Do Not Go Gentle (26 page)

“Jamie.” Sully sounded both relieved and upset to have reached him.

“Yeah, Sully, what's up?”

“Jamie, I don't know any good way to tell you this.”

Jamie's stomach clenched, and he felt the warmth sink out of his body like water down an open drain. “Just spit it out, Cap.”

“Right. A patrol found another body, and when they pulled the ID, they called me immediately.”

“No,” moaned Jamie. “Don't tell me—”

“Yeah. It's Cal. He's dead—killed just like the other victims in your case. Now you're going to get your ass in here and tell me everything you know.”

“You can't give me orders any more, Cap. Remember?” Jamie choked out the words.

“Maybe not,” Sullivan replied, steel in his voice, “but I can make your life hell, Griffin.”

“Easy, Sully, back down. I'll be there within the hour.”

“Thanks, Jamie.”

“You got it.” Jamie turned to face the questioning faces of the trio by the fire. “Well, this case just got more serious. They found the body of my former partner, Cal Cushing. He was murdered. That bitch made a huge mistake,” Jamie said grimly. “Now she's made this personal.”

It was cold and rainy again Tuesday morning, the clouds leaden and pregnant with rain, dumping torrents of water down upon both the cemetery and the mourners gathered by the open gravesite. Many more people attended than could fit within the tent. Not that the canvas roof kept those inside much warmer than those outside, but it did keep the worst of the rain from running down their heads, faces, and torsos.

Jamie stood just outside the tent. He could have squeezed beneath it, as had Eileen and the girls, but he saw no point in bothering. Eileen had tried to pull him inside with her once, but Jamie had resisted, unmoving. He knew that Eileen and the girls were also in pain. Jamie could not process that fact, though, any more than he could process the fact that Cal was dead. Jamie felt wrapped in a cold cloud much denser and darker than those that filled the late October sky.

He's dead. Cal's dead, and I wasn't there.
The thought kept clanging around in Jamie's mind like some kind of demented pinball.
Cal's dead, and I wasn't there.
Jamie noted absently that Fran, Cal's ex-wife was there, standing behind the immediate family.

Jamie's gaze wandered to where Cal's parents, Franklin and Eve, sat in chairs, huddled against the cold, the rain, and the grief, with other family members trying to protect them from all three.
I could probably count on one hand the number of times I've actually seen or spoken with either of them.
Being Cal's partner had given Jamie limited access to Cal's private, personal life. Jamie knew that Cal was estranged from his family, largely due to Cal's career choice.
He was supposed to be a lawyer,
Jamie recalled.
Or go into his father's financial planning company.

Behind Jamie, who was in his dark dress uniform, hat, and dark overcoat, a small sea of similarly attired officers stood. Robert Sullivan stood to Jamie's right. Leonard Hamilton, who would have been Cal's next partner, stood to the right of Sullivan. Three marksmen gathered perpendicular to the crowd, ready to provide the gun salute upon cue. The bagpipe music, always haunting in the best of times, swirled about the site like an unwanted guest, deeply touching each person gathered.

When the service concluded and the echoes of gunfire had dissipated, Jamie patiently slipped through the crowd to Cal's parents.

“Mister and Mrs. Cushing,” Jamie said quietly, taking off his hat. As they turned their faces to look at him, Jamie wasn't sure they actually saw him. “I'm Jamie Griffin. I was Cal's partner on the police force.” Jamie thought he could detect a slight tightening around Franklin's mouth. “I want to express my deepest sympathy. Cal was more than just my partner—he was my friend. I promise you, I will not rest until we bring the people behind your son's murder to justice.”

They could do nothing more than nod their heads at him, with Mrs. Franklin sobbing quietly. Jamie then replaced his hat and walked to where Fran stood, talking with Eileen and the girls.

“Franny,” Jamie said gently. “I know you and Cal were still close. I'm so sorry.”

Frances Endicott Cushing was a tall blonde, who not only had retained her youthful beauty, but had somehow managed to enhance it over the years. She gave Jamie a big hug. “I know, Jamie,” she choked, “but I also know this is hard for you and Eileen and the girls.” She stepped back and looked closely at Jamie. “How are you doing? Honestly?”

Jamie paused a moment to see the concerned stares of his three “womenfolk.” “Well, I'm sure Eileen's already told you, I'm not doing so good.”

“She did. I'm sorry to hear it, Jamie.”

“Yeah, well, Cal and I were working a serial murder case when I got sick, and I know he was still working it in my absence. I feel responsible. If I'd been with him, maybe I could have prevented this.”

“Nonsense,” proclaimed Fran. Like her parents and her former in-laws, Fran was an old-time Boston Brahmin, her cultured exterior wrapped around an iron core. “Given your condition, I don't think you could have prevented this. In fact, we'd probably just be attending two funerals today.”

Jamie sighed and did not dignify Eileen's “I-told-you-so” gaze with a response. “Thanks for saying so, Fran, but it's not how I feel. Like I told Cal's parents, I'm going to see that Cal's killers are brought to justice.”

“Just how might you be doing that?” Eileen demanded.

“Dad, do we have to tie you down and sit on you?” Riona demanded. Caitlin added the weight of her gaze, but Riona, being the irrepressible child, did the talking.

“Peace, ladies, peace. This is neither the time nor the place for debate.”

“But Jamie,” Fran protested. “If you're no longer on the force, how can you continue any type of investigation?”

Jamie laughed, a rough, dangerous sound. “I'd like to see someone stop me.”

“Maybe we can give it a try.” A hand pressed down gently on Jamie's right shoulder. Jamie turned to see Bob Sullivan by his side. Behind Sully were Frank and Patrick Griffin. “You know I should give you hell for wearing that uniform,” Sully continued. His father and older brother just stared at Jamie in silence.

Jamie made a wry face. “Hell, Sully, if that's all you got to yell at me about—”

Sully chuckled humorlessly. “Jamie, I know you feel an obligation to Cal—”

“No, Sully,” corrected Jamie softly. “I
have
an obligation to Cal.”

“Am I going to have to order you to stand down?” Frank Griffin asked stiffly.

“Well, Da, given that I'm no longer on the force, you can't give me orders anymore now, can you?”

Frank's gaze hardened. “Maybe not, but since the fact that I'm your father doesn't seem to matter to you, maybe the possibility of pressing charges will get your attention.”

Jamie stepped toward his father, with Eileen's hand on his arm and Sully tightening his grip on his shoulder. Jamie could see the uncomfortable, shocked looks on the girls' faces—they'd never seen this side of their grandfather before. Frank, like his sons, made it a habit to keep his professional life and demeanor as separate as possible from his personal life. Jamie stared into his father's eyes, counted to ten, and then replied. “After forty-some years, father, you would think you'd know me better—I don't respond well to threats.”

Patrick's arm whipped out like a striking snake and grabbed Jamie's other arm. “You could show some respect to our father if nothing else, Jamie.”

Jamie wrenched free from everyone. “You stay out of this, Patrick.” Jamie's voice was still soft, but serious. “This doesn't concern you.”

“Bullshit.” Patrick spat back. “You're making Da and me both look bad.”

Frank Griffin held out both hands, palms outward, on each of his sons' chests. “Enough,” he commanded. Both of his sons looked at him and visibly relaxed in response to their father's order. Frank Griffin turned to cut Patrick away from Jamie, then put his right index finger into his second son's chest. “Enough. Now you listen to me, boyo—I've been where you are. I've lost partners and good officers over the years. This is no time for you to be a cowboy. You'll work with Sully only to the extent that he allows it. Beyond that, you'll stay out of the way or face the consequences.”

Jamie snorted softly. “I don't think you've ever been where I am in your entire life.” Jamie turned away from his father, his brother, and his former captain to face his wife and daughters. “Come on, dear ones. It's time we were leaving. Let's get home and get everyone dried out.” Jamie walked away from Cal's gravesite into the pouring rain, leading his family toward their car.
What a perfect day for a funeral,
he thought, not bothering to hurry through the rain as it soaked through his coat and shoes.
Just a perfect feckin' day all around.

* * * *

Later that day, sitting around a blazing fire in their living room, Jamie, Eileen, and the girls sat in awkward silence. Jamie was wrapped up in morose thoughts. Eileen alternated between fear and anger, while Caitlin and Riona were sad and afraid. Finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, Eileen turned toward Jamie and took both of his hands in hers. “What are you going to do now, my love?”

Jamie jerked, as if startled from a deep reverie. “What, dear?”

“I asked you, what are you going to do now?”

“Right now? Just spend time here with my lovely family.”

“Don't think you can mislead me. Even if I hadn't witnessed that scene at Cal's funeral, I know you well enough to know you're not going to let this go.”

“Of course not,” snapped Jamie. “How
could
I? Cal was my partner.”

“We're your family,” Eileen retorted.

Jamie looked at Eileen as if he were surprised. “I love you all dearly, but what does that have to do with Cal's death?”

“Everything, Daddy.” Riona was crying. “You're sick and you're planning to go off by yourself and do something stupid.”

“Out of the mouths of babes,” Eileen murmured.

“Look, my dears,” Jamie said after taking a deep breath. “I
can't
let this go. First of all, I made a promise to Cal's parents—”

“Which you should
not
have done,” noted Eileen.

“Maybe not, but please let me get through my reasons, and then you can tear them down.” Jamie paused, and then continued. “Second, even without that promise to Cal's parents, I would feel honor bound to bring Cal's killer to justice. Killing a cop is an unforgiveable sin to other cops. Third, while I know Sully and Hamilton will pursue the matter, they aren't as close to the case as I am—I've started getting a real sense of what's going on, and I'm going to find a way to put a stop to it. This woman is
evil,
and she's murdered at least a dozen people that we know of, probably more. If my career as a cop is over, then I have to close out this one last case. I couldn't look myself in the mirror every day knowing I'd not done all I could to bring Cal's killer to justice.”

No one said anything for several seconds. Then Eileen spoke in a calm and quiet voice. “I know all that, my love, so do the girls. We all love and admire your sense of duty and devotion to us and to friends like Cal, but you're sick, and if you keep pushing yourself, you're only going to get worse.”

“You don't know that,” said Jamie.

“Yes, we do.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Caitlin chimed in. “We've seen what happens to you when you push yourself—your headaches get worse, to the point where you can't function. You stagger around like a drunk. I've seen you nearly fall several times, and you are so exhausted that you forget things, make mistakes, and generally just scare the shit out of me.” Caitlin was crying by the end of her speech.

Jamie leaned forward and hugged his daughter, then turned to Riona and Eileen and gestured for them to scoot over on the sectional into a family hug. Jamie felt their warmth and love—their concern radiating into him like the heat from the fireplace. After a few seconds, he withdrew and looked at each of them in turn. “Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, but I love you all. I wish Brigid was here, and we'd just lock the doors, disconnect the phone, and just have some family time. Pop some popcorn and watch some movies.”

“We can still do that, love,” Eileen pointed out.

Jamie nodded. “Alright then. You get the doors, and I'll get the phone.” Before he could disconnect the downstairs telephone, it rang.

“Don't answer that, Jamie,” said Eileen.

Jamie had his hand on the connector to the phone jack, but he paused when he saw the name on the Caller ID. “No, I have to take this call.”

“Daddy,” the girls protested.

Jamie held up a hand sternly, silencing any more words from his daughters or his wife. The name on the Caller ID said
Disciples of Endor
. “Hello?”

“Hello, Detective Griffin,” purred a deep female voice. “Oh, please excuse me—it is
Mister
Griffin now is it not?” Malice permeated Sedecla's words like glittering crystals in an obsidian stone.

“Well, I'm impressed,” Jamie replied evenly. “If it isn't the high muckety-muck herself. To what do I owe the honor of this call, Sedecla?”

Now soft laughter came to Jamie from the phone. “I am only calling to convey my condolences,” Sedecla said. “I could tell that you were in great pain today.”

“You could
tell
?” Jamie asked incredulously. “How could you tell? You actually had the nerve to attend Cal's funeral?”

“I thought it a lovely day for a drive, nothing more. My driver happened to pass by the cemetery, so I thought I would pay my, respects, as it were.” Sedecla said in a mocking tone of voice.

“You thought the monsoon weather we had today was a lovely day for a drive? C'mon, woman—surely you can do better than that.” Jamie was boiling with rage inside, but he was determined not to let her goad him into angry remarks. He kept his tone as light and mocking as hers.