Cloaked in Blood (14 page)

“Four if I include your husband.  He’s
not joining us, is he?”

“Of course not.  You made me promise to
come alone.”

“And keep him in the dark regarding my
whereabouts.  He’s worried about you too, Helen.  Did you
know that Johnny came to confession at his old parish this
morning?”

“I knew he was in Downey.  How would
you know…?”

“Saint Agnes Parish, and no, it isn’t an
accident that I’ve been camped out in his old church hoping he’d
come to confession.  We don’t believe in coincidences, do we,
Sprout?”

We certainly didn’t.  “Dare I ask you
again in person?”

Dad met my gaze evenly.  “I did not
kill him, Helen.  I haven’t killed anyone in… well, a very
long time.”

“Is this the reason you wanted to meet with
me, because you’re worried that I’d start looking for evidence of
whatever it is that you
have
been doing out here?”

“You’d have never known I wasn’t in Sweden
if I hadn’t told you the truth.  Really, Sprout, all of this
mistrust hurts.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I accept your apology.  Now I need
information from you.”

“I can’t help you stalk people you think are
guilty, Dad.  If that’s what you’re looking for, you’re
wasting your time.”

The sincerity of his smile chased away some
of my fears.  I love my father, but at the same time, I’m not
ignorant anymore.  I know what he’s capable of doing, what
he’s guilty of doing in the past.  At least some of it.

“Helen, I need information about Danny
Datello.”

“What?  Why?  He’s dead. 
It’s my fault.  What else is relevant?  Have you learned
something that points to his involvement in –?”

“Shh,” he murmured.  “I need to know if
you have any doubts about his innocence, Sprout.  When we
spoke before, you seemed to be vacillating a bit.”

“I’ve made mistakes, Daddy,” I said. 
“And I’m afraid that Danny was one of them.  How ironic, that
you’re sitting here in this ridiculous costume, and I’m in the mood
to confess my mistakes.”

He leaned forward.  “Would it help if I
go first?”

I laughed.  “Dad, I don’t think I can
stand any more confessions from you.  It’s probably far worse
than I’ve imagined, isn’t it?”

“Are we talking head count?”

I nodded.

Kostas arrived with drinks.  “On
house,” he grinned.  “You like the
keftedes
,
detective?  I bring you some.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kostas.  Father, do you
have any specific requests?”

He waved one hand.  “Make the order to
go, Papa,” Dad said.

I lifted one eyebrow.

“Everyone calls him Papa, Helen.  I
thought you knew these people.”

“Apparently not well enough to call him
papa.”

“You’re evading the question, my dear. 
What can you tell me about Danny Datello?”

“No more than you’ve undoubtedly learned on
your own.  You know he was Sully Marcos’ nephew, that he was
my ex-husband’s cousin.  He died in the county jail when a
corrupt FBI agent murdered him in cold blood.  What else is
there to say?”

Wendell sighed.  Somehow, I innately
knew that he was disappointed in my answers.  My self-loathing
was a little too raw, too fresh to delve much deeper without
emotion clouding my responses.  The last thing I wanted was
for my father to see me reduced to a weeping blob of guilt.

“There’s more you haven’t told me.  We
may have been separated for half your life, Helen, but I know you
as well as I know myself.  What are you hiding?”

I sucked the syrupy beverage through the
straw as an excuse to delay the inevitable.  Dad reached
across the table and pried the drink from my fingers.

“Talk to me, Sprout.  Since when do you
lie to your own father?”

“It’s not a lie.  This is just
something I don’t want to discuss.”

“Did he hurt you?  Threaten you
somehow?”

Well, there was that incident at Central
Division when we had our first real conversation.  I
threatened Datello.  He threatened me.  I didn’t really
take him seriously.  Well, perhaps a little seriously. 
And then there were the flowers he sent after my shooting, letting
me know he hadn’t forgotten I was here.

“Helen?”

I blew out a slow, shuddering breath. 
“It was posturing on both our parts, Dad.  He wasn’t involved
in most of what I assumed he’d done.  There was one murder,
not that I have any evidence beyond the confession of his wife,
which even if Danny were still alive, couldn’t be used against
him.  Spousal privilege and all that.”

He nodded curtly.  “Are you convinced
that he isn’t the monster you believed him to be?”

Tears leaked from the corners of my
eyes.  I dashed them away defiantly.  “He’s dead, and
it’s my fault.  Isn’t that bad enough?  Do you really
need to hear me confess the whole thing?  You’re taking this
priesthood business a little far, if you want my opinion.”

“Come home with me, Helen.  We need to
speak in private.”

I shook my head slowly.  “I can’t do
that, Daddy.  Whatever you want to tell me, it needs to happen
here.  Johnny knows where I am at all times.  If you take
me home, it could lead OSI and the FBI straight to you.”

“What’re you saying?”

“I consented to wear an ankle monitor until
this is resolved.  It’s for my safety, for the safety of my
children, Dad.  I won’t risk them.  I can’t.”

His eyes flickered anxiously around the
restaurant.  “You told him, didn’t you?”

I nodded.  “He’s my husband.  He’s
protected me.  He’s been there for me when there was
absolutely nobody else.  I didn’t realize until very recently
how much I’ve needed that, needed Johnny.  It’s ironic, I
suppose, that Danny Datello’s widow was the one who helped me
realize that I’ve lived my whole life feeling like an outsider who
had no choice but to face everything alone.  I’m not saying
that you don’t love me, or that you wouldn’t be here for me if you
could, but you can’t.  You can’t stay here, Daddy. 
Please.  Just… go away.  Be safe, but do it somewhere
where you’ll never be found, where no one will question your
death.”

“Helen, is Johnny here right now?”

“No.  He agreed to let me meet with
you.”

“There’s someone who came to me for
help.  He doesn’t need my help, he needs yours.”

“Dad, I can’t.  Don’t you see? 
Johnny and I have to finish what we started.  We have to find
the people responsible for selling human beings, the ones who
thought they could sell me.  I have to stop them.”  My
hand drifted over my belly.  “I’m running out of time.  I
can’t spilt my focus –”

Dad gave a slight jerk of his head toward
the door.  His rapt attention drifted away from me before the
impassioned plea concluded.  My eyes wandered in the direction
of his brief gaze.

A monk.  It was so incongruous, seeing
a monk with his robe concealing his identity striding with such
surety out of the restaurant that I nearly missed that haunting
familiarity that struck me so strongly at the Sanderfield crime
scene.

Almost.

But the way he moved, his height, the
squared shoulders, the build that was barely concealed, it struck
such a strong chord in my chest that I startled.

A moment after he slipped out the door, the
pieces fell into place.

“Damn you, Dad!” I hissed, and dashed out
the door after the stranger who was most certainly taking his cues
from my father.

Chapter 14

I grabbed the hem of the sleeve and yanked
hard.  Fabric slipped through my fingers as the monk hiked up
his robe and started to run.

“Goddammit, Rick!  Stop!”

The man listened, froze mid-run if such a
thing were possible.  His hood had fallen back, draped around
his neck now.  The hair color was wrong, too dark.  The
neck too thick.  But it had been nearly a year since I thought
I killed my ex-husband.  He could’ve put on weight.

I shook the ludicrous thought from my
head.  This was not what I thought it was.  It couldn’t
be.

I chambered a round from the gun I pulled
out of the back of my jeans.  “Turn around slowly and keep
your hands where I can see them.”

Dad’s hand reached around me and wrenched
the gun from my grasp.  “Have you lost your mind?  What
the hell do you think you’re doing?  You’re going to bring the
police down on all of us, Helen!”

I glared at him.  “How could you,
Dad?  How long have you known the truth?”

The monk slowly turned to face me.  I
groaned.

“You’re not Rick Hamilton.”

“Is he still alive?”

The voice slammed into me with the force of
a hurricane.

“Danny? 
Danny
?”

He quickly readjusted his hood and tucked
his chin to his chest.

“Jesus Christ!  What the hell is going
on?”

“We are not having this discussion on the
sidewalk, Helen.”

I grabbed Dad’s arm in one iron grip and
Datello’s in the other and half dragged them into the alleyway
where months ago I’d identified Batshit Crazy’s remains. 
“Then we’ll have it privately here.  What the fuck is going
on?  How is it that you’re still alive?  And take off
that ridiculous robe.”

Datello pulled the hood back and glared at
me.  “Were you hoping that Agent Preston was successful,
Helen?”

I took an involuntary step backward. 
“No.  No, of course not.  I tried to save your life.”

“And you did, so thank you for that. 
Now if you’ll excuse me –”

I side-stepped Dad quickly and planted
myself in front of Datello.  “You’re not going anywhere. 
Not until you tell me how you’re still alive, why Joel Soule lied
to me about your death, what you’re doing here in Darkwater Bay,
and more specifically, what the hell you were doing at the
Sanderfield shooting the other day.”

“So you can run home and blab everything to
your husband, to your pals at the FBI?” he sneered.  “No thank
you, Helen.”  He glanced at my father.  “Thanks for
trying to help, Wendell.  I’ll handle this on my own.”

“Dammit, don’t be an ass,” I hissed. 
“You’re not going anywhere.  And I’m not telling the FBI
you’re here.”  The frown quickly replaced my
exasperation.  This was too unbelievable, even for Darkwater
Bay.  “Jesus.  Does anybody ever
really
die in
this city?”

Datello barked out a laugh.

“I don’t understand, Helen.  What are
you implying?”

“Irony, Wendell,” Danny chuckled.  “And
to answer your question, Helen, yes.  People do actually die
here.  According to Agent Soule, I would’ve died had you not
belted your jacket around my throat and stopped the blood from
gushing out of me.  He said it was very similar to the
assistance you rendered to Journey Ireland.  And for the
record, I owe you my thanks for that as well.”

A sickening sense of dread settled over
me.

“You still think I had her father murdered,
don’t you?”

“No,” I said.  “I don’t think that at
all.”

“Then Celeste told you everything?”

“I’d figured out a lot of it on my own,” I
admitted.  “Why did the FBI fake your death?”

“For my testimony against Uncle Sully, of
course,” he said.  “Which I have every intention of providing,
but not before I clear my name in Darkwater Bay.”

“We already know you weren’t part of
anything, Danny.  Your name is clear, but that doesn’t tell me
why you were on Hennessey Island the day Sanderfield was
murdered.”

“That truly was a coincidence,” Danny
said.  “He was killed at my hotel, Helen.  I’d been
loitering around the place since I sneaked away from federal
protection.”

Fingers gouged into my temples.  “Of
course.  I’m sorry.  You were there because Celeste and
Sofia are there.  I’m right, aren’t I?”

He nodded, but clearly, Datello was
uncomfortable with our discussion.  His eyes kept darting
toward the alley entrance.  I grabbed his arm and pushed him
beside the dumpster out of clear view and turned toward my
father.

“Dad said you want my help with
something.”

“I did, but he didn’t seem to think you were
agreeable to anything inside the restaurant.”

“I would’ve had a different reaction if I’d
known
who
needed my help.  Why are you here?  Is
it really to clear your name?”

“We would’ve won at trial, Helen.  I
have proof that David Ireland was helping me, not working against
me.”

“I know.  Well, Celeste wasn’t that
specific, but I suspected you might have evidence that you were
working with him at the time of his death.  Southerby isn’t
going to talk, but fortunately, it won’t matter.  David Levine
says that Sully’s network is completely dismantled. 
Southerby’s on his own now, and he knows it.  If Zack offers a
good enough deal, he’ll take it, because he doesn’t have another
Jerry Lowe to bail him out this time.”

“Levine is lying to you,” Danny said. 
“This thing with Uncle Sully isn’t the slam dunk he’s
insinuated.  Agent Soule is worried because Franchetta is a
piss poor witness, probably guiltier of as many, if not more crimes
than my uncle.”

I cursed under my breath.  “Somehow
that doesn’t surprise me.”

“You aren’t concerned that your friend is
lying to you?”

“Considering that I’ll probably be deposed
at the very least and subpoenaed at worst to testify about what
happened to Rick, it seems prudent that he lie to me.  Or do
you disagree?”

“Did you kill my cousin.”

I pinned him with a direct stare.  “I
told you what happened that night, Danny.”

“And I don’t believe you.  Rick was too
selfish to kill himself.  I could see him trying to blackmail
you into helping him, but to take his own life?  No way.”

I refocused on Dad, just in case someone
walked past the alley.  “Celeste told me that Rick was
supposed to be passing information to me about Sully’s finances,
information that would’ve helped the government build a case
against him.  Were you aware that he never told me
anything?  In fact, I had no idea who you were to him until
the night he died.”