by E. Groat
By the end of the evening of lovemaking with Garth, Zoe wondered what she foolishly could have been thinking that afternoon.
Chapter 21
“I’m telling you, Zoe, I didn’t do a thing,” Josh repeated, as Zoe thanked him again for taking care of Harris and allowing the permits to be released.
“Garth appreciates everything you’ve done too. He’s been on the phone all morning with the subs and contractors, giving them the green light...”
“Zoe, slow down,” Josh begged. “Listen to me, this is a coincidence. I had nothing to do with it. Nothing! Whatever changed Harris’s mind, it did not come from me.”
“All right, you play coy, Josh, but whoever or whatever, we couldn’t be happier. Allow me at least to be grateful.”
Josh gave up; there was too much elation and emotion for her to be convinced otherwise today. He would clear it up at some other time. They both said goodbye and returned to a busy schedule.
Ms. Potter’s fingers had been busy all morning, corralling all principles in this project. Garth had been coordinating and setting up meetings at the site to get the ball rolling. Zoe had called Father Fitzhugh, advising him that the children’s center was not just a dream anymore, and they were one step closer to making it a reality. John Calhern, Ms. Rachel Stone — all were notified that groundbreaking would take place in the coming weeks. Ms. Potter took particular pleasure in calling Klaus. The gift of chocolates had initiated a welcome friendship. Ms. Potter had been a widow for fifteen years, and she had been sorely lacking in companionship.
The office was bustling with activity. Plans, drawings, budgets, and forecasts were spread on the teakwood conference table, ready to be gone over, checked, and re-checked by the onslaught of people who made their way to the office to negotiate and appropriate their time for the months to come. Lunch was several take-out pizzas, thrown randomly on the huge table and eaten in a catch-as-catch-can fashion amid the sea of paperwork and discussion. After months of worry and self-imposed business exile, Garth was overwhelmed by target dates, deadlines, quality of services, quotes, vendors, financial statements — in general, business as usual. He loved it!
As he sat at his desk marveling at the difference a day could make, he spied Warren’s watch gleaming in its box. He picked it up and held it for moment, silently mouthing the words, “This one’s for you.” He placed it back in its box, and continued with the work at hand.
The phone rang incessantly, and one of the calls was from Riza. Ms. Potter immediately rang the minister through to Garth.
“Riza!” Garth boomed.
“Congratulations, my friend,” Riza offered. “I understand your project is now officially underway.”
“Riza,” Garth began, “it was the strangest thing. Harris called me into his office yesterday and offered me the permits on a silver platter. It was as if he couldn’t do enough for me. I have no idea what got into him. I only know I have an open line of communication and any help from city hall that I could need. It was strange, very strange.”
Riza was happy to hear the joy in his friend’s voice. “It is as I have always told you, Garth…”
“I know, I know,” Garth interrupted, “Allah will provide.” They both chuckled.
“Now to work, my friend,” Riza continued, “and let me see the renaissance you promised me. I’ve yet to have a bad investment in you.”
“You can be assured,” Garth promised. “Will I see you soon?”
“I shall be in the States at the end of the month, I will talk to you then.” As he hung up the phone in his palatial surroundings, a knowing smile appeared on his face, and his dark eyes twinkled. He made a mental note to reward his people for a job well done.
While Garth and Zoe were reveling in their own good fortune, Josh Lawton was intent upon improving his; he was about to become a free man. He left word with Beckman’s secretary that he would like to see him first thing the next morning. The little video guaranteed a truce for Garth and Zoe. No more interference with their project, not that they needed it anymore. For Josh, it meant his freedom, a trade for the promise he made to his father. His handwritten resignation of services was neatly tucked in his top breast pocket. He hoped this meeting would be brief. Freedom, sweet freedom. Tomorrow, the shackles of Beckman would be gone forever.
PART TWO
Retribution, Coincidence, Kismet, Irony
Chapter 22
The headline read: “Teenage Immigrant Held in Murder of New York Developer.”
“A young man of Eastern European descent is being held in connection with the murder of local developer and entrepreneur Nelson R. Beckman. Beckman was found dead Wednesday morning in the bedroom of his Manhattan penthouse. The body was found bound hand and foot, gagged, and strapped to the developer’s bed. An extension cord was found wrapped around his throat, plugged into a nearby electrical outlet. The body was naked except for a leather tie wrapped around the genital area and tightly knotted.
“The victim’s wife and the Beckmans’ maid discovered the body after Mr. Beckman failed to answer his bedroom door. The suspect was identified by several eyewitnesses, and was discovered in an alley a few blocks from the crime scene, along with twin boys reported to be his brothers. The suspect is being held, pending arraignment and trial, while the twins are being held at a juvenile facility.
“Beckman is survived by his wife Estelle, and his mother Elise.”
Josh’s eyes focused on Beckman’s name is disbelief. After routinely picking up his paper as he had done a thousand times before, on this particular morning, time stood still. His purgatorial state of being had been eradicated in one short headline. Suddenly, his life became infinitely more simple.
Life without Beckman. The delicious thought beckoned a smile to his lips, one he quickly suppressed. Josh had never experienced pleasure at the demise of another human being. It bothered him, until a graphic projection appeared on the horizon of his mind, showing two children being sodomized and beaten by this old monster. He instantly reconsidered his initial remorse. How he died didn’t even matter. Hell, he wasn’t just pleased the bastard was dead, he was spiritually uplifted.
“Harry!” Josh exploded into the phone. “I need you again!”
“Ah gee, Josh, I’m flattered, but my dance card is filled today.”
“Oh, cut the crap, Harry. Have you seen the morning paper?”
“No, let me get it.” They both remained quiet as Harry retrieved his paper from outside his door. “Son of a bitch, the old bastard finally bought the farm.” Harry had not seen the tape of Beckman, so he really didn’t know that Beckman was more than just a slumlord or a run-of-the-mill pervert.
“The boys, I need you to find out about them. Get the two little ones out of juvenile, and check on the older ones’ bail. I’ll have all necessary papers available for you when we find out what we need. I want them released into my custody. If INS gets into the act, it gets pretty hairy. Find out who we have to get to get this thing done.”
“You know this kid, Josh?”
“The two little ones, I do.” The pathetic trio, frightened and gaunt, had been caught on camera huddled close to each other, the older one with protective arms encircling the twins’ shoulders.
“All right, Josh. I’ll rearrange today and I’ll be out of here in fifteen. This may not be easy, you know. This kid iced a pretty big fish.”
“Yeah, I know. After I hear from you, I’ll be down later to talk to the older one.”
Harry was right, this was not just some nameless drunk found in an alley. This was Nelson Randolph Beckman, and Josh was his attorney. The press would be hanging from trees, and following the cops’ every move. The prosecuting attorney was going to love this baby; this was the sort of case that made political careers. Sullivan must be licking his chops. All things considered, the young district attorney was a pretty nice guy. Josh had lunch with him a few times and found he wasn’t a mindless glory seeker. He just did his job, and did it damn wel
l.
Josh finished his coffee, with a thousand questions yet to be answered. He put them on the back burner for now, and prepared himself for the office. He would not got through this day unscathed; after all, he was Nelson Randolph Beckman’s attorney. This was going to be one hell of a day.
Two and a half hours later, Josh received a call from Harry, filling him in on the situation.
“Josh,” a weary-sounding Harry breathed into the phone, “these guys don’t know any more about these kids than when they brought them in. None of them speaks English, and no one in the precinct can communicate with them. They are working on getting an interpreter now. Not that any of them are saying much. They have no identification, of course, and they’re all scared shitless. They are talking about trying the older one as an adult. The two little ones are still over at juvenile.”
“Harry, you did make clear that they have an attorney. If they haven’t said anything up to this point, don’t let them say anything to anyone. I’m on my way with my own interpreter. Until I get there, you claim you are the guardian.”
Harry had difficultly reminding Josh that he was only a private detective, not a miracle worker. He had a few friends on the force, but not as much pull as Josh seemed to think.
As usual, Harry got what he wanted in his own self-deprecating way. Claiming to be the boys’ guardian, he stopped any further interrogation of the older boy until their attorney showed. “No sense in having anyone’s civil rights abused because of ineptitude in the department,” he said, a subtle but effective proclamation to stall any further wheel turning until Josh arrived.
* * *
On the way to the precinct, Josh picked up Gretchen, an instructor at Berlitz and tops in her field. He was lucky to find her with a slow afternoon ahead of her. She was ready in five minutes. Josh had used her on several occasions with overseas contracts — with Beckman, of course, and with several of his other clients. She had little time for levity — or life, for that matter. She was middle-aged and plain, straight down to the horn-rimmed glasses, and seemed content with the life she had chosen. That fertile mind of hers knew every language from ancient Arabic to Zulu. She might be all business, but Josh knew her to be a loving person. Her big, warm, comforting smile would do the job when she came face to face with the children.
Within minutes, they were at the station and behind closed doors, opening channels of communication with the older boy. Josh had stopped long enough to greet Harry and rush him inside with Gretchen and himself. He instructed Gretchen to let the boy know that they were there to help him, and that Josh knew the man he was accused of killing was an evil man. So many things rambled out of his mouth at one time that Gretchen stopped him mid-sentence and asked him to sit down for a few minutes. He was having an unwanted effect on the boy.
Slowly, almost painfully, she brought the boy around. The dull eyes and stone-faced persona began to crumble. He had only spoken to his brothers briefly before the police separated them, and no one except Gretchen was able to get a hint of response from that cold, unyielding stare. It took several languages and dialects before she saw a small flicker of awareness from the stoic face, but she knew she had to use an Eastern European derivation, trying Slovak and Estonian, then Romanian. Then she could feel and see a faint recognition in the eye of someone thinking of a far-off place known as home. Pressing on in a language the boy seemed to relate to, she made him understand that no harm would come to him and his brothers and that this man Josh was here to help them. Far from trusting, the boy at least seemed to foster a small thread of connection between Gretchen and himself. After revealing to her his name, Lech, this young lad — barely beyond a boy and not quite a man — wept.
“He’s had enough, we’re getting him out of here,” Josh interrupted. He asked that Gretchen stay with the boy while he and Harry paid the bail and gathered the other two from juvenile. Within the hour, the boys were all delivered into the hands of Josh Lawton. Before returning Gretchen to her office, he thanked Harry for the extra effort that afternoon. Harry responded with his own “aw shucks” attitude. He told Josh he was heading home for some badly needed shuteye, but said to call if he needed anything.
Chapter 23
The car seemed strangely silent after Josh dropped Gretchen back at her office. As she left, she assured him she would be on call if communication became too tough. Gretchen again gave the three boys a reassuring speech, saying all things would be cleared up, and repeating that Josh would take care of them. She left all four in awkward silence. For Lech, promises of this nature were all too familiar, and never to be trusted or believed.
Josh looked at the hapless trio, especially the two little ones. They were confused, gaunt, and — most of all — frightened. At this point, Josh was a little confused himself. The aura of dread and anticipation from the boys was stifling. They scrutinized him feverishly with those large, terror-stricken doe eyes, as if he were a large cat and they were its dinner. Unable to reassure the boys about his intentions, as he saw no change in their behavior, he picked up his cell phone and called his mother.
“Guess who’s coming to dinner? I’ll see you in an hour or two, with some dinner guests,” he added. “I’ll explain everything when we get there.”
Rachel watched the car pull up with what she considered strange cargo. Puzzlement all but erased her quick smile, though he reached out reassuring arms as she spoke.
“Well, what have we got here?” she said softly, trying to hide her dismay at the sight of the ill-clothed, half-starved children.
“Mother, they can’t speak English, and I don’t know how long it has been since they’ve eaten. They have no home.”
“Shhh, we’ll talk later,” she asserted. “I’ll take care of the little ones.”
Josh took Lech upstairs to the large master bathroom, and was trying to communicate with him when he heard his mother shriek.
“My God! Josh, what is this?”
He arrived in the second bedroom to see his mother’s eyes riveted to the body of the twin she had just stripped for a bath. His torso and private areas were covered in big, blue-and-yellow bruises, surrounded by what appeared to be teeth marks. And there was no question that the marks on his buttocks and chest were burns. The boy stood there exposed without a whimper, his head drawn close to his chest.
“Look at the other one, Mother,” Josh said.
She unclothed the other twin and found his condition the same. Josh had forgotten that it had been less than a week since he had seen these same children savagely used in unspeakable acts by Beckman. Again, revulsion overwhelmed him.
“Go call Dr. Mellon,” his mother thundered. “His number is in the book by the phone. I’m getting these children in a warm bath.”
Dr. Mellon was her neighbor three doors down. He and his wife had retired three years ago, and now spent much of their time on charity work and research.
Lech was at the doorway of the second bedroom, watching in horror as his brothers were exposed to more humiliation. However, this time he seemed to understand that these people were here to help, not harm, them. Josh motioned to Lech to help his mother with the two children while he made the call to Dr. Mellon. As Josh descended the stairs, it occurred to him that the police were so caught up in finding Beckman’s killer that they had failed to take note of the children’s condition.
“When I’m through with them,” Josh thought, “Lech will be a national hero for executing a monster.” After getting the doctor, and hearing his promise to be right over, Josh returned to find that his mother had handed Lech a towel and made him understand that he was to bathe the same way that she was bathing the twins. Josh led him again to the other bathroom. He turned on the shower, handed him the soap, and made sure he understood what he had to do. While Lech was learning the fundamentals of hygiene, Josh dug up some clothes he kept there for weekends.
By five, they were all showered, bathed, powdered, deodorized, and looking halfway human and respectable. Josh ha
d the foresight to photograph the condition of all the children. Dr. Mellon checked them out, and cursed the animal that inflicted this abuse. This was a kind of assault on the human body that he had seen in only a few cases in his long career.
“They’ll be all right, Rachel,” Dr. Mellon assured Josh’s mother. After hearing briefly about their arrest and interrogation, he wrote out a mild prescription to help the boys rest. Turning to Josh, he noted that a report would have to be made. “I’m sure I’ll hear the rest of this when you are ready.”
Josh grasped Dr. Mellon’s huge paw and thanked him in earnest for his prompt response. He marveled as he always did at how this huge man with his mighty arms and hands was the finest in his field, known for his delicate surgical procedures, and inoperable operations he somehow made operable. He was internationally respected, and Josh was proud to know him.
“I’ll call you later, Doc, when this has settled down and we’ll talk.”
Dr. Mellon scooped up his old and worn relic of a black bag, lumbered down the walk, and folded himself into his shiny, red Corvette.
Silence surrounded Josh as he turned from the door. He surmised the missing foursome had found the kitchen. Peeking around the corner, he found the three boys huddled in a corner, eyeing the fresh fruit overflowing a big, wooden bowl on the large island counter in the center of the kitchen. His mother was too busy pulling food from the refrigerator and pantry to catch the look of unabashed hunger in their eyes.
“Mother,” Josh broke into her buzzing about the kitchen. “I know it’s against your religion, but what do you say we take these guys down to the Village for a pizza? You can make them chicken soup later.”
