Mission Hill

by Pamela Wechsler

  “Who?”

  “The guy you were just staring at.”

  I hesitate, weighing my options. I promised to be truthful with Ty, but that requires admitting weakness and possible paranoia. Lying allows me to cling to my precarious equilibrium and get through the day without being plagued with questions.

  “I’m not sure. He looked kind of familiar. I may have prosecuted him years ago,” I say.

  “What did he do?”

  “Huh?”

  “What crime did he commit?”

  “I don’t know—stole a car or something. I can’t remember. It was a long time ago.”

  While Ty goes back to Starbucks to replace my coffee, I wait in the car with Sandra.

  “Kevin texted me,” she says. “He’s at your office with Melvin.”

  “I hope Melvin gives it up fast. I still have to prep for my cross of Orlando.”

  She drops us off at Bulfinch and goes to park the car. “Tell Kevin that I’ll be up in five minutes,” she says.

  When Ty and I get off the elevator, I’m surprised to see Melvin, alone, in the reception area.

  “Hello, Mr. Jones,” I say. “Where is Detective Farnsworth?”

  Melvin rises from his chair. He’s got good manners—I gotta give him that. He may have raised a murderer and committed a host of felonies himself, but he knows to stand when a lady enters the room.

  “He said he’ll be back in a minute,” Melvin says. “He told me that you’d be here with a female detective.”

  “Have you been waiting long?”

  “No. Actually, I was going to run across the street for a bagel, but I couldn’t get out of the building. The stairwell and elevator doors are locked from the inside. Farnsworth probably thought I’d sneak out when he wasn’t looking. But the truth is, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  “Let’s go get started.”

  Ty looks at me and whispers in my ear, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay with him—alone?”

  I nod. Melvin is the least of my concerns. He’s an aider and abettor, not a violent offender. Besides, Kevin will be here in a minute.

  “Holler if you need anything,” Ty says.

  “I’ll do better than that—I’ll whistle.”

  I escort Melvin around the corner and into my office and close the door.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Melvin watches as I hang my coat on the back of my door and take a seat behind the desk. I gesture for him to sit.

  “I’m surprised you want me to testify,” he says.

  “Why’s that?”

  “What I have to say isn’t going to help your office or your case.”

  “I hope you’re not going to waste time with this ridiculous alibi theory.”

  “That’s not what I plan to talk about.”

  “You shouldn’t have tried to help Orlando escape,” I say.

  “Do you want to give me a lecture, or do you want to listen to what I have to say?”

  “Let’s go over your testimony.”

  I take out a notepad and scan the questions that I’ve prepared.

  “Before you start, I have something to say and I think you’re going to want to hear it.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “There are things you don’t know about how the folks in your office do business.”

  I’m impatient but not disinterested. “Is this about Max?”

  Melvin nods. “Yes, but it’s not what you think.”

  He starts to talk but stops when my office door swings open. We both look to see Owen barge in. His face is flushed, and he’s breathing heavily, as though he just ran up a couple of flights of stairs.

  Assuming he’s here to read me the riot act for not taking the plea, I try to cut him off at the pass.

  “I’m sorry, Owen, but we’re in the middle of prep. I’ll call you when we’re done.”

  He closes the door and leans against it. “Don’t mind me. Pretend that I’m not even here.”

  Owen is stubborn, but he’s usually discreet. I can’t quite get a read on what he’s up to.

  “Can we talk later?” I say.

  “I’d like to hear what Melvin has to say.”

  “I don’t want to be rude, but we’re pressed for time. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  “It’s not safe for you to be in here, alone, with him,” Owen says.

  “We’re fine,” I say, wondering if we are, in fact, fine.

  “Let him stay.” Melvin seems more clued in on what’s going on than I am. “Owen, you should hear this. I was about to tell Ms. Endicott that someone in her office hasn’t been playing by the rules.”

  “That’s rich, coming from you,” Owen says.

  I’m confused and growing increasingly frustrated. Owen is loyal to Max, but Max authorized this meeting.

  Melvin seems to be taunting Owen. “I got immunity, you know.”

  “You don’t need immunity,” Owen says. “You’re not going to testify.”

  “Yeah, he is,” I say. “I know you wanted me to take the plea, but I didn’t. So I have to prepare.”

  “You know why he wanted you to take the plea?” Melvin says.

  “Because your kid is guilty as sin,” Owen says.

  “Bullshit. He wanted you to take the plea because he doesn’t want the truth to come out. He’s worried about what I’m going to say.”

  I turn to Melvin. “What are you going to say?”

  Owen interrupts. “Who cares? He’s a sleazeball liar who obstructed justice and aided and abetted in the escape of a murderer.”

  My cell sounds. I let it go to voice mail. A second later, my office phone rings. I ignore that too.

  “What’s going on between you two?” I say.

  “I paid bribes,” Melvin says. “About a hundred grand in all.”

  “Shut up,” Owen says.

  Melvin keeps talking. “It was to shut down the Big Dig investigation.”

  My mind races as I try to process this. “So it’s true. Max was taking bribes?”

  “No—Max had nothing to do with it,” Melvin says.

  I’m relieved but ashamed that I made the accusation. I wish I could take it back.

  “Then who did you pay?” As soon as I ask the question, I know the answer. Stunned, I look at Owen. “You?”

  Owen meets my eyes but doesn’t speak.

  “Yup—your friend Owen has a side business,” Melvin says.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Owen says.

  “Tim was getting close to indicting his ass,” Melvin says.

  I catch a glimpse of the photo on my shelf—Owen, Tim, and me, smiling and hoisting our beer mugs. All these years, while we were working side by side, climbing the ranks of the DA’s office, sharing moments of victory and defeat, Owen was taking bribes.

  “I told Tim,” Melvin says. “He was going to give me immunity, and I was going to testify. He promised me that he wouldn’t tell anyone, not even the FBI, until after I got out of the grand jury.”

  That’s why Tim didn’t tell me what was going on. He was conducting an internal investigation of our colleague, our friend. I’m sure he wanted to talk about it, to get my input, and warn me, but he couldn’t break confidentiality.

  “Did you testify in the grand jury?” I say.

  “I was supposed to, but I never got the chance.”

  Owen and I lock eyes. His hand reaches into his coat and pulls out a black semiautomatic handgun. I freeze.

  “Put it away, man,” Melvin says.

  Owen isn’t just an extortionist, he’s a killer. Owen murdered Tim. I can hear my heartbeat as I picture the look in Tim’s eyes as his friend stood in front of him, pressed a gun to his temple, and pulled the trigger.

  The phones are ringing. Kevin is calling my cell. At the same time, Sandra is calling my office line.

  “Don’t think about answering.” Owen grips the gun, racks the slide, and points the muzzle at me. “Both of you, don’t say a word.”

>   The gun looks like a .45 caliber, which means the magazine probably holds at least ten rounds of ammunition. I cling to the edge of my desk, my hands shaking.

  “Owen, put the gun away,” I say. “You’re only going to make things worse.”

  Melvin bolts up out of his chair and tries to push Owen away from the door. Without hesitation, Owen turns and blasts off a round, striking Melvin in the thigh. He goes down, clutching his leg, moaning, grinding his teeth in pain.

  “I should have done this months ago, but your house is like a fucking fortress.”

  “Okay, man, whatever you want,” Melvin says.

  Someone tries to push open the door, but Melvin is on the ground, blocking it. The door opens a few inches, slamming against his leg, and he shouts out in pain. Thank God. It has to be Kevin. Owen points the gun at the door.

  “Kevin, we’re in here. Be careful. He’s going to shoot,” I say.

  Owen fires another round. The bullet rips through the door.

  “Farnsworth, I know you’re armed. Put your gun down and leave it in the hallway, or I’ll kill them both.” Owen walks to me, holds his gun at my head, and talks to Kevin. “Open the door, and come in with your hands over your head. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  The door opens slowly. It’s not Kevin.

  “What the hell is going on in there? Abby, are you okay?”

  I’m shocked as Ty steps into view. We exchange shared looks of dread.

  “Put your fucking hands up,” Owen says.

  Ty raises his hands and locks his fingers behind his head. He looks down and sees Melvin, who is writhing on the floor.

  “Owen, let us go,” I say. “Kevin and Sandra are going to be here any minute.”

  “No, they’re not. I put the building on lockdown. No one can get in or out. It’ll take at least twenty minutes for the alarm company to get here and reset the code.”

  “You don’t want to do this,” I say.

  “Let’s go, everyone. Get up.”

  While Ty helps Melvin to his feet, Owen keeps the gun trained on me.

  “You’ll never get away with this,” I say, trying to buy time. “Tell me what you want. Let’s try to work something out before it gets any worse. Think about your wife, your kids.”

  He presses his gun to the side of my neck, an inch below my ear. The muzzle burns my skin.

  “Open the door,” he says. “Everyone out, single file, hands in the air.”

  I have no idea where Owen plans to take us, but I’m sure that I don’t want to go there. I look around for something to use as a weapon. A stapler, scissors, the fire extinguisher. Nothing will stand up to his pistol.

  “Move,” he says, propelling us forward, out of my office, into the hallway.

  Chapter Fifty

  Ty goes first, Melvin limps behind him, and then Owen and me. He directs us around the corner, in front of Tim’s office. A small scrap of yellow crime scene tape is still stuck to the door and a withered bouquet of memorial flowers is on the floor. As we pass by, Owen kicks over the vase and then shoves me forward.

  The door to the stairwell has been propped open with a chair. Owen motions us in. I slow down, hoping that someone was inside the building before it went into lockdown, that someone will see us.

  The door lock clicks behind us, and Owen flicks off the light, leaving us standing in the pitch black. I hold on to the railing, try not to trip, and count the flights as we descend deeper into the darkness. Somewhere between the sixth- and fifth-floor landings, Melvin stumbles and tumbles down a flight of stairs.

  “I’m bleeding bad,” he says.

  “Get up,” Owen says. “I don’t want to kill you here.”

  Ty helps Melvin to his feet, and we continue our march. When we reach the ground level, I hesitate and consider trying to make a run for it, but then remember that the doors are locked from the inside.

  “Move,” Owen says.

  We continue down the next flight, into the basement. The reinforced steel door to the storage room is open, ready to receive us. Owen presses the gun to my temple. It’s still warm against my skin.

  “Keep going,” he says. “Inside.”

  He pushes Melvin into the unlit room and gestures for Ty and me to follow. I haven’t been here in at least a year. I try to remember the layout. The door slams behind us. The sound echoes.

  Owen flips on the light switch, activating row after row of long fluorescent light tubes attached to industrial ceiling fixtures. The room is cavernous, sterile, cold, like a vault. Or a tomb. There are hundreds of clear plastic storage tubs neatly stacked, dozens of metal filing cabinets, and no windows.

  Under the glare of the artificial light, I can see that Owen’s eyes are rimmed in red, bloodshot. It looks like he might have fallen off the wagon, or maybe he was never on it to begin with.

  “Please, put the gun down,” I say, trying to stave off a panic attack. “You’ll never get away with this.”

  “Sure I will. I’ll say Melvin came in here with a gun, kidnapped us all. He killed you and your boyfriend. I wrestled the gun away from him and shot him. I’ll be a fucking hero.”

  He points the gun at Melvin, who sinks to the floor and covers his head with his hands. He blasts off a round, striking him in the gut. A little blood spurts out. Melvin utters a yelp and drops his head.

  “Come on, man. There’s got to be a better way,” Ty says.

  He turns and aims the gun in my direction. I hear a shrill, deafening scream, like a coyote—I realize that the noise is coming from me.

  “You’re scared?” Owen says. “Good. You walk around here with your nose in the air, thinking you’re so fucking special.”

  I lunge forward and try to kick him but miss, knocking my shin into the corner of a metal filing cabinet. Sharp pain shoots up my leg. I think I fractured a bone. He stands there, looks at me, and laughs. I kick at him with my other leg. This time I make contact. Ty comes at him and takes a swing. The punch lands on the side of his head, but Owen, numb with manic adrenaline, barely flinches. He hits Ty in the face with the butt of the gun and knocks him off balance.

  I look for cover, retreat, and duck behind a stack of boxes. Owen follows. I look up and see him standing over me. I’ve backed myself into a corner, stuck between a pile of boxes and the wall. He is blocking my only escape route.

  “You’re no better than the rest of us,” he says.

  “Leave her alone,” Ty says, giving a sign of surrender by throwing his arms up in the air. “Shoot me.”

  We’re all distracted by a noise. Melvin is moaning, on his hands and knees, dragging himself toward the door, desperate to escape.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Owen says.

  Melvin reaches the door handle and tries to move the lever, but it’s stuck, locked from the inside. Owen fires another shot, hitting him in the back. Melvin grunts. This time he stops moving.

  Ty charges at Owen and tries to grab his arms. They struggle and both go down. Owen falls on top of Ty, who lands on his back and whacks his head on the cement floor. Owen gets up and kicks Ty in the face. Something cracks. A piece of Ty’s tooth falls from his mouth.

  As Owen stands over Ty, deciding what to do, I can hear the ticking of his wristwatch. Kevin and Sandra must be frantic, looking for us since they began calling fifteen minutes ago. Maybe they’re already inside the building, searching for us.

  The basement is probably the last place anyone will check. Our only hope of getting out of this room alive is for someone to hear us before it’s too late. Banging or screaming won’t be loud enough to attract attention. The only sound that will make it out of this room is gunfire.

  I push over a pile of boxes. Papers tumble out and fall to the floor. If I antagonize Owen, that might slow him down. I hurl a bunch of files at him. He turns and looks at me. I start to run and hide under the boxes. I can’t see him, but I hear his gun go off.

  The bullet barely misses my head. It careens off the wall and throug
h a steel box inches from my nose. The spent cartridge casing drops, bounces on the floor, and comes to rest against my shoe.

  “I’m going to kill you, but first I want you to watch me kill your boyfriend.”

  Owen pivots, points the gun at Ty, and pulls back on the trigger, striking him straight on in the chest. Ty puts his right hand over his heart. Blood seeps out and he falls to the floor.

  I jump up and lunge at Owen, hang on to his back, stick my finger in his eye, and dig in until I think I feel the back of his eye socket. He pulls me off him, grabs my hand, and twists my arm back. He’s unable to get a steady shot, so he uses the gun to pistol-whip the top of my skull. I drop to the ground.

  Another gun goes off. Owen falls backward, and his head smashes into the wall. He goes down, landing inches away from me, close enough that his blood spatters onto my chin.

  Kevin is standing in the doorway, aiming his gun at Melvin, who doesn’t appear to be breathing.

  While Kevin checks Melvin, I rush to Ty. He’s been shot in the upper chest, below his left shoulder, near his heart. There’s a spot in his jacket about the size of a plum. Dark-red blood is oozing out, starting to pool. He is quiet, in shock, eyes wide open, looking at me. I don’t know what to do, how to help him.

  “Stay with me, baby.” I take off my jacket, press it to the wound, try to slow the bleeding, and cradle his head in my lap. “You’re going to be okay.” I take hold of his hand and kiss his forehead. “Try to stay awake.”

  I notice Sandra as she leans down to check on Owen, who hasn’t moved since he hit the ground. One eye is open. Bloody pink spittle seeps from his mouth. He has an odd expression on his face, almost like he’s grinning.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Ty is hoisted onto a gurney, rolled out of Bulfinch, into the cold, and to the back of the ambulance. I sit with him, trying to stay out of the way as an EMT inserts an IV into the back of his hand and checks his vitals.

  “How is he?” I say.

  No one seems to hear me. They continue doing what they need to do, keeping my boyfriend alive. I hold the rest of my questions and watch Ty as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says, squinting, trying to focus on me.