“What makes you say that?” I asked.
“Two things,” Will replied without hesitation. “The first is the swing set in the background of this picture.” Will pointed to a picture of a woman who looked to be in her early thirties and the young girl. They were both sitting on the ground, each holding deep red flowers. “The swing set is too small to be in any public park and too basic and inexpensive looking to be in the backyard of a rich family. And this picture,” he said, pointing to another that captured the image of a man, who also looked to be in his mid-thirties, holding the same young girl. They were attending a sporting event and were facing the camera. “This was obviously taken at a game and their seats are what most would refer to as ‘cheap seats.’ It’s hard to tell, but I’d say this was taken at a football game.”
“I don’t see now goal posts on the field,” Ralph said.
“And you won’t. That field isn’t an American football field, but what we call a ‘soccer’ field. And, I’d say this picture was taken somewhere in the UK.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know a lot about football, but I can recognize the Manchester United colors and crest on several of the other fan’s clothing. MU is the only football team I follow.”
“This picture was taken in Manchester? In England?” I said.
“Old Trafford Field in Manchester. That’s my best guess.”
“You got all that from looking at the background of these pictures?” Ralph asked.
“Yes, Chief. But, again, I may be wrong about it all. It’s just my best guesses.”
It hit me like a brick across my face. The rose petals shaped into a heart. The carved message into the cabin’s wall. The empty frame, the pictures, the reminders of losing Lucy and Ralph failing to prevent a murderer from killing more people. I grabbed my iPhone out of my pocket and dialed Thomas O’Connell’s phone number. I prayed he hadn’t followed through on his decision to change his cell number.
“You’re not wrong at all,” I said to Will. “And I know who the girl in the pictures is.”
Part Two
“I hold it true, whate’er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
‘T is better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all” - Alfred Lord Tennyson
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It wasn’t easy ignoring Ralph and Will’s increasingly vocalized questions they started throwing at me, but all I could think about was Thomas O’Connell. I held my breath as each ring cycle reached its end, only breathing between the ending of one cycle and the start of the next. The fact his phone was ringing was, I believed, a good sign. I didn’t think he could have cancelled his number so quickly but Thomas, like was his father, is a man of resources so I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had followed through and changed his number.
After five rings, my call went to voice mail.
“Shit balls,” I said. “He’s not picking up.”
“I cannot say whether I share in your worry or will adopt an apathetic response to you being unable to contact Thomas O’Connell,” Ralph said, his Texas accent sounding intentionally more pronounced. “Seeing as how you have not deemed neither me or Officer Franklin here worthy enough to be privy to your cathartic revelation.”
I left Thomas a message which I hoped would inspire him to call me back: “Thomas, it’s Derek Cole. I need you to call me the second you hear this message. It’s about your fiancé.”
I ended the call, checked to make sure my ring volume was maxed, then slid the phone back into my pocket. When I was able to collect myself, I noticed Ralph was leaning against the doorway, arms folded and wearing a grin that was a mixture of confusion and hopeful expectation. “Well now,” he said to Will, “seems my freelancing friend has locked onto a scent like a love-starved bloodhound. Ya think he’s gonna share the stink he’s following?”
“Ralph,” I said, somewhat feeling the need to convince him of what I knew Alexander was telling us with the messages and clues, “the message carved into the wall; it’s not about me. It’s about Thomas. Everything is about Thomas. Don’t you see?”
“Help me to see, Derek. Imagine I am a blind man and your eyes are my only windows to the world.”
I took a deep breath, tying to slow my thoughts down to a controllable speed. “ ‘A Broken Heart is a Sign of Life. It is a Longing.’ That’s what he wrote on the wall in the den, right?”
Ralph craned his neck a bit so he could see the wall with the carved message. “I do believe you’ve captured it perfectly,” he said.
“At first, especially after seeing all the stuff Alexander left for me in that folder, I thought that message was about me. You know, my longing for Lucy but me still being alive?”
“I believe that association was first presented by me. So, I’m with you thus far. Continue.”
“When I called Thomas, he told me he got engaged to a woman named Bri from England. I didn’t think much about it, other than to feel happy for him. I mean, not that I am especially fond of the guy, considering how he lied to me, but, you know, live and let live.”
Ralph held up his hand in a stopping motion. “Are you planning on sharing all your emotions with us or are you gonna get to the point of your story so Officer Franklin and I have enough information to decide whether or not to get on board with whatever the hell it is you’re thinking?”
“Sorry. I just can’t believe I didn’t make this connection sooner. So, Alexander feels Thomas stole his heart the day they were born. I also think Alexander feels Thomas stole his life. It could have been Alexander the O’Connell’s brought home from the hospital. It could have been him they raised in the lap of luxury. Instead, Thomas got the life and Alexander was raised as Straus’s lab rat. It’s obvious Alexander knows how to do some research, probably on the Internet. I’m sure he found out Thomas got engaged on some online newspaper’s site that lists engagements and other community news. And when he found out, he must have snapped even more than he’s already snapped.
“Think about it: The rose petals leading into his old room. The heart shaped pattern with pictures of the girl from England and the fancy looking frame that I’d bet he somehow stole from either Thomas’s home or from Bri’s: They all point to Alexander going after Thomas through his fiancé. When Will suggested those pictures of the young girl were taken in England, everything came together in my brain.”
“You think he wants to kill the girl to get to Thomas?” Ralph asked.
“I think he wants to kill her in order to break Thomas’s heart. ‘A broken heart is a sign of life.’ Alexander wants to break his brothers heart and the only way to do that is by killing this Bri woman.”
Will said, “And then he’ll probably kill Thomas, too.”
“And he wants us to be there as well,” I added. “Why? I can’t say for certain.”
“I’d say.” Ralph said, “old Alex carries one hell of a grudge. Wants to kill the three people who survived that night in Hilburn. He wants you and I to be actors in the dramatic play he’s writing.”
“Wait a minute,” Will said. “His fiancée, you said her name was Bri?”
“Yes. That’s what Thomas told me.”
“Did he tell you if Bri is short for Briallen?”
“Uh...no. Does it matter?” I asked.
“My maternal grandmother was from England. Her name was Briallen. I remember her telling me a few thousand times that Briallen is an old English word for ‘rose.’ ”
“Well, drop my drawers and spank me red,” Ralph bellowed. “That is a fine example of using non-police life events to solve a real life, police mystery.” Ralph then turned towards me, smiled, and said, “I think you may be spot on right, Derek. I never doubted you, my friend. Never for one second.”
“Glad you agree. But, now we need to figure out where this play of his is being staged.”
I was pretty happy with how I tied the whole “play theme” Ralph started. I’m not
usually that creative so when I come up with a gem like calling where Alexander was hiding out a “stage,” I expected at least some acknowledgement. Even a placating little clapping would have been nice. Instead, Ralph just looked at me, smile and said, “I’d say we have four options to choose from. He could be planning on using this cabin as his location, but I highly doubt that. He could be holed up back down in Hilburn, but, I believe that place has been renovated or is in the process of being so. Kind of rules Hilburn out. That leaves the rundown place outside of Albany or the O’Connell’s cabin in Indiana.”
“If we leave now, we can be at the first place in a couple of hours. Driving to Indiana will take a solid twelve hours or so.”
“I say you bring me to my house, let me pack a bag and then we get on our way.”
“Let’s go.”
“And Derek?” Ralph said.
“Yeah?”
“Very clever of you tying the whole ‘dramatic play’ thing I was working with your ‘stage’ comment.”
I felt better.
“What about his mother?” Will asked. “I don’t know a lot about this whole case but I do remember his mother is still alive. Think she’s involved somehow?”
I stopped feeling better.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
If I ever decide to hang up my freelance detective hat and join another police department, I hope I’m fortunate enough to work side by side with someone like Will Franklin. Not only is Franklin smart and a budding good detective, he understands the importance of maintaining confidentiality. What Ralph and I were doing—going after Alexander on our own without involving any other police department or legal agency—may not have been illegal but it was certainly ill advised. But both Ralph and I believed it was up to us to end Alexander’s revenge tour; something we probably should have done that night at Hilburn almost a year prior. But putting a stop to Alexander’s plan meant we had to kill him, once and for all. And deciding to kill a suspect, no matter how evil, guilty and dangerous he may be, in lieu of setting out to capture and arrest him, does fall well outside the often times wavering lines of the law.
Will Franklin knew what Ralph and I were intent on doing. He knew by assisting us, he too may have anemic answers to some tough questions if things turned sideways. And he also knew what Alexander would do if outside authorities were called in. Alexander needed to be stopped or at least two more people would be killed: Thomas and his fiancé, Briallen.
“You’d figure Alexander would at least have mentioned something about his mother if she was on his hit-list,” Will said.
“She was, is, on his list,” I added. “His original list which included all the doctors from Chicago and from Hilburn. He’s still looking to cross off all the names on his list. Only thing that has changed is he’s added Ralph and my names to it.”
“But, unless we’re missing something, there doesn’t seem to be any reference to his mother in any of the clues or messages he left for you two.”
He was right, at least, I believed he was right. As hard as I tried to make a direct connection between Jan O’Connell and a clue left for us at Straus’s cabin, I couldn’t put things together. “Thomas told me his mother didn’t handle the events of last year well. Said she stays pretty much to herself lately and visits the graveyard where her husband and who she thought was her lost son are buried.”
“Are you thinking mommy is working with Alexander this time?” Ralph asked. “Kind of following in the footsteps of her hubby and finishing the job he couldn’t get done?”
“To believe that, I’d have to believe she’d be willing to kill Thomas. I can’t believe that.”
“Unless Alexander got her so twisted up in her brain that she doesn’t even know what role she’s playing,” Ralph said.
“I think it’s more likely,” Will added, “that the mother is one of the targets. Think about it: She’s the one with the broken heart already. She lost her husband and found out the son she thought had died at birth is alive and is a psychotic mass murderer.”
My head was spinning. The more the three of us stood in the cabin bouncing ideas off one another, the more possible scenarios were created. It became clearer and clearer the more we talked that Ralph and I needed to stop talking and get moving. He agreed and Will agreed to keep everything we were doing quiet. The last thing Will said to us was when Ralph and I were sitting in my car. He walked up to my opened window, leaned in a bit to make sure the other officer who was standing near the squad car couldn’t overhear what he was about to say. “Hate to keep throwing possibilities into the mix, but, this could be a ‘Psycho’ thing in reverse.”
“You talking about the movie, ‘Psycho’?” Ralph asked.
“What if Jan O’Connell really did snap and is now playing to role of Alexander? It doesn’t explain the missing body or how the medical examiner was killed, but...”
“And the time frame doesn’t work, either,” I said. “Jan was in the Bahama’s when Alexander was brought to the morgue. There’s no way she could have done whatever was done at the morgue.”
“I agree,” Will said as he straightened up, looked around the cabin then nodded to his partner to let him know it was about time for them to leave. “But there’s close to a ten month time gap between the night in the morgue and today. That’s a whole lot of time for her to have been contacted, twisted and recruited. Alexander may have really died and she, driven fully insane with grief, decided to finish things in his memory. Maybe she has no intentions of hurting Thomas or his fiancé and is just using the threat of violence against them in order to get to her true targets.”
“Ralph and me,” I stated.
“Just a thought,” Will said.
“And one that is not making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” Ralph tapped the dashboard then waved a finger towards the cabin, then said to Will, “I need you keep an eye out on this place and let me know if anything looks unusual.”
“Yes, Chief. I was already planning on doing that.”
“And, don’t forget how grateful Derek and I are for your assistance and your continued confidence.”
It was clear Ralph was finished talking and was ready to get moving. If we had continued discussing options and possible scenarios with Will, I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone floated the possibility that I actually died in Hilburn and that I was the one behind this whole messed up play.
I wasn’t, by the way.
________________________
After making a stop at Ralph’s home, we headed southeast towards the GPS coordinates Will had punched into the navigation app on my phone. The first half hour of our drive was spent in absolute silence; the only sounds being little grunts and “hmmm’s” coming from Ralph as he read, word for word, the contents of the file folder Alexander had left for me at the bottom of Piseco Lake.
“You know, Derek, I think several of the scenarios we’ve been manufacturing are nothing more than that: Manufactured, created by a few fellows not willing to accept the most likely scenario of all.”
“And that would be?”
“Alexander didn’t die that night. That he killed that poor medical examiner and has had nine, close to ten, months to plan out his final scene. I cannot say I know for certain his mama isn’t involved somehow, but I’d say she’s already been killed or will be playing the role of a victim and not the main antagonist.”
“You’re probably right,” I said. “This whole thing is so messed up, I guess I’m willing to buy into any scenario.”
“And the sooner you and I agree on what we’re headed out to do, and to whom we are planning to do what it is we are heading out to do, the sooner we can mentally prepare ourselves. I am not suggesting we ignore any indicators which may point us in a different direction, but if try to chase too many rabbits down too many holes, we’ll end up chasing our own tails. And tail-chasing people make for easy targets.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It was close to five in the afternoon be
fore I pulled my car up the long stretch of hard-packed dirt that had once served as a driveway. The two story structure the driveway led to was, as expected, run down and in dire need of one of those home makeover specialists Lucy used to enjoy watching on TV. I never liked those shows. Actually, I never liked any reality show. I watched a few of them and found they were closer to science fiction than they were to reality. Scripted dramas with scripted conversations and well thought out “confessions” told by the stars of the shows.
“Let’s start with a search of the house,” Ralph said as we exited my car. “I don’t think this play’s final scene will be going on here, but draw your weapon just in case my senses aren’t as working.”
We both drew our guns and walked strategically towards what remained of the front door. More precisely, I walked strategically while Ralph just strolled as if he was walking through a buffet line at an all you can Chinese restaurant.
The first thing we both noticed when we made entry was the smell: A fetid smell of rotting flesh, animal feces and urine clouded the air.
“Ain’t no plug-in air freshener in the world gonna take this stink away,” Ralph said.
We moved through the house, clearing each room one at a time. We found the source of the horrible smell near what used to be the kitchen.
“Looks like a coyote came in here to die.”
“And,” I said, “looks like he was successful at that effort.”
The rest of the house was empty, except for hundreds of empty beer cans scattered across the floors of many of the rooms. When I was a teenager in Columbus, my friends and I found an abandoned home not too unlike the one Ralph and I were exploring. We used the house as our “party spot,” often times inviting dozens of friends to join us for some underaged drinking exercises. The spent Bud and Miller Lite cans told me kids were the same no matter what zip code they lived in.
Still Heartless: The Thrilling Conclusion to Heartless (Derek Cole Suspense Thrillers Book 5) Page 12
