Beneath the Cracks (2 page)

The resounding click followed by nothing but
dead air left Franchetta muttering a spate of curses.  He'd
like to tell the son of a bitch that Helen was six feet
under.  Then again, the man had tentacles that reached beyond
what one would expect for a man kept in virtual isolation from his
fellow inmates, let alone the world at large. At least that was
what Franchetta believed about the man contacting him.

Orion sat in his sedan half a block away from
the house atop the high cliff overlooking the Pacific.  The
lights blazed in the windows. 
Wasting electricity
, he
thought.  He watched the moving van from Behan’s exit through
the open gate before it rolled smoothly shut.  Still
decorating the new house.

Bitterness vied with the warm feelings in
his heart.  Four lousy months and change, and Helen Eriksson
couldn't be bothered to take the bait.  Not one time had she
picked up the phone and called, even though he'd left the door wide
open, the ball in her court.  Clearly, she still wasn't
ready.

What he'd learned in the following weeks
made him question her sanity.  How could she grieve the death
of a bastard like Rick Hamilton?

But Maya Winslow promised him that if Helen
even hinted at reluctance because of her dearly departed
ex-husband, it was absolutely the truth.  Then again, Maya had
her own theories about why Helen would mourn his death.

You don't know her like I do, Orion. 
She's the type of woman who needs answers.  The fact that Rick
died before the federal prosecutors squeezed the truth out of him
is probably bothering her almost as much as the fact that she was
married to a criminal and had no idea.

And just how had that happened?  Johnny
scratched his head and silently prayed for just a glimpse of
her…something…anything that let him see for himself that she really
was all right.

Crevan Conall swore she was.  Tony
Briscoe simply grinned and all but dared him to buzz at Helen's
gate and see for himself.  Yeah, they'd seen her, been in
contact frequently as they sought her insight into cases for Downey
Division over the past few months.

He wanted to be mad at her.  He craved
outrage that would make him forget those eyes, that mind that
seemed to see beyond the surface of everything other people
noticed.

Those thoughts only plagued him
further.  Helen Eriksson was too astute to be blinded by
love.  So how the hell had she spent almost ten years married
to a bastard who laundered money for Sully Marcos and remained
ignorant?  If she loved with the same fervor as she did her
job as an investigator, it wasn’t possible.

Headlights illuminated the crest of the hill
but flickered out before another sedan crawled up the way.  It
slowed as it approached the gate at the end of Helen's
driveway.  Johnny ducked before it passed him on the
street.

He popped the glove compartment and pulled
out his night vision goggles and slid them over his eyes, but the
vehicle disappeared around the curve on the desolate street. 
He cursed softly and dropped them into the seat beside him. 
With one last wistful glance at Helen's new house – the one Maya
swore was keeping her too busy to resume more social activities –
he started the car and swung it in a wide arc.  The taillights
of the car nearly disappeared by the time he rounded the curve on
Helen's street.  Headlights back on.

It was blatant surveillance, but by
whom?  Johnny flipped his headlights on and sped into the
night.  He closed the gap as inconspicuously as possible and
followed the car into Darkwater proper. 

Johnny cursed softly, immediately
recognizing the route to the industrial neighborhood that was the
destination of the lead vehicle.  His heart sank when the car
stopped in front of the Datello Enterprises building.  He
watched two men in suits exit the vehicle and meet another man
waiting for them.  They spoke briefly and walked briskly
inside.  From this distance, he couldn't tell which of
Datello's thugs were keeping tabs on Helen.  He'd recognize
them, without a doubt.  Johnny made it his business for the
past two years to know anyone even loosely associated with
Datello.

He'd have to settle for confirmation that
the sedan was part of Datello's corporate fleet.  Slowly, he
rounded the corner and drove close enough to get a good look at the
license plates.

Breath hitched in his throat.  Above
and below the lettered and numbered identifiers on both cars read
US Government For Official Use Only
.

The face of Special Agent Mark Seleeby
flashed on the backs of his eyelids.  "What the hell is the
FBI up to now?" he muttered.  He might not have been close
enough to recognize who the men were, but he clearly saw who one of
the men wasn’t – Supervisory Special Agent David Levine.

Chapter 2

Jerry Lowe, little psychopath that he was,
did me a favor. In the months since his dual attempts on my life,
everything in my life has changed.  Well, almost
everything.  I thought at first that being forced to purchase
the property that Lowe blew to bits along with one of his
detectives was a curse, the proverbial albatross around my
neck.  Turns out, I’ve found the perfect cover, a legitimate
activity that keeps people from wondering what I’m really up
to.

Sure, it’s a beautiful house that I paid way
more money to rebuild than dollar amount cut by an insurance
company indicated.  And it cost extra to complete it in just a
few short months.  Furnishing it has been the best cover
imaginable. 

I even discovered that I’ve sort of got a
knack for home decorating. From the dark wood paneling in the
study, with its built-in shelving and rich burgundy leather seating
to the perfect fresco-style painted walls, my house grew into an
exquisite masterpiece.

In any case, if an outsider could see what
I’ve done in such a short period of time, they’d easily believe
that’s
all
I’ve been doing. I’m basking in my retirement,
immersed in building a new life within the walls of my new
home.  I’m following some very good advice.  It's like
Dad always said. Embrace that American dream, live it like you
really believe it. But in the hidden office at the back of my
house, another story unfolded. This was dark, clandestine, drenched
with the bloody plans I could not abandon, no matter how much hope
those around me tried to instill in my cold, heartless chest.

I learned more about the Marcos crime family
in the past four months than I imagined existed. There was no
turning back now. My focus was sharpened to the lethal width of a
razor blade.

Hmm. Razor blades. Now there would make an
interesting murder weapon. Danny Datello’s suffering was my top
priority after all. Hadn't he made me suffer? After ten years of
marriage to cousin Rick, I was worse than humiliated.  The
insinuation that I’m as dirty as the dearly departed ex-husband or
simply flat-out stupid, it was an insult that could not go
unanswered.

I had months to salve over the fearful
wounds left by what we'd uncovered Jerry Lowe inflicted on the
public at large. I wasn't after anyone that simply
reminded
me of my personal nemesis. Only the real deal would suffice. Then
I'd be done. Retribution wouldn't turn me into a career or a
monster like the one we captured last spring. It really
wouldn't.

I’d be able to move on. That hated phrase
taunted me.
Get over it, Helen. Justice will be served.
Always with a caveat, though. Justice will be served when the
cowardly prosecutors think they have a case they can't lose. Of
course, I had to take into account the idiot jurors who wanted some
slick CSI moment in the courtroom. Morons. Reasonable doubt is not
the same as no doubt or absolute certainty.

My justice system didn't fail. Nor would
it.

I read meticulously while my brain plotted
and churned out undocumented plans for the demise of my last enemy.
Fortunately, the rest of the world didn't know that I had other
plans.

The doorbell interrupted my daydreams of
razor blades and peeling back layer after layer of skin until the
fascia and muscle beneath were exposed. I imagined how grisly,
black, necrotic and rancid Datello's must be under his skin. 
If evil had an appearance, surely it could be exposed beneath the
façade of Danny Datello.

Again with the damned doorbell! What day was
this anyway?

I made my way to the forward section of the
house and flung the heavy beast open.

"You forgot I was coming, didn't you? I
assumed since the gate was open, you remembered. Do you want me to
come back another time? We can do this another day if you
like."

Maya Winslow, chief medical examiner for Bay
County shot words like bullets and struggled to peek past me for a
glimpse of my foyer in awe. I watched her eyes rove over the walnut
banister and wrought iron spindles and that curved up the staircase
to the second floor to the complementary lighting, a chandelier and
wall sconces. She silently admired artwork and tapestries, the
earthy tones of walls and warmth of the meticulously laid hardwood
floors.

"It's stunning, Helen. Absolutely
breathtaking. Please don't tell me you forgot and I have to come
back some other time."

"I'll give you the grand tour later. Come to
the kitchen. I've got the coffee brewing." Her footsteps echoed
behind me as I led the way to that which sustains me. Well, half of
it. Caffeine is the base of my food pyramid, followed by wine. Food
is at the minuscule tip.

I poured two cups of coffee. "Sugar?
Cream?"

"Black's good."

"That's a relief," I grinned.  "I
haven't had time to get the fridge stocked."

"I can see why," her eyes again devoured the
setting, this time of my kitchen and family room. "Helen, you've
outdone yourself. How did you get this finished so quickly?"

"There was some money left over from the
insurance check, and the rest was out of my divorce settlement.
I've been shopping like crazy since before the place was finished.
All I needed to do was move truckloads of furniture and such and
put everything in order. Did you know that there's a fine
furnishings store in Bay View that has virtual room decorating? You
enter your color schemes and the room dimensions and you can
actually see how your furniture will look before you buy it.
Awesome tool. I can't believe everyone in retail isn't using
it."

Maya sipped her coffee and hummed approval.
"I'm glad I could come see the place, Helen, but I get the distinct
feeling that the grand tour wasn't why you really called me."

"It was and it wasn't."

"This is progress for you," she grinned.
"Still a little too cryptic for my taste, but I like this attempt
at turning over a forthright leaf. I suppose I don't have to guess
what the other reason was. I got a subpoena too. Are you anxious
about facing him?"

Maya referred of course to the pending
litigation against Jerry Lowe, now a mere two weeks away, to
determine his competence to stand trial. "He's guilty as sin.
There's no question about it."

Maya gripped my hand across the granite
island. "Then what's wrong?"

"I'm afraid the judge, like everyone else in
the state, will believe that Lowe had to be crazy to do the things
he did. Zack Carpenter is putting so much pressure on me to be the
person that tips the scales of justice in our favor. You know
Lowe's attorney is going to trot out expert after expert witness to
give sworn testimony that Lowe was psychotic at the time he
committed his crimes. Why would anyone believe me over medical
doctors whose expertise far outweighs mine? I warned Zack. He
simply won’t listen."

"Cupcake, you've got something all the
medical experts in the world don't have."

"I know," the groan wrenched from deep in my
gut. "My decade with the FBI exposed me to the stark differences
between mental illness and the evil men perpetrate toward one
another. I've heard it all before. I'm scared. Too much of this
hinges on my testimony, my ability to convince the judge to reject
his insanity defense."

"You only hold the clinical side of that
argument, Helen. Not all of this rests on your shoulders. Charlie
Haverston will be there too, and the other cops who worked with the
two of you. I'm testifying; Forsythe is talking about the forensic
evidence. You are not alone. Zack can even call Orion if need
be."

"He doesn't want to expose the fact that
he's been working undercover. There's way too much at stake."

"And there are ways to deal with his
testimony while shielding his identity." Maya treaded carefully,
perhaps because I recoiled from hearing the name. "Have you spoken
to Johnny lately, Helen?"

I shook my head and forced a smile. "I'm
busy. He's busy. The planets aren't aligned."

"I'm not sure what happened to make you
avoid him –"

"This isn't avoidance. I've talked to
Briscoe and Conall on numerous occasions." Then again, they hadn't
taken no for an answer, showing up at will with cases they wanted
my take on, particularly over the past couple of weeks. It was easy
enough to give them an opinion and send them on their way. That had
slowly eroded my resolve to steer clear of all things police
related into accepting invitations to lunch and dinner.

Briscoe's famous last words just a few days
ago:
You gotta eat, Helen. Good puff of wind, and you'd go
flyin' right off the cliff of your property into the sea
.

Orion was different. He left the door open
and invited me to walk through when I was ready. That day would not
come. Sure, I knew where he was. But I wasn't about to go
there.