Chapter 81

 

New Jersey, 1984

 

The exodus from the Connors’ compound began almost at once. The New York gathering of the clan around Raymond Connors and his wife would be completed before the information about finding Shelia’s body hit the news media.

Ann Ryan, forced to hide her disappointment, watched them scurry away. Her engagement party canceled. All thoughts of her coming wedding tabled in deference to the impact the news was going to have on the parents and the public.

Shelia had upstaged her. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel for the agony her friend must have suffered. She shivered with the thoughts of Shelia struggling all alone in that dark cold water. The horror was so much more real now than when Shelia had just been missing.

The effect this was having on Michael was frightening. She could see him closeted with Thomas Devlin on the glass-enclosed rear porch of the main house. They almost appeared to be arguing, but she knew that wasn’t the case. The sometimes violent movements of Michael were caused by the emotions he suppressed. He couldn’t give way to the pain he must feel like Shelia’s brothers did. He couldn’t cry and carry on like William or sit and silently shed quiet tears in the manner of John.

~~~

 

O’Neill had kept his emotions in check until the Connors’ departed; now he was fully expressing them. He had hit the walls and everything else in the pine wood room so many times, as his curses fouled the air, that Devlin was surprised the walls were still standing and nothing had broken.

Devlin waited until the initial tantrum subsided before he offered, “Mike we’ll still pull things together. I already talked to some research people who deal in this Oceanic stuff. They have a couple of explanations for the circumstances—”

“Fuck it!” O’Neill’s face was livid. “You’re not pacifying John Connors—it’s me your talking to. Some bastard murdered Shelia. They murdered her for one reason—’cause she was becoming a liability. A sad drunk with a loose mouth who might spill some shit about her family. Did Shelia know about Andrea?”

“I don’t know Mike. You forgetting I didn’t know the whole truth when Andrea died. Now this business about Shelia? It’s got me wondering maybe Dexter isn’t so far off key. Maybe the judge didn’t blow his own brains out.” Devlin’s normally calm exterior was beginning to desert him. Why couldn’t some shark or whale have devoured Shelia entirely; why did just the little fishes nibble her flesh and organs? Damn if this wasn’t really complicating matters.

“What made you bring Nelson up?” O’Neill eyed him suspiciously. “Shelia was still alive then.”

“True, but according to James she’d been drinking steady since Andrea’s death. In fact she had the whole family in an uproar with her crazy drunken calls. Then Andrea’s diaries surfaced mysteriously. Several of us were with Raymond Connors when Al Nelson called in a tiff the night he died.”

Devlin attempted to piece together what happened in Raymond’s office that night. “From what I gathered by the old man’s end of the conversation, the judge was unaware of Andrea’s diaries when he called. And believe me Raymond Connors let him have it all. He used some foul terms and didn’t spare the guy. At the time I thought it was kind of over-reaction but of course then I didn’t know Andrea was Raymond’s biological daughter. I didn’t realize he’d paid the guy plenty to take care of his kid and it must have galled him to think Nelson had been molesting her.”

“You think the old man shot him?”

“Hardly.” Devlin gave a cold sharp laugh at O’Neill’s suggestion. “But that old bastard is no softy—he wouldn’t be above having someone else do it. Besides there were others listening with me. James Beechen was there. He was looking for a profitable way out of his marriage and might have killed Nelson, if he thought it would ingratiate him with the old man. John, but like his father, he’d never bloody his own hands and William, that wimpy little prick.” Devlin let out a snicker at that thought before he continued. “A couple of other guys who had a lot at stake.”

He tried to remember. “Fitzgerald and his son Mark where there. John’s oldest boy, RJ.” He shrugged. “The rest escape me right now.”

“You never mentioned this before?”

“No reason. Never thought much about it at the time.” Devlin admitted. “Don’t think I even fully realized who the old man was taking to right then. You know how listening to a phone conversation goes. You’re only privy to one side add that to the fact Raymond Connors rarely refers to anyone by their surname let alone their given name.” He shrugged. “Besides, this lad was there because that bunch was roasting my hide over Andrea’s murder. They weren’t playing nice with me and I wasn’t worried about anyone else. I just left content I wasn’t going to be a Connors sacrifice on the political altar.”

“You ever tell Terry about that conversation?” O’Neill sought the refrigerator at the end of the small bar from which he extracted two frosty Harps.

“Not on your life.” Devlin accepted one. “Sullivan’s your boy not mine. He’d step on me as easy as spit if he could get the glory for solving Andrea’s murder.”

And now, Devlin realized, he might be dancing around the Jersey police if it came out that Sheila was involved in an affair of several years duration with one Thomas Devlin. He glanced out at the garden area and saw Ann Ryan watching them. Poor Ann, he thought, this wasn’t exactly the atmosphere for an engagement. Now that Mike has officially put the ring on her finger, Devlin decided, I’m installing new locks. Better yet, I’ll move. Maybe out of state.

O’Neill narrowed his glance as his eyes followed Devlin’s and he seemed to notice Ann Ryan too. But he only said, “How do I collect my kid?”

“What?”

“The Old Lady’s time is up tomorrow. I want to take Gavin home with us today. This whole business has been rough on Ann—you know she worshiped Shelia. It will be easier on her if she has the boy to keep her busy. You know she really loves my kid.” At least that seemed to please O’Neill.

“I’ll give Mrs. Nelson a call,” Devlin offered. “I’ll explain and maybe she won’t hold you to the next—what is it fifteen hours?”

~~~

 

Gavin had been sulking exactly two hours. Candace Nelson calculated that he started about five minutes after Tanya Dexter drove away.

“There’s nothing ‘round here to do.” The small boy kicked at the beach ball he and Tanya had been playing with earlier. “Why did Tanya have to leave?”

“Now, Gavin, you know she had to and she promised to visit you the next time you come home with me.” His grandmother tried to hide the frustration in her voice.

“That’ll be in your other house.” Gavin thought only a second before he mumbled in a nasty tone. “She’ll bring that Hal guy, with her?”

“Hal has been very nice to you. While you haven’t exactly been to him.”

“He’s a creep. Mizharris? Why do you have creepy friends?”

Then her private line rang. She shooed the boy away when she recognized Devlin’s voice.

She listened to the man’s explanation while she watched her grandson moping along plucking at her prize rosebushes destroying several blooms in the process and contemplated, how many more hours?

“This is highly irregular Mr. Devlin.” She spoke into the phone. “I had planned on several activities for my grandson and I to enjoy together before I had to return him in New York.”

She listened a while longer as she watched Gavin deliberately attempting to dislodge a large rock from the raised basin of her goldfish pond. Suddenly she conceded, “If Mr. O’Neill will agree to an extra visit during the holidays.” She paused noticing the rock was teetering. “Say several hours on Christmas eve…” It took all her willpower not to scream ‘No Gavin!’ as the rock tumbled into the pond.

“Shall we say? You pick him up in half an hour so I can pack his new toys?”