Mad Dog Justice (33 page)

“I hope so.”

“I keep thinking of Walt McKay and Crystal Newcomb,” Roddy says. “Such tragic deaths and so needless.”

“Forgive me, Roddy, but I keep thinking of what happened to
me
.”

“You’re one lucky Irishman.”

There’s silence as Roddy drives.

“I gotta apologize to you, Roddy. I just do. If I’d been more
careful when Kenny first came to me, none of this would’ve happened.”

Roddy shakes his head. “Still beating up on yourself, Dan? I owe you an apology for not trusting you, for thinking somehow you could’ve been in on the whole scheme.”

Jesus, how feeble is my sense of trust? Suspecting Danny? Shame on me
.

“So what happens to you now?”

“First, I try to set things right with Tracy. Then I talk to Ivan and the hospital. I’m on thin ice everywhere. Then I don’t know.” Roddy pauses. “How about you?”

“I’ll talk to Angela. I think we’ll get our lives back on track.”

More silence as they ride on.

“You think things’ll ever be the same?” Dan asks.

“Probably not.”

“How about between you and me?”

“I hope they will, Danny. I really hope so.”

“Me, too.”

Dan shakes his head.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

“Roddy, I just have this terrible feeling.”

“About what just happened?”

Danny pauses. “I don’t know. I just feel like …”

“Like what?”

“Like this isn’t over yet.”

“It’s over, Dan. Believe me, it’s over.”

“I don’t think so.”

R
oddy sits at a table in the Doral’s atrium. He feels calm—he’s luxuriating in a sense of tranquility. It’s the first time in weeks his insides aren’t thrumming. It’s as though the dread has leached out of his body. He feels almost like his old, normal self.
And just what is normal, anyway?
he wonders.

He’s polished off a big breakfast—orange juice, scrambled eggs, buttered toast, a croissant, and coffee. It’s the first time in weeks he’s had a hearty appetite. A warm morning glow fills the atrium’s expanse. It’s going to be a lovely day. There’s a slight breeze outside—he can tell by the movement of the rhododendron leaves swaying languorously in the morning light. It’s rare in early March for the weather to be this mild, but Roddy senses the weather reflects his mood: calm, clearing, with a good chance of things brightening.

Roddy asks himself if his feelings this morning even begin approximating the apprehension he felt the day after he’d killed Grange and Kenny.
My God. How long ago did that happen? It was nearly a year ago, but it seems a lifetime away
. In contrast to that dark morning, Roddy has a vague yet discernible sense of satisfaction, a freedom of spirit he never expected. Maybe it’s because Harris had arranged for innocent people to be killed. Walt McKay’s wife is a widow and his kids are fatherless. Crystal Newcomb’s brief life was cut short, and somewhere, a family is
mourning her.

He asks himself if his lack of remorse over Harris’s death is because he and Dan hadn’t planned on killing Harris—they’d simply intended to expose him and call the police.

He wonders if he’d punched Harris so hard he was propelled out the window and over the balcony railing, or if the man just ran and launched himself to his death.

And Roddy wonders if Harris deserved to die. The answer seems obvious.

It’s strange how you can rationalize anything.

Roddy finishes breakfast and heads back to his room. He turns on the television to
Good Day New York
with Rosanna Scotto and Greg Kelly. It’s the lead story at nine a.m.

Real estate developer John Harris was found dead early this morning in front of his home in Bedford Corners, New York. According to Bedford Police detective Peter Hastings, Harris was discovered when staff members arrived at six a.m.

Harris’s body was on the driveway, in front of his mansion. Initial evidence indicates he jumped in an apparent suicide from a second-story window. In a related development, Internet postings were released overnight that claim to have information hacked from Harris’s own computer. The source of the postings, which involved information about international money laundering, is unknown, and their authenticity is not verified at this time.

Bedford police theorize Harris may have leapt to his death upon learning of the postings. Formal cause of death is awaiting an autopsy report from the county’s medical examiner.

S
tanding at the window, Roddy thinks about last night in Harris’s office. It’s been only a few hours, yet it seems forever ago, just as it does with Kenny and Grange. Time will blur the rawness of it all, not only for him, but for Danny, too. Danny was a different man last night than the one he’d been at Snapper Pond. He’d come to terms with the need to squeeze Harris and do whatever was necessary to save themselves and their families.

Roddy luxuriates in knowing no one is looking for him and he can return to the hospital and try to resume his family life at the lovely Tudor-style home in Bronxville.

There’s only one big question left: will Tracy be in it?

R
oddy pulls into the driveway of the white clapboard house on Beech Street.
Nutley is a pretty little town
, he thinks. Bare sycamore and maple trees line the street. It’s only a matter of a few weeks before the small swellings of buds form a lacy green canopy over the street. Getting out of the car, he inhales deeply. He can smell spring in the air—a good omen. It’s just past noon, and the sun shines brilliantly in a cloudless blue sky.

He climbs the front stairs, certain Colleen won’t be home. She’s very likely running errands, so he and Tracy can have some privacy.

Even as he rings the bell, Roddy’s heart pounds heavily. His legs feel like water. When the door opens, his heart tumbles inside his chest. He’s stunned by the reality of Tracy standing there. Her hair looks golden in the noon light. It’s pulled back in the simple ponytail he’s always loved. While he could never forget her skin, he’s suddenly struck by how pale, creamy, and inviting it looks. It reminds him of seeing her that first time in the library all those years ago. Her green eyes look into his; he detects a hint of sadness in them. Searching her face, he tries to determine if she’s softened since they last talked. When was that? He’s unsure if it was three or four days ago—maybe longer.

“Come in,” she says.

Roddy searches for an intonation in her voice. Is there some
meaning in the way she tilts her head? Does she open the door widely or not? Does she look directly in his eyes, and what do those lovely eyes say? But inference and intonation won’t be enough. He needs more than subtle hints about the direction their lives will take. He knows he must try to make things right.

He enters the house. He’s been here many times, usually for family events, but this is very different. It’s not a birthday, anniversary, or a celebration about a promotion.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

“No thanks, Trace.”

Everything feels tentative, conditional, unsettled as they sit at the dining room table. Despite the fact that Tracy’s his wife—even though they’ve been married all these years and have two children—Roddy feels like an intruder. It’s as though these past few weeks have been a lifetime and have altered everything. He gazes at Tracy’s face, knowing he could stare at her forever—at the deep green of her clear eyes, at those incredible golden eyelashes, the sculpted shape of her nose, the plump underbelly of her chin, the curve of her bowed lips, and the texture of her skin. He could never tire of looking at her.

She’s a work of art. Everything about her is so beautiful. I never want to lose her
.

“God, how I’ve missed you,” he says in a shaky voice as his throat closes and his heart thrashes. He’s on the verge of tears, and for a moment, he feels like throwing himself onto his knees and burying his face in her lap.

She remains silent, but her eyes look wet. Her lips move slightly, as though she’s about to smile, but she doesn’t. Her eyes close for a moment.

“I owe you an explanation,” he says.

“I’m listening.” She sets her elbows on the table and rests her chin in her hand.

Yes, she’s willing to listen. She’ll hear him out. He knows in a
very real way, he and their marriage are on trial.

“I never meant to lie to you. Trace, I didn’t even realize I was lying until you pointed it out. I understand mine were lies of omission, and I’m so very sorry.” He looks into her eyes, searching for some sign of acceptance.

She nods her head, blinks, but remains silent.

“I want to tell you exactly what happened. I hope you’ll understand.”

“I’m listening.”

He relates the story he and Dan rehearsed—from the restaurant closing, Kenny owing money to the mob, Danny’s being shot ten months later, and finally, Walt McKay’s death two days after that.

As he’s talking, Roddy searches her face, but there’s no hint of how she’s reacting.

Tracy simply nods as he talks and looks into his eyes. Occasionally, her eyebrows arch and he can’t tell if it’s a sign of acceptance or disbelief. She looks steadily into his eyes, never wavering.

Roddy pauses and thinks about what he’ll say next. He knows he’s offering up a mix of lies and half-truths.

“After Walt was killed, Detective Morgan was convinced we were all in danger. So I insisted you come here, and I went into hiding. I had to keep you and the kids safe, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

Tears shiver in Tracy’s eyes. Her lips tighten and begin trembling.

“I just can’t stop thinking about Walt’s family,” Tracy says in a half whisper, shaking her head. “Have the police linked his death to what happened to Danny?”

“No. And I don’t think it’s related. There’ve been plenty of robberies at gunpoint recently, especially in garages. Remember the ones in December at the White Plains Mall? Nobody was killed,
but it was bound to happen.”

“But the police said nothing was taken from Walt. He was just shot and they took off.”

“There’s been a lot of gang activity, too. Some of these gangs have initiation rites where they go to another town and just shoot someone for no reason. Walt may just have been an unlucky victim. No one really knows.”

A spike of shame pierces Roddy. How easy it is to weave this web of deception. He senses the tide is turning: the farther he pulls Tracy away from the truth, the more willing she may be to forgive him. He’s constructing lie upon lie, one after another, but how can he allow her to learn what really happened at Snapper Pond? There’s no turning back, and he’s forced to live the life he’s now living.

“What about Danny getting shot? Why did that happen?”

“It looks like it was a robbery that got out of control. You know that section of McLean Avenue is a rough neighborhood, especially at night.”

Tracy exhales. Her hand drops to the table and rests there. His hand moves toward hers and their hands clasp.

“Tracy, I miss you so much,” he says, his voice softening to a near whisper. “I want to come home.”

“I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?”

“I’ve missed you, too, Roddy. But I don’t know.”

“What … what is it?”

“I’m not sure I …” She closes her eyes as tears slide down her face. “I’m not sure I really know you, Roddy.” She brushes away the tears with her index finger. “I can’t understand how you kept things from me. Kenny, his gambling and mob ties, what happened with Sandy, and how you lied …”

“Tracy, I did the best I could. I didn’t want to frighten you. I thought everything would just go away. I know I was wrong.
Please forgive me.”

“It’s not a matter of forgiveness, Roddy. It’s trust. I have this terrible feeling that deep down you don’t really trust me, that you’ve never trusted me. Not really. It’s so disturbing and I just … I can’t make that go away.”

“Let me prove to you that I
do
trust you. Please give me a chance.”

“Roddy, there’s something missing in our marriage. I didn’t realize it until this happened. I feel like there’s always been part of you that you’ve kept secret from me.” She blinks and looks searchingly into his eyes.

He knows she’s right. Secrets and lies are what his life’s been since that night at Snapper Pond, but before then? Yes, trusting people has never been easy, and what happened with Kenny and Grange picked at the scabs of his younger years, exposing the rawness of his childhood and youth. Tracy sees him as secretive, even unknowable.

“Can you give it a chance? Can you give
us
a chance?” he asks, feeling an ache so deep, he feels hollowed out.

She breathes in deeply and closes her eyes. When she opens them, they brim with tears. She says, “Roddy, it’s the strangest thing. I’ve been feeling you never trusted me, not really, even after all these years. And now?” She brushes away more tears. “Now I don’t know that I can trust
you
.” She swallows hard as tears dribble down her cheeks.

He brushes them away with his finger.

“And now, Roddy, I don’t know if I can get it back, the feeling of trusting you.”

She sobs, pulls her hand away, and buries her face in both hands.

His heart speeds to a gallop.

“I’m so sorry, Trace,” he whispers as he sets his hand gently on her hair. “I don’t know how I can get you to trust me again.
But I’ll do everything I can to make that happen. I swear I will.” He trembles. “I just want to come home and be with you and the kids. I miss you all so much. I can’t even put it into words.” Tears brim on his eyes.

She shakes her head and says, “The kids want to be with you, Roddy.”

“And you?”

A pause as she inhales deeply. “We can try.” She closes her eyes, opens them, and says, “But only under one condition.”

“Anything, Tracy.”

“You’ve got to promise you’ll never hold anything back from me ever again.”

“Tracy, I promise. No, I
swear
I’ll never hide anything from you. Ever.”

God, he’s missed her. How he’s yearned for her these past few weeks. There’s been a sickening void—a dark hole—in his existence without her. It occurs to Roddy that in some strange way, he feels better for missing her as he has. He truly needs Tracy and the kids in order to feel human, because without them, he’s a beast in the wilderness.