Another man stumbled by and waved to Harris like they had known each other in a past life. Harris said hello and turned so he was facing Grace as much as he could. The setting, though awkward, appeared safe for a conversation, as no one in their vicinity seemed to be eavesdropping.
“So, you’re probably wondering who the hell I am and why I called you.”
“You could say that.”
“Well, I lived on this very bench about thirty-some odd years ago until a man saved me. If it weren’t for him, well, let’s just say I’d either be dead or like good old Calvin over here.” He waved his hand toward Calvin, who continued to look forward, uninterested in anything around him, as if his mind was blank, free of thoughts, words, or feelings.
“Okay.”
“It started with this man just talking to me…you know, small talk, every day on the street. And then the visits became more frequent and the man wanted to know about my past, who I was. Believe it or not I had a decent past…I was slated to be a starting basketball player at Duke. Ain’t nobody in my family been to college before, let alone on a full scholarship. Well, long story short, the drugs, they got the best of me, and the next thing I knew I was on this bench here, hanging out with, well, veterans mostly, men who had far more trauma than I ever experienced in my life but…well, that’s what happens, it’s a downward spiral. And then, this man, he must’ve saw somethin’ in me, maybe thought I had some kinda hope in my eyes or something, cause he pulled me aside one day and asked if I could do him a favor—a big favor.”
Grace noticed the red scars that dotted his black skin when he adjusted his arms and rested them on his lap. “This man, well, I could tell he had money, and a lot of it. You know how some people just look like they got money, that’s how he looked. But he wasn’t showy about it. He was generous and humble. Don’t know what he did to get that money, but he musta been real smart cause he had a lot of it.”
“So, what was the favor?”
“Feel like going for a walk?”
“Of course.” Grace stood, following his lead. She walked beside him, her head in line with the bottom of his chest, and in that moment she realized just how tall he was. “Wow, I guess I see why you were such a good basketball player.”
He laughed. “When my mama found out I had a talent she pushed me, and of course the height helped, but just like the height genes, we inherit all kindsa things. I got my daddy’s addictive personality, and well, I’m just lucky I was saved before I ended up in the ground where he is now.”
Grace had to walk faster to keep up with the pace of his long legs. Suddenly Harris stopped dead, right in front of a post office. He reached into his front pocket and unfolded an envelope that had been folded up, its edges yellow and worn.
“Once a month for the past, oh, thirty years or so, I come down to this post office and I mail a letter. Don’t know what the letter says and don’t know who it goes to, just a P.O. Box in Boston, but that man… He said he’d support me for the rest of my life and get me on the straight and narrow if I do that one favor for him. He also gave me this.” Harris waved the envelope trying to flatten out the wrinkles. “He said to open this letter if I ever see his face in the newspaper or on a bulletin board. He made me swear on my mama’s life that I wouldn’t open it until then, and I may not be the best person in the world, and I done some bad things in my past, but there’s one thing I do right, and that’s keep my word. I don’t break no promises, especially since he done so much for me. I get money every two weeks that goes directly into my account… it ain’t enough to live on, but I promised I’d straighten out and get a job, and I did that… I been working over at The Red Hat as a line cook since then. And that money helps me pay for my apartment, otherwise I’d be back on the streets. Now, I don’t know what this letter says, and the man told me I didn’t need to know his name, it wasn’t important. But one thing I do know…when I saw that picture of the John Doe on the news… Well, he was the first person who came to my mind.”
Grace was so caught up in Harris’s words that she was completely unaware of what was going on around her. Her shoulder was bumped several times, but she stood on solid ground, absorbing every word the stranger said. She was more baffled than ever before. Who was this mystery man? Since the start of the investigation, Stephen Cassidy was at the forefront of her mind.
“I’m sorry, but you’re telling me that this man, possibly our John Doe, has been providing for you all these years? And how am I supposed to believe this? Grace did her due diligence, asking the appropriate questions even though there was something very trusting in Harris’s deep brown eyes.
“Yes, and I know that’s very hard to believe, but I most certainly wouldn’t start trouble now that I finally have my life together.”
“Let’s read the letter and we’ll go from there,” Grace let out a long sigh, still trying to process all the information Harris was giving her. “Do you want to go somewhere more private to open it?”
“Let’s walk.” Harris led them across a busy intersection and into the Boston Common with the ease of a tour guide. The city’s biggest park was filled with runners, moms pushing strollers, more homeless men and women, and older couples holding hands. When they reached the first empty bench, Harris sat, and without hesitation, he peeled the envelope open, struggling to detach the seal after decades of being closed.
“Careful…” Grace, sitting on the edge of her seat, tried hard to not be too controlling, but it was hard when the letter was the only piece of evidence she had on John Doe. And then, as if they were two children reading a secret map, the two of them slid their eyes back and forth across the cursive scrawl….
November 8, 1987
Harris, if you are reading this…then I am guessing my body has been found. Thank you for helping me out all these years. Without you, I don’t know how I would’ve supported my family and kept them free from loss. Lord knows we already had so much of that in our lives. Please hand deliver this letter to Scott Edward Caverly, born in 1979. I don’t know where he will be living by the time you open this letter, but I have faith that you will be able to find him. If you have any struggles, just go to the Boston Police Department and tell them you are looking for the family of Annabelle Caverly. They will know who we are, and they will be able to track Scott down.
Sincerely,
Edward Caverly
It took Grace a moment to recognize the name and another moment to connect the dots of what he had written. Harris slid the piece of paper underneath the second page and they continued reading the second letter…
Dear Scott,
I want to start out by apologizing to you. I want to apologize for so many things. I’m sorry for not being strong enough to stick out the pain and stay with your mother and you. I felt like you were both such a reminder of Annabelle, and I know that is selfish and I will never be forgiven for that, but I was of no value to the two of you. The only thing that has served a purpose in your lives after we lost Annabelle is my money, which is why I’ve been giving it to you all these years. I wanted you both to have a comfortable life, and my investments were enough to cover that and will continue to cover that. Amongst my apologies, I want to thank you for obeying my wish to not try and find me. I don’t know what date or year it is now that you are reading this, but as you can see by the date on the letter, I couldn’t bear to live much longer after we lost Annabelle. A parent should never have to bury their child, and hopefully one day you will know the joys of what it is like to be a father yourself, and hopefully you will understand why I did what I did. I could’ve stayed on this earth, but I was of no use, because once you lose your heart, once it is ripped out of you…it’s hard to get it back. And when you experience the type of anger that I had, if you could feel the anger that I had, then you would maybe understand why I took my life. Your mother is much stronger than me, and I was always confident she would raise you right on her own, that she would do a better job alone than with me. I was afraid I would
hurt her or you, or someone who didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my anger and heartbreak. You, my son, were too good for that. I imagine now, whether you are ten years old or sixty years old, that you have lived a far better life than I could’ve ever given you. And I hope to God that you never have to endure the feeling of losing a child, because it is the worst pain a human can feel. I know what your sister meant to you, and I know the trauma you suffered from losing her at a young age, but I also know you had and still have, I’m guessing, a bright future ahead of you. You were always my smart boy and I’m sure you have done good with your life. If there is a God, then I am reunited with Annabelle and we are looking over you and your mother, and possibly even your children—my grandchildren. I know this letter will be hard for you to take in, I know it will leave an absence even though we haven’t seen each other since you were just a child. Please, if you do anything… Don’t tell your mother that you received this letter from me. While she wasn’t happy with me for leaving, I think it would give her some peace to think I’m still alive. A person can only take so much loss in their life, and I would hate to put that burden on her. I will rest knowing I did everything I could to find Annabelle in the two years I had before I died, and I am certain she and I are together again. I don’t expect you to believe this and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but please know that I will forever love you and you were my world. Believe it or not, your mother and I and you and your sister had wonderful years together, so if you can remember that far back, hold on to those memories. Hold on to the Sunday trips to Faneuil Hall, hold on to the Red Sox games that we would all attend even though your mother hated baseball, and hold on to seeing me and your mother dancing in the kitchen as she cooked her famous recipes. But, one thing I’d like you to do…is let go of me. Let go of any pain I caused you. If you are a father, be a stronger father than I was, and if you are a husband, be a better husband than I was and be there through it all, through every emotion, through every fall and setback. I love you.
Love,
Dad
Grace took a deep breath, catching up with the breaths she lost while she was reading the letter. She could never have even dreamed up this scenario, of this man calling her up out of nowhere to tell her that the mystery John Doe looked like Edward Caverly, who was Scott’s father, Miriam’s husband.
“So does this mean he, this man, Edward Caverly, may have been dead all these years?”
“It very well could mean that, according to the date on the letter.” Grace paused. “Did you find out anything else about him while you knew him briefly?”
“No, nothing.” Harris looked straight ahead. A couple of children jumped on the backs of the bronze duck statues parading through a section of the park, but Grace was certain he wasn’t enthralled by the children. Instead, he was likely trying to sort out everything he had just read.
“He was just a nice guy, seemed like he wanted to turn my life around. I had no idea he was suffering on the inside. I mean, sure, I thought it was odd that some stranger would want to give me money and help me out and even more odd when he had me send the monthly letters, but he basically said I was doing a job for him.”
“Listen, Harris, I know Scott Edward Caverly, I know this guy’s family… He lives in Bridgeton, where I work and where the body was found. If you want, I can bring this letter to Scott, or I can go with you to find him.”
“’I made a promise to find him and deliver this letter to him, but I think I’ll need your help. I don’t want any trouble, detective, I didn’t ask for this. I just want to go about my life.”
Chapter Nineteen
It had been a few weeks since Christie had her unexpected labor pains during the parade. From what Grace had heard around town, she had had a healthy baby girl they named Annabelle Grace. She hadn’t had a chance to visit them yet and figured they needed their space to get situated with the new addition.
As Grace walked back to her car from the train station, her head swirled with the new situation. Harris had agreed to come to Bridgeton and deliver the letter to Scott. While he was nervous about it, Grace assured him that she would be there should anything go wrong.
She had been so consumed with the new evidence that she had gone several hours without checking her phone. As she slipped into her car to drive back to the station, she scrolled through her phone, reading the many text messages she had received that day. Several from Mark checking in, since he was the only one who knew she was going into the city to meet the mystery caller. A few from Barb checking in to see if she had any leads on the skull’s identity.
“Damn it, Barb, back off,” Grace said under her breath. Barb had dived into the case as if she was a detective herself. Always one for drama, she had come up with a dozen scenarios about the unidentified skull. Just as Grace was about to put her phone in her bag, she noticed an alert on her Facebook messenger. It was from Christie.
Grace! I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch sooner. I have been wanting to thank you for basically saving my life on the 4th. We had a healthy baby girl named Annabelle Grace. I think you can guess why her middle name is Grace, and your sirens had a lot to do with it. Thank you again, and I’d love for you to meet our precious bundle of joy when you get a chance. I’m sure you are swamped with work, but please, stop by when you can. We live at 188 Kismet Way.
Grace was honored that Annabelle shared her name and had been looking forward to seeing Christie. With the new information, she would have to work hard to keep cool and separate Christie’s friendship from the case. She looked down at her watch, which read 5:00. Grace had heard about people bringing food to couples with new babies, so what better time than 5:00 on a Wednesday evening to do so? She certainly wouldn’t make them a casserole, but she’d stop by Renzo’s and pick something up along the way.
When Grace turned down the street where Christie and Scott lived, she was flooded with flashbacks of Mackenzie Waterford, the perfect teen with the not-so-perfect criminal past. The Caverlys lived in the same neighborhood, only one street away.
Grace drove slowly along Kismet Way since several young families resided here and at any moment a kid could come darting out into the street. Known as the most sought-after neighborhood in Bridgeton, this entire section of town had been redone, the old houses torn down and rebuilt. It certainly stood out against the rest of the town and the character of the older houses had been replaced with modern brick structures, free of sagging and deterioration. The lawns were all kept up; homeowners even had to follow certain guidelines when it came to the choice of plants and flowers that dressed up the homes. Grace detected the house from one end of the street, where several silver and pink helium balloons were tied to the mailbox. They were at the end of their lives, sagging from air loss over the past few weeks. She guessed that they had been too busy to take them down.
Grace gathered the various takeout boxes in her arms and made her way to the door. Undecided on what to get, she purchased a hodgepodge of items including a cheese pizza, broccoli ziti, a steak and cheese sub, and macaroni and cheese for the kid’s menu, thinking Kloe might need a little sustenance.
Just as Grace was about to lose balance with the box of ziti, Scott opened the door and caught it just in time. “Grace!”
“Sorry to just show up like this, but I got Christie’s message and I thought I’d bring by some food. Kind of a random mix but, you know…”
“Come in come in!” Scott sounded extra chipper for someone who had just added a newborn baby to his list of things to care for in life. He wore a pair of workout shorts that reached his knees, revealing a set of carved-out calves. A T-shirt with the Bridgeton hockey mascot stretched across his chest snugly with enough give in the stomach area to make it look like the perfect size.
Scott led Grace down a long hallway with polished hardwood floors. Pictures in dark wooden frames clung to the walls, each marking a special moment in their lives. As soon as Grace turned the corner into the living room, Kloe barre
led into her and gave her a tight hug. “Oh my, hi Kloe, how are you?”
“Sorry, she’s a bit needy for attention these days…not super crazy about having a baby around stealing the show,” Scott whispered before he made his way across a massive open room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean.
“Grace! I’m so glad you came.” Christie shot up from a chair where she was folding laundry and immediately grabbed her back.
“Hey, slow down there, mama, you remember what the doctor said.” Scott rubbed her back and guided her back into the chair.
“Yeah, yeah… I got a bit of a back injury during labor. Not the best thing to have to deal with when you have brand new baby. Speaking of, I’m sure you want to meet the little one.” Christie stood up slowly this time and led Grace to a chair that appeared to be rocking on its own and overlooking the angry waves crashing against the bottom of the wall that joined the ocean and a small yard. The sky seemed to grow darker by the second; a summer storm was moving in.
Christie guided her hands along the rocking chair as Grace followed. Miriam sat in the chair staring down at the baby, sound asleep, peacefully snuggled in the arms that cradled her. Grace was certain she saw the remnants of a tear on Miriam’s face as she continued to look down at the baby in awe, a finger tracing the tuft of black hair that settled into a natural side sweep across her forehead. Grace wasn’t sure what was more beautiful: the perfect little baby or the image of Miriam in a moment of such peace and contentment yet doubtlessly wrapped up in a whirlwind of emotions.
“This is Annabelle Grace, our little blessing.” Christie kneeled in front of the rocking chair. Grace followed her lead. “Would you like to hold her?”
“Um, um…well, you don’t want to wake her, do you?”
“Oh, trust me, at this age they sleep through anything.”
Grace was petrified of holding babies, especially ones this new, but she felt rude declining the offer. “Sure, I’d love to.”
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