by Shenda Paul
"What kind of work?"
"Torching cars, smashing windows, sometimes breaking into people’s homes… stuff like that."
Gary Ealy is the third of six witnesses we’re interviewing for the Moretti, Barnes, and McGill co-defendant trial. In the process, we've learned more about just how widespread and insidious the Cordi reach has been. At Tess’s prompting, Gary explains how Moretti identified targets for him to 'do over'. He confesses that he torched Lorcan Walsh's car and caused damage to countless numbers of other properties. We didn’t expect him to admit to any misdemeanors when bringing him in, but now that he has, I'm duty-bound to advise him that he needs an attorney, and that the court will appoint one if he can't afford it. I ask Tess to make sure it happens as soon as possible. Unfortunately, this man, yet another of Joseph’s victims, will be charged; but we'll work out a plea bargain agreement with his attorney, who, I expect, will rightly claim duress.
The rest of our interviews go smoothly, but Tess and I have had a long and exhausting day. Not only have we interviewed six witnesses, but due to the imminent trial date, we also had to conduct a witness conference with the three we selected to testify.
It's seven p.m. when I finally catch up with Jodi for a short meeting to discuss outstanding events. I leave the office at around eight-thirty, hungry and feeling grateful for the food that Mom and Cait stockpiled.
I've only just finished dinner when my phone rings. "Adam Thorne?" a vaguely familiar baritone enquires.
"It is," I answer expectantly.
"It's Samuel Beauvais, Angelique’s friend."
"Hi Samuel; I'm sorry I didn't immediately recognize your voice."
"No need to apologize. I'm sorry to call so late, but I couldn't think of anyone else."
"You're back home, aren't you? Is there something wrong?" I ask, my mind immediately leaping to Angelique.
"Angelique needs help," he says, making my blood freeze.
"Is she hurt?"
"She's fine right now, but I worry that she won’t be for long."
"What do you mean?" I practically shout.
"There's a man who’s been preying on her…."
"Fuck! Has he…"
"No," he cuts in, "but he is responsible for her not being able to dance. That's all I'll say; it's Angelique’s decision who, other than the police, she wants to tell."
"The police are aware of this man?"
"We took out a protection order against him in Florida, and he’s the reason she left New York."
"And now? Is he in Boston now?" I ask impatiently.
"He followed her home tonight."
"Did she call the police?"
"She's a bit rattled and not thinking straight, but she did call. They said there was nothing they could do and advised her to get a protection order. I’m worried about her until she gets it; the guy’s a real creep. I should’ve made sure he'd never walk again when I had a chance," he mutters, anger and frustration clear in his voice.
"You've met him?"
"In Florida. The guy’s obsessed with her…"
"I'll help her file for the order in the morning," I cut in, "…but I’m worried about her tonight, and I can't just turn up…" I expel an exasperated breath.
"I was hoping you’d say that," Samuel replies.
"Do you think she'll let me in? What if I can get Jon to go with me in his capacity as a detective?"
"That sounds good. I'll call to warn her if you like."
"That would be great. I just don't want to do anything that will jeopardize…." I break off, not knowing how to express myself to this man who’s so obviously protective of her.
"What are you trying to say, Adam?" he asks, his voice laden with warning.
"I want to get to know her. I want to be her friend…."
"Is that all?" he presses.
"No, I'd like to be more; if she'll let me," I confess.
"Angelique’s a grown woman, so I can’t speak for her. She’ll make up her own mind about you, but I warn you; in her own, quiet way, she's more stubborn than almost anyone I know. It's what helped her through all the shit she’s had to endure. Just don't use her or hurt her, or I promise, the fact you're a district attorney won't help you."
"I've already told you. I have no intention of hurting her; I give you my word. Now, I should get off the phone and call Jon. Will you call Angelique, please?"
"I will… And Adam?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks, I really appreciate it."
"Anytime, Samuel. Would you text me your details so I can keep in touch?"
I call Jon as I'm changing into a pair of jeans. "I need a favor," I say before he's properly answered.
"What's up? You sound agitated."
"I need you to meet me at Angelique’s."
"Angelique?"
"Angelique Bain!" I snap and then rattle off her address, thankful that I've memorized it.
"Why do we need to go there?"
"She needs our help, that's why. I don't have time to explain, I’ll be outside her place in fifteen minutes." I gather my keys and leave a second later.
I stare up at the building, housing no more than eight, maybe ten, apartments and note with concern that it’s a walk-up. I have no idea what this creep looks like, but I scan the deserted area anyway, trying to spot anyone or anything that looks out of place; but the most conspicuous thing in the street right now, happens to be my car.
A dark sedan pulls up behind me, and I watch in my rearview mirror as Jon alights. I meet him on the sidewalk where I give him a quick rundown of my conversation with Samuel. I realize I'm being transparent about my feelings, but right now, I don't care. All I care about is Angelique’s safety.
"Are you ready to do this?" he asks almost solicitously.
"As ready as I'll ever be," I mutter.
Her apartment lies behind the second door on the third floor. I draw a deep breath before raising my hand to knock. We wait for long moments while no one answers. I send up a silent prayer, asking that she trust me enough to allow us in.
Finally, the sound of two latches being slipped and when the door slowly opens, I’m momentarily dumbstruck by those wide, honey-colored eyes. I can tell she's nervous… and scared.
"Angelique? Did Samuel call you?" I ask, and she nods.
"Can we come in, please? Jon and I are here to see if we can help."
She slips the chain and let us in. Stopping just inside the door, I take in the small living room with its high ceiling and bay window. I smile at the sight of the vase of peonies in pride of place on the coffee table. She sees me looking and blushes, her flushed cheeks as soft and delicate as the flower petals.
"Would you like to sit?" she invites shyly.
"Thank you." I step into the room, Jon close on my heels. We wait until she’s seated in the worn leather armchair before sitting on the edge of the sofa. After a moment’s silence, I lean forward, angling my body toward her. "So…Samuel said you were having trouble with a stalker. Would you like to tell us about it?"
"Umm... I called the police, but they said they couldn't do anything…" She sounds almost apologetic as she glances at Jon.
"Angelique," he intervenes, "why don't you start at the beginning. Like Adam’s said, we're here to help."
"Okay…Thank you." She lets out a tiny, relieved sigh. I'm so grateful that Samuel thought to call me and then paved the way for this visit.
"It's a long story," she warns.
"We're in no hurry," I assure her, and then listen intently as she tells of the perverted bastard who followed her to a park when she was a child and then managed to convince her mother to let her attend his ballet school. I wonder briefly what her father had to say about the matter, but get caught up as she continues. She tells how he always made her feel uncomfortable, but that he never actually did anything wrong until he followed her to Leipzig
where he threatened her in her dressing room and then appeared in the wings during her performance, causing the accident that ended her career. She noticeably glosses over her relationship with her dance partner.
She tells how this man, Quandt, hired a private investigator and traced her to Florida. When she relates what had happened in the garage before Samuel's arrival, I understand just why he's kicking himself for not beating the shit of the pervert. She relates how she later saw Quandt in New York and how, after that sighting, she didn’t felt safe and decided to move to Boston. I wonder why, of all the places, she chose my city, but thank whatever hand fate played in her ending up here.
She ends with tonight’s events, telling how his car pulled up behind her when she arrived home from work, how she managed to hail down a passing vehicle, and how he then hurriedly left. She says she called first the police and then Samuel. I notice her trembling hands and the fear in her eyes and sense that she's not revealed everything about her exchange with Quandt. That bastard really scared her.
My anger has escalated throughout her revelations, and I fight hard to contain what feels like a seething mass of red-hot lava in my gut, rising steadily, threatening to erupt in a violent explosion. I've never felt such an overwhelming need to protect, not even in my wild and angry teenage years when I fought to defend Cait. I remind myself that I can't give in to my baser instincts; I'd scare Angelique. With supreme effort, I force myself to be calm before speaking. "Thank you for confiding in us, I know that must have been hard to relive."
She looks so fragile and vulnerable, and I want so desperately to comfort her, to touch her. To stop myself, I get to my feet and move across the room to stand in front of the bay window. "Is there anything the police can do?" I ask Jon.
"They couldn't arrest him. He was on a public street…"
I’m about to rudely remind him that I know the law, but he addresses Angelique. "I'll pull in some favors and get a couple of guys to patrol this area and outside your work until you can organize a protective order."
"Thanks, that would be great," I reply. "What about tonight? Can you arrange for them to sit outside when we leave? To set Angelique’s mind at ease," I add at his knowing expression.
"I'm sure I can call in enough favors to set everyone's mind at ease,’ he responds dryly. I choose to ignore his little dig. I guess I had it coming after giving him a hard time about Jodi.
He allows himself a tiny smirk. "Angelique, if you'll excuse me, I'll go and make those arrangements." He gets up and extends his hand to her. "It was lovely to see you again; I'm sorry about the circumstances, though. Do you still have my number?"
"I do." She gives him a genuine smile, and I feel an unwarranted pang of jealousy.
"Call me anytime you feel worried about Quandt or anything else; if you can't get hold of Adam, that is," he says, casting a glance my way.
"Thanks, Jon," I say as he turns to leave. Angelique returns to her seat after seeing him out, and I take up residence on the sofa once more, the air between us filled with awkward expectation.
"Would… can I get you something? I'm afraid I don't have any alcohol, but I could make coffee or tea," she offers, making my heart flutter hopefully at the thought of her not wanting me to leave.
"Would it help calm you to have something?" I ask, trying to act naturally.
"I'd like some tea. I’m not English, but tea seems to be my go-to remedy. It must be my Dad's Irish influence," she rambles nervously.
"Then I'd love a cup of tea, thank you." She seems relieved to have something to do and jumps up, making her to the kitchen. I pace the tiny room, listening to her rummaging around.
I'm holding up a silver photo frame when she re-enters. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry," I apologize immediately.
"It's fine," she assures me, and I exhale, relieved that I haven't crossed some arbitrary line.
"Those are my parents," she says quietly. I look down at the man with eyes darker than hers and the same shade of hair. The shape of her eyes and face, however, echo her mother's. She's the perfect combination of her parents.
"Do they live in New York or Florida?" I replace the frame to accept the cup she's offering.
"Mom lives in New York. My dad passed away when I was seven," she replies, her eyes clouding over.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
"It's fine; it was a long time ago."
"I lost my mother when I was around that age," I find myself confessing. I've never volunteered information about Eleanor before, not to anyone, but I want to ease her sadness and have her know that I understand her loss.
"Oh…but Cait mentioned that your mother loves the ballet?" I have the unreasonable urge to kiss the tiny furrow between her brows.
"She does. I'm adopted. Cait’s my adoptive sister, and Emma, our mother, does love the ballet." She smiles in understanding, and we lapse into silence as we drink our tea.
"I can arrange for Jodi to accompany you to arrange the protection order tomorrow. I'd like to do it myself, but I have some meetings," I say after a few moments.
"Adam, it's fine, you have your job to do; I understand that. I really appreciate you coming over this late. I was just so scared, that's why I rang Samuel. I didn't expect him to call anyone, but I'm glad he called you… I can't believe Dieter found me again. I suppose the publicity from the trial let him know my whereabouts."
"I regret any role I played in bringing you to his attention," I say earnestly, allowing myself a moment’s pleasure at her confession that she’s glad Samuel called me.
"It was my decisions that brought this down on me," she responds to my apology.
"But you shouldn't have been harassed, Angelique. We'll put a stop to him, and as a start, please let Jodi help. Her presence and knowledge will speed up the process."
"Okay, thank you. I can make it anytime before eleven, my shift at Starbucks starts at twelve."
My phone rings before I can answer. "Two detectives are outside right now, they'll be there until eight in the morning. I've also arranged for someone to fit more secure locks at seven-thirty. Daniels, one of the detectives, will bring the guy up," Jon says.
"Thanks. I owe you one."
"You owe me nothing, buddy. I'll speak to you soon," he says and hangs up.
I turn to Angelique. "That was Jon. Two detectives will remain outside overnight. Is there another entrance to the building?"
"Just the external fire escape, you can see it from the street."
"I'll point it out to the guys on my way out. Jon’s also arranged for a locksmith to arrive at seven-thirty to better secure your door. Get him to check the locks on the windows too. Detective Daniels will bring him up. Remember his name, Angelique, don't let anyone else in; and please, always check who's at the door before opening."
"I will," she promises.
There’s regrettably no reason for me to stay now that Jon’s guys have arrived, so I get up to leave.
"Do you think you could give me your number so I can call about the protection order?" I hesitantly ask. She asks for my phone and keys in her number. I thank her, and she smiles; the first genuine smile she’s given me. Warmth blooms in my chest.
"I’ll send you a message, so you'll have my number too. Please use it if you need anything, anything at all…day or night." I hold her gaze so she can see the sincerity in my offer.
"Thank you," she says, her eyes misting over. I could lose myself in those pools of honey.
"You’re welcome," I tell her, reluctantly shifting my gaze.
I turn when we reach the door. "I'll call at eight tomorrow morning if that's all right? I should have had a chance to speak to Jodi by then."
"That's fine," she says, smiling again.
"Try to get some sleep, Angelique. Nothing’s going to happen to you; we'll make sure of it. I'll make sure of it."
"Thank you for the flowers, Adam, they
're beautiful," she finally says, extending her hand. I glance down at her fragile one wrapped in mine; it looks so right there. Raising my arm slowly, I place my lips to her knuckles, hoping all the while that she doesn’t pull away.
She doesn't, and when I raise my eyes, her face is softly flushed.
"Thank you for giving me a chance, Angelique," I say before tearing myself away.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I feel exhilarated on the drive home and almost immediately after entering the front door, send Angelique a short message wishing her good night. I go to bed shortly after and fall into a deep and restful sleep.
I wake with a feeling of hope, and it's barely seven when I enter my office. Immediately after hanging up my jacket, I send Jodi a text asking her to contact me the moment she arrives.
"A bit anxious this morning, Thorne?" she asks from my doorway some time later.
"You've spoken with Jon."
"What makes you think that?" she asks cheekily.
"The afterglow you're sporting?" I return, and she has the good grace to blush.
"Shut up, Adam, and yes, Jon filled me in on last night’s events. It made me so damned mad!"
"Me too," I reply, tamping down my renewed anger. "Angelique needs a protection order. I know we wouldn't normally get involved in such matters, but I want to help her. I’d go with her myself, but I can’t get out of my meetings; I was hoping you could?"
"Of course. When?"
"She needs to be at work at twelve, so how about ten?"
"Ten's fine. Give me her number; I'll call her."
"I promised I would," I say, trying not to sound too desperate.
"Okay." Jodi gives me a teasing smile. "Tell her to meet me outside the Moakley."
"She needs a 258E."
"Adam, stop fussing. I do know what I'm doing, you know."
"Sorry, I'm just anxious."
"I’d never have guessed," she says with another smile.
"I need to call Angelique," I tell her pointedly.
