by Anna Burke
“Down the back stairs, Carla, let’s go!” Jessica was about to let out a sigh of relief, thinking he would leave them behind. That was fine. She and Bernadette could have that fire out as soon as he left. If not, security, the rescue squad and police authorities, maybe even the feds, would be there in a matter of minutes, anyway.
Suddenly, from a pocket in his suit coat, a gun appeared. “You two, move, both of you.” She was about to heave that cup of coffee at him when the sprinkler above her released a deluge. Carla reached out, grabbing her arm and pulling her, not toward the doorway leading to the outer office, but in the opposite direction. A panel in the back wall of Conroy’s office slid open, revealing a set of stairs. Jessica glanced over her shoulder as she turned to follow Carla Fergusson. Conroy was pushing Bernadette ahead of him, pointing that gun right at her. Not again, Jessica thought, as they headed down those stairs, going somewhere she didn’t want to go, at the behest of a well-dressed thug.
While making their way down twelve flights of stairs, to an underground parking garage, Jessica pondered the events of the last few moments reviewing Conroy’s words: ‘heave-ho,’ ‘shove off’, ‘launch plan B,’ passports and money... She knew where they were heading if they could run the gauntlet of police and get away. The feds would seal off Pinnacle's parking garage, so they might not even get out of the garage.
When they got down to the parking garage level, they did not stop, but kept going. Down another two levels, to a door that led from the stairwell to an underground tunnel. An old maintenance tunnel, thankfully, rather than the sewer system. They walked through those tunnels for a few minutes, turning several times, before exiting through a set of doors, leading into another stairwell. An even more rickety set of stairs than those leading from Eric Conroy’s office, awaited them. After climbing two flights, they passed through a door that Conroy struggled to open. That led into what looked like an abandoned parking garage. Hard to believe such a thing existed in a megacity desperate for room to park cars. With that little walk in the warm tunnels, Jessica felt less soggy, although her new suit was a goner and her hair was hanging in her eyes. Bernadette was in much better shape. Standing off to the left and moving out of the way quickly, she had missed the worst of the downpour that had drenched Jessica.
An older model Mercedes sedan sat off to the side of the decrepit garage. Conroy motioned for Jessica and Bernadette to move to the car and get into the back. He took both of their purses and handed them to Carla Fergusson. She climbed into the driver’s seat as he got into the passenger seat, still holding that gun.
“Lock them in,” he ordered. Carla Fergusson clicked the child locks, so that Jessica and Bernadette had no way to escape from the back seat. He waved that gun at them.
“No monkey business, you two, and I’ll let you go. Let’s just hope, for your sake, this doesn’t become a hostage situation.” He smiled a cruel smile. Who was he kidding? This was a hostage situation. Jessica plotted to get that purse back. In the meantime, she would do what she could. When Conroy shifted in his seat, facing forward, Jessica nudged Bernadette. Opening the sling, a little, she let Bernadette glimpse her cell phone secreted there. With the sound off, she had felt it buzz a couple of times. Peter could track them using the GPS in her cell phone, but she hoped she could text him their destination. Minutes later, she got her chance.
They had arrived at the exit from the poorly lit garage. A pad-locked chain-link gate and bright orange traffic cones blocked their way. “Hang on,” Conroy said, jumping from his seat and pulling a key to the padlock from his pants pocket.
“This guy thinks of everything, doesn’t he, Carla?” Bernadette asked, leaning forward a little. Jessica slid the phone out as Bernadette kept talking. “Can we get a little air back here? Maybe you could turn on the air conditioning or open the windows. It’s stuffy. I’m sweating, and my heart’s still pounding after all those stairs. Even going down them is hard for an old lady like me. I don't want to pass out on you...”
While Bernadette rattled on, Carla fidgeted with the air conditioning. Eric Conroy had that chain unlocked and was pulling it out of the way. As Eric moved the orange cones, Jessica slid her phone out and typed one word: MARINA. When the text was on its way to Peter, she slid the phone back into the sling. Then she patted Bernadette on the shoulder. Bernadette settled back against her seat as Eric opened the door and climbed in.
“That’s much better, gracias, Carla.”
“What’s much better?” Conroy asked, as he fastened his seat belt.
“We’ve got the AC on, Eric. It was stuffy in the backseat.” He shrugged as Carla pulled forward, out of the garage, and merged with traffic on the road. As far as Jessica could tell, their little detour underground had taken them several blocks from Pinnacle. Carla Fergusson drove with care, leaving downtown L.A. behind. She did not get on the freeway, but stuck with side streets until she got to Santa Monica Boulevard, heading west toward the ocean. The Sweet Retreat, anchored in Marina Del Rey, wasn't far away. Twenty minutes, maybe, for Peter to pick them up, via GPS, or to run down the information on Eric Conroy’s yacht, or both. Jessica glanced sideways at Bernadette. Her lips were moving as she prayed. Rosary beads, the beautiful crystal beads her beloved Guillermo had given her before he disappeared, were in her fingers. God, please listen to her. This is on me, not her, so mercy, please?
As soon as they turned onto Santa Monica Boulevard, Conroy had called ahead to the crew of the Sweet Retreat. “This is Eric. I’ll be there in twenty minutes, and I expect you to be ready to head out, got it?” He had just ended the call when his phone rang.
“Yeah, Kirk, I know, I know. We got out of there just in time. Thanks for the heads up.” He paused, listening to Kirk. “I’ll send it to you. You know I’m good for it. I won’t even ding you, either, for not getting the job done.” That must have set Kirk off because Eric Conroy held the phone away from his ear. He let Kirk go on for another minute or two, said goodbye, and ended the call. His phone rang several more times before they arrived at the marina, but he did not pick it up again.
Not too many places could provide anchorage for a 100 foot yacht, like The Sweet Retreat. It was easy to spot. When Carla parked the Mercedes, Conroy had that gun out again, motioning for them to get out. This is ridiculous, Jessica thought.
“Eric, I’m not sure what you have in mind, but you don’t need us. Not both of us, anyway. Let Bernadette stay put here in the car. Lock her in the back seat, and she won't be able to get out.” While they were talking, Bernadette scooted forward, reached into the front seat and picked up both of their purses.
He was chewing the bottom of his lip again, perhaps considering what she said. “Get out, both of you. When we’re at sea, we’ll put you in a dinghy and you can paddle your way back. It’s the least I can do, as much trouble as you’ve caused me, according to that idiot Carr, anyway.” He waited for Jessica to join Bernadette. She helped Jessica put the strap from her shoulder bag over head, cross-body style.
“Move it,” Conroy barked. He motioned toward the dock. The Sweet Retreat sat in deep water at the end of a long, narrow floating walkway that wobbled as they trudged to the yacht. They had to walk single file, with Carla in the lead and Eric bringing up the rear. On either side were smaller boats moored along the way. Jessica could glimpse parallel walkways on either side, too. She hoped she might spot Peter and, for a second thought she saw a figure off to her left. When they arrived at the yacht, Eric Conroy stepped ahead of them. That's when Plan B went overboard, so to speak.
“Put that gun away, Eric. This is a mutiny,” Andrea Jessop said, laughing as she and a crew member on board the yacht peered down at him. Each held guns of their own—big guns. When he hesitated, Carla Fergusson got into the act.
“I’d listen to the ‘dried up old maid’, if I were you, Eric.” She was holding a gun on the man now, too.
“What the... ?” Before he could finish, a bullet zinged past them. They all hit the ground. Eric
’s gun flew away, landing in the water with a splash. Jessica’s ribs were screaming as she landed with a thud on the bag she wore. As soon as she could see straight, she looked around for cover. At the same time, she tried to figure out who had fired that shot. On a parallel walkway, she could see the figure of a young woman, in a baggy shirt and sweat pants.
“Dick’s dead, and it’s all your fault!” Shannon Donnelly cried out, her hands shaking with rage or some other intense emotion. She had a gun aimed right at Jessica. Eric Conroy, egoist that he was, did not get it. He assumed she was talking to him.
“What are you talking about? I had nothing to do with Dick Carr’s death. It was Dr. Dick’s idea to take you out, too, so don’t blame me for that, either.” He was getting back up on his knees, from the prone position he had taken when Shannon Donnelly fired the first shot. “How come you’re still alive?” Jessica wondered about that, too, as she motioned Bernadette to scoot back, putting a boat in a slip to their left in between her and Shannon. Bernadette did that, but also pointed at Jessica’s bag.
“Liar, liar,” Shannon Donnelly said, firing wildly. This time she was shooting at Conroy, with no more success than she had when shooting at Jessica. He let out a grunt as he did a belly flop, flattening himself out on the walkway. That set the walkway to bobbing again. Jessica was getting seasick, as she scooted backwards toward Bernadette. “He said you were a liar. So did Libby, you red devil. Dick wouldn't kill me. We were in love.” More bullets flew, hitting the water and pinging off the side of the yacht.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Eric Conroy shrieked. He grabbed at his leg as he scrambled toward Carla Fergusson. Wrestling her gun free, he punched her hard in the face. She rolled off the walkway into the water. Andrea, without regard for gunfire, slid over the side of the yacht and pulled Carla’s head up out of the water. The two bobbed alongside the walkway.
In the distance, Jessica could hear sirens wailing. The beating blades of a helicopter could be heard, closing in on their position. Help would get here too late for Shannon Donnelly, though, if she didn’t do something, quick. Jessica reached into her purse and removed her father's gun. She had taken it back from Bernadette that night after they left Malibu.
Eric Conroy was up on his knees. Crying and screaming, Shannon Donnelly was pulling the trigger, but had no more bullets in her gun. Eric took aim. Propping herself up on her cast, Jessica steadied her right hand, aimed at Conroy’s backside and fired. She may have hit him, but it was hard to tell. Another shot came from that crew member up on deck who had taken cover from the salvo of bullets fired by Shannon Donnelly, but was now back on his feet. He shot at Eric Conroy maybe a split second after Jessica fired her gun. The blast that killed Conroy, though, came from a sniper rifle held by a man wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.
“Nobody calls me Kierkegaard,” he had shouted before taking that shot. With that, he tipped his hat and tore off in a speedboat. Eric Conroy lay still. Shannon Donnelly sank to her knees, immobilized by emotion, not gunfire, because Eric Conroy had not fired the gun he held. Sirens could be heard everywhere, close now. The helicopter that was almost overhead veered away to follow the sniper. In minutes, Peter was storming toward them, followed by Brien and an army of officers from various jurisdictions. Police and EMTs pounded down the walkway toward Shannon Donnelly too.
“Hang on, Ethel!” Jessica hollered, as that walkway bounced.
“You too, Lucy,” Bernadette replied.
Epilogue
Jessica rode a rollercoaster of emotions as she sat on the patio in Rancho Mirage. The bucolic setting lulled her, filling her with gratitude as she gazed at happy golfers at play. Mountains provided a picture perfect backdrop to the manicured golf course. A gentle breeze caused palms to sway and carried laughter with it. That she and Bernadette were safe, unharmed by Conroy’s malice or the barrage of bullets that took his life, was reason for gladness. Still the confusion and terror she had experienced lingered. The depths of depravity and stupidity represented by that confrontation at the Sweet Retreat was hard to believe! “A ship of fools,” she muttered, counting herself among the fools.
It had been a week since that showdown. Authorities were still sorting out all that had gone on that day, and all that had led up to that dramatic end to Eric Conroy’s life. Various jurisdictions were tugging at different threads tangled up with Carr and Conroy’s web of deceit, hoping to catalog the crimes and understand their schemes. Understand was the wrong word. Could you ever do that? Jessica wondered. Understand the harm visited on the world by ruthless men in positions of power?
“Earth to Jessica,” Tommy said, waving from the swimming pool as he spoke. “Do you want to do this or not?” The Cat Pack, assembled on the sprawling patio, was there to debrief. And eat, of course. Caterers were preparing their meal in the home's roomy kitchen while they sat around with drinks, talking. She had already revisited the events that occurred at Pinnacle and the marina. The media, drawn by gunfire and police, had arrived in droves once word got out that angel heiress was in trouble again. They broadcast parts of the story over and over again.
“Sure, Tommy, where should we begin?”
“How about we start with Sally Winchester? Tommy and I have information about that diary,” Jerry said as he floated in the pool on a lounger.
“Yes, I suppose it makes as much sense as anything to start with Sally Winchester,” Jessica sighed. “So far, she seems to be the only dead daughter, despite our fears that Shannon Donnelly was dead and that Libby might not make it. Sally Winchester was the victim of a ruthless collaboration between Carr and Conroy. Each had his own scheme running when the two found each other. As we figured, Carr was using young women to extort money from his clients’ parents by alleging child sexual abuse based on recovered memories. Conroy put a new twist on that scheme by using Carr’s extortion methods to control board members at Pinnacle. That included Ned Donnelly and Dorothy Winchester, and several others. The IPO wasn’t Conroy’s only strategy to profit from his position at Pinnacle. Another gambit involved a longer con—skimming money from Pinnacle, falsifying financial documents, and hiding money offshore.”
“We may never know how big a scheme Carr ran on his own, and in league with that red devil Conroy. A lot of his missing files are back, retrieved from the case records management service Carr used. That was a great idea, Betsy, to look for a service like that after Conroy had Carr's home and office cleaned out,” Jerry commented. Betsy smiled as she sat next to Peter.
“Yeah, that was a good one. Who even knew such a service existed?” Peter was smiling now, too.
“Thanks, all. Glad I could help.” Betsy took the praise in stride, but Jessica saw her wink at Peter, causing his smile to widen. Cat Pack investigations and matchmaking services, Jessica thought, gazing at the newest twosome to emerge among her friends. She tried not to look at Frank in a moment of weakness created by Peter and Betsy's flirting. Frank was in swimming trunks and had thrown a shirt on when he climbed out of the pool. It was open, exposing a well-muscled chest. His hair, still wet and unruly, glistened. Shoot, Jessica said to herself. She was looking at him and he caught her. Where was I, she wondered, as she tore her eyes from his.
“The Beverly Hills PD is trying to figure out how to make those records available to families that want to sue for malpractice. I’m not sure how much luck they’ll have filing claims against Carr’s insurance company now that he’s dead. Once the story got out about the false allegations and extortion racket Carr had going, the outcry began. When the moneyed raise a ruckus, the justice system takes notice, so who knows? There are more Libbys and Shannons, so maybe more dead daughters like Sally Winchester, but let's hope not. The police are picking up where you left off, Laura, checking on admissions to ERs in the L.A. area with Dr. Richard Carr as the admitting physician. I suppose that will dredge up horrific issues for families who lost someone to an overdose in his care. Hopefully, they’ll come forward, too. At least there won’t be any more�
�not from Carr or Conroy’s dirty dealing, anyway.” Disgust must have registered on her face.
“That’s something, Jessica. You can’t track down every desperado in couture,” Tommy quipped. He was being playful, but this had stressed them all out. Jerry jumped in.
“It’s no small feat you spotted those financial irregularities at Pinnacle, Jessica, when the SEC didn’t.”
“I was looking at it all from a different angle, Jerry. They presume a guy like Bernie Madoff, or the CEOs at big companies like Enron are on the up and up until things get so bad their schemes go belly up or someone blows the whistle. I knew Eric Conroy was up to no good. Besides the SEC doesn’t have the resources or mandate to run checks on the character of people who put corporate financial documents together. They were put on to Conroy the way most of these guys get on the feds radar—ratted out by an insider. Sally Winchester, in this case.”
“Was that in her diary we retrieved from Father Caverly? You got a look at it before turning it over to the feds. The only thing we know is that Sally Winchester gave that diary to Father Caverly a few days before she died.”
“Yes, she had figured out that Carr and Conroy were in cahoots and planning to rip off investors with that IPO. Sally was angry and confused even after Eric Conroy ended their relationship, but she wasn’t sure what to do. For some unknown reason, she still had feelings for that dirt bag. She was in deep, that’s for sure—first love and all that. The diary is one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever read. Sally Winchester was on cloud nine when the year began and plummeted into her own private hell. She admits Conroy put her up to extorting her parents—not for money, but to get Dottie to resign from the board. There may be others, besides Dottie Winchester and Ned Donnelly, victimized in that way by Carr and Conroy.” Jessica paused and caught her breath.
