The Charity

by Connie Johnson Hambley

  Michael’s jaw clenched as he recalled the address on the package Electra mailed out. “Shea? I think I remember the name from some of the documents I reviewed. Don’t you think he’ll dislike the implication that because of a screw up on a case he was assigned to, a murderer got away?”

  The commissioner shook his head. “Not likely. He was a rookie and the lead detective, Terrance Coogan, had all of the responsibility.”

  “Well, what about Coogan? Won’t he kick up some dust at this decision to reopen?”

  “Coogan’s dead. We just buried him last week. In that light, no, I don’t think he’ll give you any trouble.”

  “Dead? How?”

  “Line of duty. It was a hard death.” The commissioner allowed his eyes to drop, mouth firming to a straight line.

  Michael took in all that was said and unsaid about Coogan. The timing of Coogan’s death was not lost on him. “Fine. Here’s the number where I can be reached. With that plus the cruiser radios, you shouldn’t have any trouble reaching me.” He stood up to leave, and the commissioner came out from behind his desk to show him the door. He took the extended hand and shook it firmly. “Thank you, Commissioner. I know this was not an easy call, but you’ve done the right thing.”

  Michael stood outside on the steps of the great gray building and looked over the skyline of Boston. He had mixed feelings about his course of action. If something did not go as planned, the consequences would be dire for all those concerned. At least now he had a chance of finding her himself.

  “Okay, Jessica. Just one more mistake from you is all that I’ll need.” He spoke the words half aloud as he descended down to the dirty street below.

  Shea rubbed his eyes, gritty with fatigue. He looked over all the documents in the files and the photocopies of bank records he received from the archives, feeling sure he had enough evidence to indict the operator of Unity Green Trust, namely Magnus Connaught. An airtight case against Connaught still eluded him. Where the hell was Jessica?

  He was exposed. The men that attacked him at the Wyeth’s attorney’s office recognized him. Going back to his house or to his office would mean certain death for anyone there. There seemed to be no way to get back to the office safely. Unless—

  He hated himself for doing it, but he called in several bomb threats against the attorney general’s office and staff and other tenants in his building. Using different phones, he provided just enough information to make the threats sound believable and imminent. With the beefed up security in and around the building that was after several complete sweeps for explosives, he felt secure enough to go back. The security to get into the lobby was incredible. Everyone passed through two types of scanners. Specially trained dogs sniffed bags after they were X-rayed. Video cameras unabashedly stared at and recorded everyone’s face. No one complained about the inconvenience. After all, two explosives were, in fact, found in the AG’s office two years ago. They were right outside of Shea’s office.

  Pleading nerves, he requested a different office on a lower floor, facing the street. He purchased a pair of cheap, miniature binoculars and began to keep his own surveillance. All pedestrian and automotive traffic was kept a safe distance from the building with a series of wooden barricades and police cruisers, making it more difficult for him to see. Every person on the street, men and women, was scrutinized.

  He peered out the window for nearly two days straight before he saw her. Dressed in jeans, sneakers, and bulky jacket she tried to hide her face with a baseball cap drawn down low over her brow and dark, round sunglasses. A long black ponytail poked out of the back of the hat and trailed down her back. The woman had a style about her that was eye-catching. Even trying to hide herself, Jessica Wyeth was too good-looking to remain unnoticed by a trained eye looking for her.

  He grabbed the pre-packed satchel and dashed out the door. The elevator doors opened just as he entered the hallway. He jumped in and immediately cursed himself. It was approaching four-thirty, and the elevator slowly filled with people leaving early to fit in some Christmas shopping after work. At every floor, the doors politely chimed as they parted for another passenger. In maddening repetition, the doors buzzed their impatience as they were held open for a dawdling friend. Shea tried to calm himself and was not successful. Each electronic chime and buzz acted as a dentist’s drill on his raw nerves.

  The last thing he needed was to look like a lunatic on the run once he got to the street. The small army of jumpy security staff would haul him in with a blink of an eye. The street was thick with people rushing home or trying to hustle to the department stores a few blocks up or to Faneuil Hall. Walking immediately to the spot where he saw her, he cursed to himself. She was gone. The best alternative was just to stay outside. If she was here once, she would return. Forgetting about his own safety, he began to slowly walk the sidewalks around the building. If she would risk getting that close to his building, then he would meet her on her terms.

  It was almost an hour before he felt a hand grab his arm.

  “Just pretend we’re old friends,” the voice low and laced with urgency.

  He turned and gave his companion a restrained but genial greeting. “It’s been too long. What’s new...?” The smile stuck on his face as the condition of his friend registered. The round dark glasses barely hid the purple and red patches of skin on her swollen face. “Let’s go.” He helped her into a cab and asked to be brought to the Back Bay. There, after one more cab ride, Shea led Jessica to a car he had hidden away in the bowels of Allston, and they sped off.

  “This your car?” Jessica looked around nervously.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Did you arrange for it yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Completely? With cash and another name?”

  Shea could detect a small quaver in her voice. Fear? He could not blame her. “Yes. Why?”

  “Did you trust Granger with any information about this car or where we’re going at all?” She was insistent.

  “Granger? No. Nothing. Why? What’s going on?” He looked over at his passenger several times. Her condition was making it hard to concentrate on the road.

  “Because he’s the bastard who did this to me.” The left side of her face and eye had ripened into a near blur of painful colors. Her eye and lips were swollen to a degree that could not be hidden behind sunglasses or pulled up collars.

  “Jesus H. Christ! Granger did that! I don’t believe it.”

  “Stop the car! I’m getting out!” She scrambled with the door latch.

  “Wait! Don’t be stupid. Okay, okay! I believe you. He had nothing do to with this car or where we’re going. Even the name I used to get the car is one he doesn’t know about. We’re safe.” He reached over and tried to hold her back by placing his right arm around her stomach. The pressure caused her to flinch. “Jessica, Christ! What in God’s name happened to you?”

  She relented and put her head back against the headrest. “It’s a long story. Where have you been?”

  He smiled. “That’s a long story, too. You look exhausted. When did that happen?”

  “Last night.”

  “Let’s fill each other in after you’ve had a chance to rest. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  They drove an hour and a half through Boston traffic then farther north in silence; Jessica used the time to doze. She awoke when the car was finally guided onto a dirt road and up a small drive. A small well-kept house was perched on an outcropping of rock. Frozen marshes leading to the open ocean reflecting the blue sky of a winter’s twilight could be seen through the trees. Several other houses stood like quiet sentinels; windows boarded up for the winter months, keeping a blind guard of the view. The house they approached, like the others, was a summer camp shuttered for the winter, the only difference its slightly more substantial appearance. Shea fumbled with a set of keys, and they ste
pped inside. It was sparsely but comfortably furnished with a series of mismatched chairs and tables. From the front doorway, two wood stoves could be seen, one in the kitchen, the other in the living room. He immediately brought her ice wrapped in a kitchen towel and helped place it on her face.

  “My wife and I used to come up to this part of the coast before we were married. This is the only house that could pass as a winter residence for the hardier types. I rented it from the owner claiming to be a writer in need of solitude.” Jessica looked at him warily. He continued talking as he walked over to one of the wood stoves and struck a match. In a few minutes, its warmth began to penetrate the cold. “I paid him for two months in cash, he never bothered with the details. No central heat and a party line for a phone, but it’s safe.”

  “Yeah? Well, ‘safe’ is a four letter word.” She looked around. “I guess this place will be fine for a while. I’m too tired to even think about it.”

  “Sit down. I’ll be right back.”

  Jessica took a seat closest to the fire while the clattering of dishes from the kitchen punctuated the calm. He returned with a plate filled with crackers and jars of peanut butter and jelly. His other hand held two glasses, with two bottles gripped between his arms and chest. “I stocked this place last week with food that would stay edible for a while. I didn’t know when we’d be using it, only that we would need it in a hurry. Wine or water?” He offered her a glass.

  “Water. We have work to do.”

  He chose the same and lit the fire in the other wood stove.

  “You even prepared the fires? I guess you were thinking ahead.” Jessica watched Shea through heavy eyes as he sat down opposite her.

  “Right. Who’s first?”

  “You are.”

  He leaned forward and took her face carefully in his hands, using slight motions to turn her head carefully so that he could look at the injuries. “Can you see anything out of that eye? It looks pretty bad.”

  Jessica raised her chin just enough to release her face from his grip. “I could see out of it this morning. It’s fine.”

  He remembered her reaction in the car when he touched her sides. “Ribs, too?”

  “Yup. Not broken, though. Remember I told you about the break-in?” She paused for his acknowledgment. “I think Granger got lucky and just bruised them again.”

  Shea got up briefly and returned with some painkillers and refreshed the ice. “Here. This’ll help a little.” He helped her reposition the compress and watched as she took the pills. He returned to his seat.

  “Jess. I believe you when you say Granger did that to you, but I’m having a hard time making it register in my head that someone I trusted could do that.”

  “Well, your trusted ally has one of the same tattoos on his arm that I’ve seen before. I wouldn’t be surprised that he’s been a major source of problems for you.”

  Shea considered her words and fought back his anger. “Christ! He’s worked by my side for years. I would never have figured him for something like this. I’m sorry.” He looked down and shook his head.

  “He was good for one thing, though.” Jessica moved around in the chair and flipped the lighter to Shea.

  “God! That’s incredible. How did he get his hands on it?”

  “I called Jake Masterson, the foreman at the ranch I worked at in Utah. He said someone called him looking for friends or family members of mine when I was in the hospital down in Kentucky after my fall from the roof. He found it with some other stuff I’d left behind and so he mailed it to me at my farm. I called one of my contacts in Perc, Electra Lavielle, and had her send it to your office as personal mail. Granger was in on this whole thing and must have used the fact that staff at your office knew him as a friend of yours to gain access. My guess is he either conned them into giving him the package or he just took it.” She lowered her voice. “He used it to get me to go to this hotel with him. He said you told him to find me and that I was going to meet you there. It was just a holding tank until the real people could arrive. He was going to rape me before he handed me over to the killer. He beat me.” She closed her eyes.

  Shea’s neck veins pulsed with barely controlled rage. “I’ll kill him for hurting you. Christ, Jessica, this case is getting uglier by the minute.” He wanted to reach for her and hold her until the shaking stopped. Instead, he rolled the lighter over in his hand and tightened his fist over it. After a time he said, “The engraving is pretty plain to see. It’s in good shape. Is there anything else engraved on it?” He brought it up to his face and looked at it closely.

  “I never looked at it that carefully. I’m amazed I got it back.” She put her head back on the chair and stared at the ceiling while keeping the compress in place over her eye and the corner of her mouth. “If ever I had any doubt about that symbol and what happened to my family and Gus, I have none now.”

  “Why? That’s the key to this whole puzzle.”

  “I met a guy in a homeless shelter who took me to another man called ‘Sarge.’ He used to be a soldier for a group who refer to themselves as the ‘Charity.’ I couldn’t believe everything he told me, but he said the tattoo was their way of showing commitment and rank. Granger’s mark was not complete somehow. I guess that meant he was not in the upper ranks.”

  “Tell me everything.” Shea was leaning forward in his chair.

  “I can’t yet. I just need to rest for a bit before I launch into that. You first, remember?”

  Shea took a gulp of water to wash down a dry cracker with peanut butter. It took another gulp before the glue loosened enough to speak. “Coogan’s dead. By all accounts, it was pretty horrible. My hunch is that your killer friend caught up with him. The timing is pretty coincidental. Don’t you think?” He watched as the news of Coogan’s death registered with little reaction. “Anyway, after his funeral I went up to the Registry of Deeds to check out any filings relating to your family or their land.”

  “The Register of What?”

  “The Registry of Deeds. It is where all of the official documents are filed for the public records. Anything having to do with buying or selling real estate, mortgages, property liens, and some census records are kept there. You know, stuff like marriage, birth and death certificates, and certain trusts. I found out a lot about your family, especially your father.”

  Jessica turned her head up to look at Shea. Although she tried to hide it, the motion caused her considerable discomfort and left her a little breathless. “You did? What did you find out?”

  “You’re in no shape to go over all the details.”

  Jessica was too tired to disagree. “He cared for us a lot.” She managed to take a sip of water and looked at the food Shea was busy eating. “Do you have anything else to eat?”

  He chuckled. “Right. I guess this doesn’t look so appetizing, huh? I have some other stuff in the kitchen. How about spaghetti?”

  “Sounds fine. Can we try to talk about something else for a while? You’re right. I’m beat, and I don’t think I can absorb another detail on this mess. How about a truce for the night?”

  “Right.” Shea got up and again Jessica heard more clattering of cupboards and dishes from the kitchen.

  The wood stoves had heated the small house quickly with their radiant warmth. Jessica loosened her sweater, put her head back and tried to relax. Everything sounded so normal. She closed her eyes.

  “Jessica?”

  She opened her eyes and was surprised to see a small table set up beside her. Mismatched dinner plates and wine glasses were set out to receive the contents of two steaming bowls of food in the center of the table. Pulling herself upright, she scrunched her shoulders up to stretch her back. “I must have dozed off again. Wow! That’s quite a spread!”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. There’s nothing like pasta, canned green stuff, and frozen bread to make a meal.”

&n
bsp; Jessica moved to settle herself at the small dining table. Unlit candles stood untouched on the mantle of the fireplace. She understood their meaning and Shea’s omission. Shea returned to the kitchen as she used the unobserved moment to look at him. The jeans, knit shirt and sweater he wore fit well over his muscular frame. His sandy hair just touched the top of his collar and he moved with relaxed confidence. She moved the candles to the table and struck a match. “I think we deserve one ‘off duty’ dinner, don’t you?”

  “Right,” he smiled. “Wine?”

  They promised not to talk about business until the morning. Both of them were happy to have a breather. They had been living the case for close to two weeks straight and tonight seemed like an impromptu celebration of their survival thus far. Occasionally, the conversation would pass into a lengthy silence, but neither was in a hurry to fill it.

  Shea cleared the table after they were done eating. He refilled their wine glasses, and they settled in front of the living room’s wood stove in two old chairs upholstered in a red plaid fabric. Their feet rested on a faded braided rug. “You look like hell, you know that?”

  Jessica laughed. “Yeah? Well, I’m feeling much better now, thank you.” Her mouth fought the movement of the smile. The swelling that made her face feel like it had cotton wadding packed inside of it subsided. She could feel Shea’s eyes upon her.

  “Do you regret that you’ve come out of hiding? You’re paying quite a price.” Shea’s voice was low.

  “My past found me, remember? Besides, what were my choices? Stay dead or be killed? I knew this route was going to be hard.” Jessica looked over at Shea. She could see the concern heard in his voice echoed in his eyes. “I couldn’t do this without you. Thank you.”