The 7th Canon (42 page)

The television reporters had camped out across the street, illuminated in the glow of lights that formed a pocket of daylight in the onset of night. A stiff breeze blew fog up the street and wreaked havoc on the reporters’ hair and clothing as they stood holding microphones and waited to go live on the six o’clock evening news. There was a lot to cover, and Peter Donley would be a featured story. Anchors in newsroom studios continued to report on the bizarre series of events that had led to a massive manhunt for a decorated San Francisco police officer. The police chief had gone live earlier that evening and confirmed that Dixon Connor was a fugitive suspect in the murder of Andrew Bennet and should be considered armed and dangerous. The chief would not comment on the rampant rumors that Bennet had been blackmailing prominent businessmen, but like the swirling fog, the rumors grew thicker with each passing hour. The media wanted to know the contents of the videotapes and the sordid sexual activity they might reveal. They smelled headlines.

As Kim and Donley approached their driveway, Kim suggested they hole up in a hotel for a day, but Donley dismissed it. This was his house, his home. He would not go into seclusion again. He would not hide his past.

The crowd surged, overwhelming the two officers who tried in vain to part a path to the driveway. Faces pressed against the glass, shouting questions through the closed windows. Kim inched the car forward, allowing it to part the masses. One of the officers moved a barricade, and the car descended their sloped driveway into the sanctity of the garage, but even as the garage door lowered, the reporters continued to shout their questions.

“That explains why Anne has the phone off the hook,” Kim said.

“And why the amazing sleeping dog is barking hysterically out back,” Donley said.

Kim opened the passenger door and retrieved Peter’s crutches from the backseat. They were awkward to use, but with his strength returning, Donley would manage.

“The back steps will be a problem,” she said. They were narrow and steep.

“Well, I’m not going back out front,” he said. “I’ll go around the side to the back, take care of the ferocious watchdog, and come through the kitchen.”

“OK, just let me help you.”

He waved her off. “You’re going to be taking care of me for the next six weeks; don’t be too anxious to get started. I’m fine. It’s only three steps up to the deck. Take care of Benny, and see about getting Anne home.”

Kim walked around the front of the car. “You’re sure?”

“I have to learn how to use these things sometime.”

Kim disappeared up the back staircase. Donley hobbled out the side door to the dog run, a six-foot-tall redwood fence down the side of the property. He flipped a light switch on the side of the house, illuminating the deck in a powerful floodlight. Bo struggled at the end of a leash tethered to a stake in the ground. With effort, Donley managed to bend down and unhook him. When he did, the dog took off like a shot across the deck, leash trailing him through the dog door and into the house.

Donley shook his head. “Glad to see you,
too, pal.” He retrieved the tin dog bowl and placed it beneath the outdoor spigot. As it filled with water, Donley looked over the top of the fence at the glowing white light. A stiff breeze blew a hanging wire past him. He followed it to the side of the house and up to where it hung from a telephone pole.

Anne wasn’t answering the phone.

Donley dropped the water bowl and noticed the shattered windowpane in the basement door. Inside the house, Bo continued to growl and bark.

Heart pounding, Donley hobbled as quickly as the pain allowed, struggling up the three wooden porch steps. He reached over the top of the fence for the latch, shoved the gate open, and hurried across the back porch. The door into the kitchen was unlocked.

“Kim?” he called out, hobbling across the linoleum.

She did not answer.

Shadows flickered from the fire in the living-room fireplace.

“Kim?”

He crossed to the hall. The light in the bathroom illuminated a wedge on the parquet floor. Donley used his crutch to push open the door. Water filled the bathtub. Steam had fogged the mirror, but the room was empty. Bo barked from the back bedroom.

Donley retreated and approached, and slowly opened the door.

Anne sat on the edge of the bed holding Benny, who was wrapped in a canary-yellow bath towel. Kim stood close by, gripping Bo by the leash and collar. Standing by the rocking chair in the corner of the room, Dixon Connor held the .44 Magnum in a bloodied, heavily bandaged hand.

“Looks like the guest of honor has arrived,” Connor said in a raspy voice. “Good of you to join us, Counselor.” Connor’s face was an ashen gray. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t make it.”

Benny reached for Kim, crying and calling for her.

Donley could not swallow. For a moment, he could not breathe. “It’s OK, Ben,” he said softly. “It’s all right.”

“Sure, it is,” Connor said. “It’s a regular fucking tea party.”

“Let them go, Connor. This is between me and you.”

“Just as soon as I get what I came for.”

“Whatever you want. Just let everyone else go.”

Connor grimaced, and the barrel of the gun lowered. Bo lunged. Connor raised the gun.

“No!” Donley yelled.

“If you release that dog, I’ll shoot it, then you, in that order,” Connor said to Kim.

“Calm down,” Donley said. “She’s not going to release the dog, Connor. You’re not going to shoot anybody. Just let them go.”

“I want the videotape.”

“OK, but I don’t have it.”

“Well, then, I guess you have nothing I want.” Connor pulled back the hammer on the gun.

“No! I don’t have it here, but I know where it is.”

Connor’s eyebrows arched.

“I left it in the wrecking yard. I hid it. We can go get it.”

He hoped the tape and Father Martin’s black book remained in the pocket of his jacket stuck in the barbed wire atop the fence.

“I told you, you’re a shitty liar. You should really think about another profession.”

“We’ll get the video,” Donley said. “And Father Martin’s Bible. You and me.”

“You and me and the Chinawoman here will go together. If anyone calls the police, I’ll kill you both.”

Donley wanted Connor out of the room. He wanted him away from Kim and Benny and Anne.

“You’ll have me and the tape. You said yourself, you can bargain for anything you want with the tape.”

Connor grimaced in pain, shuffling along the side of the bed. “Move that dog out of my way.”

Kim stepped back, pulling Bo with her. He continued to growl. Benny reached out to Kim as she passed. Connor pointed the gun at the back of her head. “Tie the dog up.” Kim tied Bo’s leash to the bed frame. Once she had, Connor spoke to Donley and Kim, motioning with the gun. “Move.”

They stepped from the room. Connor shut the door behind them, muffling the sound of Bo’s barking.

Donley said, “My car keys are in the other room.”

“Get ’em.”

He hopped on his good leg, crutches in hand, into Benny’s room. Kim and Connor followed. The desk was in the corner. Donley looked to Benny’s bed. Unmade, the covers had been thrown to the side. Simeon was gone.

“Hold it,” Connor said as Donley reached for the drawer handle. Connor walked into the room and stood by the side of the desk. He pressed the gun to Kim’s head.

Donley pulled open the desk drawer and picked up a set of keys. “OK?”

“The Chinawoman will drive. Give her the keys.”

Donley handed Kim the keys.

“Now move.”

Donley couldn’t let Connor get them into the car. If he did, they’d be trapped, and any chance of escape or fighting back would be severely reduced. He worried about Kim getting hurt.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the closet door start to swing open.

“Connor,” he said, drawing his attention.

“What—”

Danny Simeon burst from the closet, switchblade in hand. Connor swung the gun toward Simeon. Donley lunged and fell into him, getting his hands on the barrel and shoving it upward. It discharged into the ceiling. Donley and Connor fell backward, crashing into the onrushing Simeon.

Connor screamed in pain, the knife embedded in his back. Donley yanked the gun from his hand and turned to tell Kim to run, but she was already on the move, out of the room to the back of the house.

By the time Donley had redirected his attention, Connor was on his knees, with Danny Simeon standing over him, holding the bloodied knife to Connor’s throat.

“No!” Donley yelled.

Anger had contorted Simeon’s face into a sickening mask.

Donley put out his hand. “Danny, give me the knife.”

Simeon shook his head.

“Danny, put the knife down. You don’t want to do this.”

“I do. He deserves to die for what he did.”

“If you kill him, you’ll never be rid of him. You’ll never be able to get that face out of your mind.”

Simeon seethed.

“It will haunt you for the rest of your life, Danny. He isn’t worth it. Give me the knife.”

Simeon’s chest heaved.

“Let him go, Danny. Father Tom needs you. Those boys need you.”

Simeon released his grip and stepped back, his body shaking.

Donley managed to pull himself onto his good leg and gently eased the knife from Simeon’s hand.

Chapter 25

Donley waited patiently in the modest reception area outside what the polls were predicting would not be Gil Ramsey’s office for much longer. Donley had dressed casually in a blue shirt and his leather jacket, which he and Ross had retrieved from atop the fence at the junkyard. He’d had to slice the seam of one leg of his blue jeans to accommodate his cast.

The telephone rang at the receptionist’s console. The woman took the call, then stood and advised Donley that Mr. Ramsey would see him. Donley fit his crutches under his arms and followed her down the hallway to Ramsey’s open door. Ramsey came out from behind his desk and greeted Donley with a smile.

Donley declined coffee, and the two men forsook the handshake, given the crutches.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“No rush,” Donley said.

“I understand you’ve filed a civil action?”

In the two weeks that had passed since the night of Dixon Connor’s arrest, Donley had filed a civil action against the city and county of San Francisco and the San Francisco Sheriff’s Office for the “mistake” that had caused Father Martin to be placed in general population and nearly killed. The city, now eager to wash its hands of the entire sordid affair, wanted to resolve the matter quietly. Before coming to Ramsey’s office, Donley had been down the hall, listening to a six-figure settlement offer.

“I’m glad to hear you’re doing better,” Ramsey said. “I’ll tell you now, from the moment I met you, I admired your courage and your poise under some pretty heavy fire.”

Donley didn’t respond.

“Have a seat,” Ramsey said, walking behind his desk.

Donley remained standing. “Thanks, but I don’t intend to be long.”

“However I can accommodate you,” Ramsey said. “I assume you’re here about Father Martin’s criminal matter?”

“No. I assume that case is closed.”

“Based upon your statement, Frank Ross’s statement, and the statements of the other witnesses, there was more than enough evidence to convict Dixon Connor of all three deaths, if he had lived.”

Dixon Connor had remained in intensive care for three days. He had lost a considerable amount of blood, and his body was riddled with infection from the piece of steel that had pierced his back and ruptured his liver. The doctors said Connor never regained consciousness, never put up a struggle. Connor’s fight was over.

That hadn’t stopped the families of the three boys from suing the city and the county in civil actions.

“I came to ask about the prosecution of the men Bennet was blackmailing,” Donley said.

Ramsey shook his head. “Well, that’s a problem, of course. Unfortunately, it appears that if other videos existed, they were either destroyed or they’re hidden someplace.”

Gil Ramsey was partially correct. At Donley’s suggestion to Aileen O’Malley, the police department had issued a statement that they’d found a key to a storage locker in Dixon Connor’s home and were working to locate that locker. Donley had hoped the fear of the tapes being revealed would cause some of the men on them to come forward.

A few had.

“I understand from Lieutenant O’Malley that two more came forward last week,” Donley said. “Will they be prosecuted?”

Ramsey shook his head. “The fact that these men are coming forward shows they are remorseful. Besides, as you indicated, there is no hard evidence to prosecute them and the statute of limitations is a problem. We’re recommending community service and counseling.”

“Maybe the threat of being exposed will at least make some of the others who don’t come forward consider what they’ve done.”

“One would hope,” Ramsey agreed.

“I wonder,” Donley said, “whether any of this would have happened if Jack Devine had been prosecuted.”

Ramsey went pale.

“You see, Mr. Ramsey, I have a theory. I learned it from a judge. I don’t believe men like Jack Devine are sorry for what they do. I think they’re only sorry they get caught.”

Ramsey did not respond.

“If Jack Devine had been prosecuted, the existence of the tapes might have been revealed then, before Connor found out about them, and those three boys would still be alive. Perhaps the men on those tapes would have been prosecuted.”

“Hindsight is always twenty-twenty,” Ramsey said.

“Devine said it was because his father was a personal friend of the governor, your father. He said your father convinced you not to prosecute him.”

“Did he?”

“Why would your father be so intent on convincing you not to prosecute a scumbag pedophile like Jack Devine?”

Ramsey’s jaw tightened. “Mr. Devine isn’t exactly credible, Mr. Donley. It never happened that way.”

“No? Devine is convinced it did.”

“He’s mistaken.”

“I guess it’s like those tapes, huh? Without them, nothing can be proven.”