Forgotten Place

by LS Sygnet

  "He approved the extradition that day, or you got the tip that day?"

  "Both," Johnny said. "We're talking about the murder of an assistant district attorney, Doc. The police were committed. The public wanted justice. So Ned and I flew out. It took a day to process, so we got back here the fourth, and Southerby died on the fifth."

  "So McNamara died the same day you left to extradite Southerby?"

  "I think it was the next morning," Johnny said.

  Maya pulled the autopsy report out of her attaché case. "Date of death was January third. But you missed the funeral? How is that possible?"

  "I don't see where the two of you are going with this," Johnny said.

  "Billy," Maya ignored Johnny for the moment, "who assisted Dr. Storm on Mr. McNamara's autopsy?"

  "I... uh... nobody."

  "So he performed a complete postmortem examination on the day McNamara died, determined heart failure, collected all the samples required to rule out any other cause, processed them, did this completely alone and was able to release the body for burial the next day? I doubt he'd even be embalmed that quickly."

  "Maya, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

  She nodded at me. "Harry McNamara should be exhumed immediately. We may not have Southerby's body, but we have his."

  "Wait, I thought he died of natural causes. The guy was sixty years old," Johnny said.

  Maya's curls tossed about her head. "You don't get it, Johnny. There's no way that Riley Storm could've done what he claimed to do that quickly to rule natural causes or anything else. We don't know what killed McNamara. If it was natural causes, why the rush to bury him so fast?"

  "Aren't most funerals a few days after someone dies?" Zack asked.

  "Who was buried first, Ireland with his obvious cause of death, or McNamara?" I asked.

  Johnny stared hard at me. "David's funeral wasn't held until a week and a half after his murder. It was before Harry's but you made your point. McNamara was as Catholic as I am. There wasn't some religious rush to bury his remains." He clenched one fist and bounced it on his thigh. "We were so wrapped up with Southerby, his death and then the weirdness that followed that nobody even questioned it."

  "Not even his wife?" Maya asked.

  "I honestly don't know," Johnny said. "She's still around. Maybe we should talk to her about his health. If she wasn't surprised by it –"

  "I can do one better," Maya interrupted. "Let's call Shelly. She can access the database where fitness for duty reports are kept. Surely if McNamara had a heart condition, it would've been well documented."

  "Go call her now," I said.

  Maya bounced into the kitchen and returned immediately. "Guess I'll have to use my cell phone. The kitchen phone appears to be missing."

  "You thought I was kidding?"

  She grabbed her cell and disappeared.

  "There could be a logical reason for the quick funeral," I said. "But having been through the planning process personally, I know it doesn't necessarily happen at the speed of light. When my mother died, it was a Thursday night. We didn't have the wake until Sunday, and the funeral was Monday morning. It took time to arrange the religious nonsense, to pick flowers and a casket. She was embalmed quick enough, I suppose, but an autopsy hadn't been necessary. The cause of death was obvious."

  Johnny reached for my hand, hesitated and ultimately withdrew. "If Harry died on the third, burying him on the fourth was rushed. I agree, Doc. He could've made arrangements for his funeral long before he died so Lucille wouldn't have to deal with it. My dad did the same thing. He didn't count on Mom going first."

  "Shelly's looking it up right now," Maya called out from the living room. "Or rather she's got one of the sergeants on the line looking it up for her. She wants to know why she wasn't invited to the meeting tonight."

  "Ned, you were at Downey sixteen years ago. Did you go to McNamara's funeral?"

  He nodded. "It was friggin' huge, Helen. They held the service downtown at St. Angelo's Cathedral. It's the big one not far from Central Division."

  "Did you see his widow at the service?"

  "Sure," he said. "She was your typical grief stricken woman. If McNamara's health was ailing, she certainly didn't act like his death was expected."

  "Maya's right. We need an order to exhume that body so Maya can tell us how he really died," I said.

  Johnny nudged me with his shoulder. "What are you thinking, Doc?"

  When I first arrived in Darkwater Bay, the police commissioner and chief of police confided in me regarding a sensitive situation that could impact their jobs. Neither man had stepped forward and publicly confessed, so I had no reason to believe they weren't still being blackmailed. Jerry Lowe wasn't the puppet master; at least we never uncovered evidence to prove that he was. At the same time, he was corrupt enough not to require an enticement to look the other way where criminal activities were concerned.

  Had I thoroughly considered the possibility that Datello was the man behind the curtain making sure nothing changed at Central Division? Could it be that McNamara wouldn't play the game and ended up paying the ultimate price for being incorruptible?

  "Who was the chief of police and police commissioner at the time of McNamara's death?" I asked.

  "Don Weber and George Hardy. They've been there for years, Helen," Ned said.

  "I really need a telephone," I said. "I mean really need my cell phone, Johnny. This isn't about calling in reinforcements to get you out of my house."

  "All right, Doc." He pulled out his cell. "I don't have George's number stored, but I've got Don's. Is that good enough?"

  "I need to make this call in private."

  "Now is not the time for you to be secretive," Johnny said. "Helen, we need to know –"

  "If I'm right, you'll know soon enough. Everyone will. I owe them the courtesy of bracing for impact before they're blindsided."

  When Weber answered the phone, I think he knew why I was calling the second he heard my voice. He confirmed the timeline for me. The blackmail started six months before David Ireland was murdered and McNamara died under questionable circumstances. I asked if he knew why Harry's funeral had been such a rush job.

  "We assumed Lucille wanted to put everything behind her as quickly as possible, Helen. It was such a shock to the community. Harry McNamara was a legend on the force. In fact, I had no doubt that if he had applied for the position of chief of police, he would've gotten the job instead of me."

  "Maybe he knew his health wasn't up to the task."

  "Nonsense," Donald said. "Harry was strong as a horse. We were stunned to learn he had a heart condition."

  "He wasn't aware of the problem?"

  "I can vouch for that myself."

  "If our suspect is the one blackmailing you and George, we may not be able to control how the information comes out, Don. I'm sorry for that."

  "Don't be. I can't speak for George, but I took your advice to heart. My family knows the truth, Helen. My children are adults, and I think they're relieved to finally have their suspicions confirmed."

  "But not your wife."

  "No," he said. "Her solution was a divorce attorney. I'd rather do right and remove the threat hanging over my head than continue with the status quo."

  I thought of the guillotine looming over my neck and wondered if I had the guts to follow my own advice. Then again, Weber's lie was silence. Mine involved a hell of a lot more than that. His coercion was a moral matter, not a criminal one.

  Chapter 17

  Johnny shooed everyone out of the house by ten-thirty and ensconced Ned in my office with the paperwork Zack brought in a large box.

  "Zack tried to back out of Saturday night," Johnny said. "I took care of it."

  "Do I even want to know what that means?"

  "He's picking you up at five-thirty as planned. Tell me what Don said."

  "The blackmail started about six months prior to McNamara's death. I have no doubt that Maya will find that there w
as nothing natural about his death when she gets his remains exhumed tomorrow. We already verified two sources that confirmed he had no preexisting heart condition."

  "You have a theory about why he died, don't you?"

  I nodded. "The day before, he authorized the extradition of Mitch Southerby. Instead of letting things play out, a decision was made. McNamara would continue to be a problem beyond Southerby. Jerry Lowe would not."

  "Jesus," Johnny slumped onto the chaise by my bed. "Datello was willing to do anything he could to keep the police under his thumb."

  "He's still working the same angle, Johnny. Zack told me about his efforts to find a suitable challenger to Collangelo in the next governor's race. He wants to make sure that OSI stays out of the way, especially now that he knows who OSI really is. I'm sorry that my rash decision with the Jackson's resulted in another mess –"

  "Helen, don't apologize for that. I'm not sorry things played out the way they did. I don't regret blowing my cover. It was more important to me that I was able to go to the hospital and be with you than deal with a bunch of bullshit red tape that would've raised more questions anyway."

  "Your career would be in a much better place if you'd never met me."

  "I met you before Darkwater Bay, Helen," he reminded me.

  "You should've let Zack back out of our date Saturday night. If the reactions of my friends have been this drastic, I don't think I want to see what the rest of my brothers and sisters in blue think of the transformation." I perched on the edge of the bed and traced rose patterns on the duvet with the tip of my finger. "I wasn't sure I was in the mood for a social thing anyway."

  "Why did you agree to go?"

  I shrugged.

  "Helen?"

  "I think I got goaded into it a little bit. He kept insisting that I would probably rather go with you when I turned him down, and then... well..."

  "You decided to go and show me, huh?"

  "A little bit."

  "I have a date too," he said.

  "Oh."

  "She runs the security thing."

  "I see." My mind tried to wrap around what he was doing camped out at my house and how it fit with his decision to give up on me. Figuring out how I felt about it was impossible.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Fine. Tired I guess." I picked at a loose thread. "You really meant it when you said you'd let me go when I get my strength back, didn't you?"

  "If that's what you want, and I think you've made it pretty clear that it is, I don't see any way I can convince you to stay here, Doc. Even as broken and weary as you are right now, you're still valuable to us. You have the ability to help us look at these crimes in different ways. We're better for your presence, Helen, no matter how much you hate me, or yourself for what happened in the past."

  "I uh... I lied to you, Johnny."

  "Color me surprised. What about this time?"

  "It's not something recent. About my father. I lied about Wendell."

  "Oh?"

  "I don't hate him, Johnny. I know I should, but he's my father. He's all I have left."

  "I knew you lied when you said it, Doc. You wouldn't be the woman I – well, the one that I know if you really hated him."

  There was no graceful segue to what I really needed to confess. He needed to understand that the FBI was coming after me again. Johnny would be livid if he learned about the phone hidden and charging upstairs. I could tell him that Avery Ritter showed up at the gate without outing my only mode of communication to the world without his knowledge.

  "Something happened while you were gone today, and I didn't tell you about it because... well, frankly I was concerned how you would react to hearing it."

  "I'm waiting."

  He seemed pretty damned calm, which should've tipped me off but didn't. "The FBI was here."

  "At the house," not a question.

  I nodded. "Not Seleeby again, this was some guy I don't know. Avery Ritter. He wanted to talk to me about the shooting in October."

  Orion still showed no outward reaction. "I see. Did you agree to speak to him?"

  "Not immediately," I said. "It isn't like I could let him in the house for a cup of coffee and a chat, is it? Or did you prefer that I create more questions by letting the FBI see that I'm a prisoner in my own home?"

  "Hmm," he nodded. "And that's it?"

  "You're awfully calm. I tell you that the bureau is nosing around my shooting like it's linked to Marcos and –"

  "You never mentioned that part. How do they think it relates to Sully?"

  This would be tricky. "I guess they kept digging into that waste management business after the gun was found and suspected some kind of link to terrorism. Maybe Marcos was selling his fertilizer and biogas to people who wanted to use it for nefarious reasons, I don't know."

  "Well, I wouldn't worry about it, Helen. David Levine called and left several messages about it."

  Shit. "Oh?"

  "Yes, the early ones were a head's up that Ritter was coming. The one he left this afternoon was that it was acceptable to Agent Soule that you have this official sit down with them after our case closes. Naturally, I called David back and explained what was really going on out here."

  A sensation of pin pricks followed my spine from base to the back of my brain. "You knew all along and didn't tell me."

  "Two things motivated my silence. First and foremost, I didn't want another fight on my hands, particularly since you've stopped dragging your heels about eating on a regular schedule. Second, I hoped that you would tell me about it, which you did." Johnny stared at me with some lingering suspicion. "Ready to admit the rest of it?"

  "I had an old prepaid cell phone upstairs in one of the boxes of storage," I muttered. "It's plugged in charging right now."

  "Were you planning to use it to get away from me?"

  "What? No, of course not!"

  "Is that the truth?"

  "I panicked after Ritter showed up. And why wouldn't I? You left me stranded here without any means of communication, any way to get out, any protection."

  "So shooting an FBI agent crossed your mind?"

  "What if it had been someone else, Johnny? What if Datello finally decided he's had enough of my presence in town, or that he couldn't live with the abomination of my continued existence? He sent a card and flowers after the shooting."

  That got his attention. "What did it say, Helen?" He perched on the edge of the chaise, eyes glowing with intensity.

  "It was nothing really, but enough to make me uncomfortable knowing that he's paying attention to what I'm doing."

  "Tell me what the card said."

  I shrugged. "Peace for Rick at last. Now we know who took him from us."

  "Helen..."

  "I know, all right? Franchetta is a kept pet for Uncle Sully. There's no way he bought the story that Sully put a hit out on Rick."

  "Are you positive?"

  Frustration bubbled up the back of my throat. "Family means something more to these people than it does to the rest of the world."

  "And in a sense, it means less. You know Datello's family tree at least as well as I do."

  "You're talking about Rick and how he fit into –"

  "No, I'm talking about Datello's parents. His father was expendable. He wasn't a blood relative."

  "Meaning what exactly?" I frowned. This was unexpected.

  "Helen, I thought you knew everything there was to know about Rick and Danny and Sully Marcos. How could you not know the history of Danny's father?"

  "So fill in the blanks."

  "Antonio Datello worked as an underboss for Sully Marcos a very long time ago. That was how he met Sully's sister Carmella. They allegedly fell in love and got married."

  "Danny was born in Darkwater Bay, Johnny. He didn't turn up on the east coast until his mid-teens."

  "Uh-huh. Carmella wanted to get away from her brother, from the trouble that Antonio was always finding, so she relocated to the city where Antonio's
parents lived. Darkwater Bay."

  "I don't –"

  "Danny started finding trouble as a teen out here, Helen. I clearly remember when the sisters expelled him from school for dousing the altar in the chapel with alcohol and setting it on fire. His parents claimed that it wasn't Danny's fault, that some other boys had goaded him into doing it, but the sisters were firm."

  "How much older is he than you are?"

  "Five or six years."

  "Same number of years that separated him from Rick," I mused.

  "So one day, they were simply gone. What I know now is that Papa Datello resumed his position with Sully on the east coast, and they decided that the strong influence of a man who had no patience for such shenanigans – particularly those directed toward the church – would be the best thing possible for young Daniel."

  "The Catholic thing."

  "Yeah, the Catholic thing, which was and probably still is a double whammy for the Marcos women at least, considering their Irish-Italian lineage."

  "How does this –"

  "Urban legend has it that Datello's father had a hard time adjusting to life under his brother in law's thumb again. I understand that fifteen years of unfettered freedom can do that to a man."

  "He had Datello killed," the words thudded from my lips like bricks dropping onto the dirt from the roof.

  "No evidence, but Antonio Datello was shot in the back of the head, actually behind one ear, when Danny was seventeen years old. Uncle Sully rattled his saber and demanded justice for the lawless behavior that led to the murder of one of his own, but it was clearly a mob hit."

  My voice dropped to a whisper. "A twenty-two caliber weapon?"

  Johnny rubbed one eye vigorously. "Yeah, so I'm sure Rick's death dredged up a pretty bitter old memory for Danny-boy."

  "And you're telling me that Antonio Datello was fair game because he was family by marriage."

  "Which made Rick blood only to Danny, not Sully."

  "I don't know," I shook my head. "Blood ties wouldn't mean squat to either one of them if it was a choice between freedom and prison."

  "I can promise you one thing. After Danny's father was murdered by an assailant hiding in the back of his Cadillac one dark, wintry night and the whispers pointed straight at Uncle Sully as the man behind the deed, Danny got the message loud and clear. Blood is blood. Marriage does not a family make."