Cloaked in Blood (8 page)

Johnny slipped my hand into his.  A
thumb swished back and forth across my knuckles.  “Don’t blame
yourself, Helen.  It really isn’t your fault.”

“But for some still unknown reason, I’m the
one in the middle of all of this.  I’m the one still desperate
to understand why, and the people with answers are dropping like
flies.”

“Well, we may not know all the details, but
we do know why you’re in the middle of all of this, Helen. 
Maybe you were the beginning of this enterprise, when somebody
figured out how easy it was to snatch children and they’re never
seen or heard from again.  There have been some pretty high
profile child abductions or disappearances in the last few years
where law enforcement had no choice but presume that the child is
dead, buried out in the woods of Oregon or Ohio somewhere. 
Maybe that isn’t what really happened.”

I pulled my hand free and caressed my
belly.  “Johnny –”

“We’ll keep them safe.  Nobody is
taking you or our children.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“How can we bring children into this
world?  Look how much suffering we’ve mopped up after the fact
just in the short time we’ve known each other.”  Every victim
I’d encountered in Darkwater Bay since I arrived almost a year ago
rippled through my memory.  Gwen Foster, indirectly her cousin
Brighton Bennett, the homeless men, Detective Jake Cox, Journey
Ireland… the list went on and on and on, culminating in Sofia
Datello, the most innocent of them all.

Tears leaked from my eyes.

“Helen, please don’t doubt me now.  Not
again.”

“I should be angry, outraged that Terrell
Sanderfield is dead.  Another door that could’ve led us to
answers, slammed shut.  But I can’t muster up what should be
the emotion.  I wish they’d all die, that I could pretend that
none of it is really out there.”

“You can’t do that,” Johnny said.  “I
know you too well, Helen.  Until you know that the world is
safe specifically for those babies we created, you won’t
stop.  You can’t.  Neither can I.”

“Are you still mad that I left and didn’t
tell you where I had to go?”

He grinned.  “I had a suspicion or two
before I got off the phone with David.  Apparently, you’re so
used to wearing that ankle monitor these days that you’ve forgotten
it’s there.”

I had.  “So when you asked me…?”

“I wanted you to tell me.  I told
you.  I’m done digging for the truth.  Either you trust
me, or you don’t.  I’m kinda thrilled right now, because it
sort of seems like you finally get it.”

“I do,” I said.  “And I’m glad.”

“Do you want to know what else David said to
me?”

“I’d like to know why you seemed reluctant
to share the video from Attica with him at all.  It was more
than who Thomas Peterson really was, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said.  “Although now, my
concerns seem unfounded.”

Panic rose into the back of my throat like
bile.  “He already knows it was me, doesn’t he?”

Johnny shook his head.  “No, he thinks
it was really Thomas Peterson, though they can’t figure out who he
is now.  Seems that the name popped up on one of Wendell’s old
cases, a little boy who allegedly died in a car crash with his
abusive, alcoholic father.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense, I suppose.”

“Helen, did your father save that little boy
when you were a child?  Did he find a better home for
him?”

I nodded.  “It wasn’t a random name I
chose.  I had to use one that I knew Dad would recognize, a
person that he’d be too curious about to refuse seeing.”

Johnny chuckled.  “Well, fortunately
for you, David thinks it probably was the boy tracking down the man
who gave him a better life.  He’s concerned about this Special
Agent Noah, however, and with good reason.”

“Clearly.  He wasn’t with the FBI.”

“Think we ought to try to call Wendell
again?  It occurred to me that he might’ve been less than
forthcoming, especially if he knew the identity of the man who came
to see him.”

“He didn’t lie to me.”

Manipulate, perhaps, but I doubted that Dad
lied to me when we last spoke.  On the contrary, I was more
concerned that he’d told the truth, that his interest in Lyle
Henderson meant that another potential person of interest in the
human trafficking case was about to meet an untimely demise.

“Did you hear me?”

“No,” I admitted.

“You’re worried that he isn’t answering his
phone.”

“Terrified if you want the truth. 
Dad’s interest in his former father in law has me concerned.”

“Don’t think that the idea hasn’t crossed my
mind too, Helen.  I’d put the geriatric bastard down myself if
I found out he’s the one who threatened you and our sons.”

I knew Johnny only meant that in a vague,
heat of the moment sort of way.  Still, it seemed ironic that
the man I eventually loved would have such a similar sense of
justice to my father’s.

“Our sons need their father,” I said. 
“And their mother is suddenly famished again.”

“Blueberry pancakes?”

I grinned.  “I’ve got a wicked craving
for baked macaroni and cheese.  I don’t suppose it’s one of
the things you don’t think you cook well, is it?”

Johnny laughed and shook his head. 
“Bachelors are required to know how to make mac-n-cheese,
sweetheart.  It’s an unwritten law.”

“You’re not a bachelor anymore.”

“Yet thank God I was one for so long or we’d
both starve to death.  Or live off of rack of lamb, pot roast
and cheese cake.”

While Johnny puttered around the kitchen, I
dialed Dad’s international phone number again and wondered what
happened that made him need more money all of a sudden.  Was
he moving to a different country?  On his way back here to
make sure Henderson didn’t hurt me again?  Doing something
else he shouldn’t be doing?

I feared that I unleashed a monster on an
unwitting world. 

Chapter 8

The screen in the confessional slid
open.  “Bless me Father for I have sinned.  It’s been
thirty-seven years since my last confession.”

He supposed that was a bad thing, foregoing
this ridiculous recitation for what appeared to be the majority of
the man’s lifetime.

Wendell had read about the required
utterances enough to recall his mandated response.  His advice
to other cops back in the day, those working undercover or in
hostage negotiations was to never stray too far from what they
knew.  This was about as far out of his comfort zone as a
person could get. 

“Father?”

“Go ahead, my son.  God is always
willing to hear the confession of the penitent heart.”

The silhouette relaxed.  “I don’t know
where to begin.”

“Thirty-seven years is a long time. 
Something brought you to God today.  Let’s begin with
that.”

“I’m lying to everyone.”

Wendell frowned.  Weren’t these things
supposed to be more specific?  He cleared his throat.

“What I say to you, you won’t tell anyone,
will you?  I’d go to my own priest but…”

He leaned forward.  “But… what?”

“He’d recognize me, and I can’t allow anyone
to know that I’m here.”

“I take it this is part of your lie.”

The man laughed softly.  “Of all my
lies, I’d say this one is the most minor, yet the most
necessary.  You see, everyone believes I’m… dead.”

Apparently Jesus wasn’t without a sense of
irony either, since Wendell Eriksson’s remains had been cremated
two months ago.

“Are you in trouble, my son?”

“You could say that.  I suppose I
should amend that confession, Father.  Not
everyone
believes I’m dead.  The people who arranged it know the
truth.  They hid me from… well, some very bad people in
exchange for my testimony if it should become necessary.”

Great
, Wendell thought. 
Of
all the guys to plant his ass in my fake confessional, it’d have to
be some criminal turning state’s evidence on a worse
criminal. 
“But this isn’t the lie that’s brought you to
God today.”

“It is,” the man said.  “The FBI, they
don’t know where I am at the moment and –”

“The
FBI
?” Wendell’s ears perked with
immediate interest.

“Christ,” the man hissed, then crossed
himself quickly and apologized.  “My wife is here.  I
miss her.  Is that so terrible?”

“And she too believes you’re dead?”

“It was the only way I could guarantee the
safety of my family.  The thing is, I would’ve been dead if
someone hadn’t saved my life, only she doesn’t know she saved my
life.”

“I see.”

“Do you, Father?  I’m not sure I
understand why she did it.  In fact, she’s done a lot of
things since just before someone tried to kill me that have me
completely baffled.”

“All right.  Does she have something to
do with this… confession?”

The man nodded.  “I have hated her for
a very long time.”

“I see.”

“You could say that we’re mortal enemies, in
fact.  She arrested me, and I’m not saying that I’m an
innocent man, but I wasn’t guilty of the crime she thought I
committed.”

“What crime did you commit?” Wendell
asked.  Maybe this padre gig wasn’t so bad after all.

“It was a very long time ago.  I – you
swear to me that you won’t run to the police if I tell you
this?”

“The seal of the confessional is respected
by the justice system, but no, I’m bound by my vows to God to offer
sanctuary.”  As much as it galled him, that much was the
truth.  Wendell gritted his teeth and prepared to hear about a
crime he couldn’t do a damn thing about.  Or could he?

“Many years ago, a very bad man murdered the
daughter of a friend.”

Wendell’s irritation faded.  He tilted
his head closer to the screen and murmured, “A child?”

“She was fifteen.  It was a terrible
crime, Father.  He decapitated Brighton.  They didn’t
recover all of her remains until a year ago.”

“I see.”

“The man who the police arrested got off on
a technicality, a screw up we all thought the cop investigating the
case made –”

Wendell’s eyes nearly bugged out of his
head.  The priest gig was good for many things, mainly the
free time it afforded him to catch up on world events for the past
twenty years, specifically those that related to his
daughter.  This story had Helen’s fingerprints all over
it.

“We’re talking about the former police
chief, aren’t we?” he asked.

“Yes,” the man half-snarled, but so quietly,
Wendell nearly missed the response.  “But we were all
convinced it was someone else.  I was so incensed, I… I killed
the man we thought did it.”

“God forgives you, my son.”

In this booth, I am God
, Wendell
thought. Avenging the death of a child certainly met his criteria
for justification. Not guilty of murder? Not bloody likely. Where
there was smoke, there was
always
fire.

“Does he?  How can he, when I can’t
seem to forgive myself?”

“The police must’ve had reason to suspect
him.”

The swallow echoed in the quiet space. 
“Well, he wasn’t a murderer at least.  There was a rape charge
that he managed to plead down in another state.”

Wendell nodded, satisfied that while the
response was a bit harsh, it was justifiable.  “God still
forgives you.  All you need do is repent, which you’ve just
done.”

“I should feel gratitude that I’m not dead,
that this enemy saved my life and probably my daughter’s too –”

Wendell froze.  It couldn’t be. 
Could it?

“But she killed someone I loved very
much.  I know she killed him.”  The man slammed his fist
against his chest.

Wendell jumped.

“I felt it, the moment that my uncle called
to tell me that Rick was dead.”

“You’re Danny Datello,” Wendell said.

He drew a noisy rattle of breath into his
lungs.

“The seal of the confessional, son,” Wendell
reminded him gently.  “It goes no further than God, anything
you say.”  But his mind wanted to rattle off Miranda in the
worst way. 
Anything you say can and will be used against
you.

“I don’t look as much like who I used to
be.  It’s been two months.  The feds altered my
appearance.”

“You’re truly here because you miss your
family?”  Wendell could relate to that.

“Yes and no.”

He bristled.

“At first, I wanted to come back here and
confront Helen Eriksson.  But this is the thing that has me so
twisted up.  I’ve been laying low since I got back into town,
you know?  And I’ve learned things, things that have me
doubting what I thought I knew for certain.  Just like the
last time.”

“Did you come back to harm this
woman?”  Try as he might, Wendell couldn’t quite conceal the
implied threat in that question.

“I confess that the thought crossed my mind,
but I’ve been watching her.  She’s looking after my
wife.  She found my daughter.  She saved my life. 
Why would she do that?  She hated me as much as I hated
her.”

Wendell felt almost faint with relief. 
“Did you hear what you just said, Danny? 
Hated
. 
You don’t hate her anymore.”

“Why should I lose my life for a crime I
didn’t commit and she waltzes off into the sunset, happily married,
pregnant to boot now too?  It’s not right!”

“You’ve said that twice.  You’re
talking about that business at the medical examiner’s office last
Christmas, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Datello hissed.  “I didn’t hire
anyone to kill David Ireland.  Christ, I went to him for
help.  My lawyer inadvertently turned the evidence I amassed
against Uncle Sully over to him.  He was gonna help me get the
information to the FBI without exposing where it came from.”