Forgotten Place (47 page)

"Oh," I breathed.  "CTF."

I pulled out the iPhone and opened the
Google Earth application.  "Read me those numbers, including
where you think you see decimals, Devlin."

He started, "Four one period, zero four
three six two seven – Ned, is that a period or a comma?"

"Comma," Ned replied.

"Comma, minus seven two period, eight six
three three eight eight."

I tapped in the coordinates
and hit
search
.  Three heads crowded together and watched the location
zoom into focus on the screen.

"Smack dab in the middle of Long Island
Sound," Ned said.  "Holy shit, Eriksson.  We've got
names, dates and coordinates for where the bodies are buried, don't
we?"

"CTF, coordinates to follow," I said. 
"There's no question how Datello would get his hands on this
information.  And I don't doubt for one second what he planned
to do with it." 

I relayed my conversation with David
Levine.  "They were certain that Southerby was their deep
throat informant."

"But it was really Datello."  Devlin
slammed his hand into the steering wheel.  "He'd kill to keep
the family from finding out what he planned to do.  I'm
guessing there's not a prison strong enough to contain Sully's rage
if he found out he was ratted out by one of his own."

"Undoubtedly," I said.  The nagging
bits of worry drifted away from me.  Dad would've never been
stupid enough to share such details of a crime with anyone. 
Nor did I believe he'd lift a finger to help a guy like Sully
Marcos.  I thought again about his influence on Johnny,
understood that the gun in Marcos' waste facility was no random act
on Johnny's part.  Dad had led him there for a specific
reason.  But what was it?

Suddenly, I wished more than anything that
Orion hadn't gotten the past few months zapped out of his
brain.  I wanted to talk to him, to drag the truth about his
conversation with Dad out of him.  Instead, I'd have to put
what little bits and pieces I knew together on my own and try to
figure it out.

I tapped over to the phone application and
dialed Forsythe's office.

The line rang.  And
rang.  And rang some more.  No voicemail.  After a
few minutes, I heard a recording. 
The number you are trying to reach is temporarily out of
service.  Please try again later.

"CSD," I rasped, "we need to get back to CSD
right now!"

No explanation was necessary.  Devlin
threw the car into gear and screamed through the sleepy Christmas
Eve morning in Darkwater Bay.

Chapter 42

The sound of automatic gunfire was muffled
in the morning city mist.  The lights of police vehicles were
eerily amplified.  I clutched Ned's left arm when he pulled
his gun.  "Wait.  We can't just roll into a
firefight."

Devlin slowed down and pulled out his
phone.  Shelly Finkelstein was on the line in a second. 
"What's going on at CSD?" he tapped the speaker function so we
could all hear.

"We got an emergency call eight minutes
ago," Shelly said, "from security at the morgue.  They said
someone was trying to breech the building.  Gunfire
erupted.  We sent backup including SWAT.  Where are
you?"

"About a block away.  We can see the
lights and hear the bullets," Devlin said.  "Sounds like it's
pretty intense."

My eyes darted around the neighborhood,
wondering if the enemy was sending reinforcements in as well. 
A black Escalade eased slowly from a driveway and inched past us,
headlights off.  I grabbed Devlin's arm and jerked it
hard.  His cell phone clattered to the floor between seat and
center console.

"Dammit, Helen!"

"That Escalade!  Follow it!"

"What?  Why?"  He struggled to
position himself to retrieve the phone, an awkward proposition to
be sure.

"Because I saw Danny Datello leave Don
Weber's press conference in one exactly like that.  Go! 
Go now!"

He abandoned the phone call with Shelly and
whipped the SUV around in the street and sped up in pursuit.

I called Shelly back on my cell and filled
her in on what we knew.  "I know he is in that Escalade. 
He sent men to the hospital trying to find me.  He sent men to
my house to steal David Ireland's files.  When the disk wasn't
found, they showed up at CSD to steal whatever it was they knew we
found when Ireland's body was exhumed.  He's following this,
Shelly.  He's not taking any chances that someone else gets
their hands on that disk."

"Keep him in sight, but do not apprehend him
until I tell you we've got sufficient support, Helen.  They're
using automatic weapons at the ME's office.  Stay on the line
and keep me posted with your location.  I'm going to make
another call."

I kept the phone pressed to my ear and
listened to Shelly dispatching patrol, calling Central Division,
Bay View, even Fielding.  Before I knew it, cars flanked my
Expedition.  Two more were in front of the Escalade. 
More trailed behind us, probably in front but I couldn't see that
far in the fog. 

The cars beside us moved up to flank the
Escalade and two behind us replaced them at our sides.  I
peered out the window.  The officer in the vehicle looked
vaguely familiar, holding the steering wheel in a white knuckle
grip.  His face was grim and stony.  We all understood
how wrong this could go in a hurry.  God only knew what kind
of entourage accompanied the man in the vehicle ahead.

Shelly was back on the line.  "We're
setting up a roadblock Helen.  Do not engage the occupants of
the vehicle.  Before we stop it, I need you to tell me the
license plate number."

"He's too far ahead.  Devlin, get
closer so I can read the plate."

"It's India-6-Foxtrot-Golf-3-7-1."

"Did you hear?"

"Looking it up right now and... it's
registered to Datello Enterprises."

I blew out a slow breath.

"Helen, that doesn't mean that Datello is in
the car.  When I spoke to the sergeant on Hennessey Island, he
assured me that his men have not seen Datello leave the
penthouse."

"And they're covering every point of
exit?"

"To our knowledge, yes."

"Whoever is in the Escalade has to know
something is wrong.  He's surrounded by police cars.  The
longer this goes on, the more dangerous it becomes."

As if on cue, I watched the barrel of an
automatic rifle slip through a crack in the rear passenger side
window and aim toward one of the police vehicles. 

"My God, they're gonna open fire," Ned
shouted.  "Give the order to apprehend, Shelly!  Give it
now!"

"Buckle up, Helen," Dev barked over his
shoulder.

"Are you insane?  Do you want them
shooting at us too?"

A flash of light burst from the tip of the
gun.  Glass shattered.  The patrol vehicle swerved wildly
before crashing into the side of the Escalade.  Devlin gunned
the engine on the Expedition and rammed the black luxury vehicle
hard.

"Hey, hey, hey!"  Airbags exploded in
the front seat. Another one of my vehicles took the hit.

The squad car on the other side returned
fire on the Escalade.  It sped up, trying to escape, to
maneuver around the cars boxing it in.  Ned pulled his weapon
and leaned out the window. 

"Keep it steady, Dev."

The concussion from gunfire so close to our
enclosed space was deafening.  I dropped the phone and clapped
my hands over my ears, involuntarily protecting them.  Ned
emptied his clip and reached for another.  On the first shot
from the new magazine, the back tire of the SUV exploded. 

The Escalade rolled to a slow thumping
stop.

Uniformed officers scrambled out of the
vehicles away from the Escalade and took cover.    I
felt particularly vulnerable, even though Devlin stopped far behind
the damaged vehicle.  The two squad cars that flanked us had
pulled in front, noses pointing inward like the tip of an A in
front of my car.  They were closest to us.  I watched
guns take aim on the SUV.  A moment later, one of the cops'
voices bounced through the morning air.

"Throw out your weapons and come out with
your hands up."

Seconds ticked by.  I was ready to jump
out of the vehicle and tear the occupants out of the SUV with my
bare hands.

"Don't even think about it," Devlin
warned. 

And I wondered when I'd become such an open
book. 

The sound of a rifle hitting the pavement
startled all three of us.  If the officers I could see tensed
at the abrupt sound, they didn't show it.  We waited. 
More guns, some semiautomatic, hit the ground.

I heard a muffled voice, saw a door crack
open.  One by one, four men got out of the car and laid face
down on the pavement. 

"May I get out now?"

Devlin and Ned shared a brief glance. 
"He's our collar.  Let's go," Ned said.

I bounded out of the vehicle.  Only one
man on the ground held interest for me, and contrary to what Ned
and Devlin thought, Datello wasn't a mere passenger.  I dashed
to the front left, to the shock of black hair and olive skin. 
One hand reached toward the uniformed officer with a gun trained on
the back of that head.  "Cuffs."

The man on the ground groaned and lifted his
head.  "You!" he hissed.

"Me," I twisted one wrist into the metal
bracelet and then the other.  With more strength than I am
certain my physical therapist would've believed I could summon, I
hefted Danny Datello off the pavement.

"You're under arrest for attempted murder,
you son of a bitch."

His lips curled into a sneer of
confidence.  "And I have yet to begin with you, Helen.  I
know what you did."

"And I have the disk, and Lowe, Storm and
Southerby, and scores of others.  Do you think they'll
hesitate to turn on you when they know you can't touch them
anymore, when they find out that lifting a finger to help you will
bring down the wrath of Uncle Sully?"

"Wait 'til he finds out what you did to
Rick," he rasped.  "There won't be a safe place in the world
where you can hide."

My smile turned the air around us into ice
crystals.  "You're assuming he didn't know the truth all
along, Danny-boy."

"He wouldn't –"

"Wouldn't what?  Stop a man from
committing suicide?"

Datello's jaw dropped.  "It wasn't
that!"

"Oh, but it was.  I should know. 
I was there.  Merry Christmas, asshole."

Chapter 43

The old man tipped a flask
to his lips – for medicinal purposes, of course.  After all,
the good book said,
wine is a mocker and
strong drink is raging.  Whosoever is deceived thereby is not
wise.

He was a wise man, shrewd even.

Imagine the luck!  Eriksson had
followed the breadcrumbs, taken the bait, got herself snared but
good this time.  She was almost worth the insomnia she caused
every time she came up for air and found herself dead center in yet
another Darkwater Bay mess.  But this time?  Absolutely
priceless.

All the same, it posed another unique set of
problems, ones that he and his compatriots could no longer
ignore.  Not with other unanticipated events.

He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and
dialed.

"Yes?"

"It's me," he said.  "You're never
going to believe what happened this morning."

"I'm afraid you're the bearer of old news,
my friend.  Helen's latest exploits have been all over the
airwaves.  On one hand, this is very good news, if the
information we received from Mr. Franchetta two months ago is
accurate."

"Oh, believe me, it's accurate.  She
came here for a vendetta, and this morning, it appears to have come
to an end.  I just wish Mr. Franchetta were available for
another conversation."

"I'd feel much more confident about trusting
a proven liar if she'd pack up and move on now that she's achieved
her goals.  You too should be concerned.  It isn't as if
the increased police presence out here serves our interests at
all."

"Very true.  No one wants the FBI in
town," the old man chuckled.  "But our plans for her don't
change, no matter where she goes.  If she leaves Darkwater
Bay, there's no urgency.  If she stays, the odds that she'll
stumble onto the truth grow exponentially.  I should've killed
that son of a bitch Wendell Eriksson years ago when I had the
chance."

"It was my mistake, believing that you had
the means to control Helen's environment.  We can't change the
past, only try to predict what she'll do next now that Datello has
been arrested."

The old man grinned again.  "This city,
every single cop at least, is frothing at the mouth over her arrest
this morning.  The problem with creating heroes is that it
makes them far more difficult to remove when the time comes. 
We've seen how slippery Eriksson is.  She's managed to outwit
three men intent on killing her.  If she were a cat –"

The low laughter interrupted him. 
"Dumb luck, old friend.  Helen has awed her peers in Darkwater
Bay, that's all.  Could anyone have predicted that she'd
inspire such loyalty from so many in such a short period of
time?"

"I suppose you have that on high
authority."

The conspirator snorted.  "She
practically walks on water according to some."

"And do you plan to ferret out more
information from our unwitting contact in the police
department?"

The man laughed softly.  "He can't sing
her praises enough.  True, it's disturbing on one level,
knowing that the two of them are forming some sort of bond of
friendship, but it is what it is.  I trust in the inherent
abilities of Johnny Orion to prevent any budding feelings from
growing into anything more, or anything inappropriate."