Freitag looked down at his partner almost as if he half expected him to respond to his remarks. Then, Chris took a deep breath, and continued. “All those other women—well, it looks like he got to all of them on the Internet, too. We checked their computers, and found his screen name on their Buddy Lists.”
Freitag stopped talking for a minute, and concentrated on Matt’s face, straining to catch a glimpse of anything—anything at all— that would indicate that his partner might be hearing him. But, all he saw was Davis’s calm countenance, eyes closed, deeply asleep, unable to wake.
“Too bad Rita had to take a beating to make the damn collar. She’s in pretty bad shape, but they say she’ll make it. Probably put in her papers, though. Can’t say that I blame her. Funny thing was,” he continued. “There really wasn’t any religious connection at all, except that the other women were all members of Richter’s church. The old ‘Catholic Guilt’ thing got the best of them, and they called Richter for counseling about their ‘so-called’ cheating. He underlined the passages in the bibles when he went to see them, but who the hell would have ever thought to get his prints for comparison?”
Chris stood up and stretched his arms over his head. “Of course, I guess if we had, we might have figured him for Curran a lot sooner. Funny thing is, if it hadn’t have been for Rita we might never have caught the prick.
“Apparently the Good Father spent a lot of time in those chat rooms. We talked to his housekeeper, and she admitted that she found his computer left on once—tuned to some porno site—some ‘pretty nasty stuff.’”
Here, Freitag lowered his voice in a mock whisper, “My guess is he was into cyber sex. Probably liked to whip his ‘Willie’ while he talked to the ladies. Guy was a fuckin’ ‘perv,’ if you ask me.”
Chris was so deep into his one-sided conversation with his partner that he failed to notice that Valerie had returned. She stood quietly in the doorway, holding a container of coffee. She waited a few seconds before moving closer. “Chris,” she whispered quietly, “here’s your coffee.”
Freitag turned around. “Yeah, thanks. I was just telling Matt how it all went down.”
“Well, I think that’s great. At least there won’t be any more women wearing unwanted hearts on their bodies.”
They both smiled uneasily. Chris sensed that Valerie wanted to be alone with her husband, so he got up, took the coffee from her outstretched hand, and started for the door.
“You’re leaving?” asked Val.
“Yeah,” said Chris. “Thanks for the coffee. But, I think it’s better that I leave you two alone. I want to go check in on Rita. Call me when he wakes up, okay?”
“I will.”
CHAPTER 73
Matt had been in a deep coma for over six days. Occasionally, there would be faint signs that maybe he would come out of it; but, the doctors cautioned Valerie that it could be quite a while – or maybe not at all. That was her worst fear.
…As usual, Matt was the guest of honor at a retirement dinner at the Waldorf Astoria. He and Valerie danced the night away, he in a finely tailored tuxedo, she in an exquisite gown. The Chief of Police got up and toasted Matt’s many years on the force, and, of course, paid tribute to his solving of some particularly heinous murder.
Following the affair, they spent the night at the Plaza Hotel—courtesy of the NYPD—and the next morning boarded a jet for a flight to New Brunswick, Canada. Once there, they were met by a professional salmon-fishing guide, who escorted the two of them to a remote camp on the Miramichi River. A red-jacketed butler showed them to their room, remarking off-handedly that the fishing has been “quite good lately.”
The following morning, after an elaborate breakfast, it was time for fishing. Back at their room, all the necessary gear had been arranged on a trunk at the foot of the bed, and Matt dressed carefully, while Valerie read her book. There was a knock on the door, and their guide announced that they “better hurry,” as the fish were “jumping all over the pool.”
They stopped at the kitchen, where the cook gave Valerie a wicker basket, containing their lunch, along with a thermos of hot coffee. Then the threesome walked a short distance to the river, where Matt proceeded to catch fish after fish.
It was nearly noon. Matt stood knee deep in the cool water, the passing river forming an eddy behind him. His rod was bent with the weight of a large salmon that was hooked securely in the corner of its mouth by the hand-tied fly that Matt had presented to it just moments ago. With an eye out for the fish, Matt glanced at Valerie, seated on a blanket on the shore. She was deeply absorbed in her romance novel. Suddenly, she lifted her eyes and turned them toward the water, and smiled when she noticed Matt gazing lovingly at her.
“Sweetheart,” she said. “Why don’t you stop fishing and come join me for lunch?” He pointed downstream at the jumping fish, and said, “As soon as I land this salmon.” The guide removed the net hanging from behind his vest and moved into position just downstream from the salmon. “I’ll net him for you, sir. That way you and the Mrs. can have your lunch...”
Val sat quietly alongside her husband’s hospital bed staring absently at the wall, her thoughts focused on Matt. What will I do without him? Then, she thought she heard a noise. She turned her head toward the bed and saw a sight that made her heart jump. Oh my god. Tears cascaded down her cheeks. But, now the tears were for joy. Matt’s eyes were open – and he was smiling. At long last, Valerie could smile, too.
AFTERWORD
I once was lost, but now am found...” (Lyric from Amazing Grace, a traditional hymn)
A number of years ago Al Gore (so we are told) invented the Internet, and its introduction to civilization changed the world forever. It has brought positive change to some; to others it has brought chaos and moral decay. As The Twig Is Bent explores the dark side of this modern force – the ancillary world of chat rooms. These ersatz “meeting halls” are the ultimate playgrounds for those who eschew personal contact in the real world, opting instead for anonymous “connectivity.” Many have wandered in, and have been swallowed up by the Internet and its chat rooms, where they remain as prisoners of their own device. Others have merely passed through the shadowy world, ultimately seeing the light, and exiting scarred but wiser for the experience. I am one of the fortunate ones.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I began this book nearly fifteen years ago, and some of those who helped me along the way are doubtless not with us anymore. Some names have been lost or misplaced, but they know who they are, and to those individuals I would express my profound thanks. In particular, I am indebted to NYPD detective Bob Fiston, whose official rank I am unable to recall, and for that I apologize. He gave generously of his time in answering my every question, no matter how inane, and helped me lend authenticity to my novel..
My thanks to my friend, the “real” Chris Freitag, a retired police captain, who graciously permitted me to use his name for one of my characters, and whose advice and expertise were particularly useful, and to his wife, Susan, a nurse, who helped with technical medical information. I would like to thank two very special friends: Rick Dawley, who took my first draft to Mexico, and spent precious hours in the sun reading it, and “Bobcat” Walker, who never refused to read and re-read the various chapters, revisions, etc., that I thrust upon him while always offering to read more. Thank you, to my son, David, who, after reading the original draft, pronounced it “pretty good!” (Strong praise, if you know him.)
Also, I would like to acknowledge the unwavering support and encouragement of my high school friend and “unofficial agent,” Tom Connor, whose words of praise for my work kept me writing and hoping all these years. Thanks to Jane Cavolina for her editing skill. A big “I love you!” to my wife’s uncle, Vahan Gregory, noted author and playwright, who motivated me to publish online.
And, lastly, a wink and a nod to Victorian novelist, Edward Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton, who wrote in the beginning of his 1830 novel Paul Clifford, the now f
amous words, “It was a dark and stormy night” which allowed me to finally make a start.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Joe Perrone Jr is an author whose diverse background includes a stint as a sports writer with a prominent New Jersey newspaper, the Herald News, and several years spent freelancing as an advertising copywriter. He has had numerous short stories published in the Mid-Atlantic Fly Fishing Guide. In addition to his writing, Joe spent ten years as a professional fly fishing guide on the historic Beaverkill River in New York’s Catskill Mountains. Nearby Roscoe (“Trout Town USA”) serves as the setting for Joe’s second Matt Davis Mystery, Opening Day: A Matt Davis Mystery, and is a place to which Joe returns as often as possible to fish his favorite waters. Twice Bitten: A Matt Davis Mystery will be released in December 2011.
When not writing, Joe can be found fly-fishing the many quality trout streams found throughout the surrounding area of North Carolina. He also enjoys cooking, reading his Kindle, listening to music (anything but hard rock), car trips with his wife, Becky, and relaxing with his cats. He and his wife live in the mountains of Western North Carolina, with their two Calico cats, Cassie and Callie. The author welcomes comments and queries from readers via email at: [email protected]. Joe responds to all emails promptly. Readers are invited to visit his website at www.joeperronejr.com.
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