by Alan Lee
“How’s Ms. Hathaway?” said Mackenzie instead.
“She’s shook up about Byron. Her mother collected her from the hospital, but she said she’d be back in time for school Monday.”
“Do you know what happened to Buck Gibbs?”
“I assumed he burned. I left before investigators went into the house.”
“He shot himself in the head. He was found lying beside Peter.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Jennings, stunned. He remembered the gunshot then.
“There’s talk he shot Peter first, but then where’d the murder weapon go? Between us, I’ve never seen so many people happy about a double homicide.”
“More people died than just two,” he said, and Mackenzie inclined his head to agree. Important not to forget Josh Dixon and Byron Horton. “Why would Gibbs kill himself?”
“Probably Gibbs knew he was about to catch hell. That the skeletons in the family’s closet would no longer stay buried, and he went out on his own terms.”
“Still, though.”
“Maybe madness ran in the family.” Mackenzie pointed at him with the hand holding his coffee. “You did good, Jennings. You did something I couldn’t. You found proof and you took Lynch down. Lynch and his father.”
“The wheels of justice were grinding a little too slow.”
“Perhaps sometimes,” said Mackenzie, “it takes a good man to give them a shove.”
60
The final bell rang on Monday, dismissing students to afternoon activities.
In the James House admin office, Ms. Nancy gasped and stood when Jennings surprised her and set a vase of roses on her desk.
“Mr. Jennings! You’re back, at last?”
“Happy birthday, Ms. Nancy. And thank you for the help at the party. You made all the difference.”
“You’re the sweetest man, Mr. Jennings.” Ms. Nancy was turning forty-four. She came around the desk. Hugged and surprised him with a kiss on the mouth.
The upper school’s secretary laughed at them. “Better not let Ms. Hathaway catch you!”
Jennings disentangled himself, face burning, and knocked on Dean Gordon’s door.
The dean waved him in.
“Mr. Jennings!” Gordon was smiling, holding a new lease on life. Running without an anchor. “It’s on my to-do list to call you today.”
“I just left the police station, Mr. Gordon. Again. All the charges against me are dropped. I’ll take a drug test right now, if you like, but I’m returning to my classroom tomorrow.”
Gordon stuck his hand out and Jennings shook it.
“Absolutely, Mr. Jennings. That was the purpose of my call. We would be honored. I hope you understand the necessity of my caution.”
“It’s been a tough semester. Mr. Lewis and now Mr. Lynch.”
Gordon nodded. “One for the history books.”
“We’ll get through it.”
“We will. I just read through a generous and optimistic letter from the Academy’s financial backers and they agree with you. The Academy will get through this.”
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Gordon.”
“See you tomorrow. And Mr. Jennings?” He searched for the right words. A need to acknowledge the awful truth of things Jennings had declared. And a certain curiosity about the Christmas party. But he reached and found nothing, so he said, “I’m glad you’re here. Merry Christmas.”
Mackenzie August knocked on the open door and waited. From inside his chambers, Francis Lynch looked up from his computer and smiled.
“Mr. August. This is a nice surprise. Please come in.” He stood. His black robe was hanging behind him on a hook. “Are you a witness on my docket?”
August was something of a legend to local law enforcement. Even almighty judges sat up straighter when August came in. He stepped inside and closed the door. “Not today. I need fifteen seconds of your time, Your Honor.”
“Certainly.”
August came forward until his thighs were touching the desk. They were both tall, unaccustomed to looking levelly at other men. August was thick with muscle, Francis trim.
August said, “I’m sorry about your family. Your brother.”
“Thank you, Mr. August. That’s—”
“And your father, the chief, I’m sorry about him too.”
A pause. “My father.”
“I know it all, Francis. I know everything, including the visit you paid Daniel Jennings the day of the Christmas party.”
Francis pursed his lips a moment. “Oh?”
“We got a good relationship. A lot of mutual respect. I see it staying that way. But we need to say this out loud…Daniel Jennings and Daisy Hathaway are good kids. They didn’t ask for the mess, they just solved it. If anything happens to either of them, I’m coming for you.”
Francis rocked back on his heels. Didn’t even attempt a response.
“I won’t come at you through the legal system or the justice system. I’ll come in through your window during the night.”
“Good lord, Mackenzie. I doubt—”
“No, we’re done. That’s all we’re saying. Now we part ways and you live a long and prosperous life full of good decisions.” On the way out, August raised a finger like a gun, dropped his thumb. “Sleep well, Judge Lynch.”
Gone.
Francis stood quiet a long time, watching the absence August left in his chambers. The texture of the room’s stillness had changed. It had been a week of shocks for him, and he hadn’t seen this final one coming, a sucker punch.
I know it all, Francis. I know everything.
When he moved, Judge Lynch reached for a phone. Not the landline on his desk, nor the personal cell phone he used every day. He retrieved another cell phone from his jacket, cheap and new, purchased just yesterday. A burner phone, and it was off.
His thumb hovered over the power button. What would he say? It’s like August had read his mind, had known.
Down the hall, voices approached. The noise brought him back, reminded him he stood in a busy courthouse.
He dropped the phone into the pocket of his pants, like a guilty man acting innocent.
Daisy Hathaway jumped at the knock on her classroom door. Frequent visits from Lynch had baked in a Pavlovian dread of that knock, but Lynch was dead and the man in her doorway made her heart flutter.
“You’re here!”
“I’m back at work tomorrow,” said Jennings.
She stood from her desk where she’d been grading English reports. Her left arm was in a pink hard cast. The specifics of that awful night, and their shared survival story, was an intimate glue holding them fast.
“Just in time for holiday madness. The boys are wild,” she said.
“I can handle it. Gladly.”
“You’re right. I think you can. Are you sleeping?”
“Like a baby. You?”
“I…” Sudden emotion checked her words. “I’ll be better after Byron’s funeral on Wednesday.”
“If you aren’t sleeping well, I found a good meal with a friendly face helps. Are you busy tonight?”
She pointed and wrinkled her nose. “Grading these stupid reports.”
“Take a break for dinner. I’m in the mood for Mexican and margaritas.”
“Are you asking me out, Mr. Jennings?”
Jennings tried and failed to keep the smile off his face. “I am.”
“I love Mexican.”
“Then it’s a date,” he said.
“Pick me up? At six?”
“Yes ma’am.”
61
Jennings had claimed his Tacoma from impound and he parked next to Hathaway’s little Lexus, five minutes before six. His dog tags dangled from the mirror.
The last time he felt this nervous hope about a date was his junior prom. He wiped his palms on his pants.
She answered the knock. “You’re early, Daniel.”
“In the military, on time means you’re late.” He saw she was wearing a date
-night outfit, the kind a woman wears so her date will think of nothing else, and his heart thundered. “Besides, I’m excited.”
“Gentlemen get excited?”
“This one does,” said Jennings.
“Do we have five minutes?”
“Sure.”
She smiled and grabbed his jacket and pulled him in. “Good.”
The door closed, sealing them inside.
Sitting in a dark Acura sedan, one block removed from Hathaway’s house, Francis Lynch watched her pull Jennings inside and close the door. He released a great sigh at the ceiling of his car.
He didn’t know why he was following Jennings. Some biological imperative demanded it, but for what reason?
His emotions were hard to identify. He acknowledged the overwhelming flood of them, but he’d spent a lifetime suppressing and ignoring anything that made him feel. There was grief, of course. Anger. Sorrow that he’d lost a father and brother in an instant. Guilt and fear. Yet there was also a sweet release, like a huge debt had been paid. He’d found himself singing earlier.
He wanted to thank Daniel Jennings and have him murdered, at the same time.
Something about him and the girl was fascinating. Their youthful innocence, the wide open horizon before them. They’d come out of the fire when his family hadn’t.
Francis hadn’t been there but his thumbprints were all over that night. He’d planted the idea with the chief. He’d baited Jennings into going. In his plan, Jennings and Peter would be dead.
But things hadn’t gone according to plan.
I know it all, Francis. I know everything.
He wished he knew how Jennings had done it. He’d read every police report and statement he could get his hands on and they were baffling. No murder weapon? How was that possible? Shotguns were big things, hard to hide, and an army of police officers and fireman had looked. Francis knew Jennings was formidable, but he didn’t realize the man was a magician.
The couple emerged from her door a few minutes later. Even from a distance, it was obvious they were flushed and beaming like teenagers. Jennings opened the door for her.
“They are beautiful children,” Francis told himself.
He dropped into gear and pursued the truck at a distance. Christmas music murmured softly on Q99.
He needed to get home. Peter’s children were living with him now. Benji was taking it harder than Junior or Ann. They had an appointment with a therapist tomorrow.
Ann worried him. She was showing very little emotion. She appeared to be more attached to Homer than Peter.
Jennings’ truck reached Brambleton Avenue and Francis guessed they were headed to El Rodeo. At the Cave Spring Corners stoplight, he almost turned for home.
Not yet, just a little longer. He felt he owed it to Peter and Chief Gibbs. A show of respect.
The Tacoma stopped at El Rodeo and Francis parked in the adjacent lot belonging to a gym. He sat within the drone of the engine and the warmth, and he watched Jennings and Hathaway stroll inside, holding hands.
Forgiveness, that’s what he needed. He needed the forgiveness of his father and brother. On some unknown, pathetic subterranean level, he needed it from the happy couple too.
If the chief heard that, he’d pound Francis with a phonebook, demanding he act like a man. Demanding he avenge his father’s death.
Sorry, Chief. I’m done cleaning up messes.
Francis withdrew his new burner phone with shaking fingers. He made a call.
A man answered and Francis said, “Good evening. The thing we talked about? Forget it. It’s off. …Yes, that’s right, cancelled. …I want him alive and have my reasons. Keep the money and forget we ever spoke. Don’t contact me.”
He hung up.
Deep breath. Nodded to himself.
Good. That was the wise move, especially after August’s visit. It spoke well of Daniel Jennings that he’d made such a powerful ally, an ally Francis didn’t dare cross.
He shivered. I’ll come in through your window.
One more phone call to make.
The number Francis dialed went straight to voicemail, as he suspected it would. The owner of the number was busy and would check his messages later.
Francis cleared his throat. “Daniel, I’d like to briefly tell you a story. About a little boy who was abandoned. The boy was thrown into awful foster homes with his brother, and then one day a man adopted them. Or mostly adopted them. And things got even worse because the state thought the boys would be okay, but they weren’t. The end.
“Do you know why I’m telling you this story, Daniel? There are cases, however rare, when the pain of being separated from a parent is far better for the child in the long run than the pain and damage caused by remaining with that parent. Sometimes children should be removed.
“However. It’s important Benji never finds out it was you, Daniel. That would be another death for him, because he idolizes you. So I propose we let the past stay in the past. I forget you trespassed and murdered Peter and you forget everything else, and the world is better for it.
“You have a brilliant future ahead. I believe you should be the beneficiary of injustice, this one time. Who knows, maybe you’ll grow to enjoy it.
“Goodbye, Daniel.”
Francis hung up and powered off the phone. He planned to smash it with a hammer when he got home. And that would be that.
Inside the restaurant, Jennings and Hathaway were brought a margarita each and they touched glass rims. Had they looked through the window, they’d have seen a dark Acura sedan pulling away. Brake lights flared as the car turned, and then it was gone. But the couple was too preoccupied to notice. They spoke quietly about the Christmas party and the past before it. About teaching. About doing life right and their goals. Alcohol and freedom from fear created an insular bubble, and inside they were alone with one another and their hard-won hope.
The End
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed Sunken Graves (you did). The story of a corrupt attorney who can bury his sins in legal paperwork was burning a hole in me, and it had to be written. Many many thanks to my editors, proofreaders, legal consultants, and military experts.
If you’d like to read more (you do), may I recommend The Desecration of All Saints? It’s another stand-alone novel of mine, starring Mackenzie August, the private cop who did his best to mentor Daniel Jennings. I’ve written many books about Mackenzie and you’ll love them. This book is on sale for 0.99, exclusively for the launch of Sunken Graves. Click here.
Or, if you’d like to jump straight into a mystery series, I recommend August Origins, book one, available on Kindle Unlimited. Click here.
I live in Roanoke, Virginia, with my darling wife and my darling children. I’d like to be your favorite mystery writer for the next twenty years, so I hope you give one of those novels a shot. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship (it will be).
-Alan
