by SUE FINEMAN
By the time she finished giving her statement about what she’d heard in that room, Donovan grinned broadly. She’d just given them enough evidence to put Cordelli away for a good, long time. Vinnie Porcini would no doubt say he’d been tricked, but Vinnie knew what kind of man Cordelli was, and he knew Cordelli was angry with Hannah and Donovan. If he’d had any sense, he would have backed away. But he didn’t. If the club hadn’t been raided, Vinnie would have raped Hannah. And Cordelli, pervert that he was, would have watched and gloated. He might even have brought in other men or taken a turn at her himself.
Donovan still wanted to kill Cordelli, but the legal system would take care of him. Constantine Cordelli was in his mid-fifties, and he’d likely spend the rest of his life in a prison cell.
If he came out alive, Donovan would be waiting.
Chapter Twenty
The murder had been solved and the old house had given up its treasures, yet the spirits were still in the house. Sometimes when Hannah turned quickly or flipped on a light, she’d see them for a brief moment, and she often felt the chill of their presence. Why were they still here? Would she know when they left, or would she just no longer feel them?
Maybe they couldn’t leave until Andrew’s remains were buried, but they’d been unable to find his family. They’d put articles in the newspaper and television reporters asked for the public’s help in finding Andrew’s family, but aside from a few kooks, nobody called the police to say they might be related. Hannah figured Andrew’s family had either died, moved away, or nobody living knew about him.
“Andrew,” she called into the room, “if you’re still here, I need to ask you something. We need to bury your remains, and I’d like to have a memorial service for you, but we can’t find your family. There’s a cemetery plot beside Charity’s. Would it be all right with you if we bury you there?”
Pop said, “Better give him a way to respond, Hannah.”
“One tap for no and two taps for yes?”
“That might work.”
“Did you hear that, Andrew?” she called into the room. “One tap for no, and we’ll continue to search for your family. Two taps for yes, and we’ll bury you beside Charity, as long as that’s all right with her.”
The clock chimed once and stopped and then it chimed again, and Hannah had Andrew’s answer. “Thank you, Andrew. Charity, is that all right with you?”
Again, the clock chimed once and stopped and then it chimed again. “Thank you, Charity. I’ll call the minister and we’ll schedule the service.” But first, she had to find a mortuary and pick out a coffin.
“Pop, which mortuary did my grandparents use?”
“Carlisle and Sons. They’re on State Street. If you make the appointment for tomorrow morning, I’ll go with you. I have to pick up Billy in another hour.”
“Okay.”
Andrew Jefferson would get the church service he was denied in 1918. His bones would be arranged in a coffin and he’d be buried beside Charity, where he wouldn’t be disturbed again. He would no longer have a reason to haunt the last house he built, and neither would Charity. They could both move on, and maybe Grandma and Grandpa would go with them.
<>
On a clear, cold day in January, Donovan’s family and friends gathered in the big stone church to bid a final farewell to Andrew Jefferson. Police officers and detectives lined the first two pews, along with Hannah, Pop, and Billy. Trevor was the only one allowed to bring a camera inside the church that day. He stood in the back, filming the service for Hannah and for his station.
The minister talked about the murder and how shocked the community had been when they learned a man had been killed in one of the oldest homes in the city, then buried in the basement and left there, seemingly forgotten. But Hannah knew her great-grandmother had never forgotten Andrew.
Donovan stood at the pulpit and talked about Sonny’s will and the conditions he’d put on Hannah’s inheritance. “He knew someone had been killed in the house, but he was a little boy when it happened, and as little kids sometimes do when they witness something traumatic, he blocked it from his conscious memory. Two years before he died, Sonny found some of his mother’s diaries, and in reading them, his memory returned. He told his attorney he couldn’t report the murder then because his wife was ill, and the upheaval in their home would be too much for her to handle. Dredging up the past would have been tough for Sonny, too.
“In a letter to me, Sonny asked me to find the diaries, open the house, and send the wandering spirits on their way. We found the diaries and through them, the answers we needed. The hidden staircase and basement have been opened, and now it’s time to take care of Sonny’s last request. It’s time to bury Andrew and send him on his way.
“Police officers are often called to investigate domestic violence. It’s not easy to see a woman bruised and bloody or a child with lash marks on his legs and back. Years ago, Hannah’s father, Charlie Taylor, was my father’s partner in the River Valley Police Department. The last domestic violence call they took together ended in tragedy not just for the woman, but for the brave officer who tried to help her. Charlie Taylor died a hero that day, and Andrew Jefferson died a hero in 1918.
“Andrew saw what Cal Taylor did to his wife. Instead of looking the other way, he told Cal to stop beating on Charity. But he didn’t stop. There were no laws to protect battered women in those days and no shelters to run to when they could no longer take it. So Andrew helped her in other ways. He built a hidden staircase, a way for her and her son to escape when Cal was on a rampage. But she was afraid to go. She knew if she ran away and Cal found her, he’d kill her and Sonny, and she decided to stay and take his abuse rather than risk her son’s life. She stayed. And she suffered.
“Cal was away on business for much of the year the house was built, and after he returned, Charity gave birth to her second child. Cal found the hidden staircase and thought she was having an affair with the builder. It was a logical conclusion, I suppose, since the landing opened into Charity’s bedroom. He slammed a four by four into the back of Andrew’s head, killing him, and he did it in his son’s bedroom. A four-year-old boy was locked in that room with a dead man, a man the boy loved and respected, while his father dug a shallow grave in the basement. No wonder Sonny blocked it out. Most adults couldn’t handle that kind of trauma.
“Cal carried or dragged Andrew’s body down the hidden staircase and buried him at the bottom. Then he built a brick wall to hide what he’d done.
“Cal pushed his hand over the baby’s tiny face until she stopped breathing. He thought the baby was Andrew’s, but he murdered his own child. After they buried the baby, Charity shot her husband in the face. He lost his eyesight, but she didn’t kill him. She didn’t want to kill him. She wanted to make him suffer, to pay for the years of abuse she suffered at his hands, for Andrew’s murder, and for killing her baby girl.”
Donovan glanced down at Hannah. “Cal Taylor died in 1923, five years after he murdered Andrew Jefferson and the baby his wife named Hannah. I can’t see a man like that making it through the pearly gates. Andrew is the one who belongs in Heaven.” He smiled a little. “I’d like to think Charlie is up there waiting for him – one hero waiting to welcome another.”
Hannah waited until Donovan stepped away from the pulpit before she stood. She was next, but she didn’t think she could top Donovan’s eulogy.
The minute she stepped behind the pulpit she felt the cold. Aside from making her shiver, it gave her comfort to know Andrew was there, watching and listening while they honored his memory.
She scanned the faces of the people in the packed church. “Thank you for coming. Andrew would be honored to know there were this many people who cared about him.” Several people smiled.
“I wish I could tell you about Andrew’s life, about his family and how he grew up, but all I know about is the last months of his life. Andrew Jefferson was a builder, an amazingly creative and talented man who took pride in
his work. I feel honored to live in the last house he built. It’s a beautiful home, one my family will cherish for many more lifetimes.
“Charity Mullins, my great-grandmother, married Cal Taylor in 1912, when she was only sixteen. He beat her on her wedding night, and that was the beginning of her nightmare. Cal’s brutal beatings caused several miscarriages, and when her son was born, whole and healthy, she did everything in her power to protect him from Cal’s rages. She named him Raymond, but she called him Sonny. I knew him as Grandpa, a sweet, funny guy with hugs so big a little girl could get lost in them.
“Charity died before I was born, but her presence is still in the house, and so is Andrew’s. I’ve read the diary she wrote in 1918 from cover to cover, and I know how much she came to rely on Andrew’s friendship. Grandpa wasn’t old enough for school, but at every opportunity, Charity took him to Livingston Avenue to help Andrew build their new house. Andrew taught him many things, but the most important lesson was how to be a decent man, something he couldn’t learn from his own father. Charity grew to love Andrew, and I believe he loved her, too, but they never acted on that love. She was married to Cal, and to leave him would have meant certain death for her and Sonny.
“I’ll remember Andrew as a talented builder and a gentle man who treated an abused woman and her son with compassion and friendship. Like Donovan said, Andrew was a hero, a good man who died much too soon. There must be a special place in Heaven for people like Andrew.”
She opened her hands and looked up. “Andrew, it’s time to go. Take Charity’s hand and walk into the light together, into the peace and love God has waiting for you.” A tear dripped on her forehead and another on her cheek. Cold air swirled around as several people gasped, and then it was gone. Andrew and Charity were gone.
Hannah sat beside Donovan and held his hand through the rest of the service. The choir sang and the minister said another prayer, and the coffin was carried out by police officers in dress uniforms. The funeral was over and Grandpa’s wandering spirits had been sent on their way. This was what Grandpa wanted, what he’d asked her and Donovan to do.
The burial was private, with the handful of detectives and officers who’d worked on the murder case and the people who lived in the house on Livingston Avenue. The minister said a few more words, and Andrew’s remains were buried beside Charity’s.
On their way home from the cemetery, Donovan asked, “Are they gone?”
“I think so. I felt Andrew’s presence in the church, but when I told him to go on his way, the cold disappeared and tears dripped on my face. I hope he took Charity with him.”
“What about Sonny and Virginia? Did they go?”
“I don’t know, Donovan. I can’t figure out why they stayed.”
What were they waiting for?
<>
After waiting for a month to get in to see him, Donovan sat in Thornton Clapp’s office on the last day of January. He’d come to talk about the possibility of filing for bankruptcy.
Mr. Clapp asked him how much he owed, and Donovan produced the three doctor bills and the last bill he’d gotten from the hospital. It was dated December first.
“Didn’t you get a bill in January?”
“No.”
Donovan pointed to the doctor bills. “I’m not worried about these. Without the hospital bill, I can pay these three bills off within the next two or three months. The hospital bill is the big one, and no matter how much I pay them, someone calls every month or so to hound me about not paying more.”
“Maybe if they know you’re thinking of filing for bankruptcy, they’ll be willing to set up a payment schedule you can afford.”
“They did set up a payment schedule, and then they raised the amount of the payments. It’s all but seven hundred a month of my take-home pay. I can’t support my family on seven hundred a month.”
“Call the hospital financial office and tell them what you’re considering.”
Donovan pulled out his cell phone and punched in the phone number on his last bill. He identified himself and the account number and was connected with Michelle. “Two things,” said Donovan. “First, I didn’t get a bill in January. Second, I’m sitting in my attorney’s office right now. I know I owe you a whole lot of money, but I can’t afford the payments you want me to make. Cops in this city don’t make that much money. If we can’t come to a workable arrangement, I’ll be forced to file for bankruptcy.”
She put him on hold, to get the supervisor no doubt, and when she came back on the line, she said, “There’s no balance on that account, Detective Kane. It was paid in full in December.”
Donovan was too stunned to speak.
Eleanor had come through after all.
Donovan came home from the lawyer’s office smiling. He thought Eleanor had finally decided to pay her share, but Pop knew better. Eleanor didn’t care if Donovan was having a hard time paying Maggie’s bills, and she didn’t care about Billy. She hadn’t sent her only grandson so much as a Christmas card.
Pop’s youngest son had an overdose of pride, which would be a monumental problem when he found out Hannah had paid the bill. He’d figure it out one of these days. Who else had that kind of money? Who else knew how depressed he got when those bills came in every month? Who else loved him enough to fork over several hundred thousand dollars? Not Eleanor. The woman was not only vindictive, she was crazy. She’d convinced Maggie she’d gotten breast cancer from having a baby. Everyone with any sense knew better. If every woman who’d ever given birth died from cancer, the human race would die out instead of multiplying.
The money from Pop’s house was used to pay off Maggie’s credit card debt, and all the equity in Donovan’s house went to the hospital. If Maggie hadn’t charged so much, Donovan would have the medical bills under control, and they’d still have a house of their own. But they wouldn’t have Hannah in their lives, and they wouldn’t be living in Sonny’s house. He hadn’t seen Billy this happy since Connie got so sick, and aside from the bills that bogged him down, Donovan was happy, too.
That boy was a fool if he didn’t marry Hannah.
<>
The day before Valentine’s Day, Donovan was at the drug store buying candy for Hannah and cards for Billy’s classmates when he saw Eleanor standing at the counter waiting for a prescription. He walked over and said, “Eleanor, I want to thank you for taking care of Maggie’s hospital bill.”
She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get away from me.” She waved him away.
“You didn’t pay the bill?”
“Why would I pay your bill? My precious little girl is dead, and it’s your fault.”
If she didn’t pay the bill, that meant Hannah paid it. After he told her he didn’t want her handouts, she paid the damn bill, and it wasn’t like paying for dinner or buying him a new shirt. That bill was a whopper.
He paid for his purchases and drove home, where he sat in his car for several minutes, trying to get his temper under control before he walked inside. It wasn’t her bill to pay, and he didn’t want her damn handouts. He was a man, not a charity case.
Hannah was in the kitchen spreading cherry icing on a heart-shaped cake when Donovan came through the kitchen door yelling, “Hannah.”
“I’m right here, Donovan. You don’t have to yell.”
“I feel like yelling.”
“At me?”
“Damn right, at you. Did you pay Maggie’s hospital bill?”
She propped the knife in the icing bowl. “So you know.” She wondered how long it would take him to figure it out.
“Damn it, Hannah, I told you I didn’t want your handouts.”
She wiped her hands on the dishtowel. “I always thought people who loved each other should share the bounty and the burden.”
“I’m not Trevor, and I don’t want you supporting me.”
She’d stepped on his pride, and he was angry about it. “I don’t intend to suppor
t you, Donovan.” She spoke quietly, hoping it would diffuse his anger, but it didn’t.
“It’s the man’s responsibility to support his family and pay the bills.”
Oh, no. He wasn’t pulling that macho crap on her. She snapped off a response. “And to make your wife happy, and do the housework, and take care of the baby? Is that how it was with you and Maggie? If we have a baby, will you want to take care of him by yourself, or will you leave a little something for me to do, like sit on the sofa and look pretty and blame you for my unhappiness?” By the time she finished, she was yelling.
He walked out the door and slammed it so hard a jagged crack appeared across the corner. Hannah didn’t know whether to cry or throw something.
Donovan drove around for an hour or so, fuming at Hannah, and then found himself back at the station. Peterson was there with Sarah Williams. She was divorced with no kids, and he had a committed relationship with a great woman. Police work was hard on relationships and even harder on marriages. The hours were long, and the emotional impact of the work took a toll on even the most experienced cops. It did on their families, too. When a cop’s wife kissed him goodbye, she couldn’t be sure he’d make it home alive.
“What are you doing here?” asked Peterson.
“Sulking. I had a fight with Hannah.”
“Take her flowers and a box of candy and apologize.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
Peterson smiled a little. “It’s always the man’s fault, Donovan. Always.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” said Sarah. The entire department had celebrated last week when Officer Sarah Williams was promoted to detective. She was pretty, popular, and deserving. “I hope you work it out, Donovan. I’m on my way home to a hot bubble bath and dinner for two.”
“Hot date?” asked Peterson.
“Yep. With Cyrus.”
After Sarah left, Donovan asked Peterson, “Who is Cyrus?”