Chapter 110

 

New York, 1984

 

Masked by the still green foliage only sparsely peppered with frost, Megan O’Donnell hadn’t considered the distance from the road to the large house. Michael O’Neill had asked her to come around to the back entrance. She allowed the taxi to leave her at the beginning of the driveway, so she was uncomfortably gulping cold air through her palms by the time she pushed the buzzer. The answer came quickly as if he’d been awaiting her arrival. “Hi,” she smiled at the small boy attached to the man’s hip. Gavin’s grin broke over a missing front tooth.

“Come in the office,” O’Neill offered. “You look frozen. I’ll fix you a drink.” Untangling his leg from the child he led the way.

Perching on a leather recliner while the boy scrambled a top the matching couch, Megan returned the child’s smiles.

O’Neill handed her the warm brandy. “This phone call?” caused Megan to tilt her head questionably towards the youngster. He gave his son an uneasy glance then said, “Gavin, bet Megan would like to hear your tapes? His sister sends him tapes from school instead of letters,” he explained.

“I send them too,” was filled with childish importance.

His father said, “Well? Go get them.” and the adults were awarded with a quick scramble from the couch and a rapid dash from the room. “Take him a half hour or better to even locate the recorder in that mess of a room. Ann had already left for some club meeting when you called, so…”

“Shall we start by my telling you what I know?” was answered with an agreeing nod. “Dede called me two days before Jason Connors disappeared. Of course at the time with everything so hush-hush, I had no reason to mention the call to anyone. She did tell me Jas had some problems in school; that some seniors were abusing him because of who his father is. I didn’t think much of it though I did suggest she contact Mr. Connors, but she only laughed. Said she’d take care of things. Then asked me to do her a favor.

“I never realized what they were up too. She only wanted me to drive up to Boston the next day and pick someone up and drive him back to Kennedy. That someone was a friend I kind of owed.”

“Can I ask who?”

“David Martin.”

“Don’t think I know him?”

“He’s a business associate of Seamus—well anyway I think he is,” she corrected. “I could be wrong on that. I know he’s a friend of your daughter; has some connection with the IGA, and helped us out during that situation in Ulster.”

“Appears Dede knows too many people,” O’Neill said. “What’s this Martin fellow got to do with Jas?”

“I’m not certain anything. I’m only putting my suspicions together. That’s why I didn’t go to the authorities. I could be all wet. But Jas did want out of school, Dede was there that weekend, and now she’s missing too. Martin told me he was flying to the coast when I dropped him off. Said he had business there.

“Then Dede called me from a Florida hotel to make certain Dave got to New York. She said she was flying home in the morning to meet him.”

“Yet when I spoke to Seamus only a day later, he mentioned talking to Dave, and that Dave was in London. Why would he have flown into Boston from Ireland? Then fly out of New York for London, obviously the same day?”

“You think this Martin fellow grabbed the Connors kid?”

“I think Jas went with him willingly. Now Dede is missing. Couldn’t she have gone to join Jas?”

“How I wish that’s what happened?” He rubbed at aching temples. “Only I’m sure it isn’t. She drove to New Mexico with Tom Devlin’s nephew. You know Seamus and the lad had been having a go around again something to do with school, so Sean’s been staying with Tom Devlin. The kids were all hyped on the trip. They drove so the boy could see some of the country. Ann and I were supposed to meet them at my place outside Clovis—only they never showed. Last we heard from Dede, they were in Tucumcari about eighty miles from the ranch. She said they were going to spend the night and drive up the next day to join us.” He finished his drink and rose to get another with the offer, “You?”

“I’m still nursing this. The police?”

“From New York to the coast.” He groaned. “Nothing! The scary part, the New Mexico troopers located her car with two deliberately punctured tires, just outside of Tucumcari. When they investigated the mountain trail they found bloodstains on some broken glass. It matched Dede’s blood type.”

Megan’s hand flew to her mouth as she exclaimed. “My God!”

“Sure, there’s little the Old Fellow has to do with it,” O’Neill said. “There was a car, a heavy car, shoved out of the sand by two men. So, figure another behind the wheel, at least three were there. The marks were not far from Dede’s abandoned Porsche.” A deep frown settled on the handsome face as he answered himself.

“The score card is reading Jason Connors, Stew Sheppard, and Sean O’Donnell and my kid. Dede’s close with the two younger boys and well acquainted with Sheppard. She could get near to any of them at any given time. My girl’s a fanatic when it comes to being Irish; but she was so young I always laughed her antics off.”

“You believe someone used her to get at the boys?” But on second thought she disagreed. “I don’t see Dede deliberately hurting her friends.”

“She probably didn’t fully understand what the intentions of these people were until it was too late. Could be the reason she was somehow injured?” The man said. Then came the added worry of a parent. “Now that they have no further use of her?” That faded quickly as the hall rung with a howling demand.

“Mike! Mike!” Gavin’s frustrated tears ran freely down his cheeks as he bounded back into the room. “Can’t find it! Can’t find my recorder!” He scrambled into his father’s lap.

“Not surprised.” O’Neill grunted as he aided the slipping body. “No big thing, you can use mine.”

“Can I? Really?” He rubbed his small nose into the large chest.

“If ya cut out using me for a damn hanky!” He pushed the boy’s face up and dragged a tissue none too gently across the dripping nose. Pulling open a drawer he placed the machine on the desk.

Megan’s smile was matched by Gavin’s as his fingers fumbled with and set the machine in motion.

Deirdre O’Neill’s crisp nearly musical tones filled the room. “You’re the biggest griper I ever knew. A real scorch ass, you’ll do fine for my brother. So school’s a drag? What’s new? Hang in there—pretend to be smart. Mike and old lady, what’s her face, will reward you with all kinds of goodies…”

As the tape spun on, Megan remembered the first time Deirdre discovered she had a brother. Her screams over the phone wire nearly ruptured Megan’s eardrums. “A f-ing jig! may not look it but he is. My father, the royal pig, can you imagine—not only was Andrea black but a bitch!” At the time, all Megan O’Donnell could think of was thank God it isn’t Tom’s child as she tried to calm the raging teenager.

Suddenly Megan felt warm tears in her eyes as she heard the voice of Deirdre O’Neill talking to her little brother. “Hey for a desert imp, you really like the snow? Terrific! The old lady got you your own skies. Don’t ruin them brat—I’ll teach you to ski come Christmas vacation…”

As the tape ran out, Megan said. “Mike, I’m headed for Dublin on Friday.”

“Tom told me. I guess congratulations are in order.”

“Not quite yet. Well, I suppose that’s not true. But I always dreamed of a Christmas Wedding—and darn I’m going to have it.” She smiled. “I’ll talk to David Martin if I can locate him. I’m going to do some checking up with some other nasty friends while I’m there.” She gave a short sad laugh. “I’m also going to take a side trip to London. If I find out anything, I’ll call you.”

“Of course anything you find out would be appreciated; but don’t put yourself in jeopardy. This is apparently a high stake game and they won’t think twice about another casualty.”

~~~

 

Candace Nelson’s phone call came while Hal Dexter was trying to explain to his wife why putting in unclaimed overtime in an effort to locate William Connors’ druggie girlfriend took precedence over their time together.

The call itself hadn’t been that unusual. Candace thought nothing of interrupting Hal and Tanya’s lives whenever her grandson blessed her with a weekend visit. Although Dexter still wasn’t on the kid’s list of favorites, Gavin was nuts about Dexter’s wife.

Candace was inviting them to a dinner party. Tanya was ecstatic—you’d think the Queen of England had invited them to tea.

The lady’s other guests had been a bit of a shock—not an Eastern twang in the bunch.

Now, as he entered O’Donnell’s bar, Dexter was contemplating an opportunity his wife assured him he’d be one dumb ass to turn down. Hal Dexter Chief of Police—God it had a nice sound. Especially when he stacked it beside what he was certain the next few minutes would bring.

Sullivan had asked Dexter to join him for a drink at shift’s end. Dexter figured he knew what brought this unusual invite about. Theirs wouldn’t be the first divorce of partners in the NYPD and it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it coming. Still, the kind of guy Terry was, he’d probably tell Hal before he made the actual request so they could talk to their captain together.

He could see no other reason. Sullivan certainly wasn’t out to advertise their friendship, or even make an effort at a bonding ritual, for when they entered O’Donnell’s at four in the afternoon the bar only had two patrons—them.

Sullivan didn’t come right out and say, ‘Lad, it’s time for a parting’, but he kept the conversation low key. They’d ordered their brews, discussed the Nelson’s case and several others they’d been helping on but skirted around the Connors’ name. His own single reference to it was cut off sharply by Sullivan. “That end of the case belongs to Vice, so why discuss it.”

Sullivan didn’t know about the proposal Dexter was sitting on. Still, when Hal mentioned it, Terry wasn’t as surprised as he should have been. “You’re not thinking of turning them down?” Sullivan said. “How often does a New York Detective get offered a Chief’s shield in another state?”

“I don’t know—it’s a big move.”

“It’s a jump from a plane without a parachute.” Sullivan drew a single finger across his own throat then raised it to his forehead in a salute. “Give me the chance I’d already be packing.”

“Like to come with me?”

This brought a sharp laugh from the Irishman. “Not if I have to call you boss.”

“That worries me, Terry. Being a black cop in New York is rapidly becoming just being a cop in New York. A black cop in a southern state sounds like an excuse for a lynching.” A gloomy frown faded as he said, “A captain with some rednecks forced to call him sir—I love it.” He snickered.

Sullivan again laughed in a short quick tone that said it wasn’t worth the effort. “Fits your peculiar personality,” he said. “You shouldn’t last long—I’ll send white roses to the funeral.”

Dexter had followed Sullivan’s lead and only ordered a draft and now he nursed it. He hated beer. “This whole business smells a little rancid. Why would they come looking for me?”

“Don’t sweat it. Political privilege is the name of the game. I imagine there’s a lot of hunting going on for blacks with the right qualifications to fill jobs in different fields. They have quotas to meet and it’s not easy to find intelligent blacks.” Sullivan’s blue eyes squinted but he chuckled. “You just got the right skin color.”

“Screw you.” Dexter held up the middle finger needed to emphasize the correct meaning.

“So, don’t want my opinion don’t ask.”

“All kidding aside. My wife thinks I’d be an ass to turn this down. Of course she’s certain since Candace Nelson initiated the meeting—that makes it all right. I’m not so sure. Don’t get me wrong, those cowboys put on a good front. Terrific salary, lots of perks, and no one telling me how to run my office—or so they said.

“This black dude, Deputy Mayor Annis, gave me the impression he was there for show and was only tonguing someone else’s words. He made me uneasy. They’d have convinced me better if they hadn’t brought him along.”

“Hal, don’t tell me you’re getting nervous about dumping on white folk. Thought that was your big thing in life.” Sullivan finished off his beer and motioned for a refill. “If you hang in here—when Walters retires you’ll be calling me boss.”

“Not a chance.” Dexter was sorely tempted to order a whiskey. But this early in the afternoon…he shook his head in the negative as the bartender eyed his nearly full glass. “If we solved the Nelson case—maybe. But as it stand now you just ain’t no hero, boy.”

“We solved the case.” Sullivan said and then took a deep pull on his second beer that nearly emptied the glass. “Her mama killed her.”

“Candace Nelson, you’re not serious.”

“The old gal didn’t wield the weapons but she set the murder in motion—it was an abortion that came forty years late. Remember, Andrea’s body was mutilated like her killer wanted to erase her. It stands to reason that when Andrea found out who her real daddy was she would have tried to destroy him, but she didn’t. She never mentioned him in her books. Apparently she didn’t hate him, didn’t blame him, she wanted to crucify her mother. You should have picked up on that when Mrs. Nelson admitted she knew about Andrea’s journals, and was aware of her daughter’s claim that the judge raped her.”

“You figure Candace told her husband and they had their daughter killed?”

The beer suddenly felt good in his dry throat. “Then he couldn’t live with it so that’s why he committed suicide. I don’t know, Terry, I just can’t buy that. I knew Nelson, he was a puny little guy but not weak. Don’t tell me you think we should start investigating Candace Nelson? Why didn’t you ever mention this before?”

“You, pal, are the one looking for a conspiracy.” Sullivan let a frown settle over his face before he said, “Believe me if I could have come up with some evidence, I would have been on the old gal like butter on toast. As for telling you—shit man you were so obsessed with nailing Devlin’s ass to the wall you couldn’t see past that. I tried with Walters but that was the last frigging thing the captain would consider. He nearly kicked me out of his office.”

“Christ, Terry, her mother—that could be worse than the president elect’s brother. Where the hell is this thing going?”

“In the unsolved murder files. Maybe where it was destined for since the beginning and the body count wouldn’t have kept growing.” Sullivan ran the icy mug across his forehead. “I don’t know. You want to join me on a fresh head hunt without official blessing?”

“That southern move is looking better all the time.” Dexter said. Son of a bitch, he thought, when Andrea gave him those books to keep for her, he figured they were like she told him—fiction. ‘Her pathetic efforts to be a writer,’ she’d said. He had grinned his way through a few and decided she wasn’t going to make it—unless she’d settle for penning pornography. When she was murdered, he’d remembered them, and read the last few volumes. Recognizing Devlin, he only skimmed through the earlier books. Feeling the emotional pain these white bastards put Andrea through; he wanted to make them all suffer.

Bringing the books in himself, would mean he wouldn’t stand a chance of working the case. He sent them to Walters—he got the case. And what the hell had he accomplished? He’d caused a lot of irritation for some hotshot bastards, but the only one who paid big time, was Alvin Nelson. Maybe if they started fresh—hell, the judge’s wife?

The shit was going to pile even higher around the judge. “Yep, Terry.” He toasted with the beer. “No more snow and icy roads.” He sighed. “Come visit me and we can swim in December, in my private outdoor pool.”