[Friendship & Honor 02.0] Murder Has Consequences Page 24

  I looked to the left, at the church standing tall atop the hill, and blessed myself. It held many memories too, not all of them fond. Taking advantage of a lapse in traffic, I crossed the street at a leisurely pace, then walked up the steps into the school. I felt ten years old again, walking into that building again, going to see Sister Thomas. I smiled at the thought of her. She’d be sitting at her desk, working on papers, or, she’d be cleaning the room, even at her age. I wondered if that was what kept nuns so alive and healthy—their penchant for keeping busy, both physically and mentally. Mamma Rosa used to say so, and I put a lot of faith in what she said.

  As I entered the room, Sister Thomas put down her broom and greeted me with a smile. “It’s good to see you again. Have a seat. The children haven’t shown yet.”

  As we waited on the kids, there was a moment of silence, then Sister Thomas said. “You never mentioned your father’s letter.”

  I looked at her. “If you mean, did he mention about you and him…yes.”

  She nodded. “I see.”

  “Nothing inappropriate, of course, but it shocked me, made me think back to all of those times you beat my…knuckles.” I laughed. “Not like I didn’t deserve it.”

  Sister Thomas smiled too. “Yes, not like you didn’t.” She got up and hugged me.

  I stood a good six inches taller than she did, but I had no doubt she’d whack me with something—anything—if I said the wrong thing, so I hugged her back.

  As I stood there with Sister Thomas I figured it was as good a time as any to get advice. I had been praying to God, seeking advice on what to do about all of this, but so far he hadn’t answered, but I had to clear Frankie; I had promised him. Yet to do that meant breaking my word to Angie. Someone was going to get hurt, sure as shit. And likely someone was going to get killed.

  “Sister, what is God’s take on doing something bad for a good reason?”

  “You mean like running a red light to get to a hospital?”

  Good old Sister Thomas. “I was thinking of something a little more sinister. Like someone killing a person to protect his family.”

  “God doesn’t condone killing.”

  “Didn’t God kill a lot of people? I mean, for good reasons, but didn’t he?”

  She looked at me with her probing eyes. “Only God has the right to take a life, Niccolo.” The gaze she was famous for had lost none of its power in the years since I’d sat in her class. Today it carried an admonishment and a warning.

  I nodded, knowing I had started a discussion I couldn’t win. I looked around the room then walked to the window and peeked through the blinds. “So where are these kids?”

  She looked at the clock on the wall. “Stay here. I’ll find out.”

  Sister Thomas returned a moment later. “They will be here shortly. A little bout of fear overtook them momentarily.”

  “Who is it? Do I know them?”

  Sister Thomas hesitated, then nodded, as if to herself, as she sat on her desk. “Since they’ll be here any minute, I see no harm in telling you. It’s Abbie Enders and her boyfriend, Ben.”

  “Abbie.” I gritted my teeth. “That damn Rosa. I should—”

  “You should watch your mouth is what you should do.”

  “Sorry, Sister.”

  “Good, now as far as Rosa is concerned…” Sister Thomas patted the desk beside hers. “I seem to remember a story about three kids who stole from a grocery store—cigarettes, I believe it was. The cops caught one of them but, try as they might, they couldn’t get that boy to talk.”

  Embarrassment really had a hold on me now. “You knew about that?”

  “There wasn’t much I didn’t know about back then. I’m slipping in my old age, though.”

  “Must not be slipping too much if you heard about this.”

  Sister Thomas patted my arm. “It wasn’t me who heard. Rosa and Emily—Abbie’s older sister—convinced Abbie to talk to me.”

  “Rosa and Emily did? Really?”

  Sister Thomas nodded. “Really, Nicky. You should be proud; Rosa is a wonderful girl.”

  I was thinking about what she said when the door opened. Abbie and Ben walked in with their heads hung low.

  I got up and walked to them, offering my hand to Ben. “It’s good to see you again. We met when you came home with Rosa one night.”

  “Yes, sir. I remember.”

  I hugged Abbie, pulling her to me. “There’s no reason to be upset or ashamed,” I told her.

  She wouldn’t look at me.

  “No one is going to know about this outside this room.” I pulled her chin up with my finger and stared at her. “I promise.”

  “For real?”

  Sister Thomas stepped over and led Ben to a seat, then grabbed Abbie by the shoulder. Then she did something I never expected. “I know you kids hear rumors, and there are plenty of them that go around about my dearest friend Mr. Fusco. You shouldn’t listen to most of them, but one of the rumors is true. If Nicky ‘the Rat’ Fusco gives you his word that he won’t say anything, you can take that as gospel.”

  We all stared at her as if she had transformed into a vampire or something. Where did that come from?

  Sister Thomas stared back at all three of us. “Well, I had to get this nonsense over with didn’t I? Now let’s get on with it. Abbie, Ben, tell us what happened.”

  Abbie was the one who started. “It was the night of Mr. Donovan’s wake. Ben and I were down at a place called Lover’s Loop, it’s a—”

  She seemed to be nervous telling this so I interrupted. “If it makes you feel any better, Abbie, Rosa’s mother and I know that spot well.”

  “You do?” She seemed incredulous by the idea, and I suddenly found myself wondering just how old these kids thought we were.

  “And if it makes both of you feel better,” Sister Thomas said, “I know that spot as well.”

  We all turned. “Sister?” I said.

  It was her turn to look incredulous. “I haven’t been a nun all of my life.” She straightened her posture, if that was possible, and told Abbie to continue.

  As Abbie started up again, I realized that on the night in question, Rosa had asked me to drop her off at Abbie’s house when I left Frankie’s. Now I was left to wonder what Rosa was doing that night. Probably with Mike Riley.

  “Ben and I were…well…you know, and then we heard the train coming. We were laying in a clear spot by a couple of big trees, but we could see the train. We watched it come around the bend when all of a sudden something fell out of one of the cars. Before we realized it, a man jumped out right behind it.”

  Ben broke in to tell some of the story, caught up in it now. “As soon as the guy jumped from the train, I knew he’d shoved or pushed out a body. The body rolled down the hill, and the guy followed. We hid in the bushes and watched.”

  “What did he do?” I asked.

  “He rolled the body to the creek, turned it over, took some things from the pants of the guy, then left.”

  “What, back up the tracks?”

  “Yeah, up the hill and down the tracks.”

  “So he didn’t go over the hill; he went down the tracks?”

  “Down toward Elsemere,” Abbie said.

  This was good stuff they were giving me. Definitely cleared Bugs. “What did the guy look like?”

  Abbie looked at Ben, who shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Oh shit. “Try to think.”

  They sat there for maybe five seconds, a lifetime to them I’m sure. “I don’t know,” Abbie said. “All I picture is a blur.”

  “Me, too,” Ben said.

  “How tall? Was he fat, skinny? White, black?”

  “He was white, for sure,” Ben said. “Not fat. And not too tall, but…probably taller than you by maybe a couple of inches.”

  Okay, we were getting somewhere. “Do you remember what he was wearing?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “How about hair color, or style?”<
br />
  Another pair of head shakes.

  Sister Thomas tapped me on the shoulder and stood. I let her have the floor. “In my writing class, I ask the students to imagine things to write about. When we do it, we always close our eyes. I have found that imagination and memory are closely tied, so why don’t we start by closing our eyes?” When they didn’t respond, she prodded them. “Go on, close your eyes.”

  They closed their eyes and sat still.

  Sister Thomas walked the floor. “Don’t open them until I tell you. Just listen. Go back to that night and imagine, yes imagine, that you are there all over again. Think of what you were doing, but for the sake of all of us, let’s not dwell too much on that.”

  They laughed, but didn’t open their eyes.

  “All right, now hear the train coming up the tracks. Feel it, as it rumbles and shakes the ground. I know you could feel it because you were on the ground. I remember what that felt like.”

  They nodded.

  “Now picture that body falling out, but quickly, and this is important, quickly shift to the man who jumps from the train. What did he look like? How far did he jump? Did he stumble, then pick himself up? Did he say anything—anything at all? When he rolled the body toward the creek did he do it with his feet? What did his shoes look like? When he turned the body over and took the man’s wallet—look hard, were his hands big? Scarred?”

  Sister Thomas left them thinking for a moment, then said, “And when he walked back up that hill, the one with the rocks along the banks, what did he look like from the backside?”

  “He wore construction boots!” Abbie called out. “Just like Uncle Jerry’s.”

  I made notes. This was good.

  “And his hands were big,” Abbie said, now proud of her recall. “I remember him taking the wallet from the body. He had big hands.”

  “He had a limp,” Ben said, and almost yelled it. “His right leg. He was limping when he went back up the hill.”

  They thought of a few more things. When we were done I thanked them for their help and once again assured them it was our secret. They walked out of the classroom holding hands and smiling. I thanked Sister Thomas, not only for arranging this meeting, but for reminding me of those things in life I tended to forget. And for reminding me what a wonderful daughter I had. As I exited the school, though, only one thing was on my mind, and had been ever since Ben said, ‘he had a limp.’

  Had a limp.

  Everything else went blank. All I could think about was the image in my mind of Jack McDermott limping across that bar toward his seat; Jack McDermott, who used to heist cigarettes from the train yard and knew the railroad tracks like the back of his hand; Jack McDermott, who hated Bobby Campisi perhaps more than anyone.

  It was time to have another talk with Jack McDermott.

  CHAPTER 40

  Message in Blood

  Brooklyn, New York

  Frankie made plans and backup plans as they raced to Lisa’s apartment, not knowing what they’d find.

  “Anybody call a bus?” Frankie asked.

  Sherri looked at him. “You think she’s dead?”

  “Good guess, don’t you think?”

  “I called the ambulance,” Lou said.

  “So you think she’s gone?”

  “I didn’t say that, but if I have to go up one more flight of stairs, I’m going to need one, so I called them.”

  Frankie screeched around a corner and turned onto the street where Lisa lived. “Miller, now do you see why I wanted a new partner?”

  “I’m starting to,” Sherri said. “Lou had me fooled for a while.”

  Frankie double-parked and they all rushed to the apartment door. He had to buzz a neighbor to let them in, and then they took the elevator to the fourth floor. Lou and Sherri had their guns drawn while Frankie used his skills to pick the lock and let them in.

  Lou entered first, crouched low, with Sherri beside him, standing. She swept right, him left.

  Frankie drew his gun as he entered, turning slowly to cover the room. He moved through the living room and toward the kitchen one step at a time. “Kitchen cleared.”

  The words must have jolted Sherri to her senses. She got in line behind Frankie, then took the lead advancing toward the bedrooms. A bathroom door sat on the left. She kicked it open with her foot and swept it. “Bathroom clear.”

  Frankie moved to the bedroom door on the right, turning the knob and pushing it open. He ducked low as he went in. “Clear,” he said as he stood.

  The only room left sat at the end of the hall. Sherri tapped the door with her foot, but it didn’t budge, so she crouched and twisted the knob. When she pushed it open, she and Bugs both went in, her low, him standing. She swept right, him left.

  “Clear,” she said, and breathed a huge sigh.

  “All right,” Frankie said, “we need to dig through this place and see what we can find.”

  “Might as well start here,” Sherri said, and went to the closet in the bedroom. “Looks like they didn’t take much.”

  “Nothing in the hamper,” Lou said.

  “And the drawers in here are neatly stacked with freshly done laundry. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to clean up before they left.” Frankie looked around. “And check this out, no sheets on the bed, no dirty towels in the bathroom…”

  Frankie went to the kitchen but found more of the same—nothing in the dishwasher or the sink, nothing in the other bathroom. The place was immaculate.

  In the bedroom, Sherri got down and looked under the bed, hollering out to Frankie. “Why go to so much trouble to clean it up? We know who lived here.”

  “I think it’s to cover up who we don’t know about. Kate said there were likely two of them, right?”

  “That’s what she thinks,” Lou said.

  Frankie nodded. “The other one was living here with her. That’s what they’re hiding.”

  “Husband?” Lou thought aloud.

  Sherri shook her head. “He’s dead, remember?”

  “Who said he’s dead?” This from Frankie.

  “She did, when we interviewed her.”

  As soon as Sherri said it, alarm bells went off in Frankie’s head. “Exactly. She said he’s dead, but what if he isn’t?”

  Lou was already dialing his phone. “Carol, we need you to check on Lisa Jackson’s husband. Anything you can find on him.” Lou put his hand over the phone. “We know a name? Anything?”

  Sherri shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “We’ve got nothing here, Carol. You’re going to have to run this one yourself.” Lou nodded. “Call me when you get something.”

  “So whoever this guy is, husband or not, he could be forcing her to go with him,” Frankie said. “Goddamn! I can’t believe we just bought her ‘dead husband’ tale. We should have checked it out.”

  Lou lifted the edge of the mattress and looked under it. “Hey, Donovan, something’s under here. Help me lift it.”

  He and Frankie lifted the mattress while Miller grabbed an envelope lying between the mattress and box spring. She opened it.

  Hi, Detectives. I knew you would find this, but I didn’t want it to be conspicuous. Don’t worry, though. I’m not done yet. Not by a long shot. Sleep tight, and don’t forget your prayers, especially the Latin ones. But by now you’ve probably figured out that the prayers don’t mean anything. It was fun for a while though.

  “There’s something written on the back,” Frankie said.

  Sherri turned the letter over, handling it carefully even though she wore gloves. She gasped when she read it, then her face tightened and her eyes narrowed.

  “What?” Lou asked.

  She handed it to Lou, and he read it.

  Oh, Frankie, one more thing. Tell your little black bitch friend, the cute one, that I’m going to fuck her. Real hard. And when I’m done fucking her, I’ll make her do other things. Tell her that for me, will you?

  “This guy is a genuine wacko,” Lou said. “Cert
ifiable.”

  Sherri’s jaw was still clenched and Frankie was pacing, cracking his knuckles.

  “What do you think he meant about the prayers thing?” Lou asked.

  “Just what he said, that he was messing with us. I think this is all nothing but a jealous nut bag on a vengeance kick about his wife having affairs.”

  “Assuming the he we’re talking about is her husband,” Sherri added.

  “I’d bet on it,” Lou said. “I’m with Frankie on that.”

  “One thing for sure,” Frankie said. “He sure as shit knows who we are, so we better watch our asses from now on. Crazy as this bastard is, I wouldn’t put it past him to kill a cop.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Freight Trains and Hobos

  Wilmington, Delaware

  As a kid, I was scared of Jack McDermott. Maybe not scared, but he’d given all of us our fair share of beatings, especially his brother, “The Mick.” That was all behind me, though, and had been for some time. Jack and I had shared prison time, and he knew me and my reputation. There was no way Jack McDermott would fuck with me now. But there was no way he’d roll over either. I knew before I confronted Jack, I’d need a lot more evidence than a guy with a limp, especially if that guy had just jumped from a moving train onto a hill covered with a bed of rocks.

  It reminded me of when we used to hop trains, waiting at the bend of the tracks where they had to slow down. As soon as the engine was around the turn—so the conductor couldn’t see us—we’d jump out of the bushes and race alongside the train, reaching for the ladders on the end of the box cars. Then we’d pull ourselves up and hang on for the ride. It was always a trick to stay on the right length of time, because if you stayed on too long and waited for it to hit the straight stretch of track by Elsemere, it got going too fast. Then we’d have to jump off onto the damn rocks at high speed. Many of us ended up with sprained ankles in those days, until we got to be pros at it.