The Charity (34 page)

Shea’s eyes narrowed and continued to assess the attractive woman before him. Great mouth. Intelligent eyes. Slight inflection at the end of sentences. Yeah, he knows her. Was she a witness he interviewed? No. Her hair was blonde.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he swore under his breath. Jessica Wyeth, the Murdering Heiress, was standing in front of him. He put his head down and looked at the floor. What the hell was she doing here,
alive
? Questions raced through his head. He wanted to know everything before he took any type of action. Caution was the best policy when thrown into the unknown. “That case happened a long time ago, and the murderer is dead. What is there to talk about?”

Jessica looked around the tiled room. “Everything. Whoever killed Gus is still alive. I’m sure of it.”

Shea kept his eyes on the floor. What kind of game was she playing? “The case is closed. The woman who committed the murder died shortly thereafter.”

Jessica took a step closer to him. “Look. This is not the place to talk about it. Please. Can we go somewhere? Not your office. Just somewhere private. And safe.
Now
.”

Shea was more than a little intrigued, but he was not going to let his curiosity get him killed. “What’s in the briefcase?”

The briefcase snapped open. Old clothes, a pair of shoes and some papers fell on the floor. Jessica was getting frustrated. “Are you going to talk to me or not?”

“Who are you that I should drop everything and leave with you?”

Shea watched as her eyes flickered in deliberation. He wanted to push her hand so he could find out what her rules of engagement were going to be.

“I’m Jessica Wyeth. I want to talk with you, but not here. Not like this.” She slammed the briefcase shut, leaving the clothes on the floor. She turned toward the door, and Shea grabbed her arm. If she was going to play straight and fair, so was he.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Shea poked his head out the door and motioned to her. They exited the men’s room and walked toward the reception area. Voices of other attorneys could be heard in the different offices. Shea grabbed his coat as they left. They rode the elevator in silence and briskly walked the two short blocks to a cafe Shea knew was open but would not be busy at this hour.

When they got to the cafe, they were seated promptly at a small table in back. The dinner crowd had left, and now the small darkly paneled establishment held only a handful of patrons.

Shea’s mind was thrown into high gear thinking of the possible reasons for a surprise visit by this woman. The publicity he would receive if he turned in a person thought dead for seven years would be an incredible boost to his reputation. Right now he was not in any danger, so the next hour would be very interesting.

They sat across the table from each other. Shea noted Jessica made sure she was closest to the door. Quietly, they gauged each other’s motives. The waitress brought them coffee in oversized cups. Finally, Jessica spoke.

“Why did you quit the police force?”

An interesting opener. “Many reasons, really.” He paused. How could he tell her that she drove him to quit? “I needed the power to follow my instincts.”

“Have you ever been wrong?”

Shea sat back and looked into the eyes of his opponent. He remembered her very well. She was a wreck after the murder. Terrified. That jerk Coogan kept pressing her, making it impossible for her to talk, or even think. He recalled her home, sunny, neat, with boxes of books and unpacked college gear lying around. He could still see her eyes, asking for help. Pleading for safety.

He had a gut feeling that there was no way a girl like Jessica Wyeth could commit a murder like that. The body had its stomach sliced open, and the scene showed signs of a struggle a young girl would not have won against a man in the prime of health. In fact, since then, one or two other bodies had been found in similar condition. He was just a green cop—a rookie that let making the grade with his superior stand in the way of his own police work.

Shea remembered the young woman with blonde hair telling him about two men. She could not give a description. He believed her, but after the explosion with Coogan not wavering about her guilt, he tried to believe that she was making something up in a clumsy attempt to cover her tracks. He had to force himself to believe that. But, late at night in the weeks and months following that case, he could not shake the feeling that he let an innocent woman down. He did not pursue her innocence with everything he had in him. For that, he was a failure.

What gnawed at him was wondering if the outcome would have been any different if he had followed his own gut. He hardly investigated the fact that she said she saw two men in the barn the night of the murder, and hated himself for it. He was too busy playing games with Coogan to work on the ramifications of what she said she saw. With the prime and only suspect dead, the investigations stopped, the case was closed, and the evidence boxed up. He did not think it mattered anymore.

But it did matter. Everything about that case bothered him. It was too neatly tied up. The damning conclusion too perfect. He thought again and again of the invisible forces that seemed to be at work. From that case onward, he never let the circumstantial and obvious rule the case. He always looked for more, the hidden people with untold power that could make the hideous happen.

Years went by, and he tried to exorcise some of the demons in his head after that. After he had gotten his job in the AG’s office, he became his own vigilante, spending hours on additional casework. His sole focus was to uncover and eradicate the power behind the scenes that could make the unthinkable happen. He thought he was smarter than they were. He could trap them and bring them to justice and clear the streets of their kind forever. He thought he could conquer them and be untouched but instead he paid a damning price with the death of his wife and child. These thoughts ran through Shea’s head as he considered her question.

He had been wrong. Very wrong.

“Yes.”

“I have to know. Why didn’t you help me?”

Shea shook his head of curly, sandy-colored hair, now flecked with strands of gray. “Miss Wyeth, I have asked myself why thousands of times. I have lived my life trying to make up for it.”

Jessica kept Shea in a steady gaze, ready to flee if necessary. Her memories were not strong enough yet so she needed to rely on Shea until she could stand on her own. “Do you think I killed Gus Adams?”

Shea looked at the woman seated across from him. Her eyes were still asking him, challenging him to help. “No. You did not kill anyone.”

Jessica dropped her gaze and looked down at her coffee. Her breath exhaled in odd, short gasps. “My God! How can you be so sure?”

“Because of what I saw and heard when we questioned you. Because I trust my instincts. You are not a murderer”

“Mr. Shea, I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that.”

“It’s true. Why are you here? Why now?”

Jessica replaced a stray lock of hair in the barrette clasped at the nape of her neck. “I... I can’t stay dead anymore. It sounds crazy, but someone’s trying to kill me.” The stream of words stopped. She had rehearsed this meeting in her head a dozen times since she decided to meet with him, and it was hard to believe it was actually happening. She forced herself to keep talking, aware of how long she had been sitting with someone she did not completely trust. Too much time in one place bothered her.

“You know, for a long time after all that happened, I thought I was guilty of something. So I just kept running. I just remember that other guy, the detective or something, telling me I was the murderer and then seeing him at the tavern right after it exploded, I just thought—”

Shea sat upright and leaned across the table. “What? Say that again.”

“That guy who was with you. The papers said his name was Coogan, right? Anyway, he tracked me to a tavern I would go to whenever I needed a place to think. He said he wanted to ask me some more questions. The next thing I knew, he was calling me a killer. It was only luck that I was outside when the place blew up. I was standing by the road when he drove up in his car and looked around. He seemed so, I don’t know, so matter of fact. Relaxed, almost. It was like he knew it all before it happened.”

Shea was shocked, yet he absorbed the information in quiet. “Coogan never reported that he met with you there that night. Did you tell him anything?”

Her past few days of research and forced recollection were beneficial. A few of the swirling images hardened into memories. She decided to test a few of them out.

“I told him the same thing I told you—that two men killed Gus Adams.”

“Jesus H. Christ. He denied anything of the sort.”

A flash of anger sparked in her eyes as she remembered her interrogation by Coogan. “He must have figured I was too alone and too scared to fight his accusations. Then he ‘killed’ me just to keep things nice and neat.”

“So now you’re ready to face what happened?”

“Yes. I’m ready to remember. I’m
free
to remember.”

“So why me?”

“I read about you in the Globe. I’m sorry about your family. I, um, I just think you can help me. I don’t have any more choices.”

They sat in silence.

The waitress came over with a fresh pot of coffee. “Hungry?” he asked.

Jessica nodded and ordered. Shea watched as she smiled at the waitress and took a sip of the replenished coffee.

“You were up in the hayloft, weren’t you.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Jessica’s mouth. “Yup. I was there for hours. How’d you know?”

“I remember the hay bale falling.” He glanced quickly around the dining room. “You said you can’t stay dead anymore. What do you mean?”

“It was easy to run away at first. I guess no one was looking for me, but I kept moving anyway. I didn’t know what else to do. Eventually, I got tired of drifting. So, I bought a farm and began to train horses. I bumped into someone who put the pieces together and recognized me. Since then, well, since then, it’s been tough.” Absently, she rubbed a spot on her wrist where she had just taken the bandages off a burn.

Shea caught a glimpse of the healing wound. “What happened?”

Jessica told him about the break-in and the fire. “After the break-in, all I wanted to do was keep running. But I felt like I was leaving home for the second time, and I was in no shape to run. I waited just long enough to almost get burned alive. That’s when I decided I had to face this mess.”

Shea listened to her story with rapt interest. “I’ve never heard of the Howe fellow, but the other guy is more interesting. Miss Wyeth, you said you did not get a good look at him, but still there must have been something.”

“Nothing. I haven’t remembered anything firm about him, just that he seemed familiar.”

“Are they the only people who know you’re alive, Miss Wyeth?”

Jessica looked away. “Um, call me Jessica.” She rubbed her temples and sighed. “Yes.”

Shea smiled. “I’m Owen. You must be exhausted. Where are you staying?”

Jessica thought about her sparse quarters at the Berkeley Residence. “In town. Not too far from here.”

“Are you safe there?” A look of concern crossed his face.

“Yeah. For now. I’m registered as Lolly Greenburg.” She looked down at her finely tailored suit and expensive briefcase. “I’ve got to change back into my other clothes. I’ll stick out like a sore thumb if I go back looking like this.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re accustomed to taking care of yourself. Be careful. If we’re going to find out what is happening to you, you’re going to need all of the smarts you can get.”

It was late, and no one was back at his office when they retrieved her clothes. He laughed to himself. Having a pile of woman’s clothes in the men’s room and him leaving as quickly as he did would certainly get the rumors flying. Let them think what they want. He was sure that there would be a few people relieved to think he was living a life again.

He hailed a cab and at Jessica’s request, asked it to stop two blocks away from the residence. He had been talking about his wife and daughter, about how they died and why. They stood mute on the street corner and thought about the other’s loss. Each could understand the pain and hatred. The prices they paid to get them where they were now bound them together.

“Tomorrow I’ll get the case files on Gus Adam’s murder. We’ll track everything from the beginning.”

Jessica looked up at Shea’s set jaw. He focused on what he had to do. It was a look she knew she would see much more.

“Once you start digging in on that case, I won’t be safe here. I’ll have to keep moving. We have to come up with ways of communicating with one another.”

“Right. Tomorrow I’ll meet you in the lobby of that hotel at one o’clock.” He pointed to a gleaming tower of metal and glass across the street. “I should have the files by then.” He looked at the old clothes, hat, and thick glasses she now wore. She even carried herself differently in the grubby clothes. Smart. Gutsy. Nice.

They said their good-byes and Jessica walked down the street.

Shea went back to his home, poured himself a scotch and listened to the silence. Light peals of chimes from his mantel clock occasionally drifted through the air. He barely moved his head to glance at the time. He would not let her down again. And she would be useful. Very, very useful.

Jessica sat on the leather couch in the corner of the lobby waiting for Shea. From her vantage point, she could see the two main entrances and the front desk. Some convention was being held at the hotel, and the lobby was filled with professionals of some sort. Most were men dressed in navy blue or gray suits. The women wore similar colors with an infrequent dash of red or bright blue. Jessica wore the same blue suit she had on the previous night and looked just like any other businesswoman waiting for her appointment. No one paid any attention to her.

A large grandfather clock stood against the pillar. It chimed twice to mark the hour. What was keeping him?

She thought a lot about their conversation. At the outset, she took a huge risk meeting with him and was lucky it paid off. Now she was going to get help tracking down what had happened that day Gus was killed and why. The early morning hours in her room were spent going over every detail she could remember of the time surrounding Gus’ murder. She would only have one chance with Shea to eradicate all traces of her guilt. Any time a faint shadow of memory would float to the surface, she would grab it and force it into the light. Not totally confident in what could be recalled, she was as ready as she would ever be to talk about it.