Crisis (38 page)
As Jack pulled out of the murky depths of the garage and into the bright sunshine, he made a conscious decision to stop thinking about Franco. Instead, he pulled to the side of the road and consulted Alexis's city map. As he did so, he felt his pulse quicken with the thought of a good pickup basketball game.
What he was searching for was Memorial Drive, and he quickly found it running alongside the Charles River Basin. Unfortunately, it was in Cambridge on the opposite side of the river. Judging from his Boston driving experience, he guessed that getting there might be somewhat of a struggle, since there were few bridges. His concerns were well founded as he was hampered by a confusing interplay of no left turns, one-way streets, the spottiness of street signs, and the overly aggressive Boston drivers.
Despite the handicaps, Jack eventually managed to get on Memorial Drive and then quickly found the outdoor basketball courts Warren's friend David Thomas had described. Jack parked on a small side street, got out, and raised the trunk of his car. Pushing aside the autopsy supplies he'd gotten from Latasha, he got out his basketball gear and looked around for a place to change. Not finding any, he climbed back into the car, and like a contortionist managed to get out of his clothes and into his shorts without of-fending any of the multitudes of bicyclists, in-line skaters, and joggers along the banks of the Charles River.
After making sure the car was locked, Jack jogged back to the basketball courts. There were about fifteen men, ranging in age from about twenty up. At forty-six, Jack assumed he'd be the senior player. The game had yet to begin. Everybody was shooting or showboating, with a bit of playground trash talk being exchanged by the court's regulars.
Being wise to the complicated playground etiquette from his many years of experience in a similar environment in New York, Jack acted nonchalant. He began by merely rebounding and passing the balls out to those people who'd made their practice shots. Only later did Jack begin shooting, and as he expected, his accuracy caught the attention of a number of players, although nothing was said. After fifteen minutes, feeling loose, Jack casually asked for David Thomas. The person he'd asked didn't answer, he merely pointed.
Jack approached the man. He'd been one of the more vociferous of the trash-talkers. As Jack had surmised, he was African-American, mid- to late thirties, slightly taller than Jack, and heavier. He had a full beard. In fact, he had more hair on his face than on the crown of his head. But the most distinguishing characteristic was the twinkle of his eye; the man was quick to laugh. It was evident he enjoyed life.
When Jack approached and introduced himself, David unabashedly threw his arms around Jack, hugged him, and then pumped Jack's hand.
"Any friend of Warren Wilson is a friend of mine," David said enthusiastically. "And Warren says you're a playmaker. Hey, you're running with me, okay?"
"Sure!" Jack said.
"Hey, Aesop!" David called out to another player. "It's not your night, man. You ain't running with us. Jack is!" David gave Jack a thump on the back and then added as an aside, "That boy always has a story. That's why we call him Aesop!"
The play turned out to be terrific: as good as Jack had experienced in New York. Very quickly, Jack realized he'd been lucky to be included on David's pickup team. Although the games were all close, David's team continually triumphed, which meant that for Jack the play was continuous. For more than two hours, he, David, and the three others David had selected for the evening's run did not lose. By the time it was over, Jack was exhausted. At the sidelines, he looked at his watch. It was well after seven.
"You going to come by tomorrow night?" David asked as Jack gathered up his things.
"Can't say," Jack said.
"We'll be here."
"Thanks for letting me run with you."
"Hey, man. You earned it."
Jack walked out of the chain-link fenced court on slightly rubbery legs. Although he'd been drenched with sweat at the end of the play, it was already gone from the dry, warm breeze wafting in off the river. Jack walked slowly. The exercise had done him a world of good. For several hours, he'd not thought of anything besides the immediate requirements of the game, but now reality was setting in. He was not looking forward to his conversation with Laurie. Tomorrow was Thursday, and he didn't even know what time he'd be able to start the autopsy, much less when it would be over and when he'd be able to fly back to New York. He knew she was going to be understandably upset, and he wasn't sure what he should say.
Jack got to his little cream-colored car, unlocked the door, and started to open it. To his surprise, a hand came over his shoulder and slammed it shut. Jack twisted around and found himself looking into Franco's deep-set eyes and not-too-pretty face. The first thing that flashed through his mind was that the damn ten-dollar-forty-nine-cent pepper spray was inside his jacket pocket inside the car.
"We've got some unfinished business," Franco growled.
Jack was close enough to Franco to almost be bowled over by the smell of garlic on his breath.
"Correction," Jack said, trying to lean back. Franco was crowding him against the car. "I don't believe we have ever had business together, so it can't be unfinished." Jack noticed that behind Franco and a little to the side was another man who was also involved in the confrontation.
"Wiseass," Franco muttered. "What's between us concerns you sucker-punching me in the nuts."
"It's not a sucker punch when you hit me first."
"Grab him, Antonio!" Franco ordered while moving back a step.
Jack responded by trying to dart between Franco and the car. With his sneakers on, he thought he could easily outrun the two thugs despite his fatigue from the basketball game. But Franco lunged forward and managed to get a handful of Jack's shirt with his right hand, pulling Jack up short while at the same time hitting him in the mouth with his left fist. Antonio grabbed one of Jack's arms and tried to get ahold of the other to pin them behind Jack's back. Meanwhile, Franco cocked his right hand back for a knockout blow.
But the blow never landed. Instead, a short piece of pipe came down on Franco's shoulder, causing him to cry out in surprise and pain. His right arm dropped limply to his side while his left hand shot to his injured shoulder, and he hunched over.
The pipe was pointed at Antonio. "Let him go, man!" David said. More than a dozen other basketball players had materialized in a threatening U around Jack, Franco, and Antonio. Several had tire irons; one had a baseball bat.
Antonio let Jack go and glared at the newcomers.
"I don't believe you guys are from the neighborhood," David commented, his voice no longer truculent. "Aesop, pat them down!"
Aesop stepped forward and quickly removed Franco's gun. Franco did not resist. The second thug was not armed.
"Now I recommend you boys remove yourself from the neighborhood," David said, taking the gun from Aesop.
"This ain't over," Franco muttered to Jack as he and Antonio walked away. The basketball players parted to allow them through.
"Warren warned me about you," David said to Jack. "He said you were prone to get into trouble and that he'd had to save your ass on more than one occasion. You're lucky we saw these honkies hanging around while we were playing. What's the deal?"
"It's just a misunderstanding," Jack said evasively. He touched his finger to his lip. There was a spot of blood.
"If you need some help, you let me know. Right now you better get some ice for that fat lip, and why don't you take this gun? You might need it if that asshole shows up on your doorstep."
Jack declined the gun and thanked David and the others before climbing into the car. The first thing he did was get the canister of pepper spray out. Next, he looked at himself in the rearview mirror. The right side of his upper lip was swollen, with a bluish cast. A trickle of congealed blood ran down his chin. "Good God," he murmured. Warren was right, he did have a penchant for getting himself in compromising circumstances. He cleaned off the blood as best he could with the bottom of his T-shirt.
On the way back to the Bowmans', Jack considered fibbing and saying his injury was from basketball. Bruises were not uncommon with as much as he played and the fact that basketball was a contact sport in his experience. The problem was that Craig and Alexis were going to be downcast after the day's testimony, and he didn't want to add to their burden. He was afraid they might feel inappropriately responsible if he told the truth.
Being as quiet as possible, Jack used the key Alexis had given him to come in the front entrance. He was carrying his clothes and shoes in his arms. His goal was to slip downstairs and quickly shower before running into anyone. He was eager to ice his lip but it had already been long enough since the injury that another fifteen minutes was hardly critical. As he silently closed the front door, he stopped with his hand on the doorknob. His sixth sense was nagging him; the house was too quiet. Every other time he'd entered, there'd been background noise: a radio, a ringing cell phone, children's chatter, or the TV. Now there was nothing, and the silence was foreboding. From having seen the Lexus in the driveway, he was reasonably sure at least the parents were home. His immediate concern was that something had gone wrong at the trial.
Continuing to clutch his clothes against his chest, Jack moved quickly and silently down the hall to the archway leading into the great room. He leaned through the opening, expecting the room beyond to be deserted. To his surprise, the whole family was there on the couch, with the parents at either end. They appeared as if they were watching television, but the TV was off.
From his vantage point, Jack could not see any faces. For a moment he stood still, watching and listening. No one moved or spoke. Mystified, Jack stepped into the room and approached. When he got about ten feet away, he tentatively called out Alexis's name. He didn't want to disturb them if it was some family thing, but he couldn't seem to walk away, either.
Both Craig's and Alexis's heads shot around. Craig glared back at Jack. Alexis got to her feet. Her face was drawn and her eyes were red. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
15
NEWTON, MASSACHUSETTS WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7, 2006 7:48 P.M.
"So there you have it," Alexis said. She'd told Jack the story about how she and Craig had come home after the trial had been recessed to find their terrified daughters bound and gagged with duct tape. She'd spoken slowly and deliberately. Craig had spat out a few gory details, like the fact Tracy had been dragged from the shower stark naked and rudely struck.
Jack was speechless. He was sitting on the coffee table, facing his sister and her family. As the story unfolded, his eyes jumped from Alexis, who was anxious, fearful, and concerned, to Craig, who was beside himself with outrage, to three children who were shocked and clearly traumatized. All three children were sitting silent and immobile. Tracy had her legs tucked under herself and her arms folded across her chest. She was dressed in oversized sweat clothes. Her hair was frizzed. There was no bare midriff. Christina and Meghan both had their arms clutched around their legs with their knees jutting up into the air. All three had raw, red bands across their lower faces from the duct tape. Tracy had a split lip.
"Are you guys all right?" Jack asked the children. It appeared to him that only Tracy had been physically abused, and thankfully, it looked minor.
"They are as well as can be expected," Alexis said.
"How did the intruders get in?"
"They forced the back door," Craig snapped. "They were obviously professionals."
"Has anything been stolen?" Jack asked. His eyes rapidly scanned the room for any damage, but everything seemed to be in order.
"Not that we can determine," Alexis said.
"What did they want then?" Jack asked.
"It was to convey a message," Alexis said. "They gave Tracy a verbal message to give to us."
"What?" Jack asked impatiently when Alexis didn't elaborate.
"No autopsy," Craig snapped. "The message was no autopsy or they'd be back to hurt the kids."
Jack's eyes rocketed back and forth between Craig and Alexis. He could not believe his offer to help could have caused such a situation. "This is crazy," he blurted. "This can't be happening."
"Tell that to the kids!" Craig challenged.
"I'm sorry," Jack said. He looked away from the Bowmans' faces. He was crushed he'd been the cause of such a disaster. He shook his head and looked back, particularly at Craig and Alexis. "Well, fine then, no autopsy!"
"We're not sure we're ready to give in to this kind of extortion," Alexis said. "Despite what's happened, we're not ruling an autopsy out. It seems to us that if someone is willing to go to the extent of threatening children to block the autopsy, that's all the more reason to do it."
Jack nodded. The thought had occurred to him as well, but it wasn't for him to put Tracy, Meghan, and Christina any more at risk. Besides, the only culprit that came to his mind was Tony Fasano, and his motivation could only involve fear of losing his contingency fee. Jack looked at Craig, whose anger had seemingly lessened a degree as the conversation progressed.
