The Last Commandment

by Scott Shepherd

“How did he sound?”

  “Let’s just say he’s had better months. First, let’s get something in your stomach.” He led her toward the kitchen. “Forgive me if I sound indelicate, but you do smell a bit like you’ve been hanging with a bunch of drunken sailors.”

  “Only a couple,” she said, forcing a grin.

  “Thank goodness for small favors.”

  “Maybe I can take a shower first?”

  Everett said his casa was her casa, and that it was an excellent idea. A half hour later, he sat and watched Rachel finish her cereal along with a buttered scone and jam, the only things she could even think of stomaching on a day she thought would never end.

  When discussing Allison’s secret and her father’s reaction, Rachel was happy Everett didn’t linger on either for long. But he’d been stunned by the revelation.

  “I couldn’t believe what I was hearing,” he told her. “Your father actually had to repeat himself a couple of times before I could wrap my head around it.”

  “Mom never hinted to you about something happening back then?”

  “Heavens no, child. If she wasn’t going to tell your father, I can assure you she wasn’t going to tell me.”

  “I just can’t imagine who could have done such a thing.”

  “If anyone is going to figure it out, it’ll be your father.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s what my mother was afraid of.”

  Everett showed an exhausted Rachel to a guest room where she’d spent more than a few nights as a teen when she’d decided not to climb the Maida Vale trellis. “Try and get some sleep if you can. Things always look better in the light of day.”

  But it was still the end of a pretty crummy one for Rachel, and she ended up crying herself to sleep for the first time since the night her mother told her what had happened in the living room while her father was up in Scotland.

  Monday.

  The morning hadn’t brought the clarity her uncle had hoped for.

  It had started with a couple of calls from John that she didn’t answer. She finally picked up the third to hear him sounding lonely and forlorn. He told her that he wasn’t flying back until the next day in case she changed her mind about ringing in the New Year together. She softly reiterated her need for a break but promised him they would talk more when she returned to New York.

  She called the Maida Vale house to check on her father, but ended up finding him at the Yard. He told her he was still trying to get a line on Ferguson and tying up those “dangling threads.” But Rachel wouldn’t have been shocked if he were combing the system (while he still had access) for lists of sexual assault offenders and victims around the time her mother had fended off her attacker.

  Everett agreed with her suspicion when she told him. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. Did he mention joining us tomorrow?”

  “He said it was up to me,” answered Rachel. “Whatever I wanted.”

  “I’m sure the two of you will figure it out.”

  Rachel looked out the window of the Swiss Air Flight bound for Geneva. She could just make out the top of the Alps a few hundred miles away.

  He pushed a button and leaned back for a cat nap in his aisle seat.

  She’d decided that morning with Everett to stick with the Zermatt New Year’s Eve plan. The idea of staying in London seemed like a recipe for disaster.

  As for figuring out what she wanted—she didn’t have a clue.

  31

  Tuesday.

  New Year’s Eve. His final day at Scotland Yard.

  Not only was it the end of a thirty-four-year career, but the last day of as tumultuous a year as he could recall. Grant wasn’t even thinking about what the New Year might bring; he couldn’t rid himself of the current one fast enough.

  Stebbins had told him after his farewell gathering there was no reason for Grant to work the last few days. The Commandment Killings were over, and it wasn’t like anyone at the Yard would object to him getting a jump on his new life.

  “What are they going to do if you don’t show up?” Stebbins had asked with a grin. “Suspend you?”

  At first, Grant was going to take him up on the offer, but there was still the unfinished Ferguson business. It had almost been a week since he’d seen the reporter at Hawley’s funeral, so Grant had dutifully trudged into the Yard the day before and kept making inquiries into the Daily Mail man’s disappearance.

  He had all but discarded the theory that Ferguson was the actual Commandment Killer and had framed Prior Silver. But not completely. There was something about it that seemed so right, yet simultaneously so wrong.

  Wherever the truth lay, Monte Ferguson had dropped off the face of the earth. Grant began to wonder if something had actually happened to the man.

  Maybe he was lying dead in a ditch on some British backroad, having swerved off the road from too much drink celebrating his coup. If that was the case, Grant thought, good riddance; the bugger deserved it.

  But now Grant was suddenly preoccupied with something else.

  Rachel’s revelation of the secret she had promised Allison to keep from him had sent Grant into a total tailspin.

  Sexual assault. For God’s sake. What kind of world were they living in?

  Why couldn’t Allison just have told him?

  That should never have been a burden for her and Rachel to carry alone.

  If Grant had only known—he could have done something about it. He would have utilized every resource the Yard had to find the monster. He would have hunted the man down and made him pay for attacking a helpless, dying woman.

  Austin Grant was certain he would have strangled the culprit on sight.

  It was what Allison wanted to desperately avoid—Grant taking the matter into his own hands in a way that would ruin her family’s lives long after she was dead and gone.

  And that was why Grant had returned to the Yard for his last couple of days—to try and find Allison’s attacker while he still had access to the massive database it had compiled over the years.

  Massive might have been an understatement—overwhelming was more like it.

  With no information except the date two years ago, the task was virtually impossible—especially with the little time he had left. He wasn’t going to ask Stebbins for more—not when he couldn’t give him the real reason. Grant knew it was pointless to lie and say he needed to keep working the Ferguson angles; that case was dead as far as Stebbins and the Yard were concerned.

  When Rachel had called the day before, Grant had told her he was still hunting the missing reporter—though he suspected she knew that her father couldn’t resist looking into what happened in the Maida Vale living room that day.

  Rachel made no mention of it. Neither did Grant.

  More bloody secrets.

  More than anything, Grant wished he was spending New Year’s Eve with her in Zermatt, even if the place was a mile up in the sky.

  He would absolutely meet Rachel there—but only if she asked him.

  The last thing she had said on the phone was that she just wanted to go to Switzerland with Everett and clear her messed-up head. Grant knew it was best to give her some space. But he was determined not to let them grow apart again.

  So, for the moment, Grant went back to the Herculean task of searching through the Yard databases while he still could.

  Once Frankel finished packing, he stopped and took in his room at the Covent Garden Hotel.

  He couldn’t help but dwell on the happy time he’d spent there with Rachel. Despite the way their last evening had ended, Frankel would look back on the week as one he would never forget. He longed to rekindle that perfection once they were both back in Manhattan.

  When he’d been married to Julia, he’s been wed to the NYPD as well, often to the exclusion of their relationship, and wasn’t surprised when Julia found solace in the arms of another man. Rachel was the first woman he had been serious about since the dissolution of his marriage. He had made a concerted ef
fort to be totally present with her, but the last thing he wanted was to be suffocating.

  He didn’t think twice about giving Rachel the time she needed. But he hoped when she returned to the States, she’d come to the same conclusion as he had.

  That he wanted them to spend the rest of their lives together.

  It was true that they had been a couple less than two weeks—but standing in the hotel room without her, Frankel felt more lost and alone than he could ever remember. Realizing all he could do was return home and hope for the best, Frankel started for the door.

  He was almost in the hall when he realized he’d forgotten the most important thing. He lunged for the door (having left the key on the dresser for housekeeping) and grabbed it just before it clicked shut.

  He crossed to the desk and took the framed 45 single of Palisades Park off the wall where he had hung it on Christmas Eve. It reminded him of the hour they had spent rising above the twinkling city on the Eye and then heading back down in Rachel’s arms beneath the gentle falling snow.

  He tucked the record inside his bag and checked his watch. His flight didn’t leave for a few hours. He had time for one stop before heading to Heathrow.

  Rachel put on one of the London Eye earrings that John had given her, then stopped to regard herself in the small mirror atop the vanity.

  She saw a woman who hadn’t slept much and wasn’t very happy.

  She hadn’t had a restful night since her father’s somber farewell party. She was starting to think she might have made a mistake rushing off to Zermatt.

  She loved spending time with her uncle, no question. Ever since she could remember, he’d been the one who made her laugh, the one she would confide in. But in her eagerness to get away, she’d also left two very good men in her wake who, when pressed, would tell you they were waiting for Rachel to come to her senses.

  Which she felt was starting to happen on this day.

  The last day of a horrible year. The day that one tended to make resolutions for the year going forward. The day that Rachel found herself making a couple of her own—not to let these two very good men disappear from her life.

  She just hoped it wasn’t too late.

  There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” she called out.

  Everett’s reflection appeared in the mirror as he entered the well-appointed guest room carrying a steaming cup of coffee. “Thought you might need this.”

  Rachel turned and accepted the dose of caffeine. “You’re a godsend.”

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Not really—a lot of tossing and turning.”

  “The elevation takes some getting used to.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t think that’s it.” She told her uncle what had been on her mind just before he knocked.

  “That would definitely keep me up at night,” agreed Everett.

  She sipped the coffee. “Exactly what I needed.”

  “There’s breakfast to go with that if you’re interested.”

  “Very interested, surprisingly.”

  “Meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

  She nodded, then turned to the mirror and put on the second earring.

  “Detective Frankel has good taste,” said Everett.

  “They’re exquisite, don’t you think?”

  “I wasn’t just talking about the earrings,” he said with a wink.

  Rachel waved him off with a laugh and said she’d be right there.

  Minutes later, she entered the kitchen to find Everett placing two full plates on a perfectly set table. Each had an omelet bursting with veggies and oozing with cheese, crisp strips of bacon, and sliced potatoes.

  “Wow,” said Rachel.

  Everett pulled out a chair for her to sit down. “I was just thinking about what you said. Maybe we should catch a plane back to London today.”

  Rachel shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I’m sure John’s already headed back to New York and Dad’s probably chained himself to his desk at the Yard on his last day. I’m really looking forward to getting the grand tour of Zermatt.”

  “It’s not so grand, but it’d be my pleasure. I just hate seeing you like this.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Rachel assured him. “I’m just a little sad, that’s all.”

  “Well, let’s see if we can remedy that.” He indicated her breakfast plate.

  She picked up the fork and dug in to the omelet.

  She gave Everett a genuine smile. “This is a very good start.”

  The list seemed to go on forever.

  Grant leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

  He had the same reaction over the years each time he had to go through the Yard’s data on known sex offenders and predators—he was totally gobsmacked. The numbers were staggering and those were just the reported cases. He knew the actual count was at least double, maybe triple, seeing as how domestic violence and sexual assault were the type of incidents many refused to come forward about.

  It was one part of the job he wasn’t going to miss about the Yard.

  Needless to say, he hadn’t made an ounce of headway trying to find out who might have attacked Allison.

  He was saved having to dive back into the breach by a tap on his door.

  Grant looked up to see Frankel stepping into his office.

  “John,” Grant said with genuine surprise. “I thought you would’ve been en route to New York by now.”

  “I’m on my way to the airport. I just wanted to stop by and wish you a Happy New Year before I left.”

  Grant got up from his chair and came around the desk to shake the NYPD detective’s hand. “I really appreciate it. The same to you, John.”

  “I also wanted to say it was a sincere pleasure and honor getting to work with you these past few weeks.”

  “Likewise,” Grant said. “I wish it had ended differently, but at least it’s over.”

  “So you’ve given up the Monte Ferguson crusade.”

  “Stebbins made a pretty persuasive argument against it. And . . .” Grant glanced at the wall clock—it was just past 8:30 in the morning. “. . . in less than sixteen hours, I will no longer work here, and the Ferguson search falls on someone else’s watch. If anyone is still even looking.”

  “If I were in your shoes, I’d feel the exact same way.”

  They exchanged a few pleasantries, then Frankel said he should go. That was when Grant brought up what had been hovering over both since Frankel stepped into the office.

  “You haven’t mentioned Rachel.”

  Grant thought Frankel might have actually gone a little pale.

  “I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

  “There’s no one I’d rather talk about than my daughter.”

  “I haven’t known her long, but I feel the same way.”

  Grant nodded. He knew more than ever that Rachel’s assessment of John Frankel had been spot on. This was a good man.

  “I feel like I might have gotten in between the two of you,” Grant finally said. “I just want you to know that was never my intention.”

  “I never thought it was,” answered Frankel. “In fact, I feel like I’d done that to the two of you.”

  “I know you were just trying to help.”

  “And look how that turned out.” Frankel offered up a slightly sad smile.

  The soon-to-be-former Scotland Yard commander nodded again.

  “Rachel’s a smart girl, John. She’ll figure it all out. It just might take a bit.”

  “I’m willing to wait,” said Frankel.

  It was Grant’s turn to smile.

  “Remember the other day, at that bloody party I had to suffer through, when I asked you what your intentions were?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, what you just said is what a father longs to hear.”

  “I just hope it isn’t too late.”

  “I’ll tell you this, John. I’ve watched the two of you together over these past few days.
”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “And I’ve never seen Rachel look at anyone the way she looks at you.”

  “Thank you for that,” said Frankel. “Whatever ends up happening, Austin, I hope you’ll get in touch when you come to New York to see her.”

  “Without question.” They shook hands again. “Fly safely, John. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

  He could tell that promise filled Frankel with more than a modicum of hope as he left the office and headed for Heathrow. Grant found himself buoyed by the notion as well.

  He returned to his bloody lists.

  It was an hour later when his cell phone rang and he was pleased to see that it was Everett.

  “How’s it going over there?” Grant asked.

  “Just giving Rachel the ten-schilling tour of Zermatt,” answered his brother.

  “Lucky girl.”

  “The city’s grown since you were last here—how old were you—seven?”

  “Whatever age I was in that picture you just gave me for Christmas,” said Grant. “How is she doing?”

  “That’s why I phoned.”

  Grant felt that immediate punch one gets in the gut when they get a call about their child—no matter the age—but then realized his brother had just said they were touring the Swiss city.

  But he was still unable to keep the alarm out of his voice. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, yes, of course—sorry,” said Everett, obviously sensing Grant’s concern. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Thank god.”

  “She’s just down in the dumps.”

  Grant couldn’t tell if he felt good or bad about hearing that.

  “What can I do?”

  “I was thinking you should hop over here and join us like we planned.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I think she’d be pleasantly surprised,” suggested Everett.

  “I got the distinct impression Rachel needed some time alone.”

  “She’s with me, Austin—how alone is that?”

  “You make a good point there.”

  “And she told me at breakfast that she really regretted running off the way she did, leaving you and Frankel behind.”