Bad Blood

by Ren Hamilton

  Patrick nodded, feeling very small. “Uh-huh.”

  He held out a badge. “I’m Agent Steven Litner. These are Agents Rourke and Ohare. I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  Patrick’s legs threatened to buckle, and he moved over to the chair and sat. “May I see that identification please?” he asked.

  The agent handed it to Patrick respectfully. Patrick glanced at it and handed it back. It could have come from a Cracker Jack box for all he knew.

  “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “No one is accusing you of anything, Mr. Obrien. I just want to ask you some questions.”

  Patrick glanced at the men guarding the door. They could have been carved of stone for how still they were. He could see their gun holsters peeking out from under their jackets. He took a deep breath. “What is this about?”

  Seating himself next to Father Carbone, the agent pulled a notebook from his jacket. “You might want to get comfortable, Mr. Obrien.”

  Patrick looked down and realized he was sitting literally on the edge of his seat. He moved back in the chair but relaxation was out of the question. Litner didn’t beat around the bush. “What is your association with Joseph Pierre Duvaine?”

  “Joey and I went to college together,” Patrick said. “We also until recently worked together at Parker Investments.”

  “Is that all?” he asked. Patrick was silent. Agent Litner looked up, his navy eyes probing but patient.

  “What do you mean?” Patrick asked. “Is what all?”

  “Is that the extent of your relationship with this individual?”

  “No. Joey’s also my friend.”

  Agent Litner nodded and scribbled something on his notepad. Father Carbone made a scoffing sound, and Patrick glanced at him. “Does the priest really have to be here for this?”

  “Father Carbone is aiding us in this investigation, but he will control himself and remain silent during this inquiry. Won’t you, Father Carbone?” The priest shrugged, then nodded.

  “Investigation? What about?” Patrick asked, although he was pretty sure he knew. Joey and Shep had probably already been laundering donation money or something. If that was the case, then they had cooked their own goose. Patrick was not going down with them.

  “Please just try and answer the questions, Mr. Obrien. How long have you known Joseph Duvaine?”

  “Ten years.”

  “And during that time, have you ever heard him mention such topics as population control, weapons of mass destruction, or anything related to acts of terrorism?”

  Patrick blinked at him. “Say what now?”

  “Has he ever mentioned or fantasized about creating a national or global catastrophe? Any fascination with genocide?”

  Patrick held his hands out in front of him and let out a stifled laugh. “Whoa. Hold on a minute there. I’m afraid you’ve gotten some misinformation. Joey is not a terrorist. He’s a financial planner.”

  The priest made another sound of disgust and got up and left the room. Patrick stared after him a moment, then looked across at Agent Litner. “What is this about, really?”

  Agent Litner studied him. “Duvaine never spoke of formulating biological weapons of any kind?”

  Patrick shook his head, incredulous. “Is this a joke? Joey Duvaine is a decent person. He’s had some emotional problems lately since losing his family, but I assure you he’s not dangerous. Joey wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Father Carbone stepped quietly back into the room, and he and the agent exchanged a glance. Litner went back to his notebook and flipped a few pages, tapping his pen on the table. “What about Melvin Eugene Shepherd?”

  Patrick shrugged. “What about him?”

  “Do you know this individual?”

  “Yes, I know Shep. He’s a friend.”

  “Just like Joseph Duvaine is a friend.”

  Patrick nodded. “Yes. That’s right.”

  “Mr. Obrien, would you say that these two individuals are your good friends?”

  “Sure.”

  “Would you qualify them as your best friends?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Why then do you choose to have no involvement in their newly established…activities down in Forest Bluffs?”

  “We have conflicting views.”

  Agent Litner almost smiled, but it was hard to tell. His facial expressions didn’t change much. “These conflicting views that you have, what do they involve?”

  “Just the whole idea. I think it’s ridiculous.”

  Litner slid forward in his chair. “What exactly is ridiculous?”

  “Just…Joey talked about starting a church. It’s stupid, I know. He’ll get bored with the idea soon enough.”

  “Aside from that,” Litner said. “What are they planning?”

  Patrick frowned. “They’re not planning anything. Playing, more like it. They’re the least organized people I know. The biggest plan I’ve ever seen them make is deciding what time to meet at the bar for happy hour. Half the time they can’t even get that right.”

  Litner cocked an eyebrow. “Mr. Obrien, for what reason did your friends orchestrate a hoax that might put Joseph Duvaine in the public spotlight?”

  Patrick shook his head and placed his hands on his temples. “Wait a minute. You knew it was a hoax?”

  “Of course we knew it was a hoax.”

  “Then what is this investigation about?”

  The agent tapped his pen on his temple furiously. He looked about to pop a vein. “Mr. Obrien. We don’t care that they created the damn hoax. We want to know the motivation behind it.”

  “I told you. To start a church group.”

  “For what purpose?”

  Patrick snickered. “Come on. You can’t figure it out? It was a money scam! Donations. Tax free dollars. Surely you looked into all of this. Joey was about to lose his father’s beach house. He had a lot of debt to pay off. Are you guys for real? Because so far I’m not impressed.”

  Father Carbone cocked his head to one side, studying Patrick. “Either you are one cool cucumber, or you really don’t know jack shit.”

  Patrick turned to Agent Litner, who wore the same expression, eyeing Patrick like he was some sort of enigma. “What?” Patrick said. “What is it exactly I’m supposed to know?”

  Agent Litner sighed, twirling his pen like a baton. “How well do you know your friends?”

  Patrick shrugged. “They’ve been like brothers to me for years. I know everything about them. Why?”

  “Patrick, Charles Duvaine was not having any financial problems, and your friend Joey was never in any danger of losing that beach house. The mortgage on the Forest Bluffs house was paid off, as were all the taxes for the next year. Charles Duvaine had millions in the bank and Joey received an enormous inheritance along with a life insurance policy when Charles died. Joey Duvaine is a rich young man and he hasn’t accepted a dime from so called church donations, or any other outside sources. We’ve had him under surveillance for some time now.”

  Patrick felt faint. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that whatever reason your friends had for the hoax, for forming this group, it wasn’t for money.”

  Patrick shook his head. “No, you’re wrong. Of course it was for money. Shep said so himself. Why else would they do something like this?”

  Litner raised his eyebrows. “That is the question I’ve been trying to ask you.”

  “If it wasn’t for the money, then I don’t know why they did it. Unless…”

  “Unless what?” Agent Litner asked.

  “Well, Shep has been known to pull scams just to see if he could.”

  Litner scowled. “That’s irrational.”

  “Yeah, well you’d have to know Shep. He’s not the most rational person I’ve ever met. But whatever the reason, I can assure you that there’s no conspiracy. I’m sorry to disappoint you but my friends are not terrorists. They’re too stupid.”

  Again,
Litner and the priest exchanged one of those knowing glances. “Did you just call Joey Duvaine stupid?”

  “I did. I mean, he’s smart with numbers I guess, but not a lot of common sense sometimes.”

  “Do you even know who he is? Patrick, I have to ask you again. How well do you know your friends?”

  “I told you, they’re like brothers to me!”

  “Why then did you break off all contact with them? Why have you cut all ties with the two people that you deem to be ‘like brothers’?”

  Patrick threw his hands up, exasperated. “The apparition! The phony miracle! And dragging me into it against my will.”

  Agent Litner studied him. “Are you telling me the only reason you ended a ten-year friendship is because they staged this apparition?”

  “Yes. Well, more so that they dragged me into it without consent. I wanted nothing to do with it. And Shep lied to me about Joey being suicidal. These might be small crimes in your book, but to me that’s nothing to fuck with.”

  Agent Litner flipped through his notebook. “Where is Melvin Eugene Shepherd from originally? Do you know?”

  “Shep is from Texas. Why do you ask?”

  “Because he doesn’t exist.”

  “Of course he exists. His father was abusive, so Shep was put into foster homes when he was little. He got shuffled around a lot.”

  “Yes, I have heard the sad tale,” Litner said with a heavy note of sarcasm. “But the fact remains that all records verifying his existence stop showing up when traced back more than thirteen years, just before he moved in with the Duvaine family. Even the social worker that placed him with the Duvaines can’t be traced. It’s like your friend Shep just popped up out of thin air.”

  Patrick shook his head. “That’s impossible. I know Shep. He talks about his past. Have you checked court documents? Social security numbers and such?”

  Agent Litner gave him a look.

  “Right. Kind of your job, huh?”

  Litner continued. “Regarding Mr. Shepherd. Has he ever expressed any interest in genocide, biological weapons—”

  “No!” Patrick said, cutting him off. “For the last time, I am telling you that you have the wrong guys.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because they’re my best friends!” Patrick felt hot tears threatening. He bowed his head and wiped his eyes, feeling foolish and out of control. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately,” he said softly. “I’ve just been under a lot of pressure.”

  Litner sighed. “I do not enjoy having to upset you. You say that your friends are not criminals. I hope you’re right. I want you to be right. In fact, I’m going to give you the opportunity to prove you’re right.”

  Patrick didn’t like the sound of that. He looked up at the white-haired agent. “What do you mean?”

  “Your friends have started growing a field of crops on Joey’s property in Forest Bluffs. Do you know what this crop is?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “You received a phone call from Joey Duvaine the night of his television interview. It seems that your friends would like very much for you to join them.”

  “You’ve tapped my phone?”

  “We need a sample of that crop. Judging from your friends’ desire to have you with them, I’d say you could easily obtain that sample for us.”

  Patrick’s jaw dropped. “You want me to spy on my friends? Steal crops? Why can’t you do it yourselves?”

  Agent Litner’s gaze lowered. “We tried to infiltrate the group when they were recruiting members. Mr. Shepherd figured out that our decoy was an agent.”

  Patrick laughed. “You shouldn’t underestimate Shep.”

  “Will you help us, or not?”

  Patrick glanced at the statuesque agents guarding the door. His eyes found their gun holsters and he looked back at Agent Litner. “I don’t want Joey and Shep to get hurt,” he said. “They’re not dangerous people. I don’t want them hurt because you’ve got some wrong idea in your head about them.”

  “They will not be harmed, Patrick. If this crop proves questionable then we will make inquiries according to the law.”

  “And if it’s nothing?”

  “We leave them alone.”

  “Are you responsible for those curly-haired freaks following me around? Because they’re starting to piss me off.”

  “We are not having you followed, Patrick.”

  “Yeah. I wonder.”

  “You seem to believe in your friends’ integrity. I hope it’s well-founded, I really do. You have a chance to prove me wrong here. I swear to you, I want to be wrong about these suspicions I have. Please, Patrick. Prove me wrong.”

  The room grew very still. “Can I think about it?”

  “You have forty-eight hours. And you are not to speak to anyone about this conversation, especially your friends. Is that clear?”

  “Clear. Two days. I’ll give you my answer. May I go now? It smells like feet in here.”

  Agent Litner glanced at the agents by the door. They stepped aside, allowing Patrick to pass. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Obrien,” Litner called after him.

  “I’m sure you will,” Patrick said.

  He was about to step out the door when Father Carbone called after him. “Patrick, wait. Can I ask you just one question before you leave?”

  Patrick turned back. “What is it?”

  The priest thumbed through a worn-looking book. “You never did any sort of blood ceremony with your friends, did you?”

  Patrick felt the breath leave his body. “A what?”

  “Mixing your blood with theirs? A ritual of some sort?” Patrick stared at the priest, unable to speak. Father Carbone interpreted his shocked silence as anger. “I’m sorry, Patrick. Of course you didn’t. Never mind, then. Go on home.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kelinda pushed open the heavy wooden door and hesitated, waiting for the lightning bolt to come down from above and cremate her. When it didn’t, she moved inside the church and let the door swing shut behind her. She could see the statue of the Virgin up by the altar. She turned away, avoiding its eyes.

  A recent argument with Patrick repeated in her mind. He’d pointed out that she’d gone against her beliefs, lied to her best friend Robin, and risked her reputation. But for what? He’d wanted to know why she’d agreed to let herself be the model for the apparition. It’s like he had a way of pinpointing and homing in on exactly what she was hiding, and she wondered if he was just incredibly perceptive, or if she was radiating guilt.

  Because the answer to Patrick’s question was easy. She’d done it because Joey Duvaine asked her to. What else would she have agreed to that night Joey came to her house, hypnotizing her with those blue eyes, asking her to grant an old friend a favor? Conspiracy? Murder perhaps?

  Joey had no idea the influence he had on her. This was no accident. She’d observed him closely over the years. Women who mooned over him too much were immediately discarded. Joey needed to feel like you didn’t want anything from him, or he’d run. He always behaved as if he was already spoken for somehow. So Kelinda had played the game, never lingering her gaze on him too long, never flirting. And now Joey was comfortable around her. Yet he was no more interested in her than he’d ever been.

  She knew the obsession was childish, and she’d tried to deal with it as such. She even moved out of state for a while, thinking that would get him out of her system. But she’d wanted Joey for too long. She’d wanted him while she was still too young to know what that wanting meant. She was poisoned with him. And as with any addiction, the only cure was abstinence. Or perhaps substitution?

  Patrick was the first man who’d sparked her interest in years, made her turn her head away from her unrequited obsession. So she’d found a nice Irish Catholic boy that her parents would love, and she was actually attracted to him. She only hoped now that the Joey fixation wouldn’t screw it up. Patrick didn’t deserve that on top of all the bet
rayal he'd endured lately.

  She had a grip on the truth now, and the truth was that Joey would never want her. He’d used her for the apparition, nothing more. She’d asked if he wanted to grab a coffee after the filming. Joey said he was too busy, but thanked her profusely, telling her what a good friend she was. A good friend.

  And he’d left her in the dust without a word since. Without ever considering that she carried the keys to his destruction. Had he forgotten how easily she could thwart his plan? With a single phone call to the press she could pop Joey Duvaine’s heavenly bubble and watch laughing as he dropped painfully back to earth. But first...confession.

  She walked toward the back of the church, determined to emotionally purge herself of Joey once and for all by confessing to God what she had done. Each step she took required determined force. She’d promised Joey she’d say nothing to anyone about the hoax. She’d given her word. Did confessing to a priest count as squealing? To hell with Joey, she thought, and stepped behind the curtain. “Bless me father for I have sinned.”

  “Kelinda?” a smooth deep voice behind the curtain said. It was a voice she knew. Damn it. Father Bello was a friend of the family. He played golf with her father. She was hoping to get Father McShawn, who didn’t know her personally. Under normal circumstances she would have been thrilled to hear Father Bello’s voice behind that curtain. He was a chipper old priest with a trusting smile and a white Santa Claus beard. But she didn’t want to speak to a friend today. She wanted to speak to a stranger, a tranquil, faceless voice behind a dark curtain.

  “I thought Father McShawn was taking confessions today,” she said.

  “Father McShawn is down with the flu. Do you have a problem giving your confession to me?”

  “No, Father.”

  “Good. What is it that weighs so heavy on you?”

  “I have blasphemed.”

  “Have you taken the Lord’s name in vain?” the voice asked. She nearly laughed. No taking the Lord’s name here. That sort of blasphemy is for sissies. Now holography…

  “No, Father.”

  “Kelinda, how have you blasphemed?”

  “It was the Blessed Virgin,” she said.