I filled Casey in as best I could, about Hugh’s confession, not only to Brian’s death, but also supplying Alexander with the gun which led to Claire’s murder.
I tried to sound calm, but I could see she was worried.
We pulled out onto the street just in time to see Hugh’s car disappear around the corner.
Casey held on tight, while I threw her beloved car around like I was in the Indy 500.
She explained she’d had a surprise call from Lizzie, who’d kept the details to herself, but had let Casey know, in no uncertain terms, that she was worried, both for me and what I might do to Hugh.
I raced through the streets, pushing hard to catch Hugh’s car ahead, weaving in and out of vehicles, this way and that, one moment gaining ground, then losing it as Hugh pulled away again, the circumstances of traffic and pedestrians giving and then taking away advantage in a second.
Anger propelled me forwards.
I pushed harder still, the Mini’s engine screaming for mercy as I rammed it up and down the gears, driving like my life depended on it, and in a sense it did, until finally Hugh was but one car in front of me.
“Easy, Jack! Easy!” yelled Casey, as we overtook the last vehicle in our way and pulled up alongside Hugh.
He glanced my way and for a brief moment our eyes locked.
Fear.
That’s what I saw.
He looked scared, terrified even, but I felt no pity.
He should be scared: I was his predator and he was my prey.
It was a primeval law of nature. He was about to be devoured and knew it. There was only one outcome now.
Casey knew what was coming. She grabbed hard onto the door frame, her fingers digging into the molded rubber as she braced herself, ready for the impact to come.
Metal crumpled as I plowed Casey’s car into the side of Hugh’s, sending him spinning out of control towards a dump truck parked on the side of the road.
He hit it hard, his forward motion coming to an abrupt halt as his car collided with a far heavier and denser immovable object.
Casey and I fared better, but only slightly, bouncing off a parked car and spinning to a standstill in the middle of the road.
No time to wait for the dust to settle.
Adrenaline surged through me as I leapt from the car and sprinted towards Guthrie’s wreck of a vehicle, gun drawn ready for retribution. Casey was on my heels, yelling something at me, but by this stage the tunnel vision had set in, all noise had become muffled and I was oblivious to all reason.
I wanted to make him feel my pain by inflicting it on him. And I wanted the last thing he saw on this earth to be me. The man whose life, whose precious love, whose very reason for living, he had stolen for his own selfish ends.
A low guttural moaning emanated from the vehicle.
Hugh had taken a bad hit but was still conscious. His window was shattered, so I reached inside and grabbed at him, rage saturating my being.
Casey was shouting in my ear but everything was a haze. Noise registered but words went unheard.
Hugh’s jacket snagged on something, but I kept dragging, ripping it apart and yelling profanity at him as I pulled him, inch by inch, from the vehicle, until finally he slumped onto the ground in a pathetic pile at my feet.
I raised the gun and took aim at his head.
Hugh screwed up his eyes, ready for the end to come.
And that’s when it happened: an image of Claire flashed before me.
Only this one was different.
No longer racked in pain or suffering, but in all her glory: that smile, that decency, compassion and love. I could almost reach out and touch her.
I faltered, hesitated, and as the image faded, Casey’s words finally broke through to me.
“Choose hope and life, Jack. Not despair and death.”
Police sirens sounded in the distance. They were on their way. It was decision time.
“You know what Claire would want you to do. She wouldn’t want you to go to prison. That’s where Hugh should go. Don’t betray her memory. Honor it.”
Her words thundered in my soul, breaking the back of my hatred.
“Please,” she said, speaking tenderly. “Put the gun down Jack… for Claire.”
Tears welled up in my eyes and I knew that she was right.
I lowered the gun and stepped back as Chicago’s finest arrived on the scene.
I placed the gun on the ground, said that I was no threat, and then raised my hands. They cuffed me, of course, and I’d have to go to the station, but it wouldn’t last long; not as the truth was about to come out.
I’d done my job.
I’d got my man.
The streets would be safer without Hugh Guthrie on them. He’d be going away for a very long time.
As I was put into the back of a police vehicle, Casey came up next to me.
“You know what, boss?’ she said with a glint in her eye. “I think you owe me a new car.”
Chapter 28
Two days later, the afternoon sunlight streamed through the scant mottled cloud cover outside Alfie’s apartment building, casting long ethereal beams towards the ground, bathing Casey and me in a holy crimson light as we waited for Alfie to arrive.
It seemed fitting, as if symbolizing all that had come to pass and the positivity that now lay ahead. An optimistic future of fresh ideas and ideals awaited, the nights of shrouded darkness were finally now over; for Alfie and for me.
Alfie arrived wearing his trademark hat, with a broad smile on his face, and a lightness in his step that I had yet to witness. He practically skipped up the steps to where we stood.
I was happy for the kid. To see him so joyous gladdened my own heart too.
After all, as a wise man once said: “Happiness is a perfume you cannot pour on others without getting a few drops on yourself.”
“Jack, I can’t thank you enough!” he said, throwing his arms around me.
I was old school, a firm handshake was my standard operating procedure, so at first it took me by surprise. But to hell with that, all charges had been dropped against the kid, so I responded in kind, putting my arms around him too, if slightly more awkwardly.
“And Casey,” he said, moving to her. “Thank you so much, too!”
They hugged it out as well.
It was a grand moment, everything we’d worked for had finally come to fruition. After Guthrie’s confession, they dropped the charges against Alfie this morning, and officially charged Guthrie. Alfie was free and had his whole bright future ahead of him to do with whatever he wanted. This time, the system worked.
“It’s good to see you so happy,” said Casey.
“It’s good to feel it for the first time in so very long. It’s like I’ve been given my life back again, given a second chance, and I don’t intend to squander it.”
To hear such pragmatism and maturity from him was more than encouraging.
That Alfie would rise again from the ashes of Hugh Guthrie’s foul work there was no doubt. He’d been through hell and back and come out the other side stronger, and, dare I say it, come out a man as well.
After they arrested Hugh Guthrie for the murder of Brian Gates, and the rumors spread about Hugh’s involvement with the school shooting, I took a call from Pat Packman. He complained about his gates again, saying that he was going to send me the bill, but I was too happy to care.
It was what he said next that caught my attention—he was planning to make his own film exposing the process that Guthrie went through to win the award for best documentary.
He was going to expose Guthrie’s whole career; running with the idea that Guthrie created situations to have the inside scoop for his television programs. Packman said that he could already feel the awards in his hands.
It was nice, but I didn’t really care.
Guthrie was behind bars and would be for a very long time. Whether that was for his involvement in the school shooting, or the murder of Brian G
ates, it didn’t matter. He was doing time, and he didn’t seem like the sort that would thrive on the inside.
In fact, I’d be surprised if he made it through the year.
Like Packman, the media were going to run with the idea that Guthrie was a bad apple, and make an example of him, so that he didn’t look reflective of the whole industry. The news business wasn’t going to be painted with his dirty brush, and their only choice was to make it look like he was a psychopath who had a hand in the death of those little children at school.
And child killers aren’t very popular behind bars.
“You kept your head, when my own defense team was losing theirs and blaming it on me. You trusted me, when everyone doubted me, but made allowance for their doubting too. You met with triumph and disaster and treated those two imposters just the same. But kept fighting, until victory was in our grasp, until finally, we’d won the game. Jack. Casey. I owe my life to you!” Alfie was emotional and in a poetic mood.
We tried to persuade him that it was nothing, that the truth would always win out, and that it was just what we did, we fought for justice.
He wouldn’t hear it, and if I was in his shoes, I probably wouldn’t have either.
“So what now, Alfie?” I asked, changing the subject, unaccustomed to so much praise. “What’s next for you? Opportunities abound.”
“All that time with the threat of going to prison has made me realize that I want to help people. I want to help those less advantaged than me. I was bullied at school and found my own salvation later through computers and technology. I’m going to set up a foundation for other kids suffering from bullying. To help them find themselves and their own salvation, whatever that may be. I want to eradicate bullying, once and for all, on and offline. And I’m going to fight to do it. I’m going to become the face of an anti-bullying campaign.”
“That’s the spirit,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
“I want to shine a light that blazes brightly, radiating far and wide. To stand strong and dedicated to showing what freedom really means and what it can do for the welfare of mankind. I’m going to launch it on Instagram today. As you know, I’m the number ten influencer there, and I’m going to use my influence to bring about a better world for children, to bring awareness to safety and responsible behavior, especially on social media but also out here in the real world.”
“Good for you Alfie,” said Casey.
“Speaking of which,” he replied. “I’d like you two to be my first online advocates, mind if I take a selfie with you?”
He pulled out his phone and selfie stick with an optimistic grin.
I laughed to myself, Jack Valentine taking a selfie for Instagram was not an eventuality I ever thought I’d come to see pass.
“Sure, go right ahead,” I said with a smile. “So long as you realize this face is far better suited to radio.”
“No arguments there!” said Casey. “But count me in too.”
And there we stood, huddled together for our photo.
“Are you ready?” asked Alfie, as we all struck a pose on the screen out in front of us.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Me too,” said Casey.
“Okay. One. Two…” he stopped at the last minute, as if a better idea had popped into his head. “Hold on,” said Alfie. He reached up, took off his trademark hat and placed it on my head. “There you go. Now that’s better.”
Click.
Alfie took the picture, immortalizing the three of us together.
He hit upload.
“Congratulations,” he said, holding up the screen as it pinged into life on Instagram. “You’re both Instagram stars now.”
“Thanks Alfie,” I said, taking off the hat to hand back to him.
“No, Jack. I’d like you to keep it,” he said. “As a memento.”
I was touched. “Aww, thanks buddy.”
“And Casey. I’ve got a little something for you too. A bonus for everything you’ve done for me.”
In his hand, Alfie held out and dangled a key, then gestured across the road.
There, with a double coat of showroom wax and polish, was parked a brand-new Mini Cooper in cherry red.
“Try not to break this one,” said Alfie, turning to me with a wink. “It’s got even more power than the last one.”
“He won’t get the chance to smash this car,” laughed Casey. “It’s strictly off limits, Valentine. From now on, you get the bus!”
Chapter 29
The cemetery was exactly as I remembered it.
The American flag proudly hung at half-mast over the entrance, blowing gently in the breeze, a symbol of respect for the people that had passed through, and resting behind the tall metal gates were rows of headstones; some weathered, others perfectly maintained, all a symbol of a life lived and loved. The grass was perfectly clipped, the trees were manicured, and the fences were rust-free.
The sun was just sneaking above the horizon, bathing the area in a gentle morning glow, and a light breeze blew from the west.
Despite the gentle stroll through the grounds, my heart rate was accelerating, and the sweat was starting to build under my jacket. I was wearing my best suit, the one that Claire chose for me all those years ago. It was the one she liked the best, and I only ever wore it here.
Stopping at the end of a line of headstones, I wiped my brow, flattened my tie, and smelled the bouquet of flowers in my left hand, ensuring they were arranged flawlessly.
Her favorite were red dahlias. They were the ones that she would stop and smell as we walked, always bringing a smile to her face. We used to take long Sunday afternoon strolls through different neighborhoods, and somehow, she would always find a florist to walk past, and I would always end up buying her flowers to bring home.
She would arrange them to sit on our dining room table, a blast of red for the otherwise plainly decorated room. I complained about the flowers once, said they were too feminine, but somehow, the next week, I ended up buying three bouquets of flowers on our walk. She always had a way with words, a way to make me do whatever she wanted.
After her death, the only time I ever bought flowers was when I came here.
I still remember the first time here so clearly, so vividly, almost as if it were yesterday.
Surrounded by so many people, all the people that Claire’s life had touched, I kissed her wooden casket and watched as it was lowered into the earth. Kids were crying, women were weeping, and old men were hugging.
I didn’t talk for days after that. I left the funeral without saying a word, I couldn’t, and went home locking myself away from the world. It was only once Ben, Claire’s brother, came by to check on me, that I opened my mouth again.
I took one more deep breath, blinked back more tears, and began to walk the path to her headstone.
I told myself I wouldn’t cry today. I wasn’t going to let her see me cry again.
Not after three years.
I approached her hallowed ground reverently, every footstep delicate, as if blessing the earth like a prayer.
May Love Continue Long Past the Grave.
In Memory of Claire Mary Valentine.
Loved daughter of Andrew and Laura Cooper.
Loved Wife of Jack Valentine.
I couldn’t help it, but my lip quivered, and then like a flood, the tears flowed out.
“I told myself I wouldn’t cry this time.” I knelt down as the tears rolled down my cheeks, placing my hand on the grass in front of the headstone. “I promise I don’t cry all the time anymore. I’ve been strong. I promise, Claire.”
I dipped my head, wiped the tears, and then placed the bunch of flowers at the base of the headstone.
“They’re red dahlias, this time. Your favorites. They’re the most beautiful you could ever hope to see, a really perfect bunch. The florist said that she made them just for you. I made sure that they all smelled perfect, just the way you liked them.”
“I’ve missed you. A lot. I still think about you all the time.”
My lip quivered again.
“I love you, Claire.”
I drew in a deep breath, wiped my eyes again, and moved back to rest my bottom on my heels, kneeling on the ground.
“We finally did it, Claire,” I said. “We solved the case. You can finally rest in peace. We found the man that gave Alexander the gun and now he’s behind bars. We did it.”
Over the next twenty minutes, I told Claire about the case, about Alfie, and about Hugh Guthrie. I told her about Packman and Holmes, about the whole television industry, and I could almost hear her laughter. I told her about the cars I wrecked, and I could see her shaking her head, but with that cheeky grin still on her face. She would’ve loved it all.
It might sound strange, but our conversations are never a one-way street. I feel like she’s still there, still looking up to me with love. I miss our small moments, those moments that have been long forgotten, but here, I feel like they live on.
“I thought I might see you here today.” The voice came from behind me.
“Laura.” I stood, wiping my eyes with the edge of the suit sleeve.
“Oh, Jack. Don’t hide it. It’s ok to cry here.”
I stopped wiping my eyes and offered her a smile.
“You did well, Jack. Really well. Claire can rest in peace now. It’s all I ever wanted for my only daughter.” She placed her own bouquet of flowers down. “And I’ll be off to see her soon, too. Not long left for me now.”
I reached out and put my arm around her while we stared at the gravestone.
“You make sure you tell her how much I love her when you do.”
“I will, but if there’s one thing our Claire always knew, it was that.”
She looked up, deep into my eyes.
“Now that justice has been done, I finally feel at rest. I’m so proud of you, Jack. We may not have always seen eye to eye, but when needed, you’ve always pulled through. My Claire was lucky to meet you.”
Gates of Power Page 17