Beholden

by Pat Warren

  He patted her arm in a gesture of comfort. “All right, I promise. I’ll be right back. You rest.” Reluctantly, he hurried off.

  Terry sank deeper into the pillows, praying Father Tim would reach Andy and that her friend would come, that he’d be able to help her. She was too tired, too weak to plan her way out of this alone. She had to get somewhere safe. If word got out that she was alive, they would come after her again.

  She felt the tears flow freely, unable to stop them. Sweet, gentle Lynn, a helpless victim. Don Simon shot down in cold blood. Her life in danger even in a hospital bed. Where would it all end? When would she ever feel safe again?

  Closing her eyes, she prayed Father Tim would hurry.

  Detective Andy Russell stood in the hospital elevator riding up, his mood impatient. He hadn’t been terribly surprised to get a call relating to Terry Ryan. When he’d been unable to reach her the morning after that odd message she’d left, and then had learned of the accident, some sixth sense had warned him that something wasn’t right.

  Terry was a careful driver, someone he’d ridden with often and had never seen take chances or use excessive speed. Of course, she could have lost control somehow, gotten distracted by something. But then there’d been that mysterious message on his machine where she’d sounded frightened and anxious. Andy’s suspicious nature had had him checking out the police report the following day. And he’d learned plenty.

  And now he’d learned from a priest that Terry was alive and her cousin had been the one who’d died in that fiery crash. The elevator doors slid open and he stepped out, checking the signs with directional arrows before turning left and heading down the corridor. He passed the nurses’ station, where two heads were bent over a chart, a third person was talking on the phone, and a fourth was writing on a wall blackboard. He moved along, finally spotting Room 410. The door was slightly ajar. Cautiously, he pushed it open.

  A bald-headed priest looked up from the chair pulled close to the bed where a heavily bandaged woman lay with her eyes closed. “Yes?” he asked hesitantly.

  “I’m Detective Andy Russell. Are you Father O’Malley?”

  Father Tim relaxed, smiling as he rose. “Yes, indeed. Come in, please.”

  Terry opened her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. “Andy. Thank God you’ve come.”

  He moved to her side, frowning at the bandaged head, the gauze dressings on her swollen face, the wrapped hands. “Terry. I can’t believe you’re alive.”

  “I’m having trouble believing it myself. Father, would you please close the door?” A nurse had looked in earlier, but she’d feigned sleep, needing them to believe she hadn’t awakened until she’d had a chance to talk with Andy. “Sit down,” she said to him. “I’ve got quite a story to tell you.” She spoke slowly, her voice low and raspy, sore from tubes that had been inserted earlier.

  While Father Tim pulled over a second chair, Andy settled his six-four frame in the one the priest had vacated, a frown on his face. “Are you in any pain?”

  “Not much.” She glanced up at the tube carrying liquid into her arm. Fear overrode any pain she was feeling. She touched the largest bandage on her right cheek. “I’m worried about my face, but there’s a couple of other things I’m more concerned about right now. Father Tim told you what happened, about the mixup and Lynn dying?”

  Andy had met Lynn a couple of times, but hadn’t known her well. “Incredible. Do you remember the crash at all?”

  “All too clearly. We were going down a curving ramp onto I-17 when suddenly, the brakes wouldn’t hold. We kept gaining speed and then the steering wheel wouldn’t straighten. Lynn yelled that we were going to crash. We bounced against the sidewall and the car spun around, then zoomed backward. I felt the impact just before the fire broke out. My door flew open. Glass was flying everywhere and then there was an explosion and I felt myself being thrown out. After that, I don’t remember anything.” She sucked in a painful breath.

  “You weren’t behind the wheel?”

  “No, Lynn was driving.”

  “The police report said you were driving, that Mrs. Hartley had seen the two of you leave her home and you were definitely behind the wheel.”

  “I had been when we left Aunt Julia’s, but I had this really bad headache so we switched places.” She had another headache today, far worse than that one. Terry made an effort to ignore it, knowing medication would only dull her mind and memory.

  “And there was a ring, one Mrs. Hartley said Lynn always wore,” Father put in.

  Terry glanced toward him. “The silver one, yes. But Lynn had a rash so she’d given it to me and I’d slipped it on.” She looked at both hands. “What happened to it?”

  “I understand they had to cut it off your finger,” Father said.

  Terry drew in a shaky breath. “Lynn told me to put on my seat belt, but I didn’t get around to it. I… if we hadn’t changed places, Lynn wouldn’t have died.” The tears, so close to the surface, filled her eyes again. “It’s all my fault. They meant for me to die, not Lynn.”

  “They? Who is this they?” Andy asked.

  “I need to start from the beginning.” Terry raised a hand to her throat, hoping she had the strength to tell it all again. She was so very tired. “Could I have some water first?”

  Andy held the glass to her, guiding the bent straw to her mouth while she drank. “If you need to rest for a while…”

  “No, I have to tell you, because I need your help.” She took a deep breath and recounted everything she could recall from the minute she and Don Simon had left the Phoenix Gazette offices until she’d awakened here a short time ago, including an explanation of her anxious message left on his answering machine.

  Andy brushed back his longish blond hair as he listened intently. “You’re saying that Don’s story was to be an exposé of high-ranking police officers who allegedly are on the take, being paid to look the other way regarding certain underworld characters working some sort of money-laundering scheme?”

  “That’s basically what he told me, yes,” Terry answered.

  “And he didn’t tell you the name of the cop he was to meet that night?”

  “No, only that he, too, was in on the scheme and hoping for immunity in exchange for his testimony.”

  Andy leaned forward, his mind racing. It all tied in with some things he’d heard. The rumor mill between precincts was semireliable. Terry, unfortunately, had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. “And you say your family knows Sergeant McCarthy quite well?”

  “Very well. Father O’Malley knows Mac, too.”

  “He’s one of my parishioners,” Father Tim added. “I’ve seen him at the Ryans’ at family gatherings.” Not all that often in church, however, he thought.

  In his eleven years on the force, Andy’d seen many an atheist who was honest and many a devout man as crooked as a hairpin turn. “What about the others? Did you recognize either of them?”

  Wearily, Terry shook her head. “I’m sure I’ve never seen them before.”

  She was tired, he knew. He would have to handle this carefully, for Terry’s safety, and so as not to tip off the wrong people. But first, he’d have to convince her of the seriousness of her situation. Leaning closer, Andy touched her hand. “Terry, I need to tell you something upsetting, and I’m not sure I should.”

  She gave a small, bitter laugh. “Look at me. How much more upset can I get? Just tell me.”

  “After getting that phone message from you and then hearing about the accident, I got suspicious. I went nosing around and finally got a copy of the police report of your accident. The conclusion was that the witnesses noticed excessive speed, so drinking is always suspected. Your blood level tested zero for alcohol content. Despite her burned condition, apparently they were able to check the driver and the report indicated alcohol was involved.”

  “Alcohol?” Terry was furious. “That’s impossible. We hadn’t been drinking. After the way my sister died, you know
I’d never drink and drive, or get in a car with someone who had. Certainly Lynn hadn’t had a drop, either. I’m telling you, Andy, something happened to my car. Suddenly, the brakes wouldn’t hold and…”

  He held up a hand. “I know. I know because I checked it out myself. At the time, I thought you’d been the driver and I know you’re too responsible a person to get behind the wheel after drinking. I just told you what the report indicated.”

  “Then someone altered the police report.”

  “That’s possible, but there’s more. I went to the police garage and got to talking with the mechanic who’d checked over your Volkswagen. Sure enough, he’d found a hole in the brake line and another in the steering column. A small hole allows the fluid to leak out slowly, so the victim drives for a while, not suspecting a thing. Then, suddenly, there’s a loss of control.”

  “But when could someone have tampered with my car?” She tried to think. “It had to be those few minutes I was in our apartment trying to call Lynn. But I didn’t see anyone around.”

  “These guys are pros, Terry,” Andy told her.

  The truth, what she’d been suspecting, sank in and Terry’s eyes grew wide with fear. “That means that someone… tried to kill me, right?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  She closed her eyes for a long moment before questions came whirling to prod her. “Did the mechanic put all that in his report?”

  “That’s what he said, that he sent it over to Central. So I went over there and found that Sergeant McCarthy personally had initialed receiving the accident report. It took me awhile, but I got a copy. No mention of the mechanic’s report, only that the accident was consistent with a drunk driver losing control of her vehicle.”

  “Two fudged reports.” Terry was scarcely aware of her fingers gripping the sheet in frustration. “So my parents think I’d been drinking, lost control, and caused the crash?”

  “Basically, that’s what Mac told them, yes.”

  “This is so unfair. Can you get that mechanic to dispute the report and include his findings?”

  Andy sat back thoughtfully. “I can try, but I don’t know how much help that’ll be. If what you say is true, that Sergeant McCarthy was in that parking garage alongside the man with the gun, he’s got good reason to cover up the cause of your Volkswagen going out of control. But more importantly, I don’t think we want the sergeant to suspect that you’re alive. He’s probably feeling safe again, thinking you’re gone and Lynn’s the one in the coma.”

  Rising, Andy paced the room, wondering which of several possible directions to go. Finally, he returned to her bedside. “Can you describe the other two men you saw?”

  Terry frowned. “I’ll try.” She closed her eyes, concentrating. “One was quite tall and younger than the second one. They were both dark, not fair. The tall one had a mustache like Mac’s, quite full, and he was wearing a suit. The shorter one had on a white shirt with suspenders and he had something in his mouth.”

  “A cigarette or cigar?”

  “I don’t think so. More like a toothpick.” She shook her head. “I can’t remember exactly.”

  “If I brought in some pictures, could you identify them?”

  “I think so. Do you think you recognize them from what I’ve said?”

  Andy sat down again. “I’m not sure, but if they’re the ones I suspect, they’re involved in drug smuggling. From Colombia, through Mexico and across the border into Arizona, Texas, California. Big business. Lots of money to be made, and they need to sanitize it, to have some dummy companies or legit businesses they can filter the profits through. That’s a lot easier to do if the cops look the other way, and the way you get them to do that is to grease their palms.”

  “You think that’s what Mac is into?”

  “Yeah, I do. And Don Simon was about to pull the plug on their cozy little operation, so they had to shut him up. Did you know that that same night, a cop was found killed in a downtown Phoenix alley? Two .38 bullets, just like with Simon.”

  Terry sucked in a breath. “Oh, God. He was probably the man Don said he was meeting. Andy, you’ve got to help me. You’ve got to tell someone you trust so they can send someone to guard my room or whatever. I… I’ll never be able to go to sleep, even here, thinking that they could find out I’m alive and try again.”

  He touched her arm. “I’m going to do better than that. Money laundering across state lines is a federal crime, so the best thing to do is call in the feds. No one can protect you like they can.” He got to his feet and turned to the priest. “Stay with her, Father, while I go make a couple of calls. But first, I have to talk with your doctor. I don’t want anyone outside this room except your doctor to know you’re awake or your true identity.”

  Terry’s eyes held his. “Are you sure this will work?”

  “Don’t worry, please. I’ll be just down the hall at the phones where I can see your door. I won’t let anything happen to you, Terry. Just hang in there, okay?”

  Wearily, she closed her eyes.

  The man who entered her room, awakening her from a light doze, had light brown hair cropped so close to his head that he reminded Terry of a soldier in the first week of basic training at boot camp. He was around six feet tall, quite slim, and wore a brown suit with a buttoned vest, an incredibly white shirt, and a conservatively striped tie. Intelligence and a sort of resigned patience commingled in his brown eyes.

  Protectively, Father O’Malley rose from the bedside chair.

  Following the newcomer in, Andy closed the door and walked over to introduce everyone. “Father, Terry, this is Chief Deputy Bob Jones from the Phoenix office of the U.S. Marshals Office, Criminal Division, Department of Justice. Bob, Terry Ryan and Father Tim O’Malley.”

  Jones smiled at Terry, then shook hands with the priest. “Please, sit down, Father.”

  O’Malley checked his watch. “Almost midnight.” He’d been at the hospital a full twelve hours. “Actually, if I can be assured that Terry’s in good hands, I should run along.”

  “Father, I’m sure you’ve had a long day, from what Andy tells me, but I think it best that you stay while we go through this.” Jones had dropped everything after talking with the young detective, made numerous phone calls before meeting with him, and been briefed further as they’d driven over. “Terry’s situation must remain strictly confidential and you’re a vital connection to her family. I’d like you to hear what we have to say.”

  “Well, of course, if I’m needed.” Father Tim sat back down.

  Jones pulled a chair over and again smiled at Terry. “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired, hurting, frightened out of my mind. That about covers it.” She couldn’t believe that a government agent was here at this unlikely hour. The fact that he was indicated that the situation was possibly even more serious than she’d suspected.

  “We’ll let you rest in a short time, and I hope the things I’m going to tell you will take away most of your fears. As to the healing, that will take time. I’ve spoken with your doctor, as has Andy, and he updated us on your condition. He was in earlier to check you over, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “He gave us your complete records.” Jones indicated a briefcase Andy had set down against the wall. “All your X-rays, test results, charts, list of medications, everything.”

  Terry frowned, wondering if she’d missed something. “Why?”

  “Because we’re going to have to move you out of here.”

  She glanced at the needle still taped to her arm, the monitors blinking away. “Move me? Can I go like this?”

  “Your doctor has given us permission to take you to another facility.” Not without protesting mightily, but after Jones had shown his credentials and reassured Dr. Renfree just how they planned to handle the move, he’d reluctantly agreed. Renfree had also agreed to thoroughly examine Terry Ryan once again, then release her to Jones’s custody. Even doctors caved in to federal authority
.

  “I don’t know,” Terry said, her voice sounding weak and skeptical.

  Bob unbuttoned his jacket and leaned forward, keeping his voice low, though he’d positioned Detective Russell at the door in the unlikely event they were interrupted. “As you’ve undoubtedly figured out by now, you’re in danger if you remain here, especially if your true identity is learned.”

  Terry’s gaze slid to the door as if half-expecting the three men from the garage to come charging in, guns blazing. “Yes, and it worries me.”

  “From now on, let me do the worrying.” Jones gave her a reassuring look. “Do you have the strength to recite what happened that night, exactly as you remember it?”

  She didn’t want to, but she knew she had to. Her eyelids felt so heavy, her limbs impossibly weighty. Again, she went through it all and when she was finished, Jones had just a couple of questions.

  “I don’t suppose you caught a glimpse of the license plates on the gray sedan?”

  “It was always behind me and had no front plates.”

  “Would you look at a couple of pictures we’ve brought along?” When she nodded, he signaled Andy, who handed him a packet. One by one, he showed her the five-by-seven black-and-whites.

  She took her time, squinting despite the bright light. Finally, she settled on one. “I’m pretty sure this is the tall one, although he stood to the side. The man in the suspenders who did the shooting isn’t in this group.”

  Andy stepped closer. “The man you identified is Sam Russo, the Arizona front man for the mob. He’s been arrested half a dozen times, but we’ve never been able to put him away. I believe he’s on probation right now. He works with his brother, Nick, who’s another slick operator.”

  Terry drifted a moment, then brought herself back by sheer force of will. “So what are you going to do? When will you move me?”

  Bob took over. “Tonight, to a private hospital. Then, when you’re well enough to be released from there, we’ll need to get you to a safe place, Terry, so you can recover without fear.” He didn’t think that right now she could handle knowing that Dr. Renfree had said she’d need plastic surgery on her face soon so she wouldn’t wind up with permanent scarring. “Meanwhile, we’ll build our case and when the time comes, we’ll need you to testify as to what you saw.”