by Russell Fee
“What do you mean?” asked Callahan.
“I’ve been wondering about Jackson too, and I’ve had trouble reconciling his job description with what he’s actually doing,” said Julie.
“Really? You’ll have to explain that thinking to me,” said Callahan.
“Sure, but you’ll probably laugh,” said Julie.
“Try me,” said Callahan.
“Well, he could be like you, Matt. You never give up when you’re grappling with a problem concerning the island. You’re driven by something deeper than your professional duty. I’ve known that about you for a while. Jackson’s also not giving up investigating Susan’s death, and he also seems driven by something other than professional duty. But I think his motivation is different from yours. I think it’s personal and intimate.”
“You mean that . . .” Callahan paused, obviously looking for the right words.
“I mean that he and Susan were in a personal relationship—a serious one. And one he didn’t want you to know about,” said Julie.
Callahan stopped walking. He shook his head and started to speak, but Julie spoke first trying to strengthen her point.
“Don’t you see? Jackson may have prevented you from discovering things that exposed that relationship; things that also may have revealed a danger to both him and Susan,” she said.
They began walking again, and it was a long minute before Callahan responded to Julie’s assertion. She didn’t speak either, letting him marshal his thoughts. “What makes you suspect all this?” he finally said.
“I don’t know. Small things, mostly subtle. Like the way he spoke of Susan to you the times I was listening. There was a weight to what he said about her that was heavier than mere empathy for someone who had died tragically, heavier than regret in losing an important witness. His body language gave away his feelings too. He seemed grief-stricken; in pain. He hid it, but I still could see it. And then there is the fact that he stayed on the island after he submitted his report.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” said Callahan.
“I don’t know. They were all just vagrant thoughts floating around in my head. They didn’t gel until the shooting, and, even then, I thought it could be just my imagination.”
“Maybe it’s all in your head, but it’s also possible you’re right, so we can’t dismiss it. Let’s hope the doctors bring Jackson out of the induced coma soon and he survives his wounds. We’ve got to question him.”
When they arrived at O’Malley’s, Callahan reached for the door, but before he opened it, he said, “I think I’m going to need something stronger than beer in here.”
“Me too,” said Julie.
* * *
Callahan’s Jameson and Julie’s gin and tonic had the desired effect. The combination of the emotionally-charged play and their unsettling conversation afterwards had wound them both tight. The drinks worked to unwind them. So did the band playing in the pub. The members were older than the usual musicians at O’Malley’s, so no rough or blaring sets deafened them. Julie and Callahan could hear each other talk and enjoy the music at the same time.
Callahan leaned back into the corner of the booth and stretched his legs out alongside the table. He held his drink and swirled the liquid in the glass. “I’ve been thinking about Max,” he said.
“Yes, and?” said Julie.
“Well, I promised him I’d give back the hard drive he found, if I could. It looks like I won’t be able to, and I know that will really disappoint him. So, I was thinking, what if we gave him a cell phone instead? It might help him get over the loss of something he cherished and prevent him from losing faith in me. I wouldn’t want that. And it would be a good thing for him to have.”
“A cell phone? I don’t know, Matt. I’ve considered it before but have always thought better of it,” said Julie.
“But why?” asked Callahan.
“A cell phone is more than just a phone. You know that. There are just too many ways that people who shouldn’t be in his life can get in if he has one. There are all kinds of predators out there. I don’t know if he can protect himself from that,” said Julie.
“Julie, young children are given cell phones. We can put controls in place on the phone, and we can teach Max how to use it safely. He can operate a computer,” said Callahan.
“I’m always with him when he’s using the computer,” said Julie.
“Okay, but just consider that if he had a phone, he could reach us whenever he needed to; and we could reach him,” added Callahan.
“I’ll think about it,” said Julie in a way that made Callahan believe that she probably wouldn’t. Then she smiled and said, “I like this song. Let’s get up and dance.”
Chapter 43
The same obstacle that Callahan faced—no witnesses—impeded the FBI’s three-person team of agents on the island sent to investigate Jackson’s shooting. The team’s plan of action mirrored Callahan’s: Wait for Jackson to be removed from the medically induced coma and see if he could tell them anything about the shooter or shooters. Word on Jackson’s condition came to Callahan from Sheriff Markos: Jackson was now able to talk. Callahan traveled to Jackson’s bedside on the mainland before Markos informed the FBI.
As his Uber ride drove off, Callahan stood under the roof of the large circular drive at the entrance to Charlevoix Hospital. He watched a continuous trail of people spin in and out of the two revolving entrance doors. He had spun in and out of a Chicago hospital for endless weeks as he kept a vigil at the bedside of his lover until she died from the same acid attack that disfigured him.
He had met Salima, or Sali as she wanted to be called, when he was the Chicago Police Department’s liaison with the city’s Muslim community. Fiercely independent, she had broken with her family’s religious and cultural strictures for women and struck out on her own. They had fallen in love. Their relationship became an unbearable affront to her Pakistani family. Her younger brother, radicalized and to preserve the family’s honor, had doused them with acid as they returned to their apartment from a neighborhood restaurant. Sali had died. He blamed himself.
For Callahan, his raw web of facial scars epitomized his still raw emotional scars; and when he entered the hospital, he felt his face suddenly go cold. He realized he had broken into a sweat.
Callahan walked past the visitor’s desk and rode the elevator to the third floor. Markos had told him Jackson’s room number and that he had stationed a Charlevoix sheriff’s deputy outside it. Callahan checked in at the nurse’s desk and was directed down the hall to the fourth room on the left. He didn’t need the directions. A deputy in uniform sat in a chair outside the door. He greeted the deputy and showed him his badge. When he entered the room, a doctor was just leaving.
The doctor extended a hand to Callahan, and Callahan shook it. “You must be Sheriff Callahan. We were informed you were coming today,” he said and then gestured toward Jackson. “Our man is quite a fighter. He’s in the clear and going to make it. But it will be a while before he’s a hundred percent. So, go easy.”
Callahan nodded and said, “Thanks.”
When the doctor was gone, Jackson said, “Have a seat.” His voice sounded weak, but Callahan notice that his eyes signaled an alert mind.
Callahan pulled the room’s one chair closer to the bed and sat down. “It’s good to hear that news,” said Callahan.
“You bet,” said Jackson.
Callahan decided he wouldn’t exhaust Jackson with preliminary chit chat but would get right to the point. “You have any idea who did this to you?” he said.
Jackson closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Can you describe the shooter?”
“No,” said Jackson. “It happened so fast and was unexpected, obviously. I’ve tried to visualize what happened, but I can’t even tell you if the shooter was male or female or the color or make of the car. It’s just not in there.” Jackson raised his arm and tapped the side of his head. “Sorry.”
“Okay, let’s examine it from another angle,” said Callahan.
Jackson didn’t turn his head on the pillow but slid his eyes toward Callahan.
“You hid your affair with Susan. What else were you hiding that prevented me from knowing that?” pressed Callahan.
“How? I . . .” Jackson’s breathing became labored. “You haven’t told the service, have you? You can’t, please.”
“Take it easy.” Callahan placed his hand on Jackson’s arm. “Only Amanda, Julie, and I know about your relationship with Susan. For now, anyway,” he said. “Whatever you had planned for the two of you and whatever your career may mean to you now are nothing compared to the threat on your life and the danger to others. The shooter is still out there. Whoever killed Susan may still try to kill you. So, don’t screw around with me this time, Miles. What did you and she know that is worth killing for?”
Chapter 44
Jackson closed his eyes, and his body seemed to sink deeper into the bed. His face looked drawn and his body’s silhouette shrunken under the sheets.
Jackson’s words began as a whisper. “We were going to run away together, disappear. We had it all planned. It would have worked, too. No one would ever have found us or discovered who we were. I made sure of that. Susan wanted a normal life, free from fear and constant vigilance. She knew that the Witness Security Program wasn’t a shield to hide behind. It was just a veil that those who were after her would eventually see through and penetrate. I knew that too.” The timer on his morphine auto-injector beeped. Jackson ignored it and didn’t self-administer a dosage.
“You sure you’re okay?” said Callahan.
“Yeah. I need to be coherent for this,” said Jackson. He continued, “Susan knew the human traffic routes, how they were organized, and who managed them for the organization. They funneled most of the women and children through Dubai. It’s a major hub for human trafficking. Susan also knew that all the money went through Dubai, that the amount of money made was staggering, unimaginable. What she didn’t know was where the money went from there. That was heavily layered in secrets.
“The day before you found her dead on the beach, she contacted me in a panic. She said we had to leave right away. She wouldn’t tell me why. But now I think I know. The note we found on the frame of her painting contained a codename. I was going to tell you about it. I tried once but . . . Anyway, Rahu is a Thai god. Sometimes malevolent, it must be given gifts to prevent harm. It was the codename the organization used for the head of the group that managed the organization’s money laundering operations. The organization hid the members’ identities well—usually through the assassination of those who talked too much or showed any signs of disloyalty. Also, the membership in the group may have been fluid to a degree. Like I said, the organization amassed astronomical amounts of money, and the temptation to skim may have been too great for some. The organization had a high internal body count. Anyway, the FBI never discovered the group’s leader or hierarchy.” Jackson paused and motioned with his head toward the cabinet next to his bed. “Can you hand me that cup of water?” he said.
Callahan poured water from a plastic pitcher into the cup. He waited for Jackson to raise the head of the bed before he handed him the water. When Jackson had taken a few sips, Callahan said, “And Susan was going to send Volkov a note with the codename. Why was she trying to communicate with a former mercenary and hitman for a crime syndicate, Miles?”
“I don’t know. Honestly. But the painting never got sent, and Volkov never saw the message,” said Jackson.
Callahan rose from the chair and walked to the foot of the bed and faced Jackson. He wanted Jackson to be able to look at him without turning his head or adjusting his body.
“Volkov’s seen the note,” he said. “I think he’s the one who broke into Susan’s cottage. Someone had tampered with the note when I checked it again.”
“Shit,” said Jackson.
“What was she trying to tell him?” said Callahan.
Jackson remained silent, obviously thinking, before he said, “Matt, I think she somehow discovered who Rahu was. I believe that’s what got her killed. She didn’t tell me his or her identity, but whoever killed Susan may want me dead because they thought she did. They somehow knew she was contacting me. Don’t you see? They’re eliminating witnesses. Because we’ve been working together, they may also suspect that you know too. Matt, you could be next.”
Chapter 45
Callahan’s visit had exhausted Jackson and made the pain worse. He decided to close his eyes and take himself to a more peaceful place, a place where the pain would find it hard to get to. He thought of Susan and the wonderful moments they shared, stolen and in secret, but nonetheless treasured. The male nurse entered his room so silently that it startled him when he touched his arm and whispered, “How you doing?”
“Pretty good, but I’m a little tired, and the pain has increased some,” said Jackson.
“I can take care of that,” said the nurse. “Just lay back and close your eyes again. Relax.”
Jackson closed his eyes and listened as the nurse began quietly humming a tune as he moved about the room. The tune sounded familiar, but Jackson couldn’t identify it. The nurse stopped moving and Jackson heard the morphine auto-injector beep. A wave of relief swept over him. Soon the pain would be gone. Already he could feel the drug starting to perform its magic. Now what is the name of that tune? he thought as the blackness washed over him.
Chapter 46
Callahan arrived at the dock in Charlevoix in time for the 2:30 ferry to the island. He called Amanda and gave her a rundown on what Jackson had revealed. He informed her of the warning Jackson had given him. He also called Julie and told her to get Max and stay at the station with him until he got back to the island. He then called Peter Dempsey at the FBI’s Detroit office. He was succinct to the point of bluntness: Susan Gibbons’ death was not an accident; Jackson’s life was still in danger; a hard drive had been found with data that may be related to Susan’s death and the attempt on Jackson’s life; and there was a suspect in Jackson’s shooting still at large. In short, he needed help, and he needed it now.
If Jackson was right, then the Gibbons investigation had become personal in a way no other case had for Callahan. For the first time, he felt not only a threat to himself but also to those closest to him. Because of him, Julie, Amanda, Nick—even Max—knew information that might get them killed. His closeness to Sali had gotten them viciously attacked. He had been mutilated, and she had died. He was not going to lose someone again.
* * *
Callahan decided to stroll around the upper deck of the ferry and enjoy the clean air and sun. At every point of the compass, he could see nothing but water. Out of sight of land, there was no cell phone service until just before reaching the island. He couldn’t contact anyone, nor could anyone contact him. That should have made him nervous. He was used to being perpetually on call; constantly available in the event of emergency. Being involuntarily out of touch gave him a fatalistic view that oddly freed him from guilt and allowed him to relax. If things went south because he couldn’t be reached, well, so be it. What could he do? To Callahan, it seemed a form of absolution. It allowed him to enjoy the ride.
* * *
The deep bellow of the ferry’s horn announcing its approach to the dock jolted Callahan awake. He’d fallen asleep sitting on a bench at the rear of the upper deck. When he got his bearings, he saw Amanda waving from the dock.
She waited for him at the bottom of the gangway. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? I was worried.” she said when he reached her.
“Why? What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Jackson’s dead,” she said.
“What? I was just with him. He looked weak, but the doctor said he was going to pull through.”
“He died a couple of hours after you left the hospital. Sheriff Markos called me when he couldn’t reach you. You must have been way out on the lake,” said Amand
a.
“How did it happen?” asked Callahan.
“Nobody knows yet. According to Sheriff Markos, the doctors are as puzzled as anyone,” said Amanda.
Chapter 47
Remy wanted to satisfy Callahan and himself that he had been as thorough as possible in the postmortem exam of Susan Gibbons. So, he reexamined the photographs he’d taken of Susan’s body in search for another clue to the cause of her death. He believed the search would be in vain, but in one picture of her right arm, he detected a faint lesion he’d not seen before. It was nearly invisible and appeared in no other photos of her body. Remy suspected it might be a trick of lighting in the photo, but in a further nod to Callahan, he decided to examine her body again. In that examination, he found two other lesions on her right arm and four similar lesions on her right leg. They were all so faint that he almost missed them again.
He remembered seeing something like them before in the death of a fisherman on the lake. The fisherman had fallen overboard and been caught in his net before he drowned. When his body was retrieved, it had burns from the roping that left lesions of comparable length and grouping. If Susan had been in a net, that might explain how her severed head stayed with the rest of her body and been found on the beach next to it. It could explain other things too, thought Remy. He took his cell phone out of his shirt pocket and dialed Callahan’s number.
* * *
Amanda convinced Callahan to have lunch at the Marina Market across from the docks on Main Street. It had a roofed deck with tables and chairs and, according to Amanda, the best hot dogs on the island. Callahan carried his order of a hot dog with relish and mustard and a bag of chips out to the deck and set his tray on one of the tables. Amanda followed him with her tray of a plate of fries and two hot dogs, each smothered in chili, cheese, onions, and hot peppers and sat down across from him.