EPILOGUE

When he closed a case, Jimmy followed the same routine, typing up his notes and creating a file of details that would last far longer than the memories in his mind.

A lovely fall day was on hand, a fresh, cool breeze coming off the mighty Hudson River. Hiding out on one of the west side piers, he took a deep breath, sucking in the air and relishing life. His shoulder ached, still, and it probably always would in the cold. The bullet had been removed, and by now the stiches were gone, too. All that remained was the memory of impact, and a slight scar. He’d never been shot before. He wasn’t keen to repeat the experience. Right now he was like that thirteen year old kid, back where he played with his friends. Before another bullet had done its damage.

The date was October 14th. Triskaidekaphobia had officially opened last night, a glittery affair attended by celebrities and New York characters alike. One person who wasn’t seated in the audience was Jimmy himself. He’d skipped the opening, and the party, having given his tickets to a friend he’d promised them to on an earlier case. Jimmy could imagine how Terry Cloth and his date, Miss Perfidia, looked on the red carpet. Jimmy had moved on and Welly understood. Enjoy your night, and may the reviews be kind, Jimmy had said. The reviews were mostly good, and the advance was solid. T13 would run. His mother had work, and for that Jimmy was thankful. It was enough, Simple things like that mattered. It didn’t take a gunshot wound to know that.

Jimmy had his laptop with him, but it was silent still. He wasn’t sure he could type here, not with glare of the sun. It really was a beautiful day, the kind that let you realize the storms of the past couldn’t hurt you anymore. Sure, tomorrow would offer up its challenges, and Jimmy was ready for them. Today, though, this day was for him. He was moving forward, finally putting to rest the case he still called The Case of Casey Crais, even though it had become about much more. Sitting on the upper part of the bench, his feet where most people sat, Jimmy stared out at the blue sky, at the strong current of the river.

He heard footsteps behind him, turned and saw a familiar face.

“Mind if I sit down?”

“Fine by me, officer.”

“It’s Captain.”

“That’s good to know. Nothing’s changed.”

“Not for me,” Frisano said, easing himself next to Jimmy. They didn’t look at each other.

“How’d you get onto the pier? Those fences are gated, locked.”

“I have connections, too,” Jimmy said. “Remember, I grew up here.”

“Yeah, tough guy from a tough hood.”

“West Side Story without the songs.”

Frisano smiled. “It’s been awhile, Jimmy.”

“It has.”

“Heard you took a bullet. Glad you’re okay.”

“Me too. I’m fine. A slight scar. It’s good for a PI to have his battle wounds.”

“I think you’ve always had them.”

Those are on the inside, Jimmy said to himself.

“I wanted you know something, Jimmy. Seetha Assan. I promise you I never knew the truth about her when I told her to contact you. It was only after the warehouse incident, when my father stepped in, that all hell broke loose inside the department. I’ve tried a couple of times to bring her up with my father, after dinner when he’s relaxed, got a glass of wine in him.”

“And?”

“He shuts me down, every time. Tells me Seetha Assan doesn’t exist anymore.

“That makes it sound like she did. Frank, what if Seetha was telling the truth?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time the NYPD covered its ass, but why, I don’t know. Jimmy, you may have stumbled onto something you can’t handle. You shouldn’t handle.”

“So then why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’ve decided that everything Lieutenant Salvatore Frisano told me—and by default, you—was a lie.”

“Meaning what?”

“I think Rashad Assan was your father’s killer. Or at least, involved.

“But you have no proof,” Jimmy said. “And I know, there’s nothing you can do.”

“I’d like to try.”

“Why?”

“Because you deserve an answer. The truth. And because I want to be the one to help you.”

Jimmy said nothing, merely turned to face Frisano. He was earnest looking, his dark eyes sad, but he still looked dashingly handsome in his pressed uniform. Jimmy felt sloppy, in his jeans and jacket, the two of them the dichotomy of cop and private eye. But both on the same side of the law, anyway.

“Thanks, Frank. For your words. They mean a lot. I’m not sure what I’ll do.”

“You’ll keep digging. You’re Jimmy McSwain.”

With that, Frisano leaned in and planted a kiss on Jimmy’s soft lips. He held it, and Jimmy savored its feel, knowing it would be the only one, the last one. How could it not be? Passion could die, trust couldn’t. He pulled away, and he allowed a smile.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I listen. Because you had your first kiss here, when you were fifteen.”

“And now, what? I’ve had my last kiss?”

“Oh, a hot PI like you? I hardly think so.” Frisano got up from the bench. Jimmy watched him, wishing things were different. “See you ‘round, Jim.”

Frisano departed down the long wooden pier, a squawk from a seagull filling the silence. Jimmy was alone again, a feeling he knew all too well. He thought of everything that had transpired between them, both professionally and personally. Their paths would cross again, the mystery of the Blue Death not only remained, but it had more questions than answers once again. Frisano was right, Jimmy would not rest until he knew the truth, no matter who got hurt in the process. For now, though, to move forward he had to wrap up the past, and so he began to type.

§ § §

CASE FILE #631: STAGE FRIGHT

Family is everything, isn’t it? I know I’d be lost without mine.

But family is more complex than just people who are related to each other, by blood or by marriage. There are bonds that go far beyond biology, beyond DNA. It’s not love, but trust, that establishes bonds that only the universe can explain. For twenty years, the Calloway family had made all of us McSwains feel like we belonged, that we were a part of their history, their legacy, and for what the future held. Memories of shows past, of new ones that had not been announced. For now, it was the Triskaidekaphobia family which would hold everyone together: the Calloways, the McSwains, the men and women of the cast and crew who were to become part of the fabric of a theatre that shared nearly one hundred years of theatre history.

It was a shame such a family had to be broken apart by greed.

Gracie Moore had wanted it all, and she thought Tristan was her meal ticket. He was weak, of course, a pawn for the greater Calloway family, tossing him a bone of a job at the powerful shipping company they owned. Gracie wanted him to rise in that company, and the way to do that was to prove he could finally rid the family of the obligations of the outmoded Foundation. She’d poisoned Hannah, she’d stabbed Fitzroy. Two calculated, premeditated murders, each of them removing an obstacle standing in her fiancé’s way. She’d taken away Tristan’s parents, alienated him from his twin sister and their devoted uncle. She’d destroyed a family.

But from the ashes a new strength would rise. Tristan had voluntarily stepped down from the Foundation, leaving the daily running to Welly and Isolde, with an assist from Casey Crais after he finished his run in T13. Tristan was giving his all to Calloway Shipping, going so far as to accept an offer in their London office, which he thought was a promotion. I thought they were just trying to get rid of him, an easy guess. Isolde was thriving in her new role, and I loved seeing the photographs of her on the red carpet opening of the show. She’d been called the Calloway heiress.

It was a simple thing that made me connect the dots between Hannah, Fitzroy, and Casey. Hannah had funded the small British theatre troupe Fitzroy had been a part of; I’d seen her name prominently in the producing credits. But it was Tristan himself who put the final clue in my mind. When I searched those old photographs of Fitzroy, it wasn’t a physical resemblance I saw, not the same nose or eyes, but a style, the way he held himself. And that damned ascot. Dr. Florian wore one in the show. Tristan wore one to his birthday dinner at the estate. But the connection hadn’t hit me until Casey Crais stepped out on the stage at the top of Act II, he too in the ascot. It had been like seeing all three men at once.

Triskaidekaphobia had awakened fears in all of us. It had awakened ghosts for me. Dead ones, like my father, living ones like Remy. I would carry them with me always, wafting, willowy shapes which every once in a while would chill my bones. Somewhere out in this universe I would find warmth. I’d find truth. For now, I had today. That was pretty much all anyone could ask for.

Case file #631: STAGE FRIGHT

Case Status: SOLVED