Day 21 – Thursday, two p.m.
The tunnel construction entrance
Ginny held her breath as the voices came nearer. They spoke to one another, mostly in Spanish, but using standard English when addressing Grace.
“So where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“She can’t get out. What were you planning?”
“We didn’t have a plan. Let me go!”
“Hey, Hector. Boss said he wanted them alive, but he didn’t say in what condition. How about we have a little fun with this one. She’s pretty, no?”
“She’s pretty, yes, and you’d better leave the merchandise alone.”
“Aw, come on. Just one little kiss. Ow!”
Ginny smothered a smile. That had to be Grace, expressing her opinion of the one little kiss.
“Why, you bitch! I’ll teach you—”
“Not now, Diego. Later, maybe, after we find the other one.”
They were almost parallel with her. Ginny held her breath. She could see them and, if they looked up, they would be able to see her. One of them peered out the grille. “I don’t see no one.”
“She wouldn’t be over there, dumb ass. Didn’t I tell you she can’t get out?”
“Oh.” He turned and scanned the tunnel. Ginny froze.
“So, pretty girl. Where did she go? With you, down the other direction?”
“I don’t know!”
“I think you do.” The ringleader brought his gun up and placed the barrel against Grace’s cheek. “One more time. Which way did she go?”
“You won’t shoot me. You’ll get into trouble.”
“Might be worth it. Or maybe the boss will understand. Or maybe I’ll just shatter your jaw. All those pretty white teeth—gone. You won’t be so pretty then, but you’ll still be alive.”
Ginny heard a cautious sound from the direction of the grille. From her vantage point she could see two figures, one on either side of the opening.
The one on the right held a set of bolt cutters. The one on the left was sliding the barrel of a largish pistol between the bars of the grille. She watched the barrel steady, then jump when the weapon was fired.
Bedlam erupted. There were howls of outrage and curses and the sound of bad guys hitting the ground. They were returning fire now. Lots of it. Ginny pulled her hands up and stuffed her fingers in her ears. When one of the bullets hit the pipe she was on, she gasped. She couldn’t help it.
“Ginny?” Jim’s voice. “Ginny!” Had he seen her?
“Ginny! Catch!” That was Fergus. She saw a pistol tossed through the bars of the grille and land almost underneath her.
Without thinking, she rolled off the pipe and fell to the earthen floor, then lunged for the weapon. She snapped it up, rolled over, aimed at the nearest bad guy, and fired.
There were two down already, hers made three, but the remaining gunmen were armed with rapid-fire weapons. She had two things going for her: first, submachine guns set on full automatic and in the hands of angry criminals were not known for exceptional accuracy, and second, Fergus was.
She saw one of them trying to find cover behind a low wall that stretched along the edge of the church property. She took careful aim and ended his personal reign of terror with a round that made him unrecognizable to anyone other than his maker. Fergus had loaded his weapon with hollow points. Ginny approved the choice.
At least one of them was still firing at her, spraying the area with bullets. They zipped past her ears, hitting the dirt, and the gate, and the cast iron pipe above her. She tried to aim at the bad guy’s head, squeezed off a round, and missed.
Grace had been screaming. Ginny heard the sound stop, abruptly. There was a final round of shots, then silence.
Jim must have made a good job of the bolt cutters, for she heard metal cracking, then the sound of a chain being pulled through the grille. Then the gate creaked open and she heard footsteps coming toward her.
She lay in the dirt, her eyes, and the borrowed weapon, still trained in the direction of the bad guys.
Jim dropped to the earth beside her.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “I think Grace is.”
Jim nodded, then hurried over to kneel beside Grace and assess the situation.
Fergus was examining the corpses, removing their weapons, making sure they would pose no further threat. Once that was done, he approached Ginny, carefully, from the side, his hand closing around the pistol grip. She left go. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He unloaded the weapon and tucked it away, then held out a hand.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“It was Jim.”
Ginny climbed to her feet, then found her knees buckling. Residual from the chloroform, perhaps, combined with adrenaline. With Fergus’ help, she stumbled over and collapsed beside Grace.
She could see the point of entry and the spreading blood. Jim had pulled off his gloves and made a compression pad of them. She put her hands down on the pad and pushed while he called 9-1-1.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I think,” Fergus answered her, “a ricochet off that pipe.”
Ginny nodded, then turned back to the woman under her hands. “Grace can you hear me? Open your eyes.”
Grace’s eyes slowly focused. “Ginny?”
“I’m here.”
Grace reached up and took a grip on Ginny’s shirt, pulling her closer. “There’s something I need to tell you, before I die.”
“You’re not going to die,” Ginny said, then caught Jim’s expression and knew it was a lie.
“Just listen.” Grace swallowed, then closed her eyes. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been one day since my last confession.”
“Shouldn’t there be a priest?” Fergus asked.
“It’s all right,” Ginny told him. “God will listen.” She addressed the dying woman. “Grace,” she said, “you don’t have to do this. He knows what’s in your heart.”
“But you don’t. I murdered Phyllis Kyle.”
Ginny let out a small breath. “Why?”
Grace swallowed. “I was eaten up with the sin of pride. I thought I knew better than the experts, that I could do what was needed and not hurt anyone. I broke the law and when Phyllis caught me, I thought her life wasn’t as important as the good work I was doing.” Grace paused for a moment to catch her breath.
“Save your strength.”
“No. Hear me out.” She licked her lips, now stained with blood. “I was bragging to her, about all the good I was doing. She pointed out that I was practicing medicine without a license. I denied it, but she was right. She told me again—she’d said it before—that it was safer to use the free clinics. She was right about that, too. If I’d listened, maybe that boy would still be alive.”
She coughed and blood ran down her cheek and onto the earthen floor. “She didn’t threaten me. All she did was pull up the web site to look at the guidelines, but I panicked. I figured I had until the end of the shift. I was sure she’d turn me in the minute the office opened. Without my license and without my job, I wouldn’t be able to do any more good for the refugees. They were relying on me. They needed me. They trusted me.”
Grace’s breath was now a harsh rasp in her throat. Her hand groped, seeking another, and Ginny took it, clasping it tightly.
Grace’s voice was growing fainter. “God forgive me!” She gasped, then closed her eyes. “I see now how wrong I was.” In a voice hardly more than a pale whisper, she began, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.” She struggled to pull in another breath. “Holy Mary—Mother of God—” Her voice faded out.
“—pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.” Ginny finished the line.
There was a spasm, or maybe another cough. More blood ran from her mouth, then all was still. Ginny found tears running down her face. Holy Mary, Mother of God—Mary had watched her son be crucified, a horrendous death, slow and painful. At least this one had been quick.
“Who’s in there?”
Ginny ignored the strange voice. Probably a policeman, come to investigate the noise.
The two men rose to deal with the newcomer. Ginny stayed where she was, letting the tears fall. After a while, she felt arms lifting her to her feet. An ambulance had come, silently, since there was no need for hurry. Someone sat her down on the ruins of the brick wall and washed her hands. They were covered in blood, Grace’s blood.
The motto of the Forbes clan was, “Grace me guide.” Ginny could not follow Grace into her sin, but she could try to follow her repentance. Pride was an easy sin to fall into and a hard one to recognize in one’s self.
She was shivering with the cold and shock. But Jim was there, wrapping her in a heavy jacket, sitting down next to her, pulling her into his arms. Warm, strong, gentle arms.
She felt him enfold her and in that moment she understood. The problem between them wasn’t trust. It was pride that had been keeping them apart, his pride and hers. They would have to work that out, or part company.
“Mackenzie! Forbes!”
She looked up and saw DeSoto approaching.
“We got him! We got the whole damned lot of them!” He strode up to them, then went down on his haunches. “If it were in my power, you would both get medals.”
“Purple hearts?” Jim suggested.
“Medals of valor. You’re both heroes.” He stood. “I’ll catch up with you later. Lots of work to do.”
“Heroes.” Ginny echoed the word. “I feel more like a fool.”
“As in, ‘Fools rush in?’”
“Something like that.” She looked up at Jim. “Fergus said you figured it out.”
He nodded. “It was a case of hiding in plain sight. DeSoto told me the boss’ code name was, ‘The Bishop,’ but I dismissed a church connection as being too obvious.”
“And I was unwilling to consider a man of the cloth as the evil genius behind all these deaths. He deceived us all.” She sighed heavily. “I owe you an apology, Jim. I shouldn’t have left the house today, not without backup.”
“True, but you were following your gut. Trusting your instincts. Just like you used to.”
She thought about that for a moment. He was right. The last three weeks had been terrifying, but each new challenge had helped rebuild her faith in herself.
“What’s more,” Jim continued, “if you hadn’t gone after Grace and I hadn’t gone after you, Father Ignacio would still be at large. Instead, the cartel is broken, and you caught Phyllis’ killer. You should be proud of yourself.”
Ginny watched the ambulance drive away. “I’m not proud of the mistakes I’ve made.”
He pulled her closer. “Having the courage to try, even though you may screw up, is something to be proud of.”
She looked into his face. Not conceit, not arrogance. That wasn’t the kind of pride he meant. A reasonable self-respect, based on honorable actions. Too little of that sort of pride could be as bad as too much.
The police kept them answering questions for another hour, then agreed to let them finish up at the police station the next day. Fergus they eyed with suspicion, but the permits for his private arsenal must have been in order. They did not detain him. He turned his back on the officers and came over to where Jim and Ginny sat.
“Ready to go home?” he asked.
Jim nodded, then pulled Ginny to her feet, slipped an arm around her waist, and started toward the gate.
She put a hand out to stop him. “Give me a minute, Jim.”
He paused, then nodded and moved off in the direction of the car.
Ginny turned to Fergus. She took both of his hands in hers, then pulled him into a hug.
“Thank you, Cousin,” she said, “for my life and my lesson.”
“You’re welcome. So, have you made up your mind?”
“Ask me again tomorrow.”
The two of them turned and walked side by side, toward the tunnel opening and the last of the winter afternoon. Jim was waiting for them just beyond the entrance.
Ginny paused for a moment and looked around. The Christmas decorations were still in place downtown, awaiting the New Year celebrations, the rooftops heavy with faux icicles, every window display more elaborate than the last. Even the traffic lights cycled cheerfully between red and green. Peace on Earth.
She took both men’s arms, pulling them closer. Peace sounded awfully good right now. “Maybe we’ll get a vacation before the next body shows up,” she said.
“No more murders for me!” Jim said. “I’m giving them up for Lent.” He looked down at her. “And the next time Detective Tran calls you in as a consultant?”
“Oh, come on, Jim! How likely is that?”
“How likely was it you’d be involved in two murder investigations in less than three months?”
Ginny shifted uneasily. “It’s still not my job.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Fergus looked along his shoulder at her. “Sometimes we find a job. Sometimes a job finds us.”
* * *