Cloaked in Blood

by LS Sygnet

  “No, but that wouldn’t stop you from asking anyway. What can I say, Crevan? Dad taught me to always be prepared for any contingency, to be ready to walk away from everything at the drop of a hat. This is how it works in our world. We do what has to be done, and then we move on.”

  “There’s probably a want out on all three of us by now,” Crevan sipped his coffee and tugged the collar of his jacket a little higher around the rim of his jaw. “Maybe I’d feel better if I knew why we’re hiding out like this.”

  “We’re hiding out because I want to know what’s going to happen at Bay County Correctional,” I said. “And from here, I have a perfect view through the binoculars.”

  “Who do you think you’re gonna see?” Crevan asked. He pressed his set of long distance eyewear to his eyes. “We’ve been out here all day, sweating our asses off, and now freezing in the damp cold. It’s damn near too foggy to see anything anyway.”

  “Nonsense,” Datello said. “We saw Orion and Levine leave hours ago, looking none too happy. Maybe they’ll be back.”

  “They won’t,” I said. “She already knew that Lyle Henderson was dead before Johnny had the chance to use that information to his advantage.”

  “How would she know? You think somebody already came and threatened her?” Crevan asked.

  “No, I know she knows because I’m pretty sure that my father already told her.”

  “Wendell? How would he… Jesus, Helen. Don’t tell me that you think your dad killed Henderson.”

  “Oh Crevan,” I chuckled. “Of course Daddy didn’t kill Lyle. He might think I don’t really need the answers in all of this, but he needs them as much as I do. That’s why he was spying on Lyle.”

  “Do you think he’s the one who killed Koehler?” Danny wondered.

  “If he did, he’d never cop to it, nor would any evidence ever be found. I can see him going to confront Lyle, and probably finding his body.”

  “Just how the hell do you see that?” Crevan’s exasperation filled the cab of the truck. “For God’s sake, Helen. He’s been in prison for nearly 20 years, and you allegedly had no idea what he was really doing before his arrest.”

  “Do you know your father?” Datello asked.

  “Of course I do.”

  “Even though you’ve probably had very little to do with him since you got out from under his homophobic thumb when you were probably about the same age as Helen was when Wendell was arrested?”

  “Of course. It’s no secret how he’d react to just about anything. I witnessed enough of his tantrums and rages growing up to know exactly how he’d –” Crevan clamped his mouth shut for a moment. “Fine. I see your point. You know how your dad thinks.”

  “But whoever facilitated my abduction when I was a newborn doesn’t know Dad. He doesn’t know me either. Oh, he might’ve been watching me for the majority of at least my professional career, but he doesn’t know me, Crevan. I’d lay odds that he cannot conceive of the lengths to which I’d go, or the depths I’d stoop to catch someone.”

  “But I think Danny and I get it, Helen. And if you already know who this guy is, then why aren’t we out confronting him, arresting him?”

  “Proof, dear brother. My gut isn’t admissible in a court of law. I need to see him approach Sherman. And you can bet the family fortune, he’s going to do it.”

  As he spoke, my heart began thundering wildly in my chest. It sounded like a fist banging on a door in my head. Datello and I glanced at each other when the Lincoln pulled into the parking lot of the county jail.

  “Don’t look now,” Danny said. “Somebody’s got a visitor.”

  Crevan pressed the binoculars to his face and cursed.

  “Jesus, Helen. You can’t possibly believe – he’s got every reason to be here!”

  “And why is that? Because he knows Lyle, has known him for years?”

  “Yes!” Crevan said.

  “And so how would he ever know that there’s a connection between Melissa Sherman and Lyle Henderson? They didn’t advertise it. If I hadn’t had her DNA compared to my mother’s, we’d have never learned who she really is. We know without a doubt that she isn’t my father’s child, and he suspected it when he found out Marie was pregnant.”

  “Helen –”

  “As unbelievable as this might seem, it’s the proof I’ve been looking for all along, Crevan. I’m sorry. You know it as well as I do.”

  “I know nothing of the sort! He could be here to see any number of people.”

  “Detective Conall, you need to stop making excuses for what’s right in front of your eyes,” Danny said. “Do you think I wanted to believe that my uncle murdered my father, that he ended the life of the man his own sister loved with all her heart? Of course not.”

  Crevan turned to me with an anguished expression flooding his eyes. “But how could he be part of something like this, Helen? How?”

  “He said it to me once before, how little he values women. Honey, think about what you know, what you’ve seen, how he treated –”

  “Stop,” he said. “I can’t listen to this.”

  I nodded. “I was afraid this would happen if I even hinted at confronting you with the truth. You can’t be part of what has to happen next.”

  “Don’t think you’re cutting me out now! I’m not going to let you simply go confront him and probably kill him if you don’t get the answers you want to hear!”

  “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that, Crevan, because you’re my brother and I –”

  My cell phone rang.

  We all froze.

  “Who has that number?” Danny asked.

  I glanced at Crevan. “Only my father, as far as I know.”

  “Well, look at the caller ID for heaven’s sake!” he said.

  “It’s a blocked call,” Crevan said without seeing the screen. “Helen, did you tell anyone else what we were doing?”

  “No,” I said. “It’s probably Dad.”

  “I think you should shut it off.”

  I agreed and flicked my thumbnail against the power button. “If it was Johnny, he wouldn’t have called. He’d just ping the signal so he knew where I’d gone, where we’d all gone.” I cast a defiant glance at Crevan. “Which is exactly why I insisted in leaving all electronic tracking devices at the house.”

  “Are you willing to risk that by staying here? He could’ve called to see if you would answer, and still have us surrounded right now,” Crevan said. He reached for the keys hanging in the ignition.

  “Crevan, we can’t leave until we find out exactly who he came to the jail to visit.”

  “Then we’ll find another way, we’ll call the jail and ask the officer on duty.”

  “And have him call Johnny to say he’d heard from me? No way. That would be the dumbest move we could make.”

  “Just how did you plan to find out who he saw anyway? You can’t stroll in there and ask to see the sign in book,” Crevan said. “Neither can I, and despite the youthful appearance of your new frenemy here, he lived for a couple of months in that building. Do you really think the guards wouldn’t recognize him?”

  “Saul Becker,” I said. “He owes me a favor. He owes me a bunch of favors, actually. He goes off duty at eight.”

  “How do you know he wasn’t the one calling you?”

  “Because, Crevan, he has no idea that I’m here, or that I’m calling in a marker tonight, let alone the number of this throw away cell phone. I planned to contact him when he leaves the jail.”

  “It’s after eight now, Einstein. If you’re so sure he’s on duty, where is he? Why hasn’t he left?” Crevan asked.

  “I don’t know. But if he’s not out of there in five minutes, believe me. I’ll find out.”

  Chapter 40

  Wendell cursed under his breath and unblocked the phone number on the new cell phone. “Answer the phone, Helen. C’mon. Pick up. Pick up.”

  It rolled immediately into voice mail without a single ring.
<
br />   Dammit. She must’ve shut off the phone.

  Wendell sat in his black sedan a few hundred yards away from Bay County Correctional Facility. He’d been following Aidan Conall all day, watching him flit from one useless activity to another as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

  It was almost the truth. Nearly everyone who could identify him as the head of the human trafficking ring was dead. Everyone but Melissa Sherman. Knocking off a prisoner in the county jail was no easy proposition, particularly when the jail had video surveillance. Wendell’s stint in Attica taught him to know the usual places for the cameras, and he was able to carefully keep his face averted to avoid a good view. He was certain that someone would review that footage just as soon as they realized that Melissa Sherman already knew that Lyle Henderson was dead. The fact that he spotted Orion and the FBI fellow that fancied himself Helen’s protector heading down the long and desolate stretch of highway to the facility on the outskirts of Downey cemented that fact.

  Only Johnny would recognize him anyway. He didn’t suppose the man would feel particularly disposed to making a positive ID though. Not only would it implicate Helen, it would reveal Johnny’s complicity in his escape. That would lead to other questions Orion certainly wouldn’t want to answer.

  Wendell could’ve backed off. He could’ve let Johnny deliver the news to Sherman, to hear her horrified whisper, the confession, the name of the man responsible for all of this. Maybe he should’ve let Johnny hear it. But he couldn’t take that chance. If anybody else, particularly those too close to the investigation, learned the truth, Conall would never face prosecution for his crimes. Helen would kill him. Johnny would either kill him or cover up another one of Helen’s murders.

  As for Aidan’s whelp Crevan, well, Wendell wasn’t sure what to make of the young man. Loyalty, even to a horrendous parent, could be a difficult obstacle to surmount. From what Helen told him, Crevan had a knack for denial. He’d probably insist that his father was innocent.

  Like Helen insisted you were innocent. They’re not so different after all, are they? Fiercely loyal, and just as fiercely conflicted about their feelings for their fathers.

  Wendell focused on the keyboard on the cell phone. Amazing what happened to technology while he was on the inside. Back then, before his freedom ended, Motorola touted an enormous cellular phone that came in a leather bag. Now these gadgets were small enough to hide in the palm of his hand.

  He dialed Helen’s number again. “Pick up, sweetheart. I’ve got to tell you what’s going on.”

  But for the third time, Helen simply wasn’t there.

  Johnny felt it in his bones. Weariness. Defeat. The death of all hope for anything better. Helen’s words from what felt like years ago echoed in his mind. You deserve better than me, Johnny. She said it only a couple of days before his frustration turned him into a stranger, a man he barely recognized anymore when he looked in the mirror.

  What if he’d done things differently? What if he’d gone to David Levine with his suspicions regarding Helen instead of turning to a criminal for advice?

  Helen would be in prison. Wendell wouldn’t be on the loose, out there God only knew where, doing God only knew what. Datello would still be public enemy number one.

  Jerry Lowe might be back on the outside, killing young girls too.

  The Jacksons would probably be blissfully manufacturing methamphetamine and plotting how to introduce a lethal crop of cassava root into countries where the colors of skin were offensive to at least one of the Jackson brothers.

  Mitch Southerby would still be presumed dead, but really at large, preying on innocent victims.

  Fulk Underwood would’ve probably at the very least, attempted to murder Johnny’s best friend. Crevan, if he had survived, would likely still be living miserably in the closet.

  Little girls and young women would still be for sale, courtesy of Darkwater Bay’s habit of turning a blind eye for profit.

  But would Johnny be happier?

  He stood staring at the framed photograph on the mantle of their bedroom. His sons, shown in vivid three-dimension from the most recent ultrasound, already had spiky little eyelashes and tiny fingernails. He could see their mother in the bone structure of their faces, wondered if when their eyes finally opened and the murky color that existed cleared if they’d have her green eyes or if they’d be blue like his.

  More than anything, he wondered if Helen and he would ever get past the rotted foundation of their relationship. Would they raise their children together? Or more likely, would he spend the rest of his natural life wondering what sort of danger sniffed after his wife, spilled onto their children by proximity to a parent who was a magnet for evil-doers.

  Clearly, if Helen wasn’t sharing information, he couldn’t keep up with where her mind went. And Johnny had no doubt that right now, his wife was out there somewhere in Darkwater Bay stalking the man responsible for nearly four decades of slavery. It started with Helen – not that she’d been subjugated to the horrors that some had.

  They thought it started with her.

  What if they were wrong?

  Johnny stared into the amber liquid in the glass he held. “It makes sense, that’s why. Over and over, this thing keeps coming back to Helen. It led us to Henderson’s involvement when Kathleen Conall recognized the nurse that abducted her daughter. Marie Eriksson. It comes straight back to Helen. But why?”

  “Maybe because she was the first,” David said softly from the doorway. “Back in the ‘70s, snatching an infant from a hospital was easy. Florence Payette proved that with the right pieces in place, it’s not as hard now as I’m sure we’d like it to be.”

  “If she was the first…” Johnny sighed. “Why? Why is the first one so goddamned important to these people, David? What difference does it make now? She’s an adult. She’s not really a threat to them now.”

  David arched one eyebrow. “If either one of us believed that were true, we wouldn’t be worried about her continued absence, Johnny. They of all people, are completely aware of the threat she poses.”

  “So why didn’t they kill her in March when they had the chance? Why risk her coming back to haunt them? Why try to sell her?”

  “Greed,” David said. “It’s usually the motivation behind most crimes. Someone stands to gain something they want very badly.”

  “It was more than the money,” Johnny said. “And she knows what it was. Couldn’t be bothered to tell me, but she knew.”

  “I’m not making excuses for her reticence, Johnny, but considering that Helen has… trust issues, is it really so surprising that she’d be reluctant talk about what happened to her out there on that ship?”

  Johnny’s chin dipped to his chest. “I asked her, you know, if Gillette touched her. Considering how we found her, how we found him…” Fingers clenched tightly around the glass in his hand until the delicate crystal cracked.

  “Of course she denied it,” David said. “She would to you especially, Johnny.”

  “She said they wanted to break her spirit. Who would ever want to do such a thing? Her –” he swallowed thickly. “Her spirit is what I think I love about her the most. Even when her stubbornness infuriates me, and her lies frustrate me to no end, and her –”

  “Wait,” David said. He strode across the room and stared at Johnny intently. “They wanted to break her spirit?”

  “Yeah, but I’m sure you can imagine how someone like Helen would try the patience of a saint, let alone someone who demanded subservience from women.”

  “Yes,” David said.

  Johnny sobered. “Demand subservience from women. Like… biblical subservience.”

  “Someone who would take particular delight in seeing Helen broken too.”

  “Like her mother was.”

  David’s eyes narrowed. “Have we looked closely at her parents, Johnny? Her father in particular. Helen shared with me that he seemed to think he had the right to run her out of Darkwater Bay, dem
anded that she be fired from the police department before she retired for what, the third time?”

  “He knew Lyle Henderson. They were old church buddies.”

  “And he was a supporter of Terrell Sanderfield. He was at that fundraiser in Darkwater Bay the night Helen was abducted.”

  “Shit,” Johnny said. “He’s the philanthropist, the guy with his finger in everybody’s piece of the pie. He’s the one. He fits Helen’s profile of the guy pulling the strings behind the curtain, the one who had so much to lose, he wouldn’t want to give up his position in Darkwater Bay to simply open up shop somewhere else.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “I’ll drive,” Johnny said.

  Crevan drove quickly away from their vantage point a quarter of a mile away from the correctional facility. He ignored Helen’s questions, ignored Datello’s pleas that whatever he was thinking, to just calm down and be rational.

  Rational?

  Not fucking likely.

  The more Helen talked, the more the pieces fell into place, from the lie that his twin was a dead brother and not a sister, the objections to Crevan becoming a police officer, the belittling he endured – that he’d have never gotten his promotion to detective if Aidan hadn’t pulled strings.

  And all the while, while he lived his pious lies, he was a dirtier sinner than anyone Aidan Conall had ever condemned.

  If everything boiled down to genetics, it was no wonder he and Helen were both screwed. They came from bad seed, all right. Aidan Conall’s bad seed. How it must’ve galled him to know that his daughter was more butch than the son that he kept to himself, that he saved because of the little appendage that hung between his legs.

  “You wanted me to be a man, Dad. Well, this is it. I’ll show you once and for all,” Crevan said.

  “Honey, stop the truck. Where are you going? Don’t do anything rash. Please, Crevan, I know it’s a shock, but we have to move carefully now.”

  “Carefully?” Crevan barked a disbelieving laugh. “You suggest caution now? Jesus, Helen, you’ve never conducted yourself with a speck of prudence when it comes to closing a case, and now you tell me to slow down? To stop?”