Forgotten Place (14 page)

"A friend of mine, female in case you
figured a knuckle-dragging primate like me doesn't have any female
friends, once said that the universe is full of random shit. 
There's no predictability where it hits.  I don't know if I
agree with her, because I sure see trends that some people seem to
attract it more than others."

Wine nodded absently.

"Like what happened to Journey's father,"
Johnny continued.  "I'm not sure you were old enough at the
time to understand what was happening, or who was most directly
responsible for getting answers, but if it matters to you at all, I
was the cop who arrested Mitch Southerby."

Her eyes widened.  "I see."

"And I find it too coincidental that
somebody tried to kill his daughter in a parking garage on the
sixteenth anniversary of his murder.  If you wouldn't mind,
I'd like to hear your theory on why James Linder might do such a
thing.  See, in my opinion, that took guts, and Linder's not
what I would call a man's man.  We don't appreciate the finer
qualities of diapering and suckin' on a rubber tit, you see."

Johnny sensed Crevan's discomfort, but felt
a perverse thrill at making the cocky young woman squirm.  "So
which is it, Ms. Wine?  Does James Linder have a big set of
brass ones that would make him fearless enough to try to kill the
woman who scorned him in broad daylight, or is he the type to run
around town bragging about how he bedded the sweet young coed and
dumped her because he got over his midlife crisis?"

The aforementioned young brow
furrowed.  "Well if it wasn't Jim, who was it?"

"I'm so glad you asked me that question,"
Johnny said.  He pulled an envelope out of his pocket. 
"See, I decided to dig into more history than Jimbo's sordid past
last night, and I came across this article." 

The unfolded document slid across the broad
expanse of Samantha's desk.  Confusion flickered for a
moment.  "You investigated me?  What possible motive
–"

"I know that Journey was
attacked by a
man
.  Twice.  What I'm interested in the most is this
article you wrote about her mother."

"Isabella has one of the less common forms
of dementia.  How does that relate to someone trying to kill
Journey?"

"You chronicled the early years of
Isabella's disease.  The memory loss, the disrupted sleep, the
akathisia and aphasia – had to look those up, Sam.  Impressive
research you did."

Her eyes narrowed to slits.  "And?"

"What interested me the most was something
you talked about specifically in regard to Isabella.  The
perseveration and paranoid thoughts.  I really wished you'd
been more specific."

"It's no secret that Isabella was left
scarred by David's murder.  Journey would be the first one to
tell you that she started reliving those memories almost
constantly.  It was as if her brain was stuck in one track of
thought."

"She did mention something about that to Dr.
Eriksson yesterday... men lurking outside the house.  Was that
something she said when the dementia started, or had Isabella felt
that way right after David died?"

"I was ten years old.  I'm afraid I
don't remember much more beyond Journey being sad and not being
able to visit our houses for a very long time."

"You interviewed Isabella, correct?"

"Yes of course."

"Did she mention anything specific in that
repetitive way you call perseveration?"

"One thing, yes, but if you actually read
the article, Commander Orion, you know that the neurologist I
quoted said that paranoia and repetitive thoughts and speech are
common in Pick's disease."

He nodded.  "Still, I have to ask what
she said, Ms. Wine.  See, I just don't buy it about
Linder.  Is he a creep?  Sure.  Did he deserve
tougher consequences for solicitation?  Probably.  Is he
a cold blooded killer?  I can't see that one.  The worst
I can imagine him doing is taking his little fetish games a step
too far, maybe not cluing his partner in on what would happen,
omitting the safe word or whatever those types have to do to get
their jollies."

Samantha drummed her fingers on the
desk.  "It was nonsense.  I can't imagine how it could
possibly help you."

"If it was nonsense, why the secrecy?"
Crevan asked.  "It isn't as if we're asking you to reveal a
confidential source."

She shook her head lightly.  "All
right, but I'm telling you, it's little more than gibberish. 
For the first couple of years when Isabella's condition was
noticeably deteriorating, all she wanted to talk about was David's
disk."

"His disk?"

Sam nodded.  "See what
I'm saying?  It made no sense.  What's a disk?  The
neurologist said that the aphasia made it impossible to know
if
disk
was the
word Isabella heard in her mind.  It could've been
golf clubs
for all we
know.  That's what expressive aphasia is.  The word they
think isn't the one that comes out when they speak."

"Was there anything else she repeated
regularly?"

"Yes, but that wasn't so
confusing.  One of the last things Isabella was able to say
clearly never varied until the day she lost the ability to
speak.  She used to say
honor they
father
to Journey all the time."

"I take it the Ireland's were religious
people."

"Not particularly.  They weren't
atheists or anything, but Isabella in her own way I believe,
repeated that because she wanted Journey to remember that her
father was a good man, to live by his example and always try to do
the right thing."

Johnny flicked his cigarette butt into the
ashtray.  "What nursing home is Isabella in now?"

"Sisters of Mercy Convalescent Home. 
She's been there for about three years.  But it won't do any
good to speak to her, Commander Orion.  Isabella Ireland
hasn't spoken a word in eighteen months."

Chapter 12

I was two seconds away from bashing a chair
through the pane glass window in the back door when the chime for
the front gate sounded.  I didn't know who it was, but it was
a detail Johnny obviously neglected.  My first option for
escape had been to get the gun out of my purse and shatter the
glass with one clean shot.

The bastard not only took both of my guns,
but all the ammunition.  Not that it mattered.  Even in
top form I couldn't throw a bullet hard or fast enough to shatter
glass.  Plan B was the chair.  Plan C?  My savior at
the gate.

I depressed the button on the
intercom.  "Yes?"

"Helen Eriksson?"

"Who's calling please?"

"Special Agent Avery Ritter, FBI."

My heart took off for the cliff.  Good
thing Johnny locked the doors.  The temptation to jump
overwhelmed me.  I cleared my throat.  "And you're
looking for Dr. Eriksson for what reason?"

"I'm here to ask a few questions about her
late husband Rick Hamilton."

"She can't speak with you right now."

"Ma'am, I understand that Dr. Eriksson was
recently injured.  The FBI is interested in discussing a
possible relationship with that shooting to her husband's illegal
activities."

Was this guy serious?  How dumb did he
think I was?  "Sorry, Helen is at physical therapy right
now.  I don't know when she'll be back."

"If you could open the gate, I wouldn't mind
waiting for her."

Sure you wouldn't,
bozo.
  "I'm afraid I can't do that,
Agent Ritter.  I don't think Dr. Eriksson would be very happy
with me if I let someone in her home without her permission. 
You should try calling for an appointment."

"I've been trying to call her for the past
couple of days.  No one has returned my calls.  It's
urgent that I speak to her miss."

I backed away from the intercom.  Now
what?  Mark Seleeby had been banished to farming versus
militia manure inventory in Idaho two months ago.  Was this
one of his team members, picking up where he left off?  I
cursed Orion again for removing any means of communication with the
outside world.  I needed to call someone, but who?

David. Inspiration – as well as a long
history of running to David when all else failed – kicked into
overdrive.

Rather than hoof it up two flights of stairs
to the attic storage, I opted for the seldom used elevator. 
In one of the boxes, I had a box with the various pre-paid cell
phones I used when I first came to Darkwater Bay.  There were
chargers to be had too.

Bet you didn't think about
that, did you Orion?
 

I started tearing through boxes until I
found one of the long battery depleted phones.  Finding the
right charger took another ten minutes, but as soon as the device
had power, I turned it on.

Five bars.  "Thank you, universe."

I dialed David's cell phone number.

"David Levine."

"It's Helen."

"Hi."

Uh-oh.  That was a little more somber
than I expected to hear.  "David, I'm sorry I've been avoiding
you."

"I know why you're calling, Helen."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Why is this thing with Rick alive
again?"

"Interesting word choice, dear.  When
we last spoke, I told you that things were progressing as
anticipated with Sully Marcos and Eddie Franchetta."

"Did something change?"

"Marcos' lawyer provided concrete evidence
that there were additional accounts Rick managed for Sully."

"And this is about me in what way?  How
many times do I have to tell you that I had absolutely no idea what
Rick was doing or how he did it?"

"Seleeby claimed last spring, as you recall,
that a sizable amount of money had been embezzled from
Marcos.  The evidence his lawyer presented showed that money
disappeared from one of the accounts Rick had hidden that Seleeby's
team never found."

"All right, but I still don't see how this
relates to me.  If Rick knew about this account and money
disappeared out of it, doesn't that sort of give Marcos another
motive for having him killed?"

"Ordinarily, I'd have to agree with you,
Helen, but in this instance, the answer is an emphatic no. 
We're not talking about a hundred thousand or even a quarter of a
million in pilfered funds.  Someone stole twenty million
dollars from Marcos.  His interest would be getting that money
back, not killing the one man who would probably be able to quietly
find it."

"So I'm back under the microscope and
Franchetta is walking free.  That's what you're telling me,
isn't it?"

"Nobody believes that
Franchetta saw you do anything the night Rick died.  As a
matter of fact, he's no longer cooperating with the investigation
and has recanted his allegation that he saw you with Rick that
night.  Apparently, he realized that doing so put
him
in the area and
provided reason to believe that he could've been the one who killed
Rick, particularly since the alleged gun was found in one of his
known hang-outs."

"Ritter said that the bureau is trying to
ascertain if my shooting was related to Marcos.  I can tell
you right now, it certainly was not.  Unless the bureau
believes that Marcos is into funding homegrown terrorist groups on
top of everything else." 

David fell silent. 

"Oh my God.  That's it isn't it? 
You learned something about that waste plant Sully was operating
quietly through a company of a company with ties to his criminal
enterprise."

"I can't get into the details of it,
Helen.  Please think about talking to Agent Ritter.  I
promise you, he's nothing like Seleeby.  In fact, you know the
man who took Mark's place running the taskforce investigating the
Marcos family.  Remember Joel Soule?"

"Yes, vaguely."  One hand spanned my
forehead and started rubbing.

"He too thinks it's ridiculous that you had
anything to do with Rick's murder.  His focus is completely on
ferreting out any and all information he can get on Marcos. 
Right now, this militia thing is a good lead.  The missing
money looks like the reasonable doubt Sully plans to use to prove
he would've never ordered a hit on Rick.  However, if your
ex-husband had any idea who embezzled that money, it would be a
compelling motive for murder."

I stopped pacing the mere inches the
electrical cord charging my cell phone allowed and sat down hard on
one of the boxes in storage.  "David, I promise you.  I
had no idea what Rick knew.  We weren't communicating. 
Even through the divorce, nothing was said outside the presence of
our attorneys.  If you want me to authorize my divorce lawyer
to tell you the substance of those conversations, I'll do it. 
But I cannot go through another round of this."

Bile churned in my stomach.  My palms
were damp and it felt like even the very nuclei of every cell in my
body shook in protest.  Maybe Johnny had given me more peace
than I realized with his brash act.  And what the hell were
the odds that in doing so, he had inadvertently exposed a far
greater threat to a vast number of people than Sully's usual
crimes?

"Nobody thinks you were involved beyond the
periphery, and only in the vague sense that you had the misfortune
of being married to a guy who had a business associate that was the
nephew of a criminal like Sully Marcos.  If that were enough
to arrest someone, a lot of people would be facing charges."

Why wasn't Marcos talking about Rick's blood
tie to the family?  I started pacing along my three foot
tether.  So much more was going on behind the scenes.  I
couldn't believe that I hadn't taken fifteen seconds to consider
any of it, to think about what I knew from a distant perspective
instead of clinging to my anger.