They were standing by the entrance to the master bedroom. Eric recalled the day his mother fell on the very spot he was standing. Partly to get away from her husband and partly to earn money to help pay the mounting pile of bills, Joanna York had taken a secretarial job. Exhausted from work, Joanna dragged herself home, raced around the house cleaning and fixing dinner for her children while they tried to tell her about their day at school. She wanted to get ready to go out for dinner with friends visiting from Chicago. She didn’t have time to patiently listen to her children the way she had before starting her new job, but they couldn’t understand that. Eric began teasing his two brothers. When they chased him, whooping and hollering, Joanna rushed out of her bedroom. She yelled at them to stop making so much noise, then tripped on a skate Eric had left in the hallway. Joanna crashed to the floor, tearing her nylons and slip as she fell. She bruised her leg, but the damage wasn’t serious. It was just enough to push her over the edge.
Joanna loathed her job and her boss. She was afraid her marriage was on the rocks, and knew the children weren’t getting enough attention. Chronically tired, she didn’t know where to turn for help. As Eric rounded the corner, he saw his mother sprawled on the floor, sobbing desperately. Crushed by worry and guilt, Joanna didn’t know how much more she could stand. When Eric asked if he could help, Joanna told him to go to his bedroom and stay there. Eric thought he was being punished, and would never have guessed Joanna was only trying to protect her children from seeing their mother fall apart. Unwittingly, Joanna planted the seeds of guilt in her favorite child that day.
“I say, pity isn’t it, Eric?” Rita repeated.
“Oh…..ah, yes, it is,” Eric replied dutifully.
Next they went into Rita’s sewing room, but Eric remembered it as his sister’s bedroom. It was where Joanna retreated when her husband became violent. Eric recalled how they gathered around Keira’s bed on their knees to say the rosary, as if chanting prayers to the Roman Catholic god would sober up his father. Eric would look up at his mother as she led the prayers. Her diminutive body would tremble. A reservoir of tears built, occasionally spilling onto her cheeks. Her face would take on that freshly rouged look. People used to remark about Joanna’s resemblance to Jackie Kennedy. When Paul York beat his wife halfway through the rosary, Eric wondered if President Kennedy did the same thing to the First Lady, and if she and Joanna York still looked alike after a good working over by their husbands.
The screaming and crying which filled Eric’s memory became too much. Growing up at nine-thirty Wilson Street had meant years of ominous silence, yet the only images he remembered after so many years were violent and loud. Eric forcibly returned to the present, turned abruptly to Rita and Pete and announced, “I should be going. It’s been kind of you to let me invade your privacy this way. Could I get that realtor’s number on the way out?”
As Pete rummaged around the kitchen to find the realtor’s business card, Rita asked, “How are you related to the Yorks?”
Eric hoped he could escape before being asked that question. A palatable lie struggled with the truth inside Eric, both anxious to be spoken. The terrible fear of revealing his true identity allowed Eric to rationalize another lie.
“They are my uncle and aunt,” Eric answered quietly.
“I see,” Rita sighed, feeling both pity and contempt for Eric. He was obviously a man of means. Perhaps he had tried to help them. Not having all the facts, Rita decided it was wrong to pass judgment. “Yes, I see,” she repeated quietly.
Moments later Eric was speeding to the realtor’s office. If the realtor knew where Paul and Joanna York were, that would be Eric’s next stop. If not, Eric would get the hell out of Skyline. Detectives could continue the search for his family. Eric wondered briefly why he had not let detectives do the legwork in the first place. He had learned long ago how to delegate effectively, retaining only the most confidential or crucial tasks for himself. His train of thought ended there. Eric had answered his own question.
Eric didn’t recognize the realtor’s name, which was not terribly surprising. When he presented himself at the realtor’s office, the male receptionist disappeared to find Greg Hobson.
“We really are everywhere,” Eric chuckled to himself. A male receptionist wearing makeup, nail polish, and pink triangle earrings could not have been found in Skyline when Eric was growing up.
A robust man in his early forties appeared with the receptionist. Contrary to Eric’s expectation, the realtor sported both a fashionable suit and hairstyle. An enormous, beefy hand was thrust at Eric as the realtor announced, “Greg Hobson at your service, sir. How may I help you?”
Eric shook Greg’s hand and introduced himself. Then he asked if they might talk privately. Greg obligingly ushered Eric into his office, closing the door.
“Mr. Hobson, you were involved in the sale of a home owned by Joanna and Paul York. Do you remember the house?”
“Sure do! Handled it as a personal favor to the York family. I used to hunt and golf with Harry York. May I ask what your interest is?”
“I’m trying to locate the Yorks. I’ve just come from the house, and the current owners referred me to you. They have no idea where the Yorks are, so they thought maybe you might know how I can reach them.”
The cooperative air surrounding Greg Hobson quickly dissipated at the mention of the York name. “I know where they are, but I’m reluctant to tell just anyone. What’s your business with them?”
Eric fortified himself with oxygen before responding. “They’re relatives.” He gazed calmly at Greg as he spoke, waiting for Greg’s reaction.
Greg rose from his chair and reached inside a desk drawer for his cigarettes. Even though smoking was not allowed, Greg occasionally treated himself to a smoke since he owned the building. He lit a cigarette carefully and exhaled twice before returning to his seat.
“What’s your interest in seeing the Yorks now?” Greg asked.
“Mr. Hobson, I just want an address or phone number. I’ll find them if they’re alive, with or without your help. If you can help speed the process, I’ll be most grateful. If not, I’ll be on my way. Why I want to see them is really none of your business. Now, will you help me or should I leave?” Eric’s voice and face had gone deadpan while he spoke. He was only moments from treating Greg Hobson to a full-blown fit of rage.
“I disagree. You and the Yorks have both made your affairs my business.” Hobson leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing Eric carefully for some family resemblance. Was this the brother Harry York had mentioned? Greg was impressed by the cool, flawless exterior which radiated power. Everything about Eric smelled of money and success. Greg knew instinctively Eric was not a man to be taken lightly. He guessed Eric was the kind of man who kept a ledger in his head of everyone who had ever offended him, eventually settling the score, with heavy punitive damages. “I’ll tell you what I can without betraying any confidence, all right?”
“Seems like a good start,” Eric nodded.
“I can tell you right off you won’t find any member of the York family in Skyline. Harry’s in prison. Last I heard, Jerry York, Harry’s younger brother, is a cripple, living with his sister. Keira took after her father and started drinking heavily. She lost a patient on the operating table and was sued for malpractice. She lost her license to practice medicine, so she and Jerry took off for Mexico. When I helped Harry’s folks move last year, they were both pretty ill. Paul York’s liver, kidneys, and heart were just about shot and Joanna York was pretty frail. With Harry’s consent, I moved them into a treatment facility. I check on them once a month. That’s about all I can tell you.”
It was much worse than Eric had expected. They were all still alive, but each was trapped in his or her own hell. Eric gazed at the floor several moments, trying to absorb the shock. When he lifted his head, a thin trail of tears was barely evident on the left side of his face. Eric smiled weakly at Greg. “You’re not withholding the bad news to keep me from
worrying, are you?”
The wisecrack nearly angered Greg, then he spotted the tears on Eric’s cheek. “I’m sorry about all this. It must be quite upsetting for you.”
There were so many questions Eric wanted to ask, it was difficult to know where to start. “Greg, why is Harry in prison?”
“Hell, I suppose you’ll find out anyway. It was covered by all the local media. About five years ago, Harry was convicted of murder.”
“Harry?” Eric gasped. “I don’t believe it! Who was he accused of killing?”
“His wife and son. Annette and the boy were found all chopped up. There was evidence Annette was having an affair. Harry had no alibi and they found the murder weapon in his car. Wasn’t much of a trial.”
Stunned, Eric whispered, “I can’t believe it!”
“Neither can I,” Greg replied. “Harry is one of the nicest, most agreeable men I’ve ever known, though he could get ugly when he drank. He was a respected businessman, well liked and responsible.”
“Greg, I’d like to visit him. Perhaps there’s something I can do to help.”
Greg’s face tightened. “The time to help Harry was when he was on trial. It’s a little late now.”
That hurt. Eric decided to soften his approach. Greg was the only link to his family and Eric needed his help. “Do you know who I am, Greg? I mean, does the name Eric Price ring a bell?”
Greg was puzzled. “Should it?”
Eric smiled patiently. “That’s what I get for maintaining such a low profile. Let me put it this way. Does the name Foresight International mean anything to you?”
“Sure, it’s one of the biggest corporations in the world. They’re into construction, banking, shipping…..a little of everything, including real estate. It’s run by some young guy who took over after the founder died in a plane crash. Supposed to be a real genius, but publicity shy. His name is…....”
“Eric Price,” Eric smiled. “That’s me. I’m the Chairman of Foresight International. Google Foresight and you’ll find my photo on the Executive Management page.”
Greg turned to his computer, tapped some keys, and clicked his mouse several times. When he found Eric’s photo, he glanced back and forth several times between Eric and his computer screen. “I’ll be damned,” Greg muttered.
“I’m not telling you this to impress you,” Eric insisted, “but rather to explain my need for secrecy. I have a highly personal reason for seeing the Yorks and I don’t want to generate a lot of publicity, for their sake as well as mine.”
That made sense to Greg. “I can certainly understand your position, sir.”
“The York family needs my help. I think the place to start is with Harry. Will you help me, Greg?”
Greg nodded grimly. “We can drive up there tonight. Harry’s in the state pen.”
Edgewater. Water’s edge. Eric’s mind played with the name over and over, breaking it down into smaller words, then rearranging it to form new words. Eric had never been to Edgewater, but the mere mention of it caused a childhood image to leap to mind. Prison. A dark, ominous place with bars, guards, and prisoners in drab jumpsuits. The small town of fifteen-thousand had struggled valiantly to change its image to that of a quaint, New England village, but people like Eric only remembered one thing. Prison.
It was a two-hour trip, mostly on narrow stretches of old highway, so Eric accepted Greg’s offer to drive. Eric hated driving on old roads with two-way traffic. It mattered only slightly that Greg’s economy car was not as comfortable as Eric’s rented Mercedes.
Greg and Eric exchanged only a few words for the first half of the trip, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally, Eric decided to ask some questions.
“Greg, you mentioned Jerry York is a cripple. Do you know how that happened?”
“Industrial accident. Jerry lost his job, so Harry put him to work in his business. They had a big warehouse on the edge of town. While Jerry was doing inventory, a pile of crates fell on him and he was crushed pretty badly. He kind of drags his right leg along when he walks.”
“Couldn’t that be corrected with surgery and physical therapy?” Eric asked.
“I suppose, but that costs money. During Harry’s trial, the financial condition of his company came out. Harry had borrowed heavily and the business was failing. He cut all expenses to the bone, including health insurance coverage for his employees. Jerry had no health insurance and the rest of the family wasn’t able to help. I guess that’s why they didn’t pursue further treatment.”
“But Keira is a doctor,” Eric replied. “Certainly she was making a decent salary. Couldn’t she operate on Jerry or arrange some kind of discount through her hospital?”
Greg shook his head, having asked those same questions himself. “Keira didn’t have the right training to operate on Jerry. All her discretionary income went into Harry’s business, so there was nothing left to pay for Jerry’s treatment. I admire the way the Yorks looked after each other. I’ve never seen siblings who were more loyal to each other.”
“Yes, you’re right, Greg,” Eric murmured. Knowing his money could benefit his younger brother comforted Eric. “What else do you know about Keira?”
“I knew her pretty well. In fact, after her divorce we dated a few times. She’s a bright, beautiful woman, Eric. I could easily have fallen in love with her, but she didn’t want any commitment at the time. She married a guy she met in med school. Her career moved along better than his did. He grew tired of her long hours, so he found an accommodating nurse. Keira walked in on them and filed for divorce the next month, left Boston, and returned to Skyline. St. Mary’s Hospital was damn glad to get a talented cardiac surgeon from Massachusetts General. She drank heavily, but the hospital staff insisted she was always sober for surgery, and that her drinking never affected her work, until that one incident. Five minutes after she opened her patient up, he went into cardiac arrest. She injected him with a drug which slowed his heart instead of stimulating it. Keira insisted someone switched the labels on the drugs. Anyway, by the time the mistake was discovered it was too late. She didn’t even wait around for the board of inquiry which pulled her license. She and Jerry just slipped out of town and left a note for their folks saying they were headed to Mexico.”
Eric stared ahead in silence. He was dumbfounded by the incredibly bad fortune his family suffered. It certainly seemed someone had targeted his family.
“Greg, do you recall the names of the attorneys involved in Harry’s case…..either side?”
“Oh, yeah. They’re both local fellas. Big case for both. Marty Olstad handled Harry’s defense. They went to high school together and were pretty good friends. The prosecutor was our county attorney, Pat Griffin, Senior.”
“Griffin,” Eric mumbled. “You say Griffin, Senior? There’s a son?”
“Yup. He’s a good kid. The real troublemaker is the stepson. I believe the old man spent half his career putting criminals in jail and the other half keeping his stepson out,” Greg chuckled.
“Spent?” Eric repeated. “Is he retired now?”
“He retired after Harry’s conviction. Sort of surprised everyone. Word is he’s got his eye on a congressional seat.”
“What about his stepson?” Eric asked. “What’s he like?”
“Oh, I don’t know him personally. Name’s Mark or Marcus I think. I hear he’s sort of a drifter. Shows up every few years when he needs money or calls when he’s in trouble.”
“Could be embarrassing to have a stepson like that floating around when Mr. Griffin runs for office, don’t you think?”
Greg cast a quick glance at Eric, who gazed placidly at the road in front of them. Greg had not missed Eric’s point. Another name had been added to the ledger of accounts to settle. Greg resolved not to be so liberal with information which could hurt his Skyline neighbors.
They drove the last few miles to the prison in silence.
The guard at the reception desk recognized Greg, greeting him by name. Th
ey signed a logbook, submitted to a quick search, and were admitted to the visitor’s lounge. A dozen people were scattered around tables, chatting over coffee. Greg and Eric decided to surprise Harry, since he would probably refuse to see Eric if given a choice. Eric asked to see Harry alone, at least for the first part of the visit.
Eric eyed the prisoner’s entrance to the lounge nervously as he waited for his older brother to appear. What would he look like after twenty years? Eric remembered him as a chubby kid and a husky young adult. He had a self-assured air, loud voice, and incredible amount of contagious energy. Eric wondered if a couple years in prison and a series of family tragedies had taken their toll on his exuberant sibling.
The guard appeared with a man who looked very much like an aging bookkeeper. With gray hair and rimless glasses, the thin man walked with his shoulders stooped forward. He gazed around hesitantly until the guard pointed toward Eric’s table.
Harry shuffled over to Eric. “Guard says you wanna see me?”
Eric stood smiling. “Yes, but only if your nickname is Porkchop.”
Harry looked confused. Nobody had used Paul York’s pet name for his oldest son in decades. Harry despised the nickname. Eric had used it to tease his older brother when they were kids. Harry peered over his glasses, studying Eric closely. “Jason?”
“You bet your ass, Porkchop!” Eric beamed.
Harry broke into a wide grin. “Porkchop!” he sputtered. “Christ, I haven’t been called that since we were kids.”
Tears poured down Eric’s face as he embraced his older brother. Harry simply patted Eric’s back. The York family had shielded itself in a cloak of stoicism far too long for him to shed tears.
When they separated, they studied each other closely. “You look real good, Jason. Prosperous, too. Didn’t recognize you with the beard. Makes you look real distinguished. What kinda work ya doin’ these days? You were sort of a pharmacist when you left home,” Harry chuckled, referring to Eric’s drug-dealing past.
Sovrano Page 18