graduated from puberty. MASS. GENERAL HOSPITAL was stitched above the breast pocket of his white jacket. He shone a light in her eyes and started asking her questions.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Darby McCormick.’

  ‘And where do you live, Miss McCormick?’

  ‘Temple Street in Boston.’ Her voice felt raw and hoarse. ‘The month is August and I know the name of the president. Both my short- and long-term memory are fine.’

  The doctor smiled. ‘They warned me you’d be a pain in the ass.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘Your friends waiting in the hall.’ He clicked off the pen light. ‘You’ve suffered a Grade Three concussion, but you’re not exhibiting the more dangerous symptoms – memory loss or vision impairment. The CT scan shows no brain trauma. Your face sustained several lacerations from glass. When you take off the bandages, you’re going to see jigsaws of sutures. They’ll heal in about three to four weeks. You shouldn’t have any scarring.’

  ‘I suffer from SIS.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Shitty Irish Skin,’ Darby said. ‘I’ll definitely have some scarring.’

  The young doctor chuckled. ‘Well, we can correct that down the road, so don’t worry. Are you feeling up for visitors?’

  ‘Absolutely. When can I leave?’

  ‘Probably this afternoon,’ he said. ‘We shot you up with small doses of Demerol for pain management and to help you sleep. Do you feel nauseous?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Demerol never agreed with her stomach.

  ‘That should dissipate in a few hours,’ he said. ‘You’ll need someone to take you home. And you’ll need to –’

  ‘Stay off my feet, relax, don’t push myself, etcetera, etcetera.’

  The doctor gave her instructions on how to clean the wounds and promised to write her a prescription for Percocet. After he left, Darby used the hospital phone to call MCI-Cedar Junction, got Superintendent Skinner on the phone and explained where she was and what had happened. Skinner said he could arrange the meeting with Ezekiel for any time during the day; all he needed was an hour’s notice. She promised to call him as soon as she left the hospital.

  The door opened. She expected to see Coop. Instead, she saw Artie Pine. He pulled up a chair next to her bed.

  ‘You were passed out when I found you,’ he said. ‘By the time I helped you to the ambulance you were talking, although I’ll be goddamned if I could understand what you were saying.’

  ‘What happened to Coop?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Jackson Cooper. The forensic guy who looks like David Beckham. You were talking to him when the house exploded.’

  ‘Oh, him. The one with the muscles. Took a hell of a spill but he’s fine. The commissioner is here. She’s on the phone at the moment. She wants to – in fact, here she is.’

  Darby tried to sit up.

  ‘Lay back,’ Pine said. ‘I’ll elevate your bed for you.’

  Chadzynski, dressed in one of her utilitarian black power suits, stood at the foot of the bed. Darby’s attention was on the man wearing a frumpy tan suit. He had cauliflower ears and a large, ugly nose that had been broken too many times. He leaned on the wall next to the door and looked at her with a humourless, dour expression – a man, she suspected, who preferred working with numbers and statistics to working with people.

  ‘This is Lieutenant Warner,’ Chadzynski said. ‘When I heard about what had happened, I had him posted outside your room.’

  Warner nodded hello.

  ‘Detective Pine told me about the explosion,’ Chadzynski said.

  ‘Explosions,’ Darby said. ‘There were two. First the house and then the crime scene vehicle. The way the house went up, I thought it might have been a gas explosion. No flames, it just blew apart. Then the Explorer went next and I knew it was a bomb – two bombs.’

  Chadzynski’s normally emotionless face pinched with anger. Or was it fear?

  ‘How many?’ Darby asked.

  ‘It’s too early to say.’

  ‘Edgar was in the house with his grad students.’

  ‘Yes, I know. They’re among the missing.’

  ‘What about Stan Jennings? He’s the lead detective from Charlestown.’

  Chadzynski looked at Pine.

  ‘I don’t know about Jennings,’ he said. ‘I was on my way to the house when I ran into your forensic partner. I was asking him for an update when the house blew.’

  Chadzynski said, ‘Detective Pine, would you give us a moment?’

  ‘Sure.’ He looked at Darby and said, ‘Doc says you can’t drive home.’

  ‘I live across the street.’

  ‘No matter, I’ll take you.’ He patted her hand. ‘I’ll be waiting outside.’

  Chadzynski spoke. ‘Thank you for your generous offer, Detective Pine, but I’ll take care of the transportation arrangements for Miss McCormick. And I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to Belham, cleaned up and back to work.’

  Pine looked as if a door had been slammed shut in his face. Darby watched him walk all the way to the door.

  44

  Darby reached for the plastic cup of water sitting on the nightstand.

  Chadzynski folded her hands behind her back. Warner glanced out of the small window installed in the door, then turned to the commissioner and nodded.

  ‘Lieutenant Warner does a sweep of my office and car two to three times a week to look for listening devices,’ Chadzynski said. ‘He performed one this morning and found listening devices installed in the panel of my car door.’

  ‘The listening devices are sophisticated,’ Warner said in a gravelly voice. ‘They turned on and off by remote to save battery power, and have a three-mile listening radius.’

  ‘Mr Warner has some people he trusts going through my office,’ Chadzynski said. ‘After they’ve finished, they’re going to inspect your office, then the entire lab.’

  People he trusts, Darby thought.

  She licked her dry lips, looked at Warner and said, ‘Who are you?’

  Chadzynski answered the question. ‘Mr Warner is the head of Anti-Corruption.’

  The cops who worked in Anti-Corruption reported directly to the police commissioner. Only Chadzynski knew their identities.

  ‘The news is playing actual footage of the explosion,’ Chadzynski said. ‘Some TV camera must have been recording. In any event, I had the bomb squad commander examine the footage and they believe the explosions were caused by an IED.’

  An improvised explosives device, Darby thought. That made sense – two separate explosions, two separate charges.

  ‘What kind, do we know?’

  ‘The bomb squad says it’s too early to say until they’ve sifted through the debris – they’re at the site as we speak,’ Chadzynski said. ‘However, given the way the house and crime scene vehicle went up, they’re in agreement that the IED contained either a plastic explosive, like C-4, or dynamite.’

  ‘I don’t think they were timed charges. I think someone was watching the house and detonated them.’

  ‘Maybe it’s this mystery man you met in Belham – the one with the brown van.’

  ‘How did you find out?’ Darby hadn’t filed her report – she hadn’t even had time to write it.

  ‘I had Jackson Cooper in my office first thing this morning,’ Chadzynski said. ‘He brought me up to date. It’s his opinion that the area around the house was pretty well sealed off.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘He also told me a patrolman was placed at the front door. That you asked him and Detective Jennings not to allow any Federal agents inside the house.’

  Darby nodded, knowing where Chadzynski was heading, why Lieutenant Wa
rner and his Anti-Corruption squad were now on board.

  ‘I think it’s reasonable to assume that the IEDs weren’t inside the house when you arrived – or on the crime scene vehicle,’ Chadzynski said. ‘To gain access to the house, someone either posed as a Boston police officer or was, in fact, an actual officer.’

  ‘I agree,’ Darby said. ‘Is that why you asked Pine to leave the room?’

  ‘I have no reason to suspect him of anything. It’s simply a precautionary measure, but I want to restrict this investigation to people I can trust – you, and Lieutenant Warner. We now have to deal with this additional element, this victim found in the basement of Kevin Reynolds’s former home, a Federal agent named Peter Alan who died during Frank Sullivan’s boat raid.’

  ‘Jennings said he believed the man was Peter Alan. We won’t know until we run his prints.’

  ‘The fingerprints came back this morning. It’s Peter Alan. Mr Cooper told me.

  ‘Four Federal agents died along with Frank Sullivan – Peter Alan, Jack King, Tony Frissora and Steven White. If Alan is alive, I think we should go on the theory that the others are too.’

  Darby nodded.

  Chadzynski said, ‘Mr Cooper also informed me that the man who murdered your father requested a meeting with you but he was vague on the details.’

  ‘I was scheduled to speak with John Ezekiel this morning at ten about Amy Hallcox. Her real name is Kendra Sheppard. She visited him the day she was murdered.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Mr Cooper told me. As for Ezekiel, I’ll have Lieutenant Warner speak to him.’

  ‘Ezekiel said he’d speak only to me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I won’t know until I talk to him.’

  ‘Have you spoken to him before?’

  ‘No,’ Darby said. ‘Never.’

  Chadzynski digested this silently.

  ‘Mr Cooper has asked to be removed from the CSU.’

  ‘Yes,’ Darby said, ‘I know.’

  ‘His request surprised me, as I’m sure it did you. I know how much you value him, both personally and professionally.’

  Darby waited.

  ‘He cited the reason as conflict of interest, but he wouldn’t tell me specifics,’ Chadzynski said. ‘Do you have any ideas?’

  ‘At one point in time he knew Kendra Sheppard on a personal level. They’re both from Charlestown.’

  ‘Mr Cooper neglected to mention that fact to me.’

  ‘It must have slipped his mind.’

  ‘I can tell by the tone of your voice you honestly don’t believe that.’

  No, she didn’t. ‘Commissioner, I’d like you to put some people on Michelle Baxter.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘She lives in Charlestown, in an apartment building right down the street from the Reynolds house. She’s the woman who was speaking to the driver of the brown van I saw yesterday in Belham – the mystery man, as you called him.’

  ‘This is the first I’m hearing of this woman.’

  So Coop hadn’t told her.

  ‘Is Mr Cooper deliberately withholding information that could help this case?’

  ‘He identified Kendra Sheppard,’ Darby said. ‘He –’

  ‘Please answer my question.’

  Darby drank some water. Coop knew something; she could feel it in her gut. He was under no legal obligation to speak, but if Chadzynski found out he had willingly withheld information that could be helpful, he could kiss his Boston career goodbye. A disciplinary meeting would be held. Given his untarnished work record, he’d most likely be asked to tender his resignation instead of being fired – if he was lucky.

  But if his deliberate withholding of information wound up contributing to the injury or death of someone, Coop would never work in law enforcement again, not to mention possible prosecution.

  ‘Darby?’

  ‘Yes. I think he’s withholding something.’

  ‘Then I suggest you speak to him. Today.’

  ‘I will, after I talk to Ezekiel.’

  ‘Are you feeling well enough to go to the prison?’

  Darby nodded.

  ‘Mr Warner will drive you,’ Chadzynski said. ‘I’d like him to take your vehicle. While you’re inside the prison, he can check for listening devices.’

  Darby described her car and told Warner about the garage down the street. She found her keys on top of the nightstand and handed them to him.

  Chadzynski stepped away from the bed and was about to open the door when she turned around, her gaze level. ‘You may want to remind Mr Cooper what he’s putting on the line. I hope, for his sake, he’s not deliberately withholding vital information.’

  I do too, Darby thought, reaching for the phone.

  45

  Jamie sat in a lawn chair under a bright morning sun fishing a cigarette from the pack of Marlboros she’d purchased on her way back from Belham. She had started smoking at eighteen, then quit when she and Dan had decided to try to start a family.

  Halfway through her second cigarette, she realized how much she missed smoking, how the nicotine cleared her head and calmed her nerves.

  The kids were outside with her. Michael relaxed in a hammock set up in the shade between two elms, a book propped open on his stomach. He held it with one hand while the other dangled over the hammock’s edge, gripping a humming red lightsaber. Carter, dressed in a brown Jedi robe, the hood covering his head, ran across the grass (which desperately needed cutting), alternating between awkward somersaults and jumps. He dropped his lightsaber and stretched out his arms, wiggling his fingers at his older brother.

  ‘You’re not paying attention!’ Carter yelled.

  Michael turned to him. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m using the Force on you.’

  ‘What Force Power?’

  ‘Lightning. It’s shooting from my fingers.’

  ‘Cart, you can’t use that.’

  ‘Yes, I can.’

  ‘No, dumb-dumb, you can’t. How many times did I tell you only the Dark Side can use Force Lightning? You’re Luke Skywalker, remember? He’s one of the good guys. They can’t use that.’

  ‘I’m a special Jedi Master. We know all the secrets.’ Carter kept wiggling his fingers, making crackling sounds with his mouth, spittle flying everywhere.

  ‘Whatever,’ Michael said, turning his attention back to his book. ‘I’m blocking it with my lightsaber like Mace Windu in Episode Three.’

  Jamie watched them, smiling. Despite yesterday’s ugly confrontation with Michael, she was glad to have both boys home. This morning’s encounter with Kevin Reynolds had spooked her.

  She had checked Ben’s phone before coming into the backyard. Reynolds hadn’t called or sent a text message.

  She felt confident that Reynolds hadn’t recognized her. Yes, he had stood in front of the minivan, staring at her through the windscreen, but she had worn sunglasses and pulled the lid of the baseball cap low across her forehead. Add that to the fact it was still dark out and there was absolutely no way in hell he could have recognized her.

  Driving home, she had had a moment of panic, wondering if Reynolds had memorized the front licence plate. Had he left the park to have one of his cronies run the plate? The panic evaporated when she remembered there was no plate in the front. The plastic holder for the plate had broken a few months ago, and she had stuffed the plate into the back of the minivan in case she ever got pulled over by a cop.

  Maybe he recognized your minivan.

  Not possible. When Ben and his crew had been at her house five years ago, they would have seen a brand-new navy-blue Honda Pilot in the garage. Shortly after Dan’s death, she had traded in the Pilot for a used minivan, not wanting to be saddled with the hefty car payments.

  Still, Reynolds had left. Something had spooked him.

  A sinking feeling bloomed in the pit of her stomach. So close, she thought. He was so goddamn close… I should have got out of the car and shot him.

  Was Reynolds still lurking
somewhere close to Charlestown? Or had he left the state?

  You’re not going to find him, Jamie. It’s time to pack up and leave.

  No. She wasn’t going to leave now. For the last five years she had lived each moment with a held breath, her every waking thought consumed with the possibility that the men who killed Dan and the man she knew only as Ben would come back to the house and finish the job. By some miracle of God, she had found Ben, and now Ben Masters was dead. And she now knew Kevin Reynolds was the second man. She had to find him. She couldn’t stop now, not when she was this close.

  Did you suddenly forget the part when he tore out of the car park? He’s gone, Jamie. You can’t get close to him. You tried luring him in pretending to be Ben Masters. It was a good plan – it really was – but it didn’t work out. Pack up what you need, take the kids and leave.

  Ben’s phone had only three contacts: Pontius, aka Kevin Reynolds; Alan; and this person named Judas. Why so few contacts? Maybe it was new and he hadn’t got round to programming in the numbers. Or maybe he simply used the phone for emergencies, wanting only the numbers he needed on hand. She thought back to her moment in Mary Reynolds’s basement, remembering Kevin Reynolds saying something about how Ben didn’t trust mobile phones.

  Jamie thought about Judas. He had three phone numbers. Call the numbers – not from Ben’s phone but from a payphone. Call and see –

  Do you honestly believe Reynolds hasn’t been in touch with this Judas person? After what happened this morning at the park?

  You don’t know that Reynolds and Judas know each other.

  You’re right, I don’t. And neither do you. For all you know Reynolds did, in fact, recognize you and is now speaking to Judas.

  That’s why I have to find out who he is. I have to –

  What you have to do, Jamie, is keep your children safe. That is your priority. Or do you want to relive what happened in the dead room?

  Her mind started filling with images. She tried to turn away from them, and then she saw herself removing her hands from the duct tape – by some miracle of God she hadn’t died, hadn’t passed out – ripping the tape off one ankle and standing, and there was no time to do the other one because Michael and Carter were bound to the chairs crying, bleeding out, and they needed an ambulance or they would die. She ran with the chair dragging behind her into the hall, down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she saw Dan hunched over the sink, what was left of his right hand – a shredded stump of raw muscle, torn skin and jagged bone – dripping blood into a growing puddle on the floor. She saw his head lying crookedly inside the blood-spattered sink, his skin a dark purple from the noose wrapped around his neck, the other end of the rope fed into the waste-disposal unit. She took a knife from the butcher block, cut the bindings on the other ankle and grabbed the phone as blood clogged her throat, and she kept crouching and staggering while the 911 dispatcher kept saying, ‘I can’t understand you, I can’t understand you.’ She saw herself standing in the room thick with gun smoke and Carter not moving and he was so small and he couldn’t lose much blood and he’d lost so much, oh God Jesus, she descended on him first and cut through his bindings as Michael turned and coughed up blood and in between sobbing said he was scared and she screamed at him to hold on, hang on, baby, help is on the way – and she realized she was saying this to Carter, not Michael, and she was giving her baby mouth-to-mouth and watching his tiny chest rising and between each breath she was screaming to the phone lying on the floor next to him, screaming to the dispatcher to hurry up, Jesus, please hurry, please hurry, and then Carter opened his eyes and he was coughing up blood but he was breathing and his eyes were wide and scared and bright with tears as he coughed up more blood and started crying, ‘Mamma? Mamma?’