No Greater Love

by Susan Rodgers

  Matt was somewhat glad himself for having the opportunity to chauffeur Jessie around. He, like the Keatings, was worried about her constant moping around the house. Although he didn’t necessarily approve of her destination, Matt figured the purple hair and the hoodie and Chucks would at least fit in on Hastings. And although Jessie was not aware, Matt also instructed one of his staff - Dan, the burly Scandinavian - to stay in contact via cell phone and to be his eyes on the street. Not wanting to frighten Jessie with too much visible security presence, Matt was still insistent on protecting her as best he could. Ulysses, his African Canadian friend, would be off to the airport later with Charles to pick up Jacob upon his arrival from Scotland.

  So far there were no direct threats from Deuce McCall. The man had not been seen or heard of since his vicious attack on Jessie a year and a half earlier. Matt had enlisted the help of the RCMP as well as the co-operation of the Vancouver City Police and Interpol to conduct a more thorough investigation than the preliminary peek at McCall after Terri’s disappearance. So far all they learned was the dagger left when Josh’s tires were slashed could indeed belong to McCall based on the geographic evidence – miniscule dirt particles on the blade and handle. But the blood residue on the dagger was inconclusive, and didn’t link to an identity. McCall had sold his businesses and disappeared underground, as far as they could tell.

  Matt looked sideways at Jessie. If she wasn’t so damned frightened most of the time, he’d almost wonder if she killed the man and enlisted the help of her Downtown Eastside friend to help hide McCall’s body. He was that well hidden.

  “What?” Jessie asked, crossing one knee loosely over the other as she took a bite of her bagel. She could see wheels turning in the quick mind underneath Matt’s perfectly gelled hair.

  “Ha,” he chuckled. “Can’t even look at you, huh?”

  She was getting used to being the object of people’s sideways glances. Jessie leaned her head back against the seat rest and grinned over at Matt. “It’s nice to see you too, you big lug.”

  He drove on for a few more minutes, thinking that despite the underlying tensions of having Jessie home, she was still a light in all their lives. Everyone just seemed happier with her around despite the omnipresent undercurrent of fear. And sadness. But Jessie carried a sorrow with her from the day she first came into their lives. Oh, what they would all give to see her happy – the way she was when she and Josh were a couple. The light shone so brightly then. Now it was present, but dimmer.

  “Jessie,” Matt said, “can we swing by ROAM first? I need a latte.”

  She frowned. That would take them up out of their way and almost into Josh’s neighborhood. Looking at the smiley faces on her toes, which always seemed to be taunting her, Jessie thought about asking him to drive by Josh’s house. But she wasn’t prepared to see Michelle’s presence there - she knew they were living together, at least when both were in the city at the same time.

  “Okay,” she said, and Matt knew what she was thinking. He didn’t need a latte, but his intention was not to remind her of Josh. Instead, he wanted time in the car with her – where she was a virtual prisoner, or at least a captive audience – to discuss Deuce McCall and what happened to Sandy. They needed to collect some more hard evidence on McCall in order to convict him for murder. Right now all they really had was Jessie’s testimony, which was still unofficial at this point, until she was mentally ready to go in to the police station and make an official statement. A DNA sample was taken at the time of the rape eighteen months ago, but so far they had nothing on the man as a murderer.

  So Matt dove in headfirst. They didn’t have a lot of time. A few years ago, there was no way Jessie would talk. But all of her cards seemed to be out in the open now, and so Matt took a chance. He sensed that back at the Keating house she would likely go into hiding again, and now her mood seemed open - almost welcoming, even.

  “All right,” he said. Matt was all business, but he was still nervous. He took a deep breath as he navigated the sedan slowly up busy Burrard. “Jessie, look, I need to ask you a few questions.” He eyed her sideways again and noticed her tense up, the bagel paused halfway to her mouth. She set it back down on the napkin Carlotta provided.

  “Shoot,” she said. She knew this would be coming. They had given her a week. It was time, and anyways it would be good to get everything out in the open, especially with Matt, whom she adored and who presented less of an emotional blockade than Charles or Dee. She bit her cheek, waiting, and stared straight ahead at the rush of trendy folks crossing the street in front of them, going about their normal lives while she discussed the violence that permeated hers.

  “I need to know about Sandy. His last name, where he was from, his parents’ names…”

  “I don’t know much,” she cut in. “We met on the beach in Charleston. Folly Beach, to be exact. He was a runaway too.” She softened, remembering the sweetness of that first meeting on the beach. “They invented last names because they – he and Rachel – didn’t want to remember their lives before we met. They made a pact,” she intoned, her voice regaining its strength and her chin rising in defiance. “On some level at least they reinvented themselves.”

  Glancing over at her, Matt realized Jessie was somewhat of a career runaway. He supposed it was easier after the first time – especially when you were only fourteen when you started that lonely habit. He didn’t know about the peanut butter sandwich episode in Prince Edward Island when she was seven.

  Jessie continued, looking down at her bagel and vaguely wiping off some loose crumbs. “So I never knew his real last name. Rachel’s either.”

  A thought struck Matt. “Is Wheeler really your last name?”

  “Yeah. It was my dad’s name so I kept it. I didn’t really reinvent myself. I still played guitar and sang and was Jessie Wheeler. I didn’t mind remembering most of my life in P.E.I. Anything before I was twelve, anyway. It was just them – Sandy and Rachel. They met a few months before I hooked up with them.”

  “Did you know where they were from?”

  Jessie blew up her cheeks like a blowfish and thoughtfully let the air escape. “Up north. In the States. As I said, they didn’t want to talk about their pasts.”

  “Why do you think they ran away?”

  “Sandy left because his mother got sick and he couldn’t stand to see her decline. He was the youngest of, like, eight kids, the rest were pretty much grown up. But they were all so wrapped up in the mom…he said he felt like he was in the way all the time. His dad used him as an outlet for his stress, since he was the only kid left at home. He was a human punching bag. Physically and verbally. He only told me that once. And he never said where, just that it was a big city somewhere. I couldn’t place his accent – he’d been in Charleston too long by the time I met him so it was corrupted anyway. He would have been a good actor, too, I think,” she said with a small smile.

  She took a bite of the bagel and chewed thoughtfully before continuing. “I think Rachel was from New York, but that’s just a guess, based on her accent. She didn’t pick up the southern vibe quite as thoroughly as Sandy. She wouldn’t have been such a good actor,” she grinned, remembering her old friend’s stringy hair, freckles, and somewhat passive personality. “She left because her mother was raising her alone, along with six younger siblings, in a one bedroom apartment. She told me she was tired of changing diapers. She wanted a better life.” Jessie was wistful, then. At least Deuce McCall had given Rachel some nice dresses to wear, and some disposable income for a while, if nothing else.

  “Do you think either of those kids would have ever been reported missing? Was your absence from P.E.I. ever reported, Jessie? Do you think?”

  “I can’t see anyone making Rachel’s disappearance official. The little I heard about her mother…” she shook her head. Rachel was a typical runaway. From her mother’s perspective, and from society’s…a throwaway. She was an invisible disposable person who really didn’t matter, like mos
t women who end up homeless. Like the women Jessie lived amongst on the Downtown Eastside, and…herself. At least…that was what Jessie felt about herself - still.

  “Sandy…” she thought about him. “I really don’t know. Maybe.” She peered at Matt. “Do you think he might be on some list somewhere? In a database?”

  “It’s possible,” said Matt. “Worth a look. Maybe somebody out there is missing him.”

  “As for me…nobody is missing me. Not anymore, anyways. Maybe my mother was, I don’t know. By the time I left I was more in the way than anything else. We didn’t have any other family. No cousins or grandparents or anything. I think my parents just disconnected from them. They’re probably out there somewhere…” her voice trailed off.

  “Okay,” Matt interrupted her thoughts. “About McCall then. Where exactly was…that house? On Tradd Street. Do you know if he was renting or buying? I haven’t been able to find a home owned or rented by any McCall. We also checked what we thought might be any relevant family names, his mother’s or even a grandparent’s name. Came up empty. Found some family in Mount Pleasant, but turns out McCall’s not popular amongst his own clan either. No one was talking.”

  Chewing her lip as she listened, Jessie cocked her head and tossed in “I think Deuce had friends in high places. Not real friends – I don’t think he had any real friends. But he always managed to call in favors. For trips, clothes, restaurant meals. He likely just borrowed the house from someone for a while. Maybe he was the one supplying the drugs, I don’t know. But we can Google-earth the house, Matt. I can show it to you.” Inside she was thinking not that I want to, as her stomach rolled. She wrapped the remainder of the bagel up, remembering. It was so weird to talk about this tragic time in her life with someone like Matt. Her mind wandered to Josh, and she wondered how he was coping these days. She wished she could just talk to him, maybe clear the air a little, although she felt certain it would be awfully hard to be objective and keep herself from tucking that favorite little piece of hair behind his ear.

  Then a thought struck her and she asked Matt, “Why? You wouldn’t find anything today, would you?”

  “Yes Jessie, we can find evidence today,” Matt said firmly, as if he might chicken out if his voice wasn’t strong. This would be hard for her to hear. “With some of the tools available today we can tear apart a room that’s been completely remodeled and still find evidence from a murder twenty years ago. We can see samples of body fluids…blood…” he glanced over to see how she was doing. Jessie was pale, but seemed to be listening, at least. “We just need something to give us the right to search. In this case…the dagger…these kinds of men, like McCall, they keep what is known as treasures from their…conquests. McCall kept the dagger all those years until the day he left it by Josh’s pick-up. We can match the blood particles on that from what is found at the house on Tradd Street. The police down south are already aware we’ve got a knife with dirt particles on it that identify it as from the Low Country, from their area. We’ve got DNA from hairs and, well, fluids,” he glanced back over at Jessie, who cringed and sank back into her seat, “from the Renegade. When we get into the Tradd Street house there’s a solid chance we’ll find hairs and fluids to put McCall at the scene. It’s a simple matter of matching everything up. The hard part is dealing with the red tape and paperwork between our two Countries. Once we are able to arrest McCall – after we lure him out of hiding, that is – he’ll sit rotting in jail until the paperwork is done to extradite him.”

  Exhaling slowly, Jessie ran fingers through her curls. “What about Sandy’s murder, Matt? Say the forensics team finds Sandy’s blood and evidence of Deuce in the same place, the same room…and they’ll have my testimony too…but is that enough to convict him of murder?”

  “If there’s enough blood,” he looked back over at Jessie, who was paling significantly and holding her breath now, “ I’m sorry Jess.”

  “It’s okay Matt,” she breathed. “I can handle it.” Leaning her head back sideways against the seat, she regarded him solemnly. “I need to know about this stuff, Matt. I need to understand.”

  He slowed to a stop behind construction near Fourth and Alma in Kitsilano before continuing. The cacophony emanating from the crew’s mammoth bulldozer and the usual traffic rumblings were distracting, requiring Matt to raise his voice. He was sorry before he spoke. “The thing is, Jessie…if there’s enough blood at the scene to prove that someone died there…” He reached out and squeezed her hand, “and the only other evidence in the room belongs to Deuce…” he trailed off and allowed her own thoughts to complete the statement.

  She grimaced and looked sadly up at him. “Well it sure as hell wasn’t me who killed Sandy.” Her eyes were wide, childlike, and Matt ached for her. He couldn’t say anything more until the flag girl from the construction crew gave him the okay to move ahead in the narrowed lane.

  “So what about Sandy,” she questioned quietly. “How do we prove that the - blood - is his?”

  “Well, maybe we can find Sandy’s photo on a missing kids database. If so we can gather DNA from a parent or even a sibling. And then at least his family will know what happened to him, whether they’re interested or not.”

  Jessie was listening intently, thinking everything though. “But we can’t likely do anything for Rachel. I doubt if we’d have anyone to tell.”

  “If your instincts are right it’s not likely we could find her family, Jessie, unless you remember something else that could lead us to her mother.”

  Shaking her head, Jessie said, “I am her only family now. You know Matt, I’ve often thought about going down to Charleston and maybe…at least getting her a better plot somewhere. In a place that doesn’t smack of Deuce McCall. He buried her,” she added quietly. “Paid for the burial, I mean. I expect he buried Sandy too, only I am guessing it’s deep in the woods somewhere. I hope Deuce got bitten by a snake when he did it, the bastard.”

  She turned back to Matt as he parked alongside their preferred coffee shop. “When Deuce shows up, Matt…” she struggled to find the right words, words that wouldn’t shock him. “I want to see him alone at least once. I want him to tell me where Sandy is buried. I need to lay Sandy to rest. Him and Rachel. Together.” Silently she was praying no one else would be alongside them, not yet. She would want to be there some day, by her old friends. “I think I might be able to use that as ammunition against him, or maybe part of the lure, is what I mean. That he can see me,” she did not add and have me “if he brings me a map to where Sandy is buried.”

  Matt was quiet. “Jessie. You have to promise me that if McCall contacts you this time you will not go unless you notify me. Or Charles at least, and he can contact me. Promise me. I won’t see you hurt again.”

  “Hey,” she said finally, smiling softly at him. “What happened before was my fault, Matt. Not yours. Just mine. Remember that, okay?”

  He took her hand again and smiled fondly back at her. “I’ll try,” he said, but she knew he would bear the scars forever, as would she and everyone else she hurt with the choices she made so long ago.

  “Now,” she said, opening the door. “What kind of latte do you want? Plain or vanilla? Or one of those fancy cinnamon or pumpkin ones?”

  “Jessie!” he cried. “Get the hell back in here!”

  But she was already out of the car and on her way into Rebel on a Mountain Coffee. Boy, will Chris and Zev be surprised to see me, she thought. She was almost looking forward to seeing their reactions.

  Meanwhile, Matt slammed his forehead five times on the steering wheel before speed dialing Charles. “Dammit Charles,” he said into his phone. “Whether you want this to happen or not, Jessie is going public today. You might want to prepare that press release.”

  He listened as Charles groaned on the other end. Matt eyeballed the vicinity as he spoke. He could see Big Dan already out of his car, casing the joint for any sign of Deuce McCall.

  After Charles’ frustrated tirade
over the phone, Matt responded. “A latte. She’s getting a fucking latte.”

  He neglected to tell Charles the latte was for him. After all, at least at this coffee shop, Jessie was usually known to drink a flat white or a mocha.

  ***

  The first place Jessie dropped into downtown was Arnie’s. When Matt informed Charles, the older man had his second Jessie related fit of the day.

  “Jesus, that girl!” he fumed. “Go in with her, Matt! What if she’s after another pistol?”

  “Charles, after our chat with him at Christmas I can’t see Sylvester getting another gun for Jessie. Besides, I’m half thinking of getting her one myself.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Damn straight I am, although I don’t want to be discussing this over the cell phone. On the plus side, she’s starting to open up about McCall and all that Charleston shit, so I have a feeling she’s only going in there to say hi to the guy. They were good friends once upon a time, right?”

  A heavy sigh on the other end signaled his boss’ acceptance of that indisputable fact.

  “Okay fine. But keep me posted on how the day goes. Deirdre and Janet are working on the release for the media. In the meantime I’m off to the airport with the hope Jessie won’t have a new gun to shoot me with if she’s pissed at me for bringing this guy over here.”

  Twenty minutes later Jessie, hoodie up over her face, appeared at Matt’s passenger door. She was grinning from ear to ear.

  “He’s a card,” she said. “He was glad to see me. Sounds like you and Charles-squared did quite a job on him at Christmas, Matt! Geez, the stuff I’ve missed.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes.