Move to Strike (60 page)

‘Ah . . . yes, that would have been her niece, Tracey. I guess she wanted to wish her happy birthday too.'

‘Well, she hasn't been in today,' said the young man.

Nora's hopes depleted.

‘But she's staying at the Chatham Bars Inn, if that helps. I saw the big gold key in her purse. The inn is one of the few five-star outfits that use an old-fashioned key instead of those plastic key cards. Kinda cool considering their heritage – you know, the grand historical seaside resort thing and all.'

Nora could not help but smile. ‘Well thank you, young man. That is a great help.' She fished into her handbag before pulling out a fifty. ‘And the chowder was wonderful.'

Nora could not believe her luck. She had found her – or at least had their first reliable lead. And then the thought struck her – the fact that this was indeed a team effort. She had left so abruptly and she knew that her colleagues would be worried.

So an energised Nora, given she did not possess – and had never possessed – a cell phone of her own, walked towards the closest convenience store with a ‘Payphone Inside' sign on the window. And then she went to the phone which was located way down the back and dropped two quarters in the shiny aluminum slot to call David's cell.

‘
Nora?
' David picked up, he could see the 508 number on his cell's screen and was praying that it would be her.

‘I . . . yes. David, dear boy, I did not expect you to answer. I thought you would still be in court and I was going to leave a message but . . . well, you must be on a recess so I'll be brief. I am sorry I have not called earlier but I have news – good news. I think I have found Deirdre McCall and . . .'

‘
Jesus, Nora
,' he interrupted. Nora was obviously on a high and while he did not want to come down on her, he was unable to stop himself. ‘We have been so worried about you. You shouldn't have gone off on your own like that – not with Logan and . . .'

‘I'm sorry, lad. I know what you are saying, but you are all so busy in Boston, whereas I had the time to . . .'

‘Logan is in Chatham,' he said, not wanting to scare her but needing her to understand.

And then there was a pause.

‘Dear Lord,' she said. ‘His mother, she will be in danger. She is here, staying at the Chatham Bars Inn.'

‘Where are you?'

‘At a convenience store on Main Street, just down from the ice creamery and the candy store.'

‘I'm almost there. I'll pick you up in five. And Nora, you don't think anybody . . . ?'

‘The fog is so thick, David, and getting thicker. No one has seen me. I am sure of it.'

David's next call was to Joe, whose first utterance went something like: ‘You fucking idiot. Where the fuck are you?'

‘I'm in Chatham. I found Nora. I am about to pick her up.' David assumed Joe would know about Nora by now, and he was right.

‘Thank Christ. Sara is beside herself.'

Sara
, thought David, the guilt now rushing through him. But Joe was not going to let him go so easily.

‘You took my fucking gun.'

‘I didn't take it, Joe. I borrowed it.

‘Jesus Christ, David, you need to listen to me. You have to grab Nora and go hide somewhere safe.'

‘Nora found McCall.'

‘
What?
' said Joe.

‘McCall is staying at the Chatham Bars Inn. I'm going to pick up Nora and head over there now. You can meet us in the lobby.'

He could almost hear Joe sigh with relief.

‘Okay. Just stay put until we get there. And whatever you do, don't touch that freaking gun. We're only fifteen minutes away.'

‘I'll be waiting,' lied David, before hanging up the phone.

‘Get in,' he said, pushing the passenger side door open without coming to a stop. He had almost forgotten that Joe's gun was still on the seat, but had managed to put it into the glove box just as he pulled up in front of the convenience store.

Nora moved quickly. ‘I'm sorry, lad,' she said. ‘I should never have left without discussing it with you first.'

David took a breath. ‘It's okay. None of us knew this would happen so fast.'

Nora nodded. ‘I called Sara. She told me about Ms de Castro.'

And that was when David took his first real look at the woman he thought of as his second mother – and saw that the normally pink-skinned Nora was now an ashen shade of grey.

‘He's a monster, Nora.'

‘But we will stop him, lad.'

‘No, Nora, there is no “we”,' he said, taking a sharp left onto Shore Road. ‘As soon as we get to the inn, I am leaving you with McCall.'

‘But you have to wait for back-up, David. Sara said Joe was only moments away and Sara and Arthur and Miss Carmichael are already in Hyannis. The helicopter landed almost twenty minutes ago, so they can't be more than . . .'

‘
Sara is coming here?
'

‘Yes,' she hesitated, meeting his eye. ‘I thought you knew. She went to see Miss Carmichael who helped arrange a State Police transport. Sara told her everything, and now she is on board and ready to issue a warrant for Doctor Logan's arrest.'

‘
Shit
,' David said, banging his fist on the steering wheel as the outline of the picturesque Chatham Bars Inn became visible in the opaque wisps of fog.

‘I don't understand,' said an obviously confused Nora. ‘I thought that was what we wanted.'

‘Yes, I mean
no
, I mean . . .' He caught his breath as he swung the car into the inn's circular gravel drive. ‘I mean, I want that bastard behind bars, Nora, but not like this. Don't you see, the more people who are here the more targets he has to fire at. The man is a sharpshooter, for God's sake, and all this activity . . . he is bound to know we are here, which means we have lost our element of surprise.'

‘But we don't even know where he is staying,' Nora argued, as David shoved open his driver's side door, and Nora unbuckled her seat belt to do the same.

‘That is where his mother comes in, Nora. She wouldn't have come here without knowing where to find him.'

‘You think she knows where he stores his guns?' she asked, trying to keep up with David as he bounded up the front steps.

‘It's the only hope we've got.'

*

David pushed the nervous manager aside. It had taken him a good five minutes to persuade him to escort them to Deirdre McCall's room and now the tall, thin hotel executive was tapping on the door to the second-floor room like a timid little bird.

‘Ms McCall,' he said, his voice barely above a whisper, until David moved in front of him and began banging on the door with his fist.

‘Ms McCall, my name is David Cavanaugh and I am the attorney who represents your grandchildren. We believe your life is in danger and we have arranged for your protection. The police are on their way, Miss McCall, and . . .'

But nothing, not a sound – and when David pressed his ear against the door he could not detect any movement inside.

‘Open it,' he said to the manager.

For once the man did not hesitate, simply put the golden key into the wide old-fashioned lock and turned.

They were in her room in seconds, the classic New England décor extending from the bedroom to the white-tiled bathroom beyond. Deirdre McCall had no luggage, merely an overnight bag with the bare essentials Tracey Scabo had left for her in that hospital room over two weeks ago. The bed had been slept in but the covers had been carefully replaced. The bathroom was empty bar a single toothbrush and tube of toothpaste left in a glass on the large oval sink by the window.

‘Shit,' said David.

‘Where is she?' asked Nora.

But David did not answer. He was already back in the bedroom, the eerie white light seeping through the balcony doors like moonlight through smoke. He began by lifting up McCall's things and scanning her room for anything that might tell him where her son might be. And then he saw it – the small envelope on the bedside table. It was a letter addressed to Jason Nagol, the postmark stamped in an era long gone. He grabbed the envelope and took two sheets of yellowed realty letterhead from within it, laying them flat on the bed.

‘What is it, lad?' Nora asked, moving towards him.

‘I have to go,' he said, folding the papers quickly and jamming them into his right breast shirt pocket. ‘You need to stay here in case McCall returns,' he said, before heading towards the door.

Nora was shaking her head. ‘No, David. You cannot do this alone.'

But he was not stopping.

‘You know where he is, don't you?' she said, her voice quivering with fear.

And then, as if forgetting something important, he turned and moved back into the room before grabbing his beloved secretary quickly and holding her in a firm and loving embrace.

‘I'm going to be okay, Nora,' he said and, after a pause, felt her give him the slightest of nods as her tears fell softly on his right shoulder.

‘There is nothing I can say?' she asked quietly.

‘No,' he replied.

She took a breath as she pulled back and placed her hands firmly on his shoulders, looking for all the world like a mother now sending her only son off to war. ‘Be careful,' she said, perhaps knowing there was nothing else she could say.

And he kissed her gently on the cheek, before bounding out the door.

‘Lieutenant Mannix, my name is Captain Mac Burns from the Chatham Police.' Joe took his hand as they both headed towards the curved front steps of the Chatham Bars Inn. The fog had slowed traffic to a standstill, which meant Joe's trip had taken longer than expected – and so he was grateful to see the local cops waiting for him when he and Frank arrived.

‘You get your man down from Provincetown?'

During the drive south, Joe had had several discussions with the local cops, including asking them to identify the best shooter they had – and they had come up with a young rookie from Provincetown by the name of Kevin Molis who, according to Captain Burns, ‘could shoot a flea off of a dog from a hundred yards away'.

‘Officer Molis,' said Burns as he turned to a young man, one of several uniforms now coming up the stairs behind them.

‘Yes, sir,' said the young policeman.

‘This is Lieutenant Mannix from Boston.'

‘It's nice to meet you, sir,' said the blue-eyed Molis, taking Joe's hand.

‘Likewise,' said Joe, as they reached the wide front glass doors. ‘Captain Burns here tells me you know a thing or two about hitting a target.'

‘Yes, sir. My father was an artillery captain in the army, sir. I shot my first tin can at age three.'

‘Good,' said Joe. ‘Because the target I got in mind is slightly bigger than your average can of soup. I gather this fog is a problem,' he added, turning his head slightly to look back towards the ocean behind him.

‘Not for me, sir,' returned Molis. ‘I once shot two mountain lions and a cougar in a blizzard where visibility was close to zero. There's more to finding your target than actually seeing it, Lieutenant,' he added.

‘Let's hope so,' said Joe, before turning towards the hotel once again and striding quickly into the lobby.

‘Joe,' said Sara, rushing across the hotel lobby to meet him, the very sight of all these police easing her fears – just a little.

‘How're you doing?' he asked, taking her hand softly before letting it go once again.

‘I'm okay,' she managed. ‘But we have a problem.'

‘Where's your idiot fiancé?' he asked, as if reading her mind.

‘He's gone,' piped in Nora, who, together with Arthur and Amanda Carmichael, was moving forward to join their little group. ‘To find Doctor Logan.'

Sara read the frustration in Joe's eyes.

‘It gets worse, Joe,' she said.

‘How so?' he asked.

‘Nora thinks he knows where Logan is.' She handed him the envelope. ‘They found this in Deirdre McCall's room.'

Joe looked at the empty envelope, before meeting Sara's eye and nodding in understanding. He handed McKay the envelope and turned towards Officer Molis once again.

‘What do you need, Lieutenant?' said Molis, obviously reading Mannix's stare.

‘I need you to load up, Officer. It's time to get things done.'

‘Lieutenant,' said Amanda Carmichael, falling into step beside Joe, who had moved back to address the police officers behind him. ‘What are you planning?'

‘I'm planning to deal with this situation, Miss Carmichael – to apprehend the asshole who murdered his wife.' He didn't mean to sound
terse, but this woman's ambitions had been part of the problem from the get-go.

‘Lieutenant,' she said again, this time grabbing his elbow and forcing him to face her. ‘You have to be sure about this,' she said, her voice barely above a whisper, ‘because if you aren't, this could be a major setback for the reputation of law enforcement in Massachusetts as a whole. Jeffrey Logan is a national institution, for God's sake.'

Joe couldn't believe what he was hearing. ‘Jeffrey Logan
belongs
in a fucking institution, Miss Carmichael, and I couldn't give a crap if the masses think he is Christ reincarnated. Now you can either make the decision to be of use to us, or sit in that fucking corner, with a uniform by your side –' Joe pointed at some miniature Georgian furniture in the lobby's recess, ‘– until I decide I am ready to cut you loose.'

Joe waited, wondering if Carmichael was going to sit on the fence of procrastination for the sake of personal advancement, or jump off said fence to do her fucking job the way it was supposed to be done.

‘Do you know where Logan is?' she asked after a pause.

And, gratefully, Joe sensed she was getting ready to jump. ‘There was an envelope left in the mother's room. Cavanaugh took its contents but the envelope is marked with the insignia of a local realtor.'