“What is it?” I asked groggily.
“Straight whiskey. Drink it—it’ll help you calm down.”
I’d once had a very bad experience with whiskey, and even as I smelled it, the nausea in my stomach churned like an out-of-control washing machine. However, after a couple small sips, my body began to relax, if ever so slightly. Laying my head back on my pillow and looking up at the ceiling for a moment, I realized the two unfamiliar men in suits were still in the room, their faces somber.
“Who are you?” My voice was almost inaudible.
The tall, elderly man in the dark navy blue suit stepped forward. He looked to be in his late sixties and had thinning gray hair and glasses. His face was as somber as everyone else’s, but I noticed he had kind eyes.
“Mrs. Hagerman. I’m Supervising Agent Alan Keane, with the FBI.” He spoke slowly. “I am—was—Michael’s supervisor from Washington, DC.”
My body subconsciously flinched when he called me Mrs. Hagerman, and it almost convulsed when he said Michael’s name. He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes before continuing.
“Mrs. Hagerman, CeeCee, I am so sorry about your loss. I’ve been in Cleveland working with…with Michael on a very important case. I was on my way down to see him when this happened.”
“Did you know this was going to happen?” I asked, almost accusing.
“When you’re up to it, we’ll talk. In the meantime, I have my best crime-scene specialists on their way down to process the…the scene. If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”
He and the other man, who I assumed was an agent, left the room. I was too tired and too grief stricken to protest or ask any more questions right now. Not that any of this was hard to figure out. Michael had been investigating the Mafia, and now he had been killed by a car bomb. It wasn’t difficult to understand. Coping would be an entirely different issue.
Redirecting my attention to the red and blue lights that were reflecting off my bedroom window, I instinctively started to get up.
“CeeCee, you don’t need to look outside. Its best you don’t. They’re still processing everything right now. Eric’s outside. Do you want me to go get him?” my father asked.
I nodded. The sheriff, L. Richard Stephens, who had remained silent throughout, began to follow my father out of the room. He was a close friend of my father, so I’d known him since I was a child. He stopped and said a few words.
“CeeCee, I’m sorry, but I’m glad you’re not hurt—physically. You let me know if you need something. Okay, kiddo?” He had a sympathetic smile but sadness in his eyes.
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
Naomi and I were the only ones left in the room now. Coop had left earlier to assist the FBI with witness statements and anything else he could, no doubt. He was close friends with Michael, and his face showed that he was hurting. My head continued to throb, which prompted me to ask Naomi if she would get me some aspirin.
“Of course, where are they?”
“Inside the medicine cabinet, in the bathroom.”
While Naomi was out of the room, rifling for my pain reliever, Eric came in. He was on duty, wearing his uniform, like my father. Although Eric and Michael had never got along, he wore a pained expression, surely anticipating our daughters’ upcoming grief. He sat down on the bed next to me, where my father previously had sat, and took my hand.
“CeeCee, I’m so sorry.”
My tears began to well up again. “Eric…the girls. Can you keep them one more night? I don’t—I don’t know how I’m gonna be able to tell them!” I began to sob.
He stayed silent, but nodded. Although we had been through a lot together over the last several years, one fact held true—our love for our little girls. Any parent wanted to protect their child from pain, sadness, and heartache. This was one time we couldn’t.
“I think it would be best if we told them together, Cee. They’ll need us both.” He paused. “I think I’ll just tell them you had to go out of town until the day after tomorrow. We’ll tell them when I bring them over. Don’t worry. You know I’ll be here to help you and the girls through this.” He leaned over and gave me a tight squeeze.
Naomi stood in the doorway of the bathroom until Eric left. Thankful for the aspirin, I found myself thinking of Sean.
“Naomi, Vanessa’s supposed to drop Sean off in the morning—it’s our scheduled weekend. Could you call her for me and tell her? I think it’s best that she be the one to tell Sean.”
“Sure, CeeCee. I’m gonna stay here tonight. I don’t think you should be by yourself. Eric said outside, earlier, that he would get ahold of your mom and brother.” She paused. “Do you know if the FBI is going to notify Michael’s parents?”
For whatever reason, this thought reopened my floodgates. I began to sob uncontrollably again, begging for anyone that would listen to put me out of my misery. I desperately wanted Michael. I wanted to hold him, see him, feel his body against mine, smell his cologne, and look into his eyes. I thought of him, burned beyond recognition just outside the window of the bedroom we shared, and I couldn’t take it anymore. Bringing my hands up to my head, I began to scream as loud as possible. I wanted to die, and was so hysterical that my father and Eric had to hold me down while the EMTs shot me with a sedative after Naomi called them. It took less than two minutes for the darkness to overcome me again.
“It’s done, Sal.”
“Done? I thought we weren’t ready for two more days?”
“Cleveland got to him first, Sal. Blew him up in his own driveway.”
Salvatore smiled. For the first time, he felt like sending Cleveland a bottle of champagne. Not only had they taken care of a major problem, but also they’d taken the heat off Youngstown. Fools. Regardless, the FBI would now focus all of their attention on the agent’s murder, instead of on them. It couldn’t have worked out better.
“So, our glorious Agent Michael Hagerman is no more, eh? Fantastic.” He paused. “What about his wife? Did they get her, too? I think I’d have to make a personal phone call offering my thanks for that one.”
“No, sir, but she’ll no longer be a problem. My source tells me that she’s pretty much done upstairs, had to be sedated—the whole lot. I suspect that she’ll be too overcome with grief to function from here on out.”
“Just as long as she doesn’t get ‘overcome’ with revenge.” He thought while he chewed his bottom lip. “I still want our eye on her—you hear? We still don’t know what he’s told her about us.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If that Irish bitch makes one move that looks like she’s on our ass…take care of her.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Sleeping fitfully most of the night, I didn’t know if I was awake or dreaming half of the time. I remembered at one point looking over and seeing Michael sleeping next to me. I nudged him a little, he opened his eyes and reached his hand out, touching my cheek.
“I love you, baby,” he whispered.
“I love you too, Michael.”
I breathed a sigh of relief; my nightmare had been just that. Only when I opened my eyes and saw Naomi sleeping in the recliner did I realize I was wrong. The familiar thud in my chest and the reality of it all crashed down on me again, bringing forth immediate tears. Naomi woke up instantly.
“CeeCee, let me get you something. Do you want some water?” she asked, handing me tissues.
I shook my head. Today was the day I had to start over, the day to begin grieving so I could get it out of the way and make it eventually stop. This was the day to start my new life—without Michael. I don’t know how I managed, but I ultimately got out of bed, showered, and dressed. My first priority was to call Vanessa and make sure Sean was okay. Naomi had called her last night. She said Vanessa didn’t take it too well, either—not that I was surprised. Not long before, Vanessa had tried to blackmail me into leaving Michael so they could get back together. It clearly hadn’t worked. She sounded hoarse when she answered the p
hone, and just as I suspected, she said Sean wasn’t doing well.
“He was up all night, crying off and on. He was crying for you, too, CeeCee.” She began to sob. “His father meant the world to him! I don’t know what to do!”
It was all I could do not to break down. My own tears flowing like Niagara Falls, I told her one of my reasons for calling.
“Vanessa, if it’s okay, I’d like to have Sean with me for the weekend. The girls will be here and help him through it…It’ll be good for Sean and them to be together.” I paused, feeling myself choking up. “It’ll be good for me to have him here. Please.”
She breathed deeply into the phone. “I’ll have him there by three.”
As I hung up, it dawned on me that this was the most cordial conversation Vanessa and I had ever had. After the blackmailing incident, we’d hadn’t spoken so much as one word to each other.
My next call was to Eric. I would pick up the girls the following morning, but I wanted some time alone with Sean. I became an Academy Award–winning actress when he put Selina on the phone, trying to sound cheerful, until she asked about Michael.
“Can I talk to Michael? I want to tell him about the FBI movie I watched last night!”
I was shaking like a leaf, and my heart sank. “Oh, honey…He—he had to run some errands and go pick Sean up.” I held my breath. “He’ll be back later.”
“How come you sound funny?”
My daughter never misses a beat. “I think I’m getting a cold is all. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
I had to be strong for all of my children, Sean included. If they saw me in pieces, they surely wouldn’t be able to cope.
Looking at the clock every fifteen minutes in anticipation of Sean’s arrival, I both welcomed and dreaded his visit. Being around him, a smaller version of Michael, would both comfort and sadden me. I had sent Naomi home, assuring her I would call later. After she left, I noticed she had taken all of my guns with her. I’m sure she thought she was being careful, but if I truly wanted to commit suicide, there were certainly other ways…not that I had any intention of doing so.
Vanessa arrived half an hour early, and by the time I got outside, Sean was already out of the car, and she was standing in the driveway looking at the blackened roadway where Michael’s car had exploded. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she was starting to fall apart. The last thing we needed was for Sean to put everything together while watching his mom stare at the road. I let the door slam so Sean would get distracted. It did the trick.
“CeeCee!” He came running to me at full speed.
Seeing the tears well up in his eyes while his face was scrunched up, I caught him and fell to my knees, holding him tightly and sobbing. He cried right along with me.
“My daddy’s gone! He’s in heaven, CeeCee!” he wailed.
I squeezed him tighter, and he buried his face into my shoulder. Vanessa stood quietly, watching us, her own tears still flowing. Holding Sean was the closest I could get to Michael, and I didn’t want to let him go. Nonetheless, both Vanessa and I needed to keep ourselves together for Sean’s sake.
“Vanessa,” I sniffled, “do you want to come in for some coffee or something?”
“No, thanks, CeeCee…” She wiped her eyes. “I need to get going. I have my own grieving to do.”
I responded with only a nod, and Sean and I watched her drive away before we went into the house. We sat, talked, and cried for hours. Sean was the best medicine I could’ve asked for. I knew I had to be strong for him, so I suppressed my own grief enough that I felt able to function. It was a long night, but at least we had each other. The next morning would be another horrible affair, when Selina and Isabelle arrived.
They, like the rest of us, didn’t take it well when Eric and I gave them the bad news, Selina especially. She was the oldest and had never experienced the realities of life and death. Michael was the first person she had ever known who had died, and it took such a toll on her I had to put her in counseling within a week.
Michael’s funeral was an entirely different issue. The FBI, for reasons they refused to discuss with me, insisted on a small, private service, instead of the full-blown law-enforcement burial. I was furious, to say the least. Alan Keane called me several times and tried to explain. He insisted that while they were searching for Michael’s killers, they thought it best to try to give the impression that Michael had not been killed—only injured. Therefore, no obituary was printed, and the incident had not been reported by any news agency anywhere. He felt that if the higher-ups among Michael’s killers thought they had failed, the conflict between them would lead the FBI right to them. My opinion of Alan Keane’s explanation was that it was bullshit, and I told him as much. They were keeping something from me; there wasn’t a doubt in my mind. However, he said, once Michael’s killers were caught, a service with all of the bells and whistles would be held. Never in my life had I heard of such a thing.
The weeks that followed were the most difficult of my life. Each time I walked into our closet to pack up Michael’s clothes, I walked right back out. The last time in the closet was the day I decided his things would be put away only when I was ready, and now wasn’t the time. Vanessa still let me take Sean on the designated weekends, which surprised me. Sean did wonders for me, and I think I did the same for him.
Dreams of Michael came every night in my restless sleep, and I found myself wanting to sleep more, just to see him. When I couldn’t fall asleep, several glasses of wine or vodka did the trick. The more I drank, the more I slept, and therefore, the more I saw Michael. Eric several times expressed his concern, taking the girls more than usual, but I found myself caring less and less about anything.
My days went as follows: wake up, drink a bottle of wine, sleep, wake up, drink more, sleep, and so on. When my vacation time and sick leave finally ran out two months later, it was time to go back to work.
My first day back didn’t go well. I was hungover and found myself craving more alcohol. Naomi, Coop, my father, the sheriff—everyone tried to talk me into counseling, but I refused. I told myself to get it together and dive into my work. As easy as it sounded, I wasn’t aware of how difficult that would be. Naomi was around me so much it began to get annoying.
“How ‘bout Coop and I stop by after work and take you to dinner? You’re a skeleton, CeeCee. You really need to eat something.” She stood in front of my desk with her arms crossed.
“You guys really need to stop.” Sighing, I put my face in my hands. “I know you all are worried, but trust me, I am not going to kill myself, so you can stop all of the fucking nightly checkups at my house.”
She sat down in a chair. “I don’t know that we’re really worried about you committing suicide, Cee…There’s ways of slowly killing yourself, ya know? You’re not eating, you’re drinking too much, and if you don’t get it together, you will eventually kill yourself—whether intentionally or not.”
Taking a deep breath, I leaned back in my chair. “I just don’t know if I can do this, Naomi.” Tears began to fill my eyes.
She leaned forward. “Yes, you can! You’re the strongest person I have ever met in my life! You were strong before you even met Michael, and you will be strong now!” She stood up. “This isn’t the CeeCee I know. She can overcome anything, even the death of the man she loved, for her children and for herself. Now, take the homeless murders and review the file. Dive back into work and get your mind off all of this! We’ve had nothing since you’ve been gone, and maybe you can find whatever it is that we missed.”
She pulled a thick brown expanding file from her briefcase and threw it on my desk. It landed with a loud thud.
“Let me know if you find anything, and let me know if you need anything.” She left my office.
I stared at the file. For some reason, I had a feeling that if I opened it, it would be like working. That would mean that I was moving on without Michael, making me feel guilty somehow. Still lost in thought, I was jolted back
into the present when someone knocked loudly on my door. It was the new detective, Justin Brown.
“Sergeant Gallagher?”
“Yes, Justin. Come on in.”
“I just wanted to tell you I’m glad to see you back, and I’m sorry about what happened.”
I did my best to smile. “Thank you. So how are your cases coming along?”
We talked briefly before he left. People expressing their condolences was something that would take time to get used to. Flipping through the homeless-murder file was no good. I couldn’t concentrate and certainly didn’t find anything that might’ve been missed. There were two murders to be solved, and I was worthless.
The third murder came less than two weeks after I returned to work. Thirty-nine-year-old Jamie Ellerman had hitchhiked his way to Mansfield from Louisville. He had initially thought he had relatives here, but found out they had either died or moved. Finding himself with no money or transportation, he walked to the nearest homeless shelter, where he had been staying for the last five days. His body, minus both kidneys, was found in Ferndale Park, at the end of Harmon Avenue.
Harmon Avenue, also known as “the drive-through,” was the street that supplied the majority of the city’s crack cocaine. House after house was a crack store. People literally went door-to-door to feed their habit. Ellerman’s body was found by a crack addict who had gone to the park to smoke her morning breakfast. Most addicts are so eager for their supply, they can’t wait to get home, so they go right to the park. On any given day, one could find ten to fifteen people in the park, smoking crack. All of us deduced at least five to ten people had seen the body and not reported it. Why this addict decided to call the police was anyone’s guess.
Pulling into the parking lot of the park, I felt different than I had at other homicides I’d been to. It was the lack of emotion, the hardhearted indifference. I didn’t care. Looking at the body, my usual thoughts of compassion were replaced with So what if another no-good piece of shit was carved like a Thanksgiving Day turkey. Someone ought to give a medal to the killer—he did the world a favor. That was the day I knew my career in law enforcement was over.
The Body Mafia Page 6