by LS Sygnet
I clamped my mouth shut in consternation. That man in the crowd. Yeah, he was right about me and my little secrets. Somehow they didn’t seem so terrible when they were mine and not his.
“You’re doing it again. I’m done trying to pry answers out of you. If I haven’t earned your complete trust after everything we’ve been through, I’m starting to wonder if there’s hope that I ever will.”
“Don’t say that,” I said.
He let go of me and turned away.
“There was a man in the crowd, the spectators that showed up when Sanderfield was murdered,” I said quickly. “There was something about him… I can’t put my finger on it.”
Johnny turned around again. “And? Is this one of those things where you don’t want to share because you haven’t figured it all out first?”
“Rick.”
“What?” His sharp tone pierced the guilt I felt for keeping another secret.
“I didn’t see his face. I couldn’t see it really.”
“Did you forget which husband you’re talking to, Helen?”
I looked up into eyes shooting angry sparks. “He reminded me of Rick. The hair, the way he moved… but it couldn’t have been him, Johnny. He’s dead. I know he’s dead.”
More confusion. “Then you didn’t just have one of those Freudian slip things and call me Rick?”
I sighed in exasperation. “I was trying to explain what’s been bothering me about the person I saw at the crime scene. He reminded me of my ex-husband.”
“Okay,” he drawled.
Hands perched on my hips. “Are you deaf? I tell you that I think I saw my dead ex-husband at a crime scene yesterday morning, and you say okay? What’s wrong with you?”
“Helen, you said it yourself. He’s dead. A man doesn’t survive a gunshot wound to the head like that. You didn’t see his face.”
“Let me rephrase. I couldn’t see his face, Johnny. The reason I couldn’t get a clear look had nothing to do with the angle or distance. His face was obscured by bandages.”
His eyes darkened. “Are you sure he’s really…?”
“Yes,” I said. “What did you just say? A man doesn’t survive something like that.”
“Exactly how close of a family resemblance was there between Hamilton and Danny Datello?”
“Vague at best. Were you going to suggest that the FBI falsified their autopsy on Danny and helped him escape justice?”
Johnny scratched his head and sighed. “No, no. Of course not. What about Hamilton’s other family?”
I frowned. “Are we talking about parents, siblings?”
“Other cousins, maybe some other branch farther removed from Datello or Marcos.”
“I don’t know. I mean, he was an only child. As for cousins, I never met any other than Danny.”
“Must we call him Danny now?”
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s just, I don’t know. Paranoia maybe. Guilty conscience. Pregnancy brain. I probably didn’t see what I thought I saw.”
“Just the same,” Johnny said, “I’d like to have a look at the photos of the crowd that were taken at the crime scene.”
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. I tuned out the conversation with Crevan, assuming that Johnny was running with my haunting sense of déjà vu instead of using his head and moving on from Sanderfield’s murder. We’d never catch the man who killed him. For all we knew, he could be in Timbuktu by now.
I thought about my father again, wondered where he was, why he was ignoring our calls. I drifted away from Johnny and into the office. The computer beckoned. I pulled up the account information for my offshore bank. Another hundred thousand dollars had been withdrawn shortly after my last conversation with Dad.
“What’re you doing, Daddy? Please don’t do anything stupid. Please don’t risk yourself for me again.”
I think part of me knew that was wishful thinking.
Chapter 5
It was morning before David finally returned Johnny’s phone call.
“Did something happen, and why am I on speaker phone?”
Johnny laughed. “I’m going through photos from the crime scene, David. You’re on speaker phone because I haven’t got three hands. Got a question for you. Since you left, we’ve been going over all the information from the investigation into Sanderfield, Sherman, Gillette, all these people we’ve potentially linked to this human trafficking ring, and I discovered something I’m concerned we might’ve overlooked.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. You know we were looking at Wendell Eriksson as a possible partner in this mess considering what Gillette told Doc while she was being held prisoner on The Celeste and –”
“Wendell Eriksson is a dead end, Johnny. I’m not sure how anything related to him could possibly advance this investigation now. And why in God’s name would you keep coming back to him? Does Helen know what you’re doing?”
“I’m still convinced that he wasn’t involved, David. Let’s not forget that I actually met the man.”
“No,” David’s displeasure rippled off the phone connection. “I haven’t forgotten that, Johnny, nor the fact that Wendell’s last visitor impersonated an FBI agent.”
“Well, it turns out that this faux agent and I weren’t the only folks who visited Wendell. I remembered a conversation that you and I had last December when you found out that I too had gone to see him. Our investigation revealed that after my visit to Wendell, there were two other FBI agents that talked to Wendell. Since we already know that Peterson wasn’t really an agent, I got to wondering if the other guy was.”
“Who was the other visitor?” David’s chair creaked.
“Someone who signed in as Special Agent Noah. I’m pretty sure I glossed over that little tidbit of information while you were out here working the case with us because I knew someone with the bureau discovered that I went to see Wendell.”
“Nobody bothered talking to him, Johnny. We got a tip from one of the guards at the prison after the fact. Well, Seleeby got the tip, I should say. He didn’t share the information with anyone, and it was quite some time before we worked through all the volumes of documentation he was trying to compile against Helen to prove she killed a man we now know committed suicide.”
“Can I ask who gave the tip?”
“Prison guard from Attica, a guy by the name of Mike Lucero. We did talk to him, and he was pretty… well, I’m not sure how to put this delicately. Helen’s not listening to this conversation, is she?”
Johnny’s eyes met mine. “She’s sleeping in this morning, David. Hard as it is to believe, our chronic insomniac can’t seem to get enough sleep these days.”
David chuckled. “Well, I’m glad she’s got you taking care of her. This past year has been hell for her. I worry.”
“And I appreciate the concern. So what about Lucero?”
“Ah yes. Lucero had an axe to grind against the inmates. At least that was my opinion when I spoke to him.”
“You did the interview?”
“I did,” David said. “But aside from his general detest for the inmates in Attica, he seemed to bear an unusual amount of animus toward Wendell in particular. Probably because Wendell was once a decorated police detective.”
I listened to David’s fingers clacking over the computer keyboard on his desk. “As for a Special Agent Noah, I have no idea who he is. No surprise there. I don’t personally know every agent in the FBI, nor do I…” his voice faded.
“Nor do you what?”
“Well now, this is interesting. I’m in a database of all our active agents, Johnny. I see no one with the name Noah. Do you have the date of his visit to Wendell?”
Johnny shuffled through the papers strewn over the face of our office space. “Uh, well, that would be after my visit. About a month.”
“Hmm,” David hummed.
“It’s significant then, isn’t it? Now we’ve got two FBI impersonators visiting Wendell Eriksson in the past several months pr
ior to his death.”
“What about before you arrived, Johnny? Over the years, how many times was he seen while he was in Attica?”
“Once a year by his old desk sergeant.”
David snorted. “That man never believed Wendell’s conviction was just,” he said. “Of course, if he’d had a better attorney than a public defender, the jury might’ve agreed with him.”
I cringed.
“But we were convinced that there was far more going on with Wendell Eriksson than the evidence ever demonstrated. Did he kill those armored guards and rob their truck? We think he was there, but the evidence against him was circumstantial.”
“Still,” Johnny held up one hand to me, forestalling any argument I might be tempted to make, “he was an accessory, David, and if Marie Eriksson killed the guards, Wendell was her accomplice.”
“And why would a police detective as decorated as Eriksson was go along with something like that unless he was part of it?”
Johnny stared at me hard. I was biting my lips almost hard enough to draw blood. “Well, I’ve been thinking about that too, David. Try as I might, I can only conceive of one reason Wendell would’ve gone along with something like that, why he wouldn’t have touched his inheritance from his parents to hire a competent defense team. You know it as well as I do.”
“Helen,” David said.
“Yeah. He’d have done anything to protect her. We know, based on what Kathleen Conall told us about the night that Helen was abducted that either Marie or Suzy Henderson were involved. What if Marie Eriksson threatened Helen and coerced Wendell’s complicity in the crime?”
“Christ, I hadn’t considered that. It is truly unfortunate that Wendell died before we had the opportunity to ask him these questions.”
“We need to subpoena Attica Correctional Facility,” Johnny said. “I want their video of visitors the day this Noah showed up to see Wendell. I need to know who he really was, David. I think in light of everything that’s happened, these mysterious FBI impersonators could hold information that we need.”
“I agree. My concern is that after all the time that has passed, they won’t still have those videos anymore, Johnny. But you’re welcome to try.”
“I’ve already processed the request. I did it last night, so we’re just waiting to hear back from Attica,” Johnny said.
“There’s something about that last visitor that concerns me, Johnny,” David said. “You’re certain Helen is still asleep?”
“Positive.”
“Am I the only one who finds it concerning that Wendell had a visitor and hours later, he was dead?”
“What are you implying?” Johnny made a slicing motion at me with one hand.
“I’m not implying anything. I’m saying it outright. Too many people who might’ve known things about this human trafficking ring are dying, either by suicide, strange preexisting medical conditions, murder, or in the case of Helen’s abductors, as a matter of her sense of self preservation. Someone is mopping up witnesses. I’m not convinced that Wendell knew what he knew about Helen’s abduction, but he knew a lot about Marie Eriksson.”
“And you think Peterson somehow managed to kill Wendell in a way that took hours for him to die?”
“I’m saying I’d love to find the man. You’ll tell me if you get the video of him? We can have the bureau analyze the tape, see if we can figure out who he really is.”
Johnny frowned. “Are you suggesting that OSI doesn’t have the capability of analyzing their video, David?”
“No, of course not. A copy would suffice. Two agencies looking are better than one.”
The knot that had been growing in the pit of my stomach tightened. What if they realized I was Thomas Peterson? Our eyes met. Johnny did that thing he does with me, the creepy mind reading. He shook his head briskly.
“Of course you’re right, David. And if Attica still has the film, we’ll share it.”
“Thank you,” David said. “I wish I could still be part of what’s going on out there, Johnny, but things are… hectic with the Marcos case right now. We’ve got new information, rather startling information.”
“Oh? Anything we should know about?”
“Proof that Datello really wasn’t part of Sully’s enterprise. I’m starting to believe what Helen surmised was true. The thing with Mr. Ireland was truly Datello’s panic that someone found out he planned to give evidence against his uncle. Hell, according to Franchetta, even that hit is suspect now.”
“It is?”
I struggled to keep my mouth shut.
“According to Franchetta, Mitch Southerby had an itchy trigger finger. He didn’t show up in Darkwater Bay at Datello’s behest. Uncle Sully sent him out there when he got wise to the fact that someone was tipping off the bureau about where the bodies were buried.”
“And he suspected Datello?” Johnny asked.
“Yes, so he sent Southerby out.”
“And how did he get the scent of David Ireland?”
“Well, that could’ve come from Datello, but Franchetta has been extremely cooperative of late, Johnny. According to him, Datello would’ve never ordered a hit like that.”
Because it orphaned a child, one like Danny had been when Sully Marcos killed Danny’s father, I thought. Jesus, had Celeste been right about her husband all along? What had he done that was really so different from me? Salvatore Masconi disappeared after Danny was convinced that he murdered a child.
“So Southerby killed Ireland because he had an itchy trigger finger?” Johnny frowned. “That doesn’t excuse what happened at the medical examiner’s office, David. They stormed the place with automatic weapons.”
“In desperation. Datello couldn’t let Sully find out he planned to turn on him. Hell, Franchetta doesn’t even know why that happened, Johnny. He thinks Southerby orchestrated the whole thing before he was arrested for trying to kill you and Helen. Franchetta believes Southerby showed up because Sully found out this thing with Ireland wasn’t dead after all.”
“But Sully was in custody at the time.”
David snorted. I struggled to keep mine silent.
“Iron bars didn’t stop the man. Sometimes I wonder if he’s still pulling strings even though his vast network scattered with the wind after the Department of Homeland Security started digging through that mess at Sully’s waste management plant. Whenever terrorism is possible, people involved get scared. Say what you will about the Patriot Act, but it tends to strike fear into the hearts of even the most arrogant criminals.”
My eyes fluttered shut. Dad. How in the world had he known or even suspected that sending Johnny to Marcos’ specific business would result in Homeland Security getting involved in the investigation? Like I’ve always said. He’s a forensics natural, an expert looking at the big picture and seeing the tiny clues to the worst crimes.
Something occurred to me. If Danny Datello was really a cold blooded murderer, the merest hint from Jerry Lowe of an intent to blackmail him would’ve resulted in Lowe’s immediate death.
So if it wasn’t Danny pulling the strings in Darkwater Bay for all this time, who was? I slipped off the edge of the desk in the office and headed for the bedroom. There were answers still out there, dangling in front of me, but I’d been too blinded by hate and revenge to see what was really going on.
Datello wasn’t any guiltier than me. Rick? I’m not so sure about him. He still asked me to destroy the evidence the FBI had against him. He still ruined my career.
But what had Danny said about him? He wanted in, Helen. My ex-husband wanted to work for Sully Marcos. But why? Was it as suggested, that he was quietly feeding information to Danny about what Marcos was really doing?
I dressed quickly. Johnny probably assumed the conversation was too upsetting for me to continue to listen to. That suited me just fine. I had other things to take care of at the moment.
Inside the garage, I quickly opened the door and backed the Expedition out. Johnny wouldn’t like
it, not one bit. But there was someone – a willing someone – who would talk to me, who would gladly reveal another side to a man I refused to see as anything less than evil incarnate.
Well, maybe he was far less than an innocent man, but Danny Datello was no more guilty than I am. And it was high time I stopped denying the truth and figure out exactly how strong those similarities between us really were.
Chapter 6
The penthouse door swung open. “Helen, are you all right?”
I shook my head and dashed the tears from my face with one hand. “No, Celeste, I’m really not at all.”
“Is this about what happened at the charity lunch?”
Bless her kind, tender heart. “No, it’s got nothing to do with what happened the other day. Well, not directly at least. We need to talk, Celeste. God, how I wish I’d met you the moment I got here. I think everything would’ve been completely different.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Then you finally believe me, you finally see that my husband wasn’t the man everyone thought he was.”
“I’m getting very close to thinking Danny was as much a victim of his uncle as I was.” I amended quickly at her recoil, “No, I didn’t mean it that way. He was a victim too. Without a doubt. I need to know how badly, Celeste. Will you talk to me?”
She smiled gently. “Yes. I’m so glad you came to me. Come inside. I’ll tell you everything I know about Danny.”
We sat on the sofa, and I couldn’t help but be stricken by how young Celeste really was. Only twenty-three. Hadn’t Danny said something about her wisdom? Had she saved him, much the same way Johnny was trying to save me?
“You told me once that you believed Danny and I could’ve been very much alike if he’d made some of the choices I made, Celeste,” I said carefully.
“If he’d broken away from his criminal relatives, yes.”
“So at one point, he was part of Sully’s business?”
Her face hardened for a moment. “No, he most certainly was not. I’m not sure anyone but me… maybe you now, is capable of understanding how much he hated Sullivan Marcos.”