by Jan Coffey
South Norwalk, Connecticut
A six-pack of rolls from the young Portuguese woman locking up the bakery, half a pizza from the couple heading back to their car after dinner, a pre-licked lollipop from the little boy walking a dozen steps behind his mother out of the grocery store, and ten dollars and seventeen cents in donations, all in change.
“Tonight is a good night, Lord. Halleluiah!”
Holy Joe, as everyone called him downtown, was a part of the old downtown establishment in the revitalized shoreline town. He carried his life’s possessions in a grocery cart that he swapped every now and then when this one got rusty from the bad weather. Missing one eye, Joe had a stump for a left arm. People thought he was a homeless veteran. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t.
Joe’s mind didn’t work like most people’s. He couldn’t remember everything. Couldn’t even remember if he ever could remember everything. When he thought about it, he thanked the Lord for it. No doubt, Jesus was kind enough to keep things best forgotten about his life in the dark for him.
Holy Joe was polite, said his prayers out loud, and people made few complaints when they found him sleeping in odd places. The local police knew him and only scooped him up off the street on the coldest nights.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name.”
This time of year, on the nights when it wasn’t raining, Joe’s favorite place to camp was behind the two clothes dumpsters they’d put at the far end of the private commuter lot not far from the train station.
“Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth, as it is in Heaven.”
The good thing was that folks’ donations weren’t always stuffed inside the metal boxes. Every night, Joe found something good that had been left out. Often, it made for extra layers as the weather got colder.
“Give us this day our daily bread…You done that, Jesus,” Joe sang out loudly, looking down at his Portuguese rolls. “And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who have trespassed against us.”
Pushing the cart across the broken pavement of the empty parking lot, he could already see the moonlight reflecting off a large trash bag next to the white dumpsters.
“And lead us not into temptation,” Joe said happily.
He poked the bag with one foot. There was something heavy inside. He leaned down and tore open the bag. Even in the darkness, he could make out the bloody face and open eyes of a young black girl staring blankly at the moon.
“But deliver us from evil.”
CHAPTER 25
“They think it was a Halloween prank.”
“They’re morons,” Gavin said into the phone.
He was sorry that he had to leave Lacey with those cops. But five minutes after the locals had arrived at her house, a phone call had come in from a security job he had going in New Haven. He had to run.
“One good thing,” she told him. “They took the carcass away.”
“I’m sure they’re down at the Westbury crime lab right now, checking it for fingerprints of international pranksters.”
“Round up the usual suspects,” she responded.
Gavin had checked the house and the property himself. He doubted whoever had done this was hanging around, waiting for Lacey to get back home. Still, she was too vulnerable in that house. And it was ridiculous that no one was putting two and two together.
“Actually, it’s probably a good thing that you left,” she said, her voice suddenly sounding very tired.
He envisioned her in that bedroom, talking to him on the phone as she got ready for bed. Gavin could imagine her tucked in, surrounded by the pillows she had piled up there. Once he knew the house was empty, the intimacy of going into her private space had really hit home. Not that it made any difference. She was already in his head. “And why is that?”
“I think the local law enforcement has already decided that what’s going on is out of their jurisdiction, even though it’s right here in Westbury. None of the things I’ve reported seem to register on their radar as important to them. With you here, though, I’d probably have to deal with macho pissing contests between a big-city detective and small-town cops. That would not be good at all.”
“I wouldn’t let it get down to that. Trust me. I’d just tell them what they needed to do and then they would do their job.”
“There. My point exactly.” There was the sound of a stifled yawn. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”
“What are you doing?” He already knew what she was doing.
“Trying to get some sleep. I was up all night last night.”
“What time are you planning to go to Terri’s apartment tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. I’ll get there after they’re done questioning me in New Milford.” Lacey had already told him about the conversation she’d had with Farah Aziz.
Gavin had expected it. This was the very reason why he’d wanted her to have an attorney present when the time came for this questioning.
“I liked Fay,” Lacey said. “Even though our relationship was professional, we were sort of friends. But who’s going to believe that? And I have no alibi for the night she was killed. Nothing…I mean, nothing after you left. It’s terrifying that they consider me a suspect.”
“I doubt that they consider you a serious suspect. This is just procedure,” Gavin said calmly, stretching the truth. Lacey’s felony was a strike against her. And the photograph of Fay Stone’s corpse on her computer, although she’d voluntarily offered it to the authorities, was another strike.
“What time are you meeting Farah?” Gavin asked.
“Nine o’clock, at the station,” she whispered. “I can’t believe how scared I feel.”
“You’ll be okay,” he said gently. “She’s a great attorney. Remember to trust her.”
“Yeah. That falls into the Nearly Impossible category. I have a lot of work to do in the trusting department.”
CHAPTER 26
For many people in her age group, Friday night was date night, or at least movie night or drinks-with-friends-night. But there would be plenty of time down the road for those things.
Right now, Benita Gomez needed to dig up as much as she could for the Green feature story. Her boss had already okayed a three-part article. And Benita had called the editors at the Hartford and New Haven papers and they were interested in having her do individual freelance stand-alone pieces. The three angles made it brilliant. The victims. The guilty. What tomorrow brings.
For the initial article, the Green family was the focus. As a candidate for the senatorial race, Kathy Green’s participation would definitely make the article. Judge Green was another story. He was a recluse. Still, there were enough accounts out there about him to make the man a seriously tragic figure. Days before Stephanie’s murder, he’d launched a state police investigation into drug trafficking in the Sherman area—focusing especially on distribution in the crowded high school. There had been loud speculation at the time that his daughter’s death had been an act of retaliation. After Stephanie’s murder, he suffered a nervous breakdown and was never the same man.
Benita knew where Judge Green lived and what his daily routine consisted of. He wasn’t one to answer phone calls or take appointments for interviews. She planned to pay him a visit. Perhaps she’d even run into him ‘accidentally’ this weekend by Black Rock Lake where he had his cottage. Even a line or two, whatever she could use from him, would be a bonus.
The Guilty segment of the series was turning out to be the most interesting piece and the one that Benita was having unrivaled success collecting information for. Timing was everything in journalism. During the past couple of weeks, she’d started making visits to the gang members who were in prison for the murder.
Four of the five had already met with her. They had obvious remorse, but the prospect of spending forty years or so in prison could do that to a person.
All of them had sentence reduction hearings scheduled over the next couple of months. Michael Pho
enix, the man whom the judge and juries had been the hardest on, was serving a hundred and twelve year sentence. He was the leader, by all accounts. He was the only one who still refused to meet with her. She knew Michael had one regular visitor.
Benita was not about to give up. And she’d spread around enough cash to finally get the name and address of his visitor.
She stared at the piece of paper pinned to the corkboard. Her phone messages had not been returned. It was time for a personal visit.
Benita envisioned dedicating a chunk of this second part to Lacey Watkins. She had ended up with a pretty short sentence—a walk in the park, if you listened to Kathy Green—compared to what the rest of the crew received.
The third article would be about the hearings for sentence reductions and Katherine Green’s political career—one being dependent on the other.
Benita stared at all the sticky notes and printed articles and pages of information and reports she’d collected on this case. There was enough here that she could write a book. And she would definitely consider that, especially if Katherine Green won her seat in the Senate. Either way, she was certain these articles would bring an impressive string of journalism awards.
Then she’d have her nights out with friends.
A noise outside the front window of the office snapped Benita out of her daydream. She was the only one working this late. Swinging her chair around, she stared at the wall of glass that cut off the dark street. She couldn’t see anyone outside. The door was locked at five when their receptionist left. Most of the lights in the office were off. Her bright desk lamp put a spotlight on her—and for the first time ever, she felt vulnerable.
There was that sound again, like a pebble hitting the glass. She turned off the light and stood up. She was getting totally freaked out.
Her cell phone rang.
“Benita Gomez,” she said, her eyes riveted to the window. The lights outside showed no movement on the street.
“Are you still good for your word?”
She recognized the voice. “Absolutely. You know I am.”
To become the queen bee you needed an army of worker bees. Benita was becoming a master at building troops.
“Cash?”
“Got it.”
“Write this down.”
Benita grabbed a pen. “Go ahead.”
“Tomorrow, nine o’clock. The New Milford police are bringing in Lacey Watkins for questioning about the murder of her probation officer, Fay Stone.”
Benita’s heart raced with excitement. “Got it.”
Ending the call, she stared at the information. This was good stuff. She turned around and looked at the wall of windows again. There was no one on the street. It had been her imagination. She had nothing to be afraid of, at all. She was on her way up.
Now, how could she best use this to her advantage?
A quote pinned above her desk caught her attention.
To do anything in this world worth doing, we must not stand back shivering and thinking of the cold and danger, but jump in and scramble through as well as we can. —Sydney Smith
And Benita knew exactly where to jump in.
CHAPTER 27
The questions Lacey was asked at the New Milford police station were filtered through Farah Aziz. Nothing hypothetical was allowed. No fishing. Everything needed to be related directly to the meetings she’d had with Fay Stone. The attorney had reminded the two detectives at the very beginning that her client was there of her own free will to help them solve a homicide. They were not welcome to ask any unwarranted personal questions.
It was a pleasant change for Lacey to see cops squirm and try to do the right thing in her lawyer’s presence. At five feet tall, a hundred pounds, and perhaps in her early forties, Farah might as well have been a giant looking down at them. There was no doubt that these men had done their homework. They knew enough about Aziz not to mess with her.
Summarizing every meeting she’d had with the probation officer since being back in Connecticut, Lacey finished up in under an hour.
“You did well,” Farah told her afterwards. They followed an escort through the building back to the front doors of the police station.
“Thank you.” Lacey felt tension cramping every muscle in her neck and back. The feeling wouldn’t go away until she was miles away from this building. “Why didn’t they say anything about confiscating my computer?”
“I settled that with them on the phone,” Farah explained. “My forensics person is on their approved expert list. Once a report gets generated, it’ll be shared. But even with that, I have some discretion because of my responsibilities as your attorney.”
“You really trust me,” she said with some amazement.
Farah’s nod was barely visible, but it was enough for Lacey.
Suddenly, emotions welled up in her. Last night, she’d been exhausted. Still, she’d only slept for an hour, staring at the ceiling and thinking of what lay ahead. The police inquiry today. Guessing what the crazy person who’d been sending her the pictures through the Internet was planning next. Who’d left the dead animal and why.
On top of all of this, she felt incredibly lonely. She had no friends. No family. Not a single person who knew enough about Lacey and her past that she could talk to about what was happening in her life. There was Gavin. But she was attracted to him and terrified about leading him on when she wouldn’t do anything about it.
They reached the double doors that opened up into the lobby. This was as far as their escort came.
“Are you going back to Westbury?” Farah asked as they were buzzed out.
“No, to New Haven. I have to start the process of clearing out my sister’s…”
The words died on her tongue. Lacey stared through the glass exit doors at the news vans and reporters gathered in front. The center of attention was a tall woman with her back to them. Lacey would recognize her anywhere. Kathy Green.
“…now she’s being investigated for yet another murder.” The candidate was speaking into a portable PA system and she was loud enough to be heard inside. “Here is another case of a repeat offender. When are we…”
“She’s talking about me,” Lacey turned to Farah. “How could she know I’d be here…or that I have any connection with Fay Stone?”
The attorney was already speaking to the officer at the reception window, demanding that they be allowed back in.
Lacey took a step back. The tinted plate glass protected her from the mob outside…for now, but she could see the hungry looks. She could hear the harsh personal attack from Kathy Green.
Her attention shifted to another familiar face. Watching the spectacle at a distance from the visitor’s parking lot, Benita Gomez was leaning against Lacey’s car, a photographer at her side.
The reporter’s gaze was fixed on the plate glass, and Lacey felt as if she were looking directly at her.
And the look said, I warned you.
CHAPTER 28
The four men convicted of Stephanie Green’s murder were serving their sentences at the Northern Correctional Institution in Somers, a maximum-security prison housing inmates doing time for violent crimes. Regardless of the walls and bars and segregated cell blocks, news inside the razor-wire topped fences traveled at the speed of light. Any kind of fight, accident, or murder was known to every inmate hours, sometimes days, before anyone on the outside world—including family—would hear about it.
Peter Sclar was the driver of the van who’d taken the group of teenagers to the lake the night of the Stephanie Green’s murder. Since coming here, he’d picked up the nickname of Purdy, and everyone now called him that, even the guards. Serving a forty-seven year sentence, he took every minute of the time he was allowed on family visit days. His brother, two sisters, his mother. They had set up a schedule and one of them always showed up.
Purdy loved to listen to everything they had to say. From news of the new dog his mother had rescued to his nephew’s soccer games to how the
new mailman on their street seemed to only deliver every other day. Nothing was too dull. This was the only way Purdy could survive this place, living life through their stories.
Today, though, Purdy was the one with news.
“Michael did it. They caught him hanging himself in his cell this morning.”
“Is he dead?” Purdy’s younger sister asked in dismay from behind the glass divider.
“Might as well be. Word is he still had a pulse when they took him to the infirmary. But they say he was hanging there long enough to do the job. He’s in a coma, but it doesn’t look good.”
Silence fell between the siblings. Their gazes connected. Her question was understood without having to be asked.
“You should make the call,” Purdy said.
“The shit will hit the fan.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Purdy told his sister. “Michael might have just hours left, if he makes it at all. Make the phone call.”
CHAPTER 29
By the time Gavin arrived at the New Milford police station, the press conference had ended, and Kathy Green was gone. But a news van and a handful of reporters were still lurking in the parking lot. He drove to the back of the building, to a door that was reserved strictly for police personnel.
Calling Lacey, he parked at the curb and got out of the car. A minute later, she was escorted out by a uniformed officer. She looked tense, scared, glancing around the parking lot like she was ready to run. He could imagine the chaos the police questioning alone would have wrought in her. To realize that she couldn’t just walk out of there—with the wolf pack of reporters waiting outside—had to be the tipping point. Gavin had heard the note of panic in her voice when she’d called him.
He wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her that she was safe. Instead, he helped her quickly into the car.
“Thank you for doing this,” she told him as soon as he got behind the wheel. “Thank you for getting here so fast. I didn’t see it coming. This is two days in a row she’s done this to me. I was so rattled.”