by LS Sygnet
I figured there was more than a little bit of blame involved as well. Florence’s mother was relegated to the grave when the new Mrs. Sherman arrived on the scene five years ago. It could be an ace waiting to be played, if Florence suddenly became reticent again.
Crevan’s soft laugh jerked me back into the here and now. “Why does it worry me so much when I can hear the gears in your head grinding while you drift away to God knows where?”
“Because you listened to your paranoid ex-partner for too long. What makes him think it was such an unusual reaction when Johnny almost died?”
“I was there too, Helen. I understood why you wanted to kill Mitch Southerby. Don’t deny it. On that point, Tony and I agreed completely.”
“And the contention?”
“I don’t believe you’d have actually done it.”
Oh my dear, blind friend. “Well, he deserves to rot in prison. I was afraid Johnny would die, and that it was my fault.”
“It was your fault. Which is why I hope whatever you were so silently plotting a moment ago doesn’t involve sneaking off to figure out if your next great burst of insight pans out. I think Johnny has sufficiently proved to you and the rest of the world that he will take the hit if that’s what it takes to protect you.”
Crevan had no idea how much stronger Johnny’s instinct would become over the coming months. I absently rubbed my belly.
“More nausea?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re… ” Crevan mimed the movement of my hand.
“Oh, yeah, I guess. There’s a lot of pressure to get this right, and we’re wasting time.”
“You’ll do great with her, Helen.” He thrust the photo array into my hand. “I’ll be on the other side of the mirror.”
“Thanks.”
We sent one of the administrative assistants out to McDonald’s for Florence’s favorite meal – a plain hamburger, small fries and a carton of milk. I thought about the challenge her fluctuating mental status would wreak on Zack’s prosecution of Melissa Sherman. Perhaps the knowledge that Eugene was dead would continue to swing the odds in our favor.
I pushed the door open. Florence had finished her meal and carefully stored the debris in the paper bag. She peered at me with wide eyes.
“Remember when I told you I wanted you to look at some pictures, Florence?”
She nodded.
I moved to the table and sat beside her again. “Do you recognize any of these people?”
Her eyes carefully examined each photograph while the expression remained inscrutable. “No, ma’am,” she finally spoke. “I’ve never seen any of these people before in my life. Who are they?”
It’s ingrained from the beginning of law enforcement. We don’t answer questions, we ask them. Even thought I firmly believed that Florence Payette had the emotional maturity of a pre-pubescent girl, it didn’t strip me of years of instinct.
“Can we talk some more about the day you saved the baby from the hospital?”
She sighed. “But I already told you everything, Ms. Helen.”
“I don’t want to talk about how you got Sofia out of the hospital,” I said. “I’d like you to tell me what happened to her after that.”
Her forehead scrunched. “I don’t know.”
“You said before that you put her in your bag and took her downstairs.”
“Yes.”
“So you left a helpless little baby alone outside in the cold until your shift ended?”
“Of course not! I would never hurt a… ” her voice faded, but recognition flashed in her eyes. “Oh. You want to know about the man who took the baby home to Ms. Sherman.”
“So it was a man, and not Ms. Sherman who took the baby from the hospital?”
She nodded.
“Had you ever seen him before?”
Florence’s shoulders caved inward. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “Is he going to hurt me if I say something he doesn’t want me to say?”
“You are perfectly safe here. I won’t let anyone hurt you. None of the police will let anyone hurt you.”
“Not all the police,” she whispered.
“Florence, are you sure you’ve never seen any of these men before?”
She tucked her chin to her chest. “Maybe.”
I wanted to scream ah-ha at the top of my lungs. “Florence, are you afraid to tell me because this man is a police officer?”
Another nod.
“He can’t hurt you. I promise.”
Teary eyes lifted. “How can you promise he won’t hurt me, Ms. Helen? He’s a very powerful man.”
“In what way?”
“FBI,” she whispered.
I hoped the microphone recording our interactions was sensitive enough to pick up the bare utterance. Just in case, “Did you say he is with the FBI?”
“Yes.”
“Florence, do you see his picture on this card?”
She pointed to Alfred Preston, and then Florence crushed my hopes. “But he’s not the one that took the little baby from me at work.”
We’d have to come back to it. I made a subtle phone gesture to my ear, prayed a silent prayer that Crevan understood Johnny and Zack needed the information now, and refocused on Florence.
“If he didn’t take the baby, what makes you think he would hurt you?”
“Because he worked for Mr. Sherman too, ma’am.” The childlike voice returned. “And I wasn’t supposed to hide in the den while Mr. Sherman had visitors.”
“Florence, this man,” I tapped Preston’s photo, “can’t hurt anyone anymore. I promise you.”
“Because he died?”
“Yes.”
“The other one…?”
“Do you know his name? Was he the man who took the baby from you?”
“He was Ms. Sherman’s friend,” Florence clarified. “Mr. Sherman didn’t like him very much at all.”
“Can you tell me what he looked like?”
“Young,” she whispered. “Ms. Sherman thought he was handsome.”
“Do you know his name?”
“No,” she shook her head slowly.
“Florence, this is very important. Did the man who took the baby from you work with him?” I pointed to Preston again. “Was he a police officer too?”
“I don’t know. He wore a suit. And cowboy boots. I mostly saw him when Mr. Sherman wasn’t at home. He would come see Ms. Sherman and they would… they would go to her room. I couldn’t hide in there.”
“All right, Florence. You were very brave to tell me these things. I only have one more question. If you lived in the apartment here in Darkwater Bay and worked at the hospital, how did you see all of these people that came to visit Mr. Sherman?”
“Mostly, he made me come home when I wasn’t at work. Mr. Sherman said I couldn’t be by myself all the time.”
“But for the past few weeks, you weren’t allowed to go home?”
“No,” she said, “But Ms. Sherman sent her friend to stay with me.”
“Who was her friend?”
Florence shrugged. “Sarah. Her name is Sarah.”
My heart rate accelerated. “Do you know her last name?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “Maybe. I only heard it once or twice. She left the day I called Ms. Sherman and told her that the baby was born.”
“What do you think her last name was?”
“Homes?”
“Holmes?”
Florence stared at the table. “I’m not so good with names, Ms. Helen. I remember yours though. Mr. Sherman was awfully excited when you came to Darkwater Bay.”
Crevan’s stare might well have peeled the paint off the walls, it shattered through the two-way mirror with such force.
Only a second later did I learn I was wrong. Johnny burst through the door snarling. “Why would that son of a bitch know who Helen is?”
And that was effectively the end of Florence’s willingness to talk to me, or anyone else at OSI.
> “Good job, Johnny. You scared the hell out of her.”
“Get her back up here, Crevan.”
“No,” I laid a restraining hand on his chest. “You’ll leave the poor terrified girl in peace, Crevan. If she wants to talk to me, she’ll tell someone. God only knows what she might’ve said had Johnny kept his wits about him.”
“Helen, we can’t ignore that she was familiar with who you are,” Johnny argued.
“And you can’t take back your horrible behavior and make her trust that you’re not one of the bad cops. What’re you doing here so soon? Please tell me the judge didn’t ignore the evidence and let Sherman walk.”
“He refused to conduct the arraignment until Monday morning,” Johnny said. “As for our little church mouse, the judge was inclined to agree with Marcel – to a point.”
“No,” I groaned. “Johnny, we’ll never have the opportunity to question her again if –”
“Zack explained that she’s being held as a material witness, that no formal charges are expected, pending your psych evaluation of course. The judge wants hardcopy in his hand before the arraignment hearing, Helen. If he has so much as an inkling that formal charges will be made, he’s going to appoint special counsel for her. He didn’t feel it was appropriate that Marcel represent the alleged slave and her master.”
“Thank God for small favors,” I sighed.
“I need to know why Sherman was exited that you came here, or why he’d even know who you are,” Johnny started pacing. “Son of a bitch, Helen.”
“You glossed right over the last important bit of information I learned before you ended the interview. Crevan, did you pick up on it?”
“I uh… things were a little intense in the observation room, Helen. What did she say?”
I explained how Melissa Sherman kept tabs on Florence after Eugene died. “Her friend,” I said. “Sarah Holmes.”
“Wait a minute. Wasn’t that the woman who claimed complete ignorance, the nanny who stupidly brought the baby to Sherman while we were interviewing her?”
“Considering that the FBI was a regular presence in that house, I doubt she realized that she was exposing a kidnapping. In fact, I bet if we got the phone records for Sarah Holmes, we’d probably find out how Alfred Preston discovered the need for a plausible method of explaining why Sherman had that baby in the first place.”
“I’ll call Dev and have the state police or Montgomery PD pick her up if they can find her,” Crevan said. “We verified her story of employment through that nanny agency.”
Johnny snorted. “Maybe that business is suspect as well now that we know Holmes is part of the gang.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to take a long hard look at them,” I agreed half a second before a bone jarring yawn reminded someone that I’m not exactly in top form these days.
“We’ve got people to do the digging, sweetheart. We’re going home, and you’re going straight to bed.”
Another hormonal jolt rippled through me, settling well below my queasy stomach this time. Our eyes met. “Alone?” I murmured.
The wicked grin promised and thrilled at the same time. Now if only we could get there without puke breath killing the mood.
Chapter 27
Maya’s jaw clicks audibly when she eats. Usually, I don’t notice it when she’s talking or even yawning. This morning, she woke my peaceful slumber and sent my irritation soaring. Why on earth would someone with a clicky jaw make a conscious decision to chew gum? Never mind that I’m tired and cranky, or that Johnny annoyed the hell out of me – letting me sleep in late and serving a platter of ginger ale and soda crackers before I had a chance to swing my legs over the bed.
“Must you do that?” I snarled into Maya’s ear.
“Do what, honey? Call with an identification on one of the three bodies that Devlin –”
“Chew gum! Your jaw is clicking in my ear and I can hardly stand it.”
Silence ensued.
“Maya?”
“Sorry,” she said with a definite dip in temperature. “I’ve been up all night trying to help you guys figure out who’s dead and how they might possibly relate to Eugene Sherman. Is this a bad time?”
I glanced up at Johnny. One hand perched on his hip, the eyebrows did their not-so-amused dance and the left corner of his mouth resembled that of a victim of Bell’s palsy. Okay, so my morning ire isn’t appreciated – or particularly fair to Maya.
“Don’t apologize,” I grudgingly began my apology. “Not your fault I still feel like death warmed over.” I returned Johnny’s expression with withering ire. It is after all, his fault I feel this way. Virile old goat. “Did you identify the bodies?”
“The one you suspected Dev would find,” she said. “I was able to compare Graciella Payette’s teeth to the dental records Billy scoured up from her dentist in Montgomery. The remains are skeletal, Helen, and you’d suppose that would make the determination of cause of death more difficult.”
I tried to sit up, but Johnny pressed my shoulder back into the bed. I swatted at the restraining hand.
“Not until you’ve eaten,” he said softly.
“All three victims suffered blunt force trauma to the parietal skull, Helen. We’re talking depressed skull fractures. If death wasn’t instantaneous, I can’t imagine they’d have lasted more than a few minutes after such a blow.”
“Any clues on the identity of the other two victims?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Devlin told me that they were all buried in shallow graves, that if there was clothing present at the time of burial, there were no traces of it left at the time of exhumation.”
“I see.”
Maya’s pause stretched taut. “Helen, are you angry with me about something?”
“No,” I said tersely. “It’s not you.”
“Is everything all right between you and Johnny?”
“Yes, yes. I’m cranky this morning, that’s all.”
“Helen … ?”
I sighed heavily. “What?”
“It’s afternoon. Barely but –”
“Good grief, Johnny! What were you thinking letting me waste half the day sleeping?”
He pried the phone gently out of my hand and thrust a soda cracker into its place. I heard the tail end of his part of the conversation.
“She’s fine, Maya, burning the candle at both ends once again. I decided to let her sleep as long as her body wanted, but figured there’d be hell to pay if she didn’t hear the news directly from you.” Lengthy pause, then, “Uh-huh. She’s getting over whatever bug she caught. Had a good night, kept dinner down.”
I wanted to spew the barely moistened wad of cracker at him like a gigantic spitball. Still, it was a better lie than the truth. I wasn’t sure how I felt about revealing my predicament. No doubt there would be baby showers and offers for shopping sprees to re-outfit my wardrobe. I started wondering how long I’d be able to conceal my condition.
So much pensive thought made me miss the tail end of Johnny’s conversation with my best friend. I finally noticed his intense stare.
“Where were you just now?” he offered another cracker and sat on the edge of the bed. “Something about the case?”
‘‘No,” so muttering unhappiness replaced my defiant outrage quickly enough. I felt sullen and dragged between extremes for every emotion and thought that plowed its way through my brain.
“Helen, I’m trying to understand –”
“Don’t,” my interruption turned frustrated and sad at the same time. “You can’t understand it.”
One large hand gingerly smoothed over my flat belly. “Are you upset about this?” Johnny’s pause ached with worry. “Regrets?”
It broke my heart in an instant. I knew how he felt, or rather, how he’d been indoctrinated through his religious upbringing. Frankly, I’d been amazed that he allowed for the use of birth control at all. Still, that single word asked a question neither one of us had broached.
Did I want a b
aby?
Tears leaked from my eyes. I stared at the hand, its thumb swishing lightly, a tiny hopeful gesture, over our child’s home for the next few months.
His voice dipped low, almost a whisper, but not quite. “You know I love you, Helen. You know how I feel about… certain solutions to unexpected events in life.”
I heard the pained breath wheeze into his chest.
“Johnny, it was unexpected,” and in my head and heart, a consensus had finally been reached. One topic achieved cease fire. “I guess I figured that if it was going to happen, it would’ve long ago.”
“With Rick?”
I nodded.
“I love you,” he repeated himself, though I wasn’t sure why.
Yet.
“Helen, if you can’t do this, if you can’t…”
“I want to,” whispered, “but I wish I didn’t feel so scared and unsure. You know?”
“Unsure about me, us?”
“You only asked me to marry you last week. And I haven’t even told anyone that you asked or that I said yes, and now this.” My hand covered his, stilled it.
“Are you worried that people will think I only asked you because you’re pregnant? Helen, I didn’t even suspect anything until Maya and Crevan suggested that it might be something other than the flu. Which was after I asked you to marry me.”
“I don’t care what people think of me,” I whispered, shed some more tears.
“Do you care what I think?”
“Of course I do.” Why wasn’t he dancing for joy over the fact that I told him I wanted to have our baby? I anticipated that it would be the conversation ender, that I’d be smothered beneath him on our bed by now.
“If you’re feeling scared and uncertain because you’re not sure I’ll love you forever, or that I somehow wouldn’t be here for you and the baby, all I ask is that you give yourself more time before you make a decision, Helen. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you, and I’ll still love you and hound you relentlessly until you set a wedding date.”
