Forgotten Place (24 page)

"I guess so.  Technically."

"So afternoon doesn't literally mean after
noon?"

"I'd suggest two his time."

"You'd know his habits better than I would,"
Johnny muttered.  "I don't understand why you expect him to
tell you the truth about anything, Helen.  His interests run
parallel to the FBI's, or so I would imagine."

"They do and they don't."

"Care to explain that one?"

"He's my friend," I said.  "He's always
believed in my innocence."

"I find it odd that you didn't tell him the
story you finally told me," Johnny said, "the suicide and all
that.  Surely he would've draped you in his cloak of
protection and made the big bad Seleeby go away before you ever
thought of leaving Washington."

My lips rolled in between my teeth.

"Interesting," Johnny said. 

"Why are you so determined to take care of
me when you can't trust me the tiniest little bit?  Do you
want me to tell David the truth about Rick when I call
tomorrow?  Do you really feel like answering questions about
how that suspicious gun made its way into one of Marcos'
businesses?  Or how that business happened to blow to kingdom
come?"

The masseter muscle ticked
rhythmically. 

"Or do you want him digging into how you got
the idea in the first place?  That's the better question,
Johnny."

He pulled off the road and stared at
me.  After a long pause, "What the hell is that supposed to
mean?"

"It's a compliment really.  You don't
think like a criminal."

"And you do?"

"Why shouldn't I?" the
words tore from my throat and bounced hard off the interior of the
car.  "I was raised by them, Johnny.  You think I don't
know who told you exactly what to do to make my little problem with
the FBI go away?  I'm not stupid, and neither is David
Levine.  If the FBI... no,
when
the FBI discovers you were on
the east coast that weekend, visiting with Wendell Eriksson of all
people, how long do you think it'll take them to do the
math?"

His eyes fixed ahead for
long silent moments before Johnny's chin dipped to his chest and he
laughed softly.  "In the first place, I don't see
Wendell
ever
cooperating with the FBI.  He most certainly wouldn't do
it if it resulted in doing something that hurt you.  In the
second place, Wendell knows more about the crime families out east
than probably everybody in law enforcement combined.  Given my
active investigation into Datello for the past two and a half years
now, I don't find it unusual that I'd want to have a chat with him
at all.  And last, but by no means least, I think my curiosity
about a man you told me was dead might've been a legitimately
motivating factor in our little meet and greet, particularly after
the FBI sent me the file that told me Wendell was alive and well
and incarcerated in upstate New York."

"It opened the door to scrutiny you really
don't want to endure, Johnny."

"I'm not afraid of the FBI.  I'm not
even afraid of you telling David what I did, Helen."

"So now you trust me."

He threw the SUV into gear and jerked it
back onto the street.  "Not in the slightest.  What I
trust is your desire to make sure the questions stop and that this
matter with Rick is buried once and for all.  I get it. 
You're not capable of really caring about anybody else, are
you?"

It wasn't easy to hear, but it pretty well
summed up how I was feeling about myself.

Chapter 21

Ned and I were in my office, pouring over
aged yellow legal pads filled with notes David Ireland left behind
when he died.  The notations were written in a type of
shorthand.  Most of what we read could be correlated with a
key code Zack faxed over that included a brief summary of the open
cases Ireland was working sixteen years and three days ago.

A plate with a croissant stuffed with
chicken salad and sides of white grapes and deviled egg potato
salad appeared in front of me.  I looked up.  Orion
extended a tall glass of sweet tea.

"Thank you."

"Are you making any progress, Ned?"

Ah, silent treatment.  How intimately
acquainted we have become lately.

"Well, we've got a system down now that Zack
gave us the key to the map.  The stacks on my right are notes
we've managed to link to his open cases.  We've still got four
boxes of more-of-the-same waiting for review.  If you're up to
it, we could sure use the extra eyes."

"Take a break, Ned.  Come out and have
some lunch with me.  You look like you could use a half hour
of thinking about something other than this case."

I noticed that the invitation didn't extend
to me.  Fine.  Better than fine.  I shoved the stack
of pages to my right, tossed them onto Ned's pile, and ate my
lunch.  No more cutting off my nose to spite my face – or defy
Orion.  The best plan was to cooperate, get my strength back,
and spend every spare minute I could find at a local dojo
sharpening my injury-dulled jujitsu skills.

I ate quickly, the food sitting in my belly
like a bag of rocks.  Instead of focusing on the previous
stack I delegated to Ned's pile, I grabbed one of the untouched
boxes and started looking for anything that didn't look like
Ireland's work product.

At the bottom of the box, I found a stack of
newspaper clippings ranging over a fifteen year period.  Some
were from the Sentinel, some were photocopies of papers from my
turf – the five boroughs and beyond.  My interest
piqued.  Hadn't Johnny mentioned something about clippings
about the death of Datello's father?  It was the only thing in
Ireland's files so far that wasn't mind numbing notes on fraud
cases.

I started sifting through
the clippings.  Sure enough, the obituary notice for Antonio
Datello was there.  In red ink along the margin was one of
Ireland's shorthand notations:
EX2012
.  I scanned the notes
Zack faxed. 

Nothing.

"We're missing
something.  There has to be another case code in here." 
What could
EX
mean?  I started thinking about everything that was
happening in Darkwater Bay according to the history of the city as
provided by Tony Briscoe.  EX.  EX.  What was
it?  Ex as in former?  Ex as in...
ex
tortion?  Hadn't Don Weber
told me that the blackmail situation started about six months
before Harry McNamara died? 

Had Weber and Hardy
confided in David Ireland?  If so, if EX were code for
extortion
what did the
2012 mean?  The year 2012?  Of course not. No one could
possibly know the significance of this years a decade and a half
ago. Something else then.  An address perhaps.

I put the obituary aside for a moment and
started searching through the rest of the clippings.  Half way
through the stack, I found a photocopy from the New York Times,
detailing the disturbing murder of Antonio Datello.  The photo
at the top of the story was taken from a distance, but showed
enough of the grisly crime to make the hairs on the back of my neck
stand at attention.

A large blood stain was splattered against
the windshield in front of the steering wheel.  Datello
must've climbed into the boat of a Cadillac and been shot by an
assailant hiding in the back seat.  The windows of the car
were intact.

Twenty-two caliber weapon.  Wasn't that
what Orion said?  I scanned the article.  Two shots
instead of one explained the exit wound.  I wondered at the
logistics of such a kill.  How had the assassin held Datello
in place?  Did he wait until the seat belt was fastened?

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what I
would do in a similar circumstance... what Dad would do.

"Go lay down.  If you're sleeping in
the chair, it's time for a nap."

I startled, jumped enough to nearly fall off
my chair.  One hand clasped my heart.  "Jesus, you scared
me half to death, Johnny.  I wasn't sleeping."

"I'd rather you rest.  Ned will keep
working on the files.  I've got some business that requires my
attention this afternoon before your house guest arrives."

"I thought..."

"As it pertains to this case, you can come
with me.  This isn't about David Ireland.  You didn't
sleep well last night, so please don't argue with me, and go take a
nap."

I stomped to the doorway and squeezed past
him.  Johnny gripped my upper arm.  "Aren't you
forgetting something?"

He held two pain pills in his
hand. 

"I don't need them.  I feel fine."

"I'll leave them with Ned if you change your
mind or wake up in pain. Please take them."

I dragged heavy air in through my
nose.  "Exactly how long are you planning to be gone?"

Johnny shrugged.  "Not sure, Doc. 
You're in good hands until I return.  Crevan's bringing
dinner.  Detective Mackenzie will spend the night.  That
alone should improve your mood."

"I thought you said you had
business this
afternoon
, not that you'd be gone indefinitely.  You're going off
to close this case without me, aren't you?"

Johnny's grin was plastic,
forced.  "I've got a
thing
.  Surely you remember
those days, Doc.  It's not about the case, so you can withdraw
your claws.  Nobody's going to deny you the pleasure of
arresting Datello yourself."

Yeah, I remembered what
Johnny's
things
involved.  The weight in the pit of my stomach hardened
to cast iron.  I drifted past him and out of sight into my
bedroom.  Why did it bother me so much?  Wasn't this what
I wanted – for Orion to buy a vowel and get over me?

I curled into a tight ball in the center of
the bed and closed my eyes.  Maybe he was right.  The
world might not feel so rotten after a nap.  Then again,
rested brain cells might help me figure out how to lose my
protective detail and dig to the bottom of what was really going on
with the Ireland case on my own.

Damn them all.  They were doing little
more than holding me back.

~

Sunset came around a quarter to five on
this, the second shortest day of the year.  At least it did in
normal parts of the world not blanketed by dark gray clouds muting
what little light filtered through the atmosphere at the end of the
day.

I woke to pitch blackness and a deep sense
of disorientation.  Movement sent a sharp pain shooting from
left shoulder to fingertips.  Reality floated back in a
hurry.  More of a slicing breaststroke than a float. 

I should've taken the pain pills Orion
offered.

The other bit of reality that punched hard
into my midsection was that Johnny had to be absent.  No way
would he have let me sleep all afternoon.  Hell, now I'd be up
all night. 

I tossed aside the light blanket I couldn't
remember bringing to bed and inched toward the edge.  My
shoulder throbbed whether I moved it or not.  The glow from
the clock on the nightstand revealed that it was six-thirty, well
after the last rays of sunlight sunk beneath the ocean for a
December night. 

The first steps were a groggy wobble before
I got my bearings and stumbled toward the bedroom door.  The
living room was quiet, dimly lit with one lamp.  Where were
all these alleged guards assigned to make sure I held up my end of
the Faustian deal I struck with Johnny this morning?  I rubbed
my eyes and ventured into the dark and silent kitchen. 

Weird.  Where was everybody?

A sliver of light spiked the darkness in the
family room.  Ah.  My office.  That's where everyone
was.  I pushed the door open and found Crevan and Ned with
their heads together speaking in low tones.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Helen!  You're awake!"

"Yeah, Crevan, I'm awake.  And
starving.  And sore as the day I got shot.  Why'd you let
me sleep so late?"

He and Ned shared a look.

"All right you two.  What's going
on?"

"I called Johnny last night and asked him if
he thought we should wake you up for dinner –"

"Dinner?  What the hell are you telling
me?"

"It's morning, Helen.  You slept all
night.  He said if you were that exhausted, we should let you
rest, that your body probably needed it more than anything
else."

"Bastard," I muttered.  No wonder I
ached so badly.  Not to mention, I was supposed to be in
physical therapy in ten minutes ago, and there was no way I'd get
there before my session was scheduled to end.  "I'll go
change.  Somebody should call Amy and let her know I'm running
late this morning."

"Uh... John asked her if she could treat you
here this morning, Helen.  She'll be here at seven."

"I don't have the equipment she needs."

"He took care of it, Helen," Crevan
said.  "I'll get your medication and some breakfast
started.  Why don't you go shower and get dressed in the
meantime?"

"Where are Journey and Devlin?  These
plainclothes officers Orion planned to send?"

"His men are outside.  The new shift
got here a little while ago, and as far as I know, Dev is still
sleeping.  He hadn't had a break since Monday, so we figured
since all of us were around..."

"Well at least something normal happened
around here last night, Ned.  How is the review of Ireland's
notes coming along?"

"Helen, I really think you should get ready
for therapy," Crevan said.  "We'll bring you up to speed on
the case after Amy leaves."

He steered me into the kitchen and procured
two pain pills, a Prozac and a glass of water.  "Drink
up."