by Mike Faricy
There was one other place I hadn’t checked, Pauley Kopff’s grungy little apartment. I drove over to the East side to take a look. It was a little after midnight when I cruised past the building. Since Pauley’s unit was in the back of the building, I really couldn’t see anything, except that there wasn’t a squad car parked out in front. There were three people, two guys and a woman smoking and drinking beer on the front stoop, probably attempting to catch what little breeze there was on a sweltering night. I drove further down to the next block, parked then walked back trying to act like I belonged in the building.
As I walked up the front sidewalk, I looked directly at the people lounging around the front door. I nodded at the largest in the group as if we were casual acquaintances. He had close-cropped hair, a tattoo around his neck and looked to be Hispanic. I gave him a nod that suggested we knew each other, made my way around all three of them and pulled the front door open. There was an empty beer bottle wedged in the door frame so the door wouldn’t lock. As I reached for the door, the smaller of the two guys said something in Spanish, which brought a chuckle from all three of them. I pulled the door open and laughed along with them, pretending I got whatever the joke was, then took the stairs to the second floor.
The hallway didn’t smell any better after midnight than the last time I’d been here. I moved as quietly as possible down toward the last door on the right, Pauley’s apartment. There was a dim blue light coming from under the door. The sound of either a radio or a television playing drifted out through the door and into the hallway. I guessed the light and sound probably came from the flat screen TV I’d seen in there the other day. A baby cried out from one of the units behind me, but the hallway remained empty and the three people on the front stoop were still out there, sipping beer.
From what I could tell in the dim light, Pauley’s door was secured by the same lousy lock system. I pulled out a card, ran through the layout of the place in my mind and then figured there was nothing like the element of surprise. I slipped the card under the door latch, then ran the card up along the door frame and barged into the room.
I’d been correct. The room was illuminated by a large flat screen TV casting a blue light over everything, including Marsha bound up with tape wrapped around her legs and arms lying on the floor in front of the couch. Her eyes went wide as I swung the door open. She started to shake her head, then seemed to indicate the back kitchen area just as the bathroom door opened and a large figure in boxer shorts stepped into the room, dabbing his face with a dirty towel.
He took one look at me and lunged toward the window. It caught me off guard for half-a-second. I thought he might be planning to jump out when I spotted the pistol resting on the window sill. I was right behind him, slamming into him full force just as he got his hand around the grip and began to raise the pistol. The thing fired, booming through the silence and flashing in the dark the moment we collided. It all happened in a nanosecond. I felt him going out the window before I actually heard any noise. I definitely remembered shoving him hard, rather than trying to hang onto the guy. The next thing I knew he was spread out on the ground below. I heard bits of glass tinkling around him and he lay very still with a dazed look across his face. I recognized him as the jerk from the SUV who gave me the elbow shot just before he climbed into the Lincoln in front of my office.
I didn’t waste any time worrying. I stepped over Marsha who was making noise and rolling away from the couch. I checked the bathroom to make sure it was empty then looked around the kitchen. The light didn’t go on when I flicked the switch, but I couldn’t see anyone in the light filtering behind me from the bathroom. My heart was still pounding too loudly to really hear anything.
I rushed back out to Marsha and pulled the tape from around her head, then tore it off her wrists. I was aware of a baby crying from somewhere out in the hallway.
“Bout fucking time. Jesus, where the hell have you been? I thought you were dead.” Marsha gasped.
“Let’s just get your ass out of here,” I said.
I helped her up. “Just a second,” I said then stepped over to the little mirror hanging on the wall, grabbed the gold chain with the Claddagh I was sure was Desi’s and placed it in my pocket.
The two guys from the front stoop were standing at the end of the hallway, watching us as we fled down the back stairs. They didn’t appear to have any intention of getting closer. We ran out the back door. The guy in boxer shorts was still lying on the ground and hadn’t moved, so we sidestepped him as we ran down the block to Lydell’s truck. I had to slow down and take Marsha by the arm, pulling her along. I wasn’t sure if that was because she’d been bound up for a long time, or I was just more frightened and moving faster. Fear had always served as a big motivator for me.
By the time I got her in the truck and myself behind the wheel, she was sobbing. I reached over and clicked her seat belt into place. I was still too frightened to cry myself so I just fired up Lydell’s truck and we drove straight to the police station.
Chapter Fifty-Three
“That’s your description?” Manning asked. We were back in the same interview room where we’d been earlier. Manning needed a shave and his usually pink bald head had taken on a decided shade of scarlet. He also appeared a lot less smug than he had in our earlier meeting. For my part, I was still shaking.
“I’ve told you a half dozen times it was some guy in boxers reaching for a gun. A pair of boxer shorts was all he had on. I can’t even tell you the color…and a gun, an awfully big gun. That’s really all I remember before he jumped out the window to make his escape.”
“Jumped? Through two panes of glass?”
“I guess he was in a hurry or thought there were more guys than just me.”
“Any identifying characteristics?”
“Honestly, the whole thing happened way too fast, Manning. I just remember the bathroom door opening and the next thing I knew he was two stories down on the ground and I heard all the glass kind of tinkling around the guy.”
“Including that very convenient shard that just happened to slice through his carotid artery,” Manning said.
I shrugged. “I really don’t know anything about that. I just wanted to get Marsha and me the hell out of there. I didn’t know if anyone else was going to show up and I sure as hell wasn’t planning to wait around and see.”
“The paramedics transported her to Regions Hospital. She’ll get the standard examination and they’ll keep her there under observation for at least twenty-four hours. Any update on her condition and we’ll pass it on.”
“She gonna be safe? That’s where that other idiot is, the guy with the shaved head.”
“Donald Dempsey?”
“Yeah, your graduate student.”
Manning ignored my comment. “Not to worry. We’ve got a twenty-four hour guard on Miss Norling’s door and we’ve moved Dempsey into custodial care. He’s still unable to get anywhere under his own power. Probably will be for the better part of a week.”
“Custodial care?”
“He’s cuffed to the bed while he’s in traction and recovering. I wouldn’t worry too much about him.”
“What about Driscoll and Dawn Miller?”
“We’re working that aspect.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I’m not going to comment on an ongoing investigation. I can tell you this much, it looks like his phone call with Lieutenant LaZelle may have actually been through Skype or Viber or some sort of pay-as-you-go online long distance systems. He somehow programmed the thing to show a Florida locale.”
“You know they’re both guilty as sin and you know Driscoll railroaded Desi Quinn and was tied into that Federal Reserve robbery some years back.”
“And I think I just told you I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”
“What about Lydell?”
“I suspect there’s a pretty good chance the assault charges won’t be coming through.” Manning half chuckled.
“I’ll get the paperwork started and he should be released later this morning.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
I was in Karla’s office giving her an update as to the whereabouts of her pimped out Lincoln town car.
“So, it will eventually be released from the BCA lab in another seventeen days. I didn’t realize they actually held them for a month. The good news is the thing’s tucked away all safe and sound. The bad news is, you can’t get it for another two and a half weeks,” I said.
“Not like I want to be seen driving that thing around town,” she said. “I don’t know this whole sorry scenario just seems like such a waste. Poor Desi, she was telling the truth all along and no one believed her.”
“You did.”
“Me? No, to be honest I chalked her up as a really nice woman who made a really dumb mistake and was going to do everything she could to correct it. But to tell you the truth, I wasn’t completely convinced she was without sin.”
“Maybe more a case of naïve accomplice?” I said.
“Maybe. All I know is she didn’t deserve any of this, and she sure as hell didn’t deserve to die.”
“I’m not sure she deserved much of anything that happened to her in the last ten years, including me turning her down when she needed help,” I said.
“Still beating yourself up on that one? I’d say you’ve made some pretty decent restitution. Come on, Dev, you were almost killed.”
I just looked at her for a long moment before I spoke. “Well, at least they got Dawn Miller before she fled the country.”
Karla nodded in agreement. “And Gaston Driscoll? They still figure he’s hiding somewhere down in the British Virgin Islands?”
“It’s almost a sure bet he hid his share of that Federal Reserve heist down there in some offshore account. I’m sure he’s all lawyered up by now and just sitting pretty for the rest of his life.”
“I can’t see him keeping a low profile down there. He’s bound to turn up sooner or later.”
“And then what? It’s not like they’ll ever be able to extradite him. With that kind of money he’ll be able to fight any attempt to bring him back here to face charges. As a matter of fact, if he has any brains, he’s kept his accounts down there, but he’s out partying somewhere else in the world we’ll never think of, South America, Singapore, the Greek Isles. We may not like it, but it looks like the son-of-a-bitch pulled it off. Rich crooks somehow manage to do that,” I said.
“Behind every fortune, there’s usually a crime,” Karla said, then shook her head and stared off into the distance.
After a long moment I followed her stare then said, “There is one other thing I’d maybe like to do.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
I stretched as I waited, bending at the waist to touch my toes a number of times after sitting for so long. Most of the people in line looked a lot older than me. The few who weren’t were holding small children, barely awake at this hour. Eventually, I made my way to the front of the line. I got the signal to approach the glass booth from the woman seated there. She seemed to study me as I walked toward her.
“Anything to declare?” she asked, scanning my passport.
“No, ma’am.”
“First time here?” She smiled, paging through looking at the various stamps on the different pages.
“I was here once before, but we weren’t allowed off the plane.”
She glanced up with a quizzical look.
“U.S. Army, coming home from Iraq. We stopped to refuel. I guess there were demonstrations.”
She gave a slight nod, but I couldn’t read her reaction.
“How long do you plan to visit?”
“Just three days. I’m heading back on the twenty-fifth.”
“Enjoy your stay,” she said then stamped my passport somewhere on a middle page and signaled for the next person in line.
I grabbed my suitcase from baggage claim, changed dollars to Euros and followed the directions to the car rental. I was driving out of the Dublin airport thirty minutes later and heading west. I had Desi’s map of Ireland opened on the passenger seat next to me. The little village her grandparents had emigrated from was still circled in pencil, and next to that was the heart she’d drawn with red marker around the town of Boyle where Gaston Driscoll’s family hailed from.
Three hours later, I was out in the west of Ireland, driving through the village of Ballyfarnon, in County Roscommon just a few minutes from the village in Sligo where Desi’s grandparents left after the Second World War. I traveled along for a bit more as a large mountain hillside rolled along on my right. As I drove across a small stone bridge, I had to slow for a little blonde girl who seemed to be just staring at the water. Then into the village turning right as soon as I saw the sign for St. Joseph’s church.
There was a low wall, not even three feet high, surrounding the churchyard. The church was a pale yellow stucco affair, simple, yet graceful in its own way. The small graveyard was located in the rear. Probably no different than hundreds of other churches scattered across this part of the country, except for the one thing that brought me here.
It was a little after two in the afternoon, Irish time. I was starting to feel the effect of the time change and happy to pull over. I grabbed what I needed from the back seat then made my way around the rear of the church and into the small cemetery. It took me a few minutes, but I found them. There they were under a large stone Celtic Cross, Desi’s grandparents. Their names carved into the stone, Emmett and Elizabeth, born in 1922 and 1926. A number of Quinn headstones were scattered around, some of them so old and weathered they were next to impossible to read, the final resting place for the generations that came before Desi.
At this time in the afternoon, I was pretty sure I was the only one around, but I checked just to be sure. I didn’t see anyone, so I opened the box of polished wood with the inlaid design pattern running along the edge…Desi’s ashes.
“Sorry, Desi, but I guess this is the best I can do. At least you finally made it here, I’m…I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” I pleaded. I waited for the answer that I knew could never come. Then I just sort of drew a blank and stood there feeling awfully stupid and probably sleep deprived. I didn’t know if my tears were for Desi or for me. I stood for the longest time and watched as the breeze picked up her ashes and gradually scattered them on the Irish wind. I fished the gold chain out of my pocket, her Claddagh. I hung it on the edge of that Celtic cross and said, “I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t just tired, I was exhausted and in no condition to drive back to Dublin. So I drove the short distance to the town of Boyle where I got a hotel room and crashed until close to eleven that night. I dreamt of Desi, although I can’t recall more than that, just that I woke with a strange sense of her presence. I figured it was just the emotion from the graveyard earlier that afternoon.
I was ravenous and completely screwed up with the time change. I dressed and went out to look for something to eat. Where’s a McDonald’s when you really need one?
After finding nothing, I ended up going to the Glass Slipper pub next to my hotel. It seemed like a quiet little place and looked like it could have stood next to the hotel for the past hundred years. All it lacked was a thatched roof. Well, and a kitchen that served food. I’d always had a fondness for Guinness, so I thought I would grab a pint and, God forbid, mingle with some locals. Serendipity is a funny thing. By definition I guess it’s supposed to be a surprise.
The entrance to the pub was actually two doors, one off the street, then the second door maybe three steps inside a small entry. You had to make a sharp left to enter the pub itself.
I heard the voice the moment I stepped in off the street. Deep and booming out the door, a command voice. I paused and cautiously peeked inside.
He was seated at the bar, holding court in an American Midwest accent, enthralling a young, red-haired woman who looked to have stars in her eyes. He was laughing and standing just a little too close to her
to be casual. I was sure it was him. I’d never forgotten the upper cut he’d delivered to me in his kitchen when my hands had been tied. Though his hair was dyed midnight black and the beard was gone, it was still him, Gaston Driscoll.
In a weird way it made all the sense in the world. Here he was, hiding in plain sight. While everyone expected him to be down in the British Virgin Islands, here he was, apparently free to come and go as he damn well pleased. I backed out of the doorway and ran to my rental car. Two minutes later I was parked out on the street, hoping there wasn’t a back door to the Glass Slipper.
I’d waited the better part of an hour before the redheaded woman came out all smiles and walked down the street. Fifteen minutes later Driscoll exited and walked in the opposite direction. He slipped behind the wheel of a Jaguar parked a few doors down. I watched him in my rear view mirror as he made a U-turn on the quiet street, then drove past a moment later, not giving me a second look.
I followed him out of town at a distance, painfully aware we were the only two cars on the narrow country road this late on a weeknight. He drove over a slight rise and his tail lights disappeared. I gambled and turned off my head lights, then caught sight of his vehicle just as I made the rise. He was maybe a half-mile ahead and I continued to follow with my lights off. A few minutes later he pulled into a farm yard and parked. I pulled over and waited.
A moment later a light came on in a house and a bit after that two more lights from second floor windows. I turned my headlights back on and drove past the house at a normal speed. I stopped around a bend some distance past and shut off my engine, not exactly sure what to do. I knew one thing. I didn’t intend to lose him this time.
