Secret Hollows (11 page)

“Yeah, but it might make them feel a hell of a lot better.”

“I don’t know,” Mary said. “I don’t know if it would make them feel better or make them feel they lowered themselves to the murderer’s level.”

“See, that there’s your problem, sister,” Ernie said. “
Ya
got too much conscience. Sometimes,
ya
just
gotta
let loose and give people what they deserve.”

“Yeah, well they frown on that kind of thing at the Chicago Police Department,” Mary replied. “They have this silly little thing called due process they would really prefer we follow.”

“Well, there’s no use talking to you,” he said. “So we might as well start training. Stand over there by the punching bag.”

“Great!” Mary said, jogging over next to the bag. “This guy and me, we’ve got some history and I’m going to take him down.”

“Oh, yeah, trash-talking a punching bag,” he said, shaking his head. “What did I get myself into?”

Mary grinned. “You
ain’t
seen
nothing
yet.”

“Yeah, okay, champ, let’s get you geared up,” Ernie said, rolling his eyes and chuckling.

A grey metal cabinet near the punching bag area opened up and a roll of cotton elastic athletic wrap floated over to Mary. She grabbed it and started to wrap it around her wrist.

“Hey, don’t forget to wrap your knuckles,” Ernie said. “They get pretty beat up if they’re not protected.”

After wrapping both hands and wrists, Ernie led Mary over to another cabinet that held an assortment of boxing gloves. He carefully perused the brown leather gloves.

“We don’t want too much weight to start with,” he said, as he carefully lifted up a set of gloves and put them back down in favor of another pair. “Yeah, these ought to do the trick.”

Mary slipped her hands into the gloves and Ernie tied them on. “Now, let’s see your stance,” Ernie said.

Mary placed herself in a position she was sure she had seen in a boxing movie; body slightly crouched, gloves in front of her face, elbows wide, knees bent and feet close together. She bounced a little in place, moving her gloves forward and backward, just like the professionals.

Ernie’s laughter was loud and, quite frankly, irritating.

“Sister, you look like a goose trying to take off for the winter,” he wheezed, as he laughed harder. “I
ain’t
seen nothing like it in all my days of training.”

Mary lowered her gloves and glared at him. “Keep it up, Ernie,” she grumbled. “
and
this goose will really fly the coop.”

He wiped a translucent hand across translucent tears and took a deep breath. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed. But you were damn funny-looking.”

“That’s two,” Mary warned.

Ernie lifted his hands. “Okay, okay. Now first what you got to know is your elbows are in, close to your body and your hands are up.”

Mary followed his instructions.

“Good. Good,” he said. “Now
your
fighting stance has got to do two things, sister. It’s got to give you the chance to land a punch, without leaving you too exposed.”

He stood next to her. “Look at me, look how I’m standing.”

He stood with one foot in front of the other, his body angled and his weight on his back foot. “Now, my stance
ain’t
going to exactly work for you, cause, sister, we
ain’t
built the same,” he explained. “What you want is balance, stability and speed. You want to be angled, so your opponent can’t hit you square on. But you want to be able to move quickly and land a punch. Got it?”

Mary nodded and looked down at the ground, trying to copy Ernie’s foot placement. She set her stance and looked up. Ernie pushed against her and she fell over.

“Too straight,” Ernie said. “You got to think about a line, see, between your front foot and your back foot. You want the toe of your front foot and the heel of your back foot to be on the same line. Got it?”

Mary tried it again and this time when Ernie pushed, she kept her balance.

“Good job,” he said with a satisfied smile. “You’re getting it, sister. Now, I want to see a little footwork.”

They worked on footwork for thirty minutes, until Mary’s clothes were covered with sweat and her face was dripping. Ernie threw her a towel. “
Ya
done
good
, sister,” he said.
“Real good.
Tomorrow I’ll let you take a couple swipes at the bag.”

Mary collapsed onto the bench and mopped her face. She pulled out a water bottle, twisted it open and drank the entire twelve ounces without stopping. “Yeah,” she breathed heavily.
“Tomorrow.
That will be great.”

An hour later Mary was showered and sitting at her office desk. She was on her second can of Diet Pepsi, wondering how many cans she could drink in a morning without considering herself addicted, when she glanced at the clock and saw that it was after nine.

She put the can down and grabbed her coat and purse. Slipping on her coat, she left the office and headed the two blocks to the County Courthouse to have a conversation with her friend, Linda Lincoln.

“Mary, it’s so good to see you,” Linda said, when Mary walked through the County Clerk’s doorway. “I was going to call you.”

“What’s up?” Mary asked.

Linda shook her head. “No, you first,” she said. “What do you need?”

“I’m looking into a case that involved the murder of five little boys about twenty years ago,” she said.

“The one in Lena?”
Linda asked. “Where the school bus driver was the killer?”

Mary nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one,” she said. “I need to see whatever you have from the trial and anything else you think might be helpful.”

“Okay, well I’m going to have to order it from storage,” Linda said. “But I can have it here tomorrow. I’ll just make a copy of the file and see if we have anything else that might be interesting.”

“Perfect, thanks,” Mary replied. “Now, it’s your turn.”

“Well, it’s about …,” she paused and blushed.

“Yes?” Mary asked, intrigued.

“Bob and I are getting married,” she blurted out.

“Oh, Linda, that is so wonderful,” Mary said. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Well, we’re not doing anything big,” she explained, “actually, just a few family members and friends are invited. But, we’d really like you and Bradley to be there.”

“Oh, of course,” Mary said.
“When?”

Linda bit her lower lip. “Well, it’s kind of short notice,” she said.
“Saturday after next.”

Mary shrugged. “Perfect,” she said. “We’re both free that day.”

“Since you can make it, I have another favor to ask,” she said.

“Anything,” Mary replied.

“Will you be my maid-of-honor?”

Mary was speechless for a moment. She placed her hand over her heart. “Really?” she
asked,
her voice thick with emotion.

Nodding, Linda wiped a few tears from her eyes. “We couldn’t think of anyone we wanted more than the person who brought us together.”

“I would be honored,” Mary said.
“More than honored.
I’d be thrilled.”

She hugged Linda tightly. “So, what should I wear?” she asked, stepping back.

“Oh,” Linda replied. “I hadn’t really thought of that. You’re the only attendant, so I guess whatever you’d like to wear.”

“What are you wearing?” Mary asked.

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “We just decided over the weekend and I have to admit, planning a wedding, even a small one, is harder than I thought.”

“Is your mom able to help?” Mary asked.

Shrugging, Linda shook her head. “Mom has a lot on her plate just dealing with my dad,” she admitted. “She…she just doesn’t have the time.”

“Well, I just happen to know a woman who is an expert in weddings and she’s in the midst of shopping for her own,” Mary said. “I think we all need a shopping party to find dresses and accessories.”

“We all?”
Linda asked.

Mary extended her hand and showed Linda her engagement ring. “Bradley and I are engaged, too.”

Linda threw her arms around Mary. “Oh, that’s so wonderful. I just knew you two were made for each other.”

“So, can I call Rosie and set up a shopping night?” Mary asked.

“That would be wonderful,” Linda said.

“I’ll call Rosie and get back to you this afternoon,” Mary promised.

Mary pulled her phone out of her purse as she walked down Stephenson Street towards City Hall and Bradley’s office. “Hi, Rosie,” she said. “It’s Mary. How would you feel about a little shopping excursion?”

Bradley dialed the number for the Dixon Correctional Facility in Dixon, Illinois, a 45 minute drive from Freeport.

“Dixon Correctional Facility,” the operator answered.

“Hi, this is Police Chief Bradley Alden from Freeport,” he responded. “Could you transfer me to Christa in the Warden’s Office, please?”

“Just one moment, Chief Alden.”

A moment later he heard Christa’s voice.
“Warden’s Office, Christa speaking.”

“Hi, Christa,” Bradley said. “This is Bradley Alden, from Freeport.”

“Hi, Chief Alden,” she replied. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’m interested in talking to one of your prisoners,” he said. “Emil Forrest. He’s been there for about twenty years.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with Emil Forrest,” she said. “I’m originally from the Lena area.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize…,” he replied.

“One of the boys who died was my cousin,” she continued. “He was only nine years old; he would have been ten the week after he was murdered.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“Why did you want to speak with him?” she asked.

“I’m looking into a similar case around the same time and I think speaking with him would be helpful.”

“You know he still denies he did it,” she said. “He still doesn’t have the courage to own up to what he did to those boys and our families.”

“Yes, I heard he still denies his guilt,” Bradley responded. “But I still would like to speak with him.”

“Well, I guess if you want to waste your time, that’s up to you. I’ll talk with the warden when he gets in this afternoon. Once he approves it, I have to get the prisoner’s permission for the interview,” she said. “I can get back to you later this week.”

“That would be great, thank you, Christa,” he said. “Oh, and I’d like to bring a former Chicago police officer with me. She’s working on the case too. Her name is Mary O’Reilly.”

“Okay, I’ll add that to the request,” she said. “I’m sorry, Bradley, but I really don’t think talking to the bastard is going to do you any good. “

“Well, I’ve got to try,” he said. “Thanks again, Christa.”

“You’re welcome, Bradley. I’ll call you back as soon as I have any information.”

He hung up the phone and sat back in his chair. Everyone was so sure Emil killed those boys, could Timmy have been mistaken? Ian mentioned that ghosts could forget
,
had Timmy forgotten the sound of his killer’s voice?

A knock on his office door interrupted his thoughts. “Yes?”

The door opened and Mary peeked inside. “Can I come in? Am I interrupting anything?”

Bradley smiled up at her, his heart filling with complete joy. He hoped he always felt this way when she entered a room. “Please, come in,” he said, standing and walking towards her. “I haven’t had my minimum daily requirement of Mary O’Reilly yet.”

She met him halfway across the room. “Daily minimum requirement?” she asked.

He looped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “I can’t survive the day without it,” he replied.