Mercy Street

by Mariah Stewart

  “Jesus.”

  “Oh, He must have been there for the boy, when you consider what could have happened to him. The police turned him over to social services, who tracked down the boy’s father, some punk who had no interest whatsoever in the kid. The father suggested they contact Kathleen’s mother, which was the best thing that could have happened. Mary dedicated her life to raising that boy right. I’ve known them—him and Courtney, the girl who went missing with him—since they were in grade school. They’re good kids, Rob. There’s no way they had a hand in what happened to their friends.”

  “So what were four ‘good kids’ doing in that park after dark on a Friday night? Dexter Street isn’t in the best part of the city.”

  “That’s the far end of my parish.” Kevin bristled slightly. “I know the neighborhood has seen better days, but it isn’t exactly a slum. It’s strictly working class, Rob. The whole city is pretty much blue collar these days.”

  “So how much do you want?” Robert asked. “I’m assuming you want me to put up the reward money.”

  “It’s not reward money I’m asking for.”

  “Then what?”

  Kevin took a deep breath. “One of the two dead boys had taken money out of his savings account the day before, almost a thousand dollars. He’d looked at a car that afternoon but decided he didn’t want it. According to his mother, he still had the money in his pocket when he left the house that night, but the police report indicates there was no money found on either of the bodies. The current thinking is that Ryan—and possibly Courtney, they’re not sure what her involvement is at this point—killed the other two and took off with the cash.” Kevin stood and walked to the window. “Mary believes her grandson is innocent. And frankly, so do I. But in the absence of any other suspects…”

  “The police have locked in on him as the shooter.”

  Kevin nodded. “They keep coming back to the fact that if Ryan and/or Courtney had nothing to do with the murders, at the very least they would have contacted their families by now.”

  “Maybe they’re dead,” Robert said bluntly. “Maybe the killers took them along with them and killed them elsewhere.”

  “That’s definitely a possibility. Or maybe they were taken and are being held hostage for some reason.”

  “Has there been a ransom demand?”

  “Not yet.” Kevin paced from the windows to the fireplace and back again.

  “Well, as we both learned, if there’s no ransom demand within the first forty-eight hours, there isn’t likely to be one, so kidnapping is probably not what you’re looking at here. What else is on your list of possible scenarios?”

  “They could have run when the shooting started, but that doesn’t explain why they haven’t come back or at least contacted someone,” Kevin admitted. “The only thing we know for certain is that they are gone and the police have already decided their guilt.”

  “Go back to the part about why you’re telling me this.”

  “Mary’s ready to mortgage her house to hire an investigator to find her grandson. She can’t afford to do that. This is a woman who worked two jobs for almost thirty years to pay for that house and raise her daughter’s child. She shouldn’t have to strap herself with another loan at this stage of her life.” Kevin leaned over the back of the chair he’d been sitting in. “I want you to hire an investigator to find out what happened that night, to find Ryan and Courtney.”

  “You may have noticed that I haven’t had particularly good luck with private investigators over the past year. I’ve lost track of how many I hired. Not one of them was worth shit.”

  “Maybe there’s someone else…someone you didn’t speak with.”

  “Are you kidding?” Robert laughed hoarsely. “Every PI on the East Coast descended on this house after Beth and Ian disappeared. And I shouldn’t have to remind you, of all people, not one of them found a damned thing. Five firms, no leads. Every damned one of them spent weeks spinning their wheels and running up exorbitant fees. Sharks circling a bleeding swimmer, Susanna called them. Sorry, but I don’t have much faith in PIs, pal.”

  “How about if we try someone for a week and just see if—”

  “No.”

  “Rob, Mary is going to hire someone whether you help her out or not. You not helping her means she’ll be taking on a financial burden she really can’t afford.”

  “Sorry, Kev, but no.”

  “Then make a loan to me, and I’ll hire someone.”

  “Because you believe in the kid, or because you’ll feel guilty if you don’t help the grandmother?”

  “Both,” Kevin answered without hesitation. “I do believe Ryan is innocent, and I’d never be able to look myself in the face again if I didn’t do everything I could to help Mary now.”

  Robert tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair, annoyed. He’d do just about anything for Kevin. As close as brothers, they’d grown up together—born on the same day to sisters who entered the hospital at the same time, delivered by the same doctor, with Robert three hours older. People magazine, a fledgling publication the year they were born, had covered the story. For Christmas one year, Robert had gotten his hands on the photo the magazine had printed of the two pretty former Malone sisters holding their infant sons in front of St. Francis Hospital and had a copy made for Kevin. Robert had never hesitated when Kevin asked for something—a new roof for the parish hall, a new gymnasium for the elementary school, a tennis court, pool, a new track for the high school; he’d never asked for anything for himself—and Robert had always been happy to help. But this hit too close to home, and he wanted no part of it. He’d had his fill of private investigators.

  “Maybe if we hired a lawyer instead,” Robert suggested, “someone with a lot of muscle who could put some pressure on the police department to…”

  Kevin waved away the suggestion. “We have an attorney at the church who’s been trying that for the past ten days.”

  “Maybe you need a better lawyer.” Robert stood and took his cell phone from his pocket. “Let me give you the number of someone I think highly of. Here, write this down…”

  “She wants an independent investigation, Rob. The police don’t even seem to be looking for anyone else. They think they have good suspects in Ryan and Courtney, and with this sniper shooting up the highway, no one seems to have the time or the inclination to look beyond them. You know what that’s like, right?”

  Ignoring the pointed reminder, Robert walked to the desk and took out a piece of paper. He found a pen under a stack of mail and wrote on it.

  “Here. Matthew Day. Give him a call, tell him I referred you and to send his bill to me.” Robert passed the slip of paper to the priest, who took it without looking at it.

  “He’s going to need a lawyer sooner or later, Kev,” Robert reminded him.

  “We have to find him first.”

  The words hung between them for a long moment.

  “All right.” Robert caved. “If you can find someone who’s not a thief, hire him.”

  “Thank you. I’ll get on this first thing in the morning.” Kevin put the slip of paper with the lawyer’s information on it into his pocket.

  “I’ll have Susanna give you a list of agencies not to call.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Trula’s voice over the intercom surprised them both. “Boys, dinner is in five minutes. Don’t make me come down there to get you.” Static transmitted loudly as she fumbled with the switch in the kitchen.

  “Has she ever actually come down here to get you?”

  “She has. She does. Whenever she thinks I’m ignoring her.”

  “God forbid.” Kevin drained the rest of the coffee from his cup and started for the door. He’d only taken a few steps before turning and asking, “Rob, remember when we were kids and we used to talk about how someday, when we grew up, we’d be really, really rich and how we’d spend our fortunes helping people who couldn’t help themselves?”

 
“Your point?” Robert brushed aside the image of the idealistic boy he’d once been.

  “Just that now you are, that’s all.” Kevin’s smile recalled that long-ago time wistfully. “And now you can…”

  TWO

  Morning, Trula.” Susanna Jones rapped her knuckles on the back door seconds before she entered the kitchen.

  “Good morning, Susy.” Trula looked up from her newspaper. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “Sort of.” Susanna dropped her handbag and a sweater on one of the chairs in the cozy blue-and-yellow breakfast room. Robert Magellan’s house may have been a mansion, but thanks to Trula it was not without its homey corners.

  “‘Sort of’ means you stopped at one of those doughnut places again, didn’t you?” Trula’s eyes narrowed.

  Susanna felt the finger of disapproval poking her, right between the shoulder blades.

  “Guilty.” Susanna nodded and held up the paper bag. “But I did get a muffin.”

  “Made with God knows what.” Trula waved an agitated hand in the direction of her employer’s personal assistant. “There’s coffee there on the counter.”

  “Free trade, organic, no doubt.” Susanna reached for one of the mugs Trula had set out. She grabbed the blue one, a favorite of hers, with WHEN ALL ELSE FAILS, READ THE DIRECTIONS written in hot-pink script.

  “No doubt.” Trula’s smile had the look of satisfaction. “And decaffeinated. You and Robert have both been revved up enough lately.”

  Susanna made a face. “Some of us like a little revving on Monday morning.”

  “Go to bed earlier on Sunday night and you won’t need anything to kick-start your week.” Trula turned to the op-ed page.

  “Oooh, a little testy this morning, aren’t we?” Susanna added some sweetener to the mug and a little cream. As much as she liked to tease Trula, she couldn’t deny the woman made excellent coffee. Free trade, organic, decaffeinated, or otherwise.

  “So how was your weekend?” Susanna rested both elbows on the counter.

  The question was, as both women knew, more about Robert’s weekend than Trula’s.

  “Quiet. Robert drove to the beach house yesterday.”

  “Will he be back this morning?”

  “He came back last night.”

  “He drove both ways in one day?” Susanna frowned. Ten hours on the road? “What time did he leave?”

  “Long before I got up, so it must have been around four or five.” Trula lowered her voice. “Father Kevin was here when Robert came in around seven, and he stayed for dinner. They sat up talking for a while.”

  “He’s going to want the high-test this morning, Trula.”

  “Then he’s going to have to make it himself. All the stress he’s been under this past year, he doesn’t need to bring heart problems on himself.”

  Susanna could have noted that the problems Robert had with his heart had nothing to do with the level of caffeine in his bloodstream.

  “So did he say why he went to the beach house?” Susanna sipped her coffee thoughtfully.

  “No, but you know Robert. He probably went there to mourn.” She shook her head from side to side. “That big place standing there empty, all the money he spent on it, all the time it took to build, just to surprise her…”

  Before Susanna could remind Trula that the money he’d spent was a mere drop in his personal bucket, Trula added, “Nothing good is going to come from his hanging on to that place, you mark my words.”

  The clock in the front hall chimed eight.

  “And how did you spend your weekend?” Trula asked.

  “Oh, you know. The usual.” Susanna smiled. “I need to get to my office. Thanks for the coffee.” She grabbed her bag and draped the strap over her shoulder, stopped at the counter long enough to top off the mug, then headed for the door. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

  She pushed open the kitchen door with her foot and entered a long, wide hall that had glossy hardwood floors under thick Oriental runners and landscape paintings on the walls. Beth Magellan had picked out most of the art that adorned the house. Susanna found it all too dark and depressing for her taste—but then again, she rationalized, her taste was more plebeian than Robert’s former-debutante wife’s had been.

  A pile of mail from Saturday had been placed in the middle of her desk in the sitting-room-turned-office at the end of the hall. The room overlooked a shady courtyard on one side and a sunny garden on the other.

  Susanna turned on the overhead light and draped her sweater over the back of her chair. Robert liked the house cool, and some days it bordered on cold. Susanna thought it was almost as if he thought that if he kept the temperature low enough, he could preserve all the memories the house held. A silly thought on her part, she knew, but then again she was one of the very few people who understood just how despondent Robert had become. The more time that passed, the more withdrawn he grew.

  It was killing her.

  “Hey,” he said from the doorway, the same greeting he’d given every morning since that first day they’d worked together, more than eight years ago.

  “Hey yourself.” She forced a smile and studied his face while pretending not to. “How was the weekend?”

  Ignoring the question, Robert came into the room and pulled a chair up to her desk. “Anything important there?” He nodded in the general direction of the mail.

  “I haven’t had time to look through it. If you want, I can take a minute now and…” She reached for the stack.

  “It can wait.” He rested his elbows on the desk and gazed out the window. On the courtyard side, a large holly grew up close to the pane. In early spring, a pair of mockingbirds had built their nest there.

  “I guess they’re gone now,” he said.

  “I’m sorry?” Susanna tilted her head to one side.

  “The baby birds. I guess they’re gone.”

  “They’re still there, but I doubt they will be for much longer. I saw them on Friday. You have to get up really close to the glass to see down. They’re jumping out of the nest and onto the branches these days.”

  Robert made no effort to move to the window.

  They sat in silence for a few more moments, Susanna waiting patiently.

  Finally, he said, “I drove down to the beach house yesterday. I couldn’t sleep on Saturday night, thinking about the place.”

  “Did you sleep better last night for having made the trip?”

  He shook his head. “I want you to call the Realtor this morning and tell her I’d like to put the house on the market. She can draw up the listing agreement and send it here and I’ll sign it. I want to be done with it.”

  He spoke without looking at Susanna, a sign, she knew, that he wasn’t saying what he was really thinking.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want to do, Rob?”

  “I don’t know what else to do.” He steepled his fingers and asked, “What if she comes back, Suse? Will she think that I gave up?”

  “Selling that house doesn’t mean you’ve given up.” She reached across the desk and took his hands in hers. She chose her words carefully. “But it’s a very tangible reminder of a dream that hasn’t come true, and it’s clearly eating you up inside. Besides, if Beth comes back, you’re going to have more to talk about than a beach house that you built and sold.”

  She watched his face for a moment, then added, “Unless you’re referring to the fact that you’re giving up on yourself.”

  He turned his head so as to not meet her eyes.

  “Don’t do anything foolish or stupid, Rob,” she said very softly. She knew this man so well. “Don’t do anything that can’t be undone.”

  “I think about it a lot, you know?” he said flatly, not bothering to explain, knowing she understood the unspoken.

  She knew, but didn’t say so.

  “Some days I feel like I have nothing to live for, but then I think maybe one day we’ll find them. The thought that Beth could come back, that I
could get my son back…If they’re going to come back, I need to be here for them.” He blew out a long breath. “And if I…if I wasn’t here…what would she think of me? What would she think when she realized I’d given up without knowing the truth? Would she think I didn’t think she was worth waiting for?”

  “She’d think you were a coward,” Susanna said matter-of-factly. “That you were thinking only of yourself. And she’d be right.”

  “You never pull punches, do you?” He turned to face her.

  “I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I did.”

  “You and Trula and Kevin are the only people I really trust to tell me the truth, you know that, don’t you?”

  “You’d have been an idiot to have hired me a third time if you didn’t trust me to watch your back. Once, maybe. Twice…questionable. Three times…” She shook her head. “That would make you really stupid. And you are far from stupid, Rob.”

  “We’ve come a long way together since those days at Tanner Intel, haven’t we?” He looked out the window at the holly again.

  “A very long way.” Susanna nodded in agreement.

  At Tanner, he’d hired her as administrative assistant to the group he headed up. She’d worked for him and five other techs for three years; impressed with her organizational skills and common sense, Robert brought her along when he and Colin Bressler left to start up their own company. When they’d sold their Internet search engine for an unbelievable amount of money eighteen months later, Robert kept Susanna on as his right hand. Since Beth’s disappearance, she’d run his life pretty much the way she’d helped run his company.

  “I need you to prepare a list of the PIs that we used.” He changed the topic abruptly. “Kevin’s going to need it.”

  “Kevin needs a PI?” She frowned.

  “Someone in his parish does. I told him we’d give him a list of the ones we’d hired.”

  “Well, who would you suggest we put at the top of the list?” Susanna said, scowling. “The one who convinced you that a woman and baby matching Beth and Ian’s descriptions had been sighted in the Bahamas so that we would send him—all expenses paid, of course—to check it out? Or maybe the one who…”