by R E Swirsky
CHAPTER 64
Wednesday 10:12 Victoria, British Columbia, Canada
It had been over a week since Lucy’s funeral, and Harvey Metcalf was back into his routine, doing what he always did on a Wednesday at home in Victoria. He slept in an extra two hours, worked out at the gym, and then ran over to Starbucks with the morning paper before stepping into the office. He’d start late and stay until the sun set.
He was sitting alone on one of the stools along the window of Starbucks on Yates, feeling sanguine after finding a parking spot right in front. Most days, he would circle the block once or twice and then park at the office and walk back the two blocks.
Although he flipped through the pages of the morning paper, he wasn’t searching for or even interested in anything in the news. It was just a pregnant pause he’d come to anticipate once a week before stepping into the scrum—a quick respite from associates, secretaries, assistants, and every other member of the firm. Once he stepped foot into the office, it was game on with phone calls and meetings.
Business had picked up lately, as the office was flooded with calls since the Supreme Court decision a month prior. Most were requests from other law firms seeking representation or consultation about clients whom they felt had been entrapped by police in similar ‘Mr. Big’ undercover operations. He had no doubt his firm would be involved in dozens of appeals and requests for new trials over the next six years or more.
But something outside the window caught his attention, and his tongue dropped into the back of his mouth, nearly causing him to choke. Tucked under the wiper blade of his black Series 5 BMW was a brown, manila envelope. From where he sat, the scrawling big black letters screamed up at him.
H A R V E Y !
His chest began to pound away. He’d received many similar envelopes over the months prior to Lucy’s death, but none were dropped so close to his person, and none had arrived since her fall from the mountain. He scanned up and down the street, but of all the people coming and going, none seemed to have any interest in him or his vehicle.
Moments later, he was sitting in his car with the envelope, slipping his fingers under the flap to break the seal. He reached in and gently pulled out a number of documents.
Photos.
His heart nearly stopped as he looked down upon the first image. It was his daughter Lucy. A big X was scrawled across her face and a black circle was etched in the corner in felt marker with the number 1 scribbled inside.
His chest tightened and he swallowed once. He had raised Lucy since she was three. He put one hand to his mouth. Anger and rage bubbled beneath the surface of his skin. He tore his eyes away and stared out down the busy street. Someone was out there watching, and confusion befell him for a moment until he flipped to the next photos.
The second photo was of the Russian Diplomat with a big X scrawled across his face and a large number 2 in the top right corner.
“Damn it…” he whispered.
Garrod Shaw’s photo sported its own X and the number 3. Garrod stared up at Harvey with a dark, demonic expression. The photo was the most widely circulated among the press during the first trial.
“Damn it all to hell.”
It was the next two photos that stole his breath. He gasped. Kaito Hui and his son, Takahiro Hui, were numbers 4 and 5. Until now, he had no idea they were even dead. Someone still moved in the shadows and it wasn’t Kaito. It never was Kaito.
“No,” he mumbled. “I can’t believe this.” But there was no denying it.
He scanned the streets again, but it was impossible to find the person watching him.
The last document was a blank white sheet with a single number 6 followed by a question mark.
“Bastards!” He shouted and his fingers squeezed the photos in his hand, slowly crumpling the edges.
He slammed his fists into the steering wheel repeatedly until his fingers were numb and his energy spent. He couldn’t bear to go through this all again. He hadn’t even allowed himself to fully mourn Lucy, not while he thought Hui was still out there ready to bear down on him again. All his worry and frustration had been just wasted and misdirected energy.
Hui’s words spoken across Lucy’s casket returned. What you feel today will never go away. Hui’s eyes were red, but he grinned like a madman. Not tomorrow, not next week, not next year—never! You’ll see her pretty face the moment you wake and she’ll always come around before you go to sleep. He had wanted to lunge out and strangle the man, but he restrained himself. Hui continued. Maybe you’ll sleep, maybe you won’t. Personally, I hope you don’t ever sleep again. She’ll come to you when it’s dark in the middle of the night and ask you, why, Dad? And what will you tell her when she comes, huh? What will you tell your daughter when she asks why she had to die?
Cindy had scolded him and even challenged his love for his daughter when he showed no emotion—never breaking, never crying, not even once. But how could he? It was all about control. He had to maintain control to see this through and to protect the rest of his family.
What he had chosen for his line of work always caused some collateral damage somewhere. It was a risk he accepted decades ago going in, and until now, he’d been able to turn away and close the door without having to look behind him. But the door had been ripped off, and he knew if he stole a peek now, he’d see a wall of eyes chasing him from behind, hands reaching out to grab hold of any piece of him they could.
He scrolled through the photos again one at a time, and he had no doubt in his mind about what was being asked of him. But could he do it? Succumbing to those unseen seemed an impossible reach. He wasn’t one to succumb. In fact, he was the one who always landed on top. Always…until Lucy, that is. Could he risk the lives of his other daughters? Or even Cindy’s life? He didn’t know how he could dare risk losing another person he loved, but giving in was against all of his principles.
Harvey crumpled the lot of photos into a ball, tossed them onto the passenger seat floor, and dropped his head into his hands. He felt beaten down, as if all the legal bullying he had committed in the courtroom and behind closed doors for the past two decades had somehow been turned inside out and shoved down his own throat. It was now hammering away inside him. Every choice and decision he made going forward might inflict an unwanted consequence upon one of the people he loved.
Anger surged, and it rolled in waves as he let his mind dissect all that he knew, looking for a crack, some fault line or finger hold to rip open that could lead to a way out. But there was none.
He wanted to die. He knew he had no choice but to surrender to the invisible shackles that were being held out in front of him. He saw himself already standing with his feet shoulder-width apart and his hands outstretched in front of him, ready to give his answer.
Harvey reached down, picked up the ball of paper, and slowly uncrumpled the pages until he found the photo of his daughter, Lucy, and pulled it free. He placed the photo flat on one of his thighs and tried to gently massage away the crinkles with his fingers, but the crinkles remained.
A tear rolled down his cheek. It fell free and landed high on her cheekbone just below one eye.
And with a heavy sigh, he surrendered.
