Amelia reached for his hands. "Thank you, Detective." She glanced away, then said, "Where can I take you?"
Amelia dropped him at his father's house just after ten in the morning. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek from the driver's seat before he got out. He watched her drive away and tried to clear his mind on what needed to happen next. Hanna!
He had already left a call that had gone unanswered.
Walking up to the house, he felt the familiar ache in his neck growing. He found the bottle of pills in his pocket and, at first, hesitated and was going to put them back, but the constant pain was more than he thought he could endure through another day. Just one more day.
His father was in the kitchen sitting at the table with Ella Moore. Both were obviously nursing hangovers from the previous night's excess with coffee cups held in both hands in front of them. Ella was dressed only in one of Skipper's old fishing shirts. She looked up when Alex came in. "Well, good morning young man."
"Ella."
"Been wondering about you wandering off with that little Italian number last night," she said.
"Just business, Ella," he said.
"Yeah, right," she said, smiling back through tired and glossy eyes. Her hair was a jumbled mess and he could only imagine the crazy night she and his father had just had.
Skipper said, "You’d better call Hanna. You remember her comin' in last night, don't you."
"I remember."
"You’d better cut out those damn pills. They're makin' you loopy, boy. Let's not go through that whole thing again."
"I'll be all right."
His father stood and walked to the sink to rinse his cup. He was wearing a pair of old faded boxer shorts and a sleeveless white t-shirt, along with his accustomed fishing hat. He was bent over at the waist and moving slowly.
"You okay, pop?"
Standing at the sink, he said, "Think I pulled a muscle in my damn back last night."
Alex looked over at Ella Moore and she just smiled back.
"We're makin' a shrimp run this afternoon," his father said. You up to comin' along?"
He thought about it for a moment, then said, "I need to get back down to Charleston for the afternoon. Can I borrow the truck?"
"Won't be needin' it while I'm out on the water."
Ella said, "What does Amelia Richards drive, a Lamborghini?"
"That's enough, Ella," Alex said.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Phillip Holloway slammed an overhead smash and watched the yellow tennis ball find the far corner of his opponent's court. The man actually dove to save the point and rolled twice in green powdery clay before sitting up and throwing his racket in disgust. "Nice game, Phillip," he yelled back, clearly pissed at losing the match.
Holloway walked up to the net triumphantly and waited to shake the man's hand. "At least you won a game this time," he said arrogantly as they shook. He watched the man walk away to the locker room of the country club, past the high fences of the tennis complex, then walked over to his tennis bag on the bench and pulled out his phone to check messages.
He was scrolling through a long series of calls when he was startled by a man walking up and sitting next to him on the bench. He was dressed in casual shorts and a fishing t-shirt with an old stained ball cap and flip flops. His face was hidden behind large black sunglasses. Hardly appropriate attire for the club, Holloway thought.
"Morning, Counselor," the man said calmly.
"Who the hell are you?"
"A friend of a friend, let's say."
"Well call my office and make an appointment, I don't have..."
"Shut-up, Counselor!" the man said quietly but firmly.
Holloway was stunned for a moment and didn't respond. He also suddenly realized this was the man Alex Frank had shown him the picture of. An icy chill of fear swept through him.
The stranger lifted his shirt to reveal a handgun in a holster on his belt. "We need to take a ride. Don't even think about calling for anybody. Are we clear?"
Holloway drove in his long white Mercedes sedan while the man who Alex Frank had identified as Asa Dellahousaye's hired killer sat beside him, looking ahead and holding the semi-automatic handgun in his lap.
"What the hell's going on here?" Holloway finally said.
"Most people with your education, Counselor, would be smart enough to know better than threaten a man like Asa D."
Holloway felt a renewed rush of fear. In his heart, he knew the risk he'd taken in confronting Dellahousaye, but he felt he needed to play the card to ultimately protect him and the senator from any backlash. He tried to calm his shaking hands on the steering wheel, and he felt drips of sweat under his arms. "Listen, let's go talk to Asa. I think he misunderstood..."
"I don't think so, Counselor. Mr. "D" seemed clear on your intent. "Let's get one thing out of the way first. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. The easy way won't require much pain."
Holloway blanched and swallowed hard, looking over at the man who was smiling back at him. "What do you want?"
"You claim to have some files that would be an embarrassment to my employer. I want to know where they are and what's in them." The man laid the gun between his legs and pulled a long knife from a scabbard on his other hip. He held the knife an inch below Holloway's right eye as they continued down the road, out of town now with little traffic around.
The thought of some sadistic form of torture from this madman was more than he could imagine, and he immediately answered. "It's a written log of my contacts and the money involved as we've been moving to grease the skids on this gambling bill."
"And where would this 'log' be?"
The lawyer hesitated for a bit, weighing his options. If he gave up the information, what was to stop this man from killing him? On the other hand, the big knife in his face was going a long way to break down any thoughts of delay or deception. He had no stomach for the promised pain. "My bag is in the trunk."
"And that's the only copy?"
Holloway nodded. "Where are we going?"
"You know the old pier down by the commercial docks over this next bridge."
Again, Holloway nodded.
"Let's stop there and we'll check your bag."
Holloway pulled off the main road and took a turn to go under the bridge over the river, then down along the docks that held two large freighters with cranes overhead unloading cargo.
The stranger indicated a place to pull over behind a small outbuilding.
"Give me the keys," the man demanded.
Holloway turned off the car and handed him the keys.
"Pop the trunk and don't move. Am I clear?" The knife hovered again in front of his face, the point of it pressed into the side of his right nostril. The man got out and walked to the back of the car, coming back quickly with a leather shoulder bag. He handed it to the lawyer. "Show me the file."
Holloway unzipped a back compartment of the bag and drew out a manila envelope with no writing on it or label, then handed it to the man. He watched as he read through the information on the handwritten ledger of names, contacts and money.
"This is the only copy?" the man asked.
"Yes."
"No computer files, just this handwritten note?"
"I wouldn't keep information like this on a computer."
"Nothing at your office?"
"No, this is it, I swear."
"How much of this is your friend the Senator aware of?"
Holloway hesitated, then asked, "You mean Senator Hayes?"
"Yes, Counselor," the man said impatiently.
Holloway was struggling to keep from going into total panic. "Jordan and I have been working together to help get this legislation passed, but he's not involved in the details I've outlined in the report I keep."
"You wouldn't be lying to me, Counselor?"
"For God's sake, no! Look, you and Asa are over-reacting to all of
this. I only wanted Asa to know there were risks we were all facing, and the Senator and I were concerned about our involvement if things... got out of control."
The man continued to read, then opened his door, getting out with the file, his weapons already back in their holster and scabbard. "Come with me. We need to have a little talk."
Holloway got out and the man gestured for him to lead the way over to a long finger of a dock coming off the main pier in the shipping yard. He felt his knees wobble and he thought he might even piss his pants he was so scared. So, this how it ends?
He looked in both directions and there was no one in sight. The smaller boats out ahead on the pier seemed uninhabited. They were twenty yards out on the pier when he felt the stranger’s breath on his neck.
"Far enough, Counselor."
Holloway was breathing heavily and felt his heart would burst out of his chest. At any moment, he expected to feel the slicing edge of the big knife in his back or across his throat. "Please!" he moaned urgently in final desperation. "I can pay you..."
Rather than a knife blade, the next thing he felt was the man's hand on the side of his face, then a savage jerk that smashed the side of his head into a tall thick piling beside him. The pain ripped through his brain and he immediately felt himself falling, unable to control his limbs or yell for help, the dark oily water of the river rushing up to swallow him.
Chapter Forty
Hanna had Calley and her sister, Carolyn, settled in at the Charleston Women's Shelter. She knew they would be safe there as the events surrounding their father's arrest played out.
She had returned to her office and was watching the small television monitor on the wall. A local news station was outside the police precinct where the girls’ father had been processed and released. Someone had obviously tipped-off the media. A reporter was talking on a split screen next to another video shot of Reverend Warren Barbour leaving the station with his attorney and wife trailing behind, a dazed yet determined look on all their faces.
The reporter continued, "... and the attorney for Barbour refuses to comment, but our sources tell us he is being charged with multiple counts of sexual assault and child endangerment linked to his two daughters and perhaps several other members of his congregation..."
Hanna turned down the sound. She felt some pleasure in knowing the man, and possibly the girl's mother, would now be held to account for their frightening and disgusting behavior. She also knew the family's problems, public humiliation and ultimate criminal penalties were only just beginning. She had tried to assure Calley they were doing the right thing. The girl had also insisted, more fervently than ever, she wanted the abortion as soon as possible. She had said she couldn't stand the thought of this baby inside her any longer. Hanna had checked with the judge's office and was told a decision and the necessary paperwork would be expedited.
She looked at her phone and saw two more messages from Alex. She was still so angry with him she was in no mood to hear his excuses. She was now more convinced than ever he was truly trying to drive her away. For what reason, she was completely baffled. His comments the other night about his crazy and dangerous career and the danger he was putting her in seemed a forced excuse. If he truly loved and cared for her, she thought, certainly they could work through all this together.
She had also reluctantly agreed to meet Sam Collins in an hour down at his photo shoot. She was still trying, unsuccessfully, to tell herself she was only curious about his work and also the chance to see her old house down on South Battery. Regardless of her current anger and frustration with Alex, she was not ready to abandon what they had built together. But after last night, it was damn tempting. The notion that she and Sam could suddenly find a way to come back together after 20 years apart seemed outrageous. So why am I spending more time with the man?
Hanna found a parking space along the curb at the park, across the street from their old home she had been forced to sell after her husband's treachery plundered their finances. It had broken her heart to give up the 1700's home along the historic Battery on the river. She looked up at the towering white facade of the house showing through the tall trees along the front. Memories of her family and their time together there swept through her mind. She fought back tears as she remembered happier times there before everything fell apart and Ben was gone.
"Hanna!"
She turned to see Sam walking up on the sidewalk, his loose clothes and hair blowing in the wind off the water. She waved and walked up to meet him. He opened his arms to give her a hug and kiss on the cheek.
"Thanks for coming down. We're just moving the set to catch a new angle on one of the houses down the street with the sun moving over behind these big live oaks."
She looked where he was pointing and recognized the home of one of her old friends, a red brick three-story of similar vintage to her own. "You know this is our old house here, then?" she asked, looking across the street.
"Yes, I tracked it down online. What a beautiful place," he said. "The new owners don't want to be included in the piece we're doing. My producer said they were a little uppity."
Hanna grimaced and shook her head. "I never met the new owners, but I do know they paid cash for the place. Unfortunately, my ex-husband led us down a path leaving a sizable mortgage to pay off when it was sold."
"Such a shame. I'd love to see the inside." He put his arm around her waist and pulled her with him away down the walk. "Let me show you what we're working on.
Three doors down, the crew members were setting up lights and other equipment to continue the external shots of the beautiful old house.
Sam said, "I'm working with a great writer who's doing this piece on the stories behind some of these wonderful old homes."
Hanna was impressed by the number of people on Sam's team and the incredible array of cameras, lenses, lighting and other equipment she had no clue what they would be used for.
"We have a couple more minutes," Sam said. "Let me show you the backyard. It's spectacular. We just finished-up back there."
She followed him across the street, waiting in the middle for a couple of cars to pass. They walked through an old ornate metal gate and along a brick path to the back of the house. They were surrounded by lush canopies of flowers and shrubs. In the back, there was a large brick terrace with multiple groupings of furniture, an outdoor kitchen and fireplace, a hot-tub and numerous pieces of contemporary sculpture mingled throughout the gardens. Along the back of the property, tall pines, live oaks and palm trees provided almost total privacy. Hanna was reminded of how much she had enjoyed the backyard of their own home just down the street.
"The owners are away for the week," Sam said. "Have a seat." He gestured for her to join him on a low cushioned couch. He sat a comfortable distance to her side but put his arm along the back of the couch behind her. "I wanted to ask you something."
Her senses went on alert as she tried to think what he was going to share with her now.
"I have to leave tomorrow for another job."
"You told me you were only in town for a few days," she answered.
"I have a job in the Bahamas I need to follow through with."
"Sam, you can't start canceling work," she protested. "This thing between you and me isn't even a thing," she said, awkwardly trying to make sense of what was happening.
"I know it's short notice, but I'd like you to come with me."
Chapter Forty-one
Alex had the windows down in the old truck, the wind rushing through and offering some relief to the intense heat from the sun rising above the trees to the south. He was oblivious to the sites of the historic old city of Charleston as he approached the downtown district. His thoughts were shifting through the troubles he was facing down at the department with Internal Affairs trying to build a case he was somehow connected to the shooter in Lonnie Smith's death. Who planted that damn phone?
Then, his night at Amelia Richard's hou
se and the secret recordings of Asa Dellahousaye came back to him. He was relieved to know nothing had happened between him and Amelia, but how was he going to explain to Hanna how he ended up at the woman's house for the night? And what to do with the evidence against Asa Dellahousaye?
His head was still on fire from the aftermath of the pills and too much booze the previous night at Gilly's. Another pill before he left Dugganville had dulled the throbbing pain in his neck, but it was still there as a constant reminder of the mess he found himself in. When will the shooter decide to make another try? he thought.
Hanna still hadn't returned his calls and he certainly couldn't blame her. He reached for his phone and pressed the number for her office. He heard the familiar voice of Hanna's assistant, Molly.
"No Alex, she had to go out with a client. I don't expect her back for a while."
"Please tell her I'm back in town and need to speak with her."
He waited for a reply, then Molly finally said, "I'll let her know."
Alex pulled into the parking lot for the police precinct and found a space in the shade near the back. As he got out, he heard a call, "Alex!"
He turned to see the detective, Nate Beatty, coming through the cars toward him. The man seemed troubled and hurried as he came up to the truck. "What in hell have you done?" he said, looking like he was ready to throw a punch.
Alex was stunned and surprised but managed to stand his ground. "What are you talking about?"
"The whole squad is on you tipping off the shooter..."
"Nate, wait a minute! I swear to you..."
Beatty pushed him hard back against the door of the truck, then grabbed him with both hands by his shirt. "Frank, if you..."
Alex pushed his hands away. "Nate, I'm being set-up. I have no idea where that phone came from."
Beatty stared back for a few moments, breathing hard, sweat beading up on his red face. He shook his head, saying, "IA seems to think otherwise."
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