by LS Sygnet
Johnny frowned.
“See? It was Southerby all along, Johnny, and Marcos. He does know that Danny was probably the leak to the FBI. But he wanted proof. Just like we wanted proof that Marcos is a cold blooded killer, a criminal of the worst kind.”
“Helen…”
“No, don’t argue with me. I knew something was odd when he got out of that vehicle, when it turned out that Danny was driving. When Southerby had me locked away in the treatment room at Dunhaven, do you know what he said to me? He talked about my father, Johnny. Celeste said that Danny had no idea who my father was until after he was approached by Seleeby.”
“Your husband didn’t know Wendell was still alive?”
“I’ve been telling people he’s dead for years, Johnny. It was easier that way, than answering all the questions.”
Johnny manacled my bicep and half dragged me into the house. “Sit,” one index finger extended to a chair at the kitchen table.
“Please don’t be angry with me. I don’t want you to interrogate me, Johnny.”
“Well too bad.”
“No, I want to tell you everything, not because I’m backed into a corner, but because I finally get it, Johnny. I know you love me. I know that I’m not alone anymore.”
He was the one who sat. “Well all right then,” he said.
There wasn’t a single interruption when I told Johnny everything Celeste said. It was eerie how her information explained the seeming dichotomies we’d uncovered in years of investigations Johnny compiled. He’d never found a single illegal act in any business practice, in any of Danny’s personal actions – except for his suspicions that were confirmed now by both Celeste and Dennis Bennett regarding the fate of Salvatore Masconi.
Johnny cursed. “It’d be pretty hypocritical of me to condemn the man for what he did, Helen, particularly since I could’ve done something about it at the time, but believed Masconi evaded justice and got away with murdering a fifteen year old girl.”
“Celeste said Danny was literally sick when the truth came out. I should’ve seen it when I interviewed him after Gwen Foster’s murder. He really was surprised when he realized what happened to her. In fact, he said it wasn’t possible. I found it compelling, that it indicated he knew what really happened to Masconi when he disappeared.”
“Because he did,” Johnny said.
I shook my head. “I was blinded by thoughts of vengeance. I thought I knew everything. I knew nothing. I feel like I know less now than ever.”
“So we’re certain that Datello wasn’t involved in anything, not the murder of Ireland, or the human trafficking, none of it.”
I nodded. “Of course, he’s such a convenient patsy. I think that’s probably the only aspect of any of this that we got right.” I sighed heavily and buried my face in my hands. “God, I feel so guilty.”
“You didn’t kill Datello, Helen, and if any of this had come out at the trial, don’t you think Zack would’ve moved to dismiss the case against him? Wouldn’t we have immediately seen that he was as much a victim of Sully Marcos as anyone else?”
“But that’s not how it happened. He was murdered by an FBI agent who I inadvertently killed. Same with Andy Gillette. He’s dead because I got angry, because I didn’t think anybody would find me. All of our avenues for answers are gone – because of me.”
Johnny slipped my hand into his. A thumb swished back and forth across my knuckles. “Don’t blame yourself, Helen. It really isn’t your fault.”
“But for some still unknown reason, I’m the one in the middle of all of this. I’m the one still desperate to understand why, and the people with answers are dropping like flies.”
“Well, we may not know all the details, but we do know why you’re in the middle of all of this, Helen. Maybe you were the beginning of this enterprise, when somebody figured out how easy it was to snatch children and they’re never seen or heard from again. There have been some pretty high profile child abductions or disappearances in the last few years where law enforcement had no choice but presume that the child is dead, buried out in the woods of Oregon or Ohio somewhere. Maybe that isn’t what really happened.”
I pulled my hand free and caressed my belly. “Johnny –”
“We’ll keep them safe. Nobody is taking you or our children.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“How can we bring children into this world? Look how much suffering we’ve mopped up after the fact just in the short time we’ve known each other.” Every victim I’d encountered in Darkwater Bay since I arrived almost a year ago rippled through my memory. Gwen Foster, indirectly her cousin Brighton Bennett, the homeless men, Detective Jake Cox, Journey Ireland… the list went on and on and on, culminating in Sofia Datello, the most innocent of them all.
Tears leaked from my eyes.
“Helen, please don’t doubt me now. Not again.”
“I should be angry, outraged that Terrell Sanderfield is dead. Another door that could’ve led us to answers, slammed shut. But I can’t muster up what should be the emotion. I wish they’d all die, that I could pretend that none of it is really out there.”
“You can’t do that,” Johnny said. “I know you too well, Helen. Until you know that the world is safe specifically for those babies we created, you won’t stop. You can’t. Neither can I.”
“Are you still mad that I left and didn’t tell you where I had to go?”
He grinned. “I had a suspicion or two before I got off the phone with David. Apparently, you’re so used to wearing that ankle monitor these days that you’ve forgotten it’s there.”
I had. “So when you asked me…?”
“I wanted you to tell me. I told you. I’m done digging for the truth. Either you trust me, or you don’t. I’m kinda thrilled right now, because it sort of seems like you finally get it.”
“I do,” I said. “And I’m glad.”
“Do you want to know what else David said to me?”
“I’d like to know why you seemed reluctant to share the video from Attica with him at all. It was more than who Thomas Peterson really was, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Johnny said. “Although now, my concerns seem unfounded.”
Panic rose into the back of my throat like bile. “He already knows it was me, doesn’t he?”
Johnny shook his head. “No, he thinks it was really Thomas Peterson, though they can’t figure out who he is now. Seems that the name popped up on one of Wendell’s old cases, a little boy who allegedly died in a car crash with his abusive, alcoholic father.”
“Oh, well, that makes sense, I suppose.”
“Helen, did your father save that little boy when you were a child? Did he find a better home for him?”
I nodded. “It wasn’t a random name I chose. I had to use one that I knew Dad would recognize, a person that he’d be too curious about to refuse seeing.”
Johnny chuckled. “Well, fortunately for you, David thinks it probably was the boy tracking down the man who gave him a better life. He’s concerned about this Special Agent Noah, however, and with good reason.”
“Clearly. He wasn’t with the FBI.”
“Think we ought to try to call Wendell again? It occurred to me that he might’ve been less than forthcoming, especially if he knew the identity of the man who came to see him.”
“He didn’t lie to me.”
Manipulate, perhaps, but I doubted that Dad lied to me when we last spoke. On the contrary, I was more concerned that he’d told the truth, that his interest in Lyle Henderson meant that another potential person of interest in the human trafficking case was about to meet an untimely demise.
“Did you hear me?”
“No,” I admitted.
“You’re worried that he isn’t answering his phone.”
“Terrified if you want the truth. Dad’s interest in his former father in law has me concerned.”
“Don’t think that the idea hasn’t crossed my min
d too, Helen. I’d put the geriatric bastard down myself if I found out he’s the one who threatened you and our sons.”
I knew Johnny only meant that in a vague, heat of the moment sort of way. Still, it seemed ironic that the man I eventually loved would have such a similar sense of justice to my father’s.
“Our sons need their father,” I said. “And their mother is suddenly famished again.”
“Blueberry pancakes?”
I grinned. “I’ve got a wicked craving for baked macaroni and cheese. I don’t suppose it’s one of the things you don’t think you cook well, is it?”
Johnny laughed and shook his head. “Bachelors are required to know how to make mac-n-cheese, sweetheart. It’s an unwritten law.”
“You’re not a bachelor anymore.”
“Yet thank God I was one for so long or we’d both starve to death. Or live off of rack of lamb, pot roast and cheese cake.”
While Johnny puttered around the kitchen, I dialed Dad’s international phone number again and wondered what happened that made him need more money all of a sudden. Was he moving to a different country? On his way back here to make sure Henderson didn’t hurt me again? Doing something else he shouldn’t be doing?
I feared that I unleashed a monster on an unwitting world.
Chapter 8
The screen in the confessional slid open. “Bless me Father for I have sinned. It’s been thirty-seven years since my last confession.”
He supposed that was a bad thing, foregoing this ridiculous recitation for what appeared to be the majority of the man’s lifetime.
Wendell had read about the required utterances enough to recall his mandated response. His advice to other cops back in the day, those working undercover or in hostage negotiations was to never stray too far from what they knew. This was about as far out of his comfort zone as a person could get.
“Father?”
“Go ahead, my son. God is always willing to hear the confession of the penitent heart.”
The silhouette relaxed. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Thirty-seven years is a long time. Something brought you to God today. Let’s begin with that.”
“I’m lying to everyone.”
Wendell frowned. Weren’t these things supposed to be more specific? He cleared his throat.
“What I say to you, you won’t tell anyone, will you? I’d go to my own priest but…”
He leaned forward. “But… what?”
“He’d recognize me, and I can’t allow anyone to know that I’m here.”
“I take it this is part of your lie.”
The man laughed softly. “Of all my lies, I’d say this one is the most minor, yet the most necessary. You see, everyone believes I’m… dead.”
Apparently Jesus wasn’t without a sense of irony either, since Wendell Eriksson’s remains had been cremated two months ago.
“Are you in trouble, my son?”
“You could say that. I suppose I should amend that confession, Father. Not everyone believes I’m dead. The people who arranged it know the truth. They hid me from… well, some very bad people in exchange for my testimony if it should become necessary.”
Great, Wendell thought. Of all the guys to plant his ass in my fake confessional, it’d have to be some criminal turning state’s evidence on a worse criminal. “But this isn’t the lie that’s brought you to God today.”
“It is,” the man said. “The FBI, they don’t know where I am at the moment and –”
“The FBI?” Wendell’s ears perked with immediate interest.
“Christ,” the man hissed, then crossed himself quickly and apologized. “My wife is here. I miss her. Is that so terrible?”
“And she too believes you’re dead?”
“It was the only way I could guarantee the safety of my family. The thing is, I would’ve been dead if someone hadn’t saved my life, only she doesn’t know she saved my life.”
“I see.”
“Do you, Father? I’m not sure I understand why she did it. In fact, she’s done a lot of things since just before someone tried to kill me that have me completely baffled.”
“All right. Does she have something to do with this… confession?”
The man nodded. “I have hated her for a very long time.”
“I see.”
“You could say that we’re mortal enemies, in fact. She arrested me, and I’m not saying that I’m an innocent man, but I wasn’t guilty of the crime she thought I committed.”
“What crime did you commit?” Wendell asked. Maybe this padre gig wasn’t so bad after all.
“It was a very long time ago. I – you swear to me that you won’t run to the police if I tell you this?”
“The seal of the confessional is respected by the justice system, but no, I’m bound by my vows to God to offer sanctuary.” As much as it galled him, that much was the truth. Wendell gritted his teeth and prepared to hear about a crime he couldn’t do a damn thing about. Or could he?
“Many years ago, a very bad man murdered the daughter of a friend.”
Wendell’s irritation faded. He tilted his head closer to the screen and murmured, “A child?”
“She was fifteen. It was a terrible crime, Father. He decapitated Brighton. They didn’t recover all of her remains until a year ago.”
“I see.”
“The man who the police arrested got off on a technicality, a screw up we all thought the cop investigating the case made –”
Wendell’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. The priest gig was good for many things, mainly the free time it afforded him to catch up on world events for the past twenty years, specifically those that related to his daughter. This story had Helen’s fingerprints all over it.
“We’re talking about the former police chief, aren’t we?” he asked.
“Yes,” the man half-snarled, but so quietly, Wendell nearly missed the response. “But we were all convinced it was someone else. I was so incensed, I… I killed the man we thought did it.”
“God forgives you, my son.”
In this booth, I am God, Wendell thought. Avenging the death of a child certainly met his criteria for justification. Not guilty of murder? Not bloody likely. Where there was smoke, there was always fire.
“Does he? How can he, when I can’t seem to forgive myself?”
“The police must’ve had reason to suspect him.”
The swallow echoed in the quiet space. “Well, he wasn’t a murderer at least. There was a rape charge that he managed to plead down in another state.”
Wendell nodded, satisfied that while the response was a bit harsh, it was justifiable. “God still forgives you. All you need do is repent, which you’ve just done.”
“I should feel gratitude that I’m not dead, that this enemy saved my life and probably my daughter’s too –”
Wendell froze. It couldn’t be. Could it?
“But she killed someone I loved very much. I know she killed him.” The man slammed his fist against his chest.
Wendell jumped.
“I felt it, the moment that my uncle called to tell me that Rick was dead.”
“You’re Danny Datello,” Wendell said.
He drew a noisy rattle of breath into his lungs.
“The seal of the confessional, son,” Wendell reminded him gently. “It goes no further than God, anything you say.” But his mind wanted to rattle off Miranda in the worst way. Anything you say can and will be used against you.
“I don’t look as much like who I used to be. It’s been two months. The feds altered my appearance.”
“You’re truly here because you miss your family?” Wendell could relate to that.
“Yes and no.”
He bristled.
“At first, I wanted to come back here and confront Helen Eriksson. But this is the thing that has me so twisted up. I’ve been laying low since I got back into town, you know? And I’ve learned things, things that have me doubting w
hat I thought I knew for certain. Just like the last time.”
“Did you come back to harm this woman?” Try as he might, Wendell couldn’t quite conceal the implied threat in that question.
“I confess that the thought crossed my mind, but I’ve been watching her. She’s looking after my wife. She found my daughter. She saved my life. Why would she do that? She hated me as much as I hated her.”
Wendell felt almost faint with relief. “Did you hear what you just said, Danny? Hated. You don’t hate her anymore.”
“Why should I lose my life for a crime I didn’t commit and she waltzes off into the sunset, happily married, pregnant to boot now too? It’s not right!”
“You’ve said that twice. You’re talking about that business at the medical examiner’s office last Christmas, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Datello hissed. “I didn’t hire anyone to kill David Ireland. Christ, I went to him for help. My lawyer inadvertently turned the evidence I amassed against Uncle Sully over to him. He was gonna help me get the information to the FBI without exposing where it came from.”
“So Uncle Sully sent someone out to take care of the problem.”
“I’ll be damned if I know how he figured out what Ireland and I were doing, but he did. This guy, Southerby, he showed up and started pushing me to help him figure out how somebody out here knew anything about the family when I was the only link in town.”
“If you weren’t guilty, why didn’t you tell the police?”
Datello snorted. “Helen would’ve never believed me.”
“Yet she believed you enough to try to save your life. She believed you enough to rescue your daughter when she was kidnapped.”
“I know,” Datello said. “And I suppose that’s why I’m feeling conflicted. Maybe even a little bit guilty.”
“Oh?” Wendell’s ears perked with interest.
He nodded. “See, there’s a woman.”
“Other than your wife?”
Datello spat, “Not that kind of woman! I love my wife with all of my heart, Father. She’s the one who gave me the courage to try to find another way to get my uncle out of my life once and for all. And I’d have gone to Helen with the truth if my cousin hadn’t been arrested. He was giving me information that I could’ve used against Sully.”
