Molly Brown (16 page)

“Daddy, you’re
going to just love this secret,” continued Joe. “Parker says putting broke things back together is worth all the hard work, and we’ve been workin’ so hard. And now Molly can help us too.”

Connell reached out and ruffled Joe’s hair.

“Come on, you have things to do,” called Lizzie from the doorway.

“Yeah,” he replied uncertainly. It didn’t feel right leaving the kids alone. Yet maybe some time just being a kid would help in making her understand that she was quite safe here at the farm. He pulled the door closed and turned to Lizzie with a smile.

“They’ll be fine.” She whispered. “Joe and Spidey will look out for Molly.”

“I guess you’re right. She doesn’t need me breathing down
her neck.” He paused and smiled. “So, the kids are occupied. Where does that leave us?”

“Forget it. You have horses to tend. You’ve managed quite nicely to wriggle out of stock work for the last couple of days. I’m sure Parker will be more than pleased to see you with a pitchfork in your hand.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause I’ve just been lazing around with Marty, haven’t I?”

“According to you.”

He caught her worried frown before she cloaked it with a quick smile.

“I tell you what,” he continued, as she picked up the eggs and sidestepped his outstretched hand, “I’ll feed the horses, you make breakfast and then
, if the kids are still busy …”

Chapter Seventeen

Molly wasn’t going to give up her secrets overnight, and if Connell was being honest, he wasn’t sure that persuading, or forcing, her to do so was necessarily wise. When she was good and ready she might decide to reveal whatever it was that had her running scared, but he couldn’t count on her cooperation, and if he wanted this over anytime soon, it was down to him to find out what was going on without her help.

There was only one place to find the answers, which made returning to the city the right thing to do, even if Lizzie didn’t agree. To Connell it made perfect sense. He had to fix the mess he was in
, and first on his problem list was Frankie. He knew he was at the center of everything. He just hadn’t quite worked out the how and the why. He could have cut to the chase and demanded that Gerry spill everything he knew, but he was still avoiding Gerry’s calls and wasn’t entirely sure why, just that Marty felt it was the sensible thing to do and Marty was a sensible guy.

Knowing he was doing the right thing, didn’t make leaving any easier
, and the feeling that things remained unsettled between him and Lizzie gnawed at him as he made the long journey back. He’d explained why he was leaving till he’d run out of reasons, and she’d just given him that look, the one that told him that he had one last chance to make things right. Sure, she understood why he was drawing the danger away from home, away from the kids and her, but the silent resignation on her face said it all. He was in real danger of letting those most precious to him slip through his fingers, but he wasn’t about to give up without a fight.

*  *  *

He called Marty as he rode the service elevator to his apartment. “So, Marty, what’s happening?”

“Not a lot.
I’m at work, Tommy. You know, that place I sometimes go when you’re not dragging me around town, that place that enables me to keep a roof over my head and food on the table.”

Connell smiled. If Marty was at work
, he had access to computers and information that he needed.

“Good, ‘b
out time you contributed to the economy.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if I charged you a fee every time you asked a favor, I wouldn’t need to work.”

“Marty, you love helping me out, admit it.”

“Yeah, sure, Tommy, anything you say.”

The lights were still out in the lobby. He reckoned it was all part of Frankie’s plan to piss him off. All renovation work on the building had ground to a halt two years before and maintenance was a joke. Frankie obviously had other plans for the building which didn’t include Connell, and if he couldn’t buy him out, or bully him out, he must figure he could force him out by allowing the structure to decay around him. Connell couldn’t give a shit. He’d grown used to navigating the lobby in near darkness and knew where every loose board and obstacle lurked.

“Are things okay with you this morning?” continued Marty. “Did you talk everything out with Lizzie?”

Connell edged around a pile of insulation material. “Not entirely. She’s not happy about what I’m doing, I’m not happy at what I’m doing, but it’s got to be done, and the sooner it’s over the better.”

“Did Molly say anything yet?”

An image of Molly reading to Joe flashed in his mind. “No, I think we have to forget about Molly’s contribution. That’s not going to happen anytime soon. It’s a delicate situation and I don’t have the patience or the time to hang around. I need to wrap this up.”

He paused outside his apartment door, checked for signs of illegal entry and found none. Marty’s warnin
g to stay away was well meaning but unfounded. He needed to focus and get on with it. All the same, he couldn’t deny his reluctance to enter as he recalled the last time uninvited guests had come calling. That time he’d had Lizzie with him and they’d barely got out in one piece. He was glad she was safe at home, under Parker’s watchful gaze, but felt inexplicably vulnerable on his own.

“What happened last night at the wareh
ouse after we left?” he asked, dropping his voice to a whisper as he unlocked the door and eased it open with one foot. He’d no weapon for back-up if there was someone lying in wait and was beginning to re-think the logic of his gun-reluctant policy.

“Haven’t you spoken to Gerry?”

“No. You told me not to, remember.”

“Basically, Gerry’s guys got th
ere in time to sweep up. I mean I wasn’t there, seeing as how you’d sent me on a mission of my own, but the word is that the warehouse was empty and Gerry’s pissed. You were meant to wait for him.”

“Gerry is always pissed. H
e’ll get over it. What about the girl?”

He paused in the entry-way
, listening for any sounds that might indicate unwelcome guests.

“Like I told you last night, Gibbons dropped the girl off at Frankie’s.”

“You got the address?”

“Sure.” Marty r
ead it out and Connell nodded. He knew the location. He’d never been that way but could imagine Frankie’s idea of tasteful architecture and it didn’t match his own. It would be a gated and guarded mcmansion pile of gothic crap and he was going to have to grab himself an invite sooner rather than later.

“Has Gerry paid Frankie a visit?”

“Not yet. I imagine he’s waiting to speak to you. I hung around last night outside Frankie’s after we spoke, just in case.”

“Hey, I’m not paying extra for night shift.”

“You’re not paying me period.”

“So?”

“So, there was no one at the house except the girl, the staff and a couple of Frankie’s henchmen. It’s not clear what’s going on, Tommy, but I don’t think it’s necessarily what you suspected.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there was a good deal of yelling going on between Gibbons and Frankie’s guys, a bit of a standoff. It started right out on the drive as if maybe Gibbons had delivered up the wrong package or was mistaken with the address. But the girl didn’t look scared. In fact, she looked right at home. She just stood there watching the big guys trading insults. Looked a little bored, if anything, like, ‘Come on, guys, get a move on’.”

“She looked terrified at the warehouse. I cau
ght her eye. She looked straight at me and I tell you, Marty, that girl wasn’t happy.”

“She saw you?”

“Of course she saw me. Why do you think I sent you after her?”

“That’s not good, Tommy. Something’s not right with this. Maybe you do need to talk to Gerry. I get the feeling there’s
more than one thing going on here, and once again you’ve managed to get caught in the middle.”

Connell shrugged. “Tell me something I don’t know already. There’s a few things going on, and not just with Frankie. Anyway, Gerry’s
going to have to wait a bit longer. I’d rather go see for myself whatever’s going on down at Cassa Vasin. I’ll swing by Frankie’s, see whether he’s reconsidered my offer and whether he’s ready to do a little business.”

“Is that such a good idea?”

“Probably not, but I’m getting sick of waiting for things to happen. I need to stir the pot a little.”

Connell stepped inside, closed the door gently behind him
, and stood for a moment scanning the space, visually checking for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing.

“Where are you?” asked Marty.

“At the apartment,”

“I told you to stay away.”

“Marty, quit worrying. There’s no one here. The place is empty.”

“Tommy, I worry for a reason.”

“Then, don’t. For my sake, just don’t. I’ve got everything in hand.”

“Everything?”

“Sure.”

He moved carefully, checking each of the rooms, listening beyond the hum of the refrigerator. Despite his assurance to Marty that everything was okay, a warning bell was beginning to sound faintly in his head and he had no idea why. Nothing was out of place. There were no signs that anyone had gained entry. He shrugged it off. Marty’s paranoia was catching.

“Okay, so, is there anything I can do?” Marty continued, dragging Connell’s attention back to the phone, “or don’t you need me today?”

“Of course I need you. Or more to the point, I need your computer skills. I need you to play detective.”

“Isn’t that what we’ve both being doing lately, playing detectives?”

Connell ignored him and pulled out Molly’s birthday card instead. “Molly has family in
…” he squinted at the post mark. It was smudged and faded. “… California. San Francisco. A grandmother. Or at least she did four years ago. I’m guessing she’s a paternal grandmother and her name is … Beatrice, Beatrice Brown. Can you do a little digging, see what you can find out?”

“I’ll try. I’m guessing there’ll be more tha
n a few Browns in the directory but I’ll see what I can pull out of the computer when the boss isn’t looking. Tommy, I’m relying on you to keep on the right side of the line. If you slip up, you’re dragging me down with you.”

“I’m always on the right side, Marty. And, listen, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Sure you will.”

“Hey, I’m just doing what you advised last night, sharing the shit. You’ll get your turn, don’t worry. Anyway, gotta run. Catch you later.”

“Where are you headed now?”

Connell
smiled. “Down to Vlad’s castle. I reckon it’s time for pizza ‘n’ pasta, with a little vodka on the side.”

Content that his apartment hadn’t been compromised in any way and
that he wasn’t being stalked by a knife-wielding maniac, he turned to leave. As he reached for the door, his eye was drawn to a scrap of paper caught beneath the mat. It was a page from his notebook. On the paper was a picture of a lion, carefully drawn in yellow marker and neatly outlined in black. In the corner, in ink, was a smiley face. He recognized Molly’s artwork from the library. It had been edited. The smile had been turned upside down. Beneath it was a score. 6/10.

He had no mail box. W
hoever had left it, had slipped it beneath the door. Someone had paid him a visit. He had a good idea who. What he didn’t know was why. He clenched the paper tight in his fist. “What the fuck do you want?” he yelled to the empty room.

Frustration at his own ineptitude washed over him as his voice bounced around the cavernous space and echoed back at
him. He was beginning to realize that despite his denials to Lizzie, he was well and truly enmeshed in this case, and if he wanted to avoid being victim number twelve, he needed to up his game. He crossed to the bedroom and retrieved a box from the top shelf of the closet. Inside was a revolver. He hadn’t used it since he’d turned his back on his police career. He’d kept it simply as a stark reminder of how things could go tragically wrong despite the best intentions. With weary resignation and an overwhelming sense of inevitability, he picked it up and checked that it was clean and ready for use.

With his mind pre-occupied, replaying numerous scenarios and possible suspects from his checkered police career, Gibbons slipped from his mind. Not that he considered him a suspect as such. He didn’t figure Gibbons with enough intelligence to mastermind one slaying, never mind a string of them, and he reckoned mind games of the kind that were currently being played would be well beyond his capabilities. But when he got to Frankie’s homage to all things Transylvanian, it was obvious by the car parked out front that Gibbons was still in the picture.

It concerned him that the guy was merely suspended from duty, for atte
mpting to kill him instead of being safely locked up. He wondered again about Wilson and Hamilton, and whether they could be complicit in some way, but doubted it. Gerry would have spotted that a mile off, and although Gerry was adept at playing his cards close to his chest, Connell figured if the corruption went that high, Gerry would have shared his suspicions. Even so, someone had allowed Gibbons freedom to roam. Maybe they’d made a mistake or maybe they’d taken his advice after all and decided to use him as bait.

He eased the car straight by, parked up a block away
, and took a stroll around the perimeter of Frankie’s monolithic residence. Connell was impressed and disgusted in equal measures. The building was hideous, a Disney parody of Gothic grandeur, complete with turrets and gargoyles, a dramatic contrast to Frankie’s city office, and as such Connell wondered whether Frankie was just having a joke, getting the last laugh perhaps at the expense of his Eastern European heritage. Either way, it was patently obvious that crime paid. The house was large by anyone’s standards and set in its own grounds in an area where real estate, no matter how tasteless, was at a premium. Contained by a high stone wall, the only access was via remotely-operated gates at the entry. Deciding that Frankie was likely as excited to see him as he was to visit with Frankie, Connell figured the direct approach was best and strolled up to the gate.

He leaned into the intercom
, allowing it to buzz uninterrupted for the count of ten. When there was no response, he tried the gates. Grasping them with both hands and shaking them vigorously didn’t even produce a rattle, let alone gain him entry. Okay, so Frankie had no taste but his crap was well made. He peered through the wrought ironwork. He could see Gibbons’ car and beyond that the main door of the house standing ajar. Maybe Frankie and his entourage were on their way out and too busy to come to the entry-phone, but he didn’t think so. Something wasn’t quite right. He turned slowly, checked the street behind him and the road beyond. Both were empty. He aimed a kick at the gate. The fact he could see Gibbons’ car, but couldn’t get at it, added to his overall frustration. The temptation to take a look in the trunk was too great to resist.