Cloaked in Blood (37 page)

“Who are you?” she snarled.

“Of course you don’t recognize me.  But
my God, you look just like your mother.  Well, at least you
look like she did before she got pregnant with you.  She was
once a very attractive woman, you know.”

Melissa Sherman’s eyes widened.  “You
knew my mother?  But… she wasn’t Catholic.”

“Neither was I at the time,” Wendell
said.  “I knew your father too.”

“My father died before I was born.”

He clenched his teeth.  Was that what
Lyle told her?  He wondered briefly if his theory was way off
base.  “Well, regardless, I knew him.  I knew Lyle
too.”

“My grandfather?  Have you seen him
here?  How is he?  Why hasn’t he come to see me?”

“Melissa, I’m afraid I have some very
upsetting news to tell you.  Your grandfather passed away last
night.”

“No!” she cried.  “What happened to
him?”

“The police haven’t made any announcements
yet, but they suspect foul play was involved.  They believe
his death might be related to his step-son’s as well.”

She grayed to the color of pewter.  “Oh
God.  Oh my God!”

“Melissa, no one knows your relationship to
Mr. Henderson, do they?”

She shook her head.  Her fist mashed
her lips against her teeth.  “Only one man.  Only one
left.  He’ll get to me too.”

Wendell’s eyes sharpened in focus. 
“It’s important that you tell me the identity of this man,
Melissa.”

“Why?  You can’t protect me.”

“It’s true, everything you tell me is
protected by the seal of the confessional, but I’m not bound by any
such oath if I know that a crime is about to take place.  If
your life is in danger, I can help protect you.”

She whispered the name.

Wendell jammed one finger into his ear and
twisted it.  “Excuse me?  I don’t think I heard you
correctly.”

Tears spiked her eyelashes.  “You heard
me.  You just don’t believe me, do you Father?  Like
everyone else, you could never imagine that such an upstanding man
could be capable of murder.  I promise you.  If
Grandfather is dead, he’s the one who did it.”

“I’m going to give you a bit of very wise
advice, Melissa.  It would be in your best interests to
contact your attorney immediately.  If he’s worth the price
you’re paying for his services, you can use what you just told me
to bargain for a very good deal with the prosecutor.”

“Why would the prosecutor believe me
either?  Everybody in this wretched city, hell, half the
state, thinks the sun rises and sets on this guy.  You have no
idea how powerful he is, Father.  If he’s killed my
grandfather, it’s the worst news I could’ve possibly heard.” 
She nodded, tucked her knees close to her chest and started
rocking.  “It’s only a matter of time.  He’ll find a way
to get to me too.  He’ll kill anyone who knows what we’ve been
doing.”

“And what is that?” Wendell asked.

“Selling women,” Melissa whispered. 
“Selling women for longer than you could possibly imagine,
Father.  And this man?  He’s the one who started the
whole thing.”

“Do you know why someone would do such a
terrible thing?”

She nodded.  “Sex.  Power. 
Money.  And he doesn’t value women at all.  He says that
even God believes that slavery is right.”

“Do you feel the same way?”

“All I wanted was a family,” she began
weeping.  “That was all I ever wanted.  But they made me
marry that old pervert, and I loved Andy.  We wanted a child
of our own.”

The name clicked in Wendell’s mind. 
Andy Gillette.  Helen told him the story.  Gillette’s
words had been less than tender the night he abducted Helen. 
Rather than risk his own capture, he’d left the woman who claimed
to love him behind.  Helen said Gillette’s reaction to her
knowledge of what was happening had been, “
Fuck ‘em. 
They’re on their own
.”

Was this woman a victim too?  Or had
Lyle simply groomed her to play a role very well? 

“Melissa, did your mother ever tell you why
she couldn’t raise you?” he asked gently.

She nodded.  “She said I reminded her
too much of my father, that her job in the city was so hard, she
couldn’t give me the kind of life I deserved, a home with a loving
mother and father, that I was better off with my
grandparents.”  Her voice dipped to a raspy whisper.  “I
barely knew her at all.  Do I really look like her?”

“You do,” Wendell said.  “And Melissa,
I am so very sorry for your losses.  All of them.”

Chapter 37

Johnny made his way to the barricade where
David Levine and another agent he recognized from the day Datello
allegedly died waited.

“David.”

“What the hell is going on here?  I’ve
got a warrant.”

Johnny ignored the irate agent and remained
focused on David.  “I need to talk to you.  Alone.”

“Anything you have to say can be said in
front of Agent Soule.”

“Joel Soule?” his interest piqued. 

“That’s right,” Soule said.  “You’re
Helen Eriksson’s husband, aren’t you?  You were at the
hospital the day Danny Datello died.”

Johnny cast a frosty smile at the man. 
“That was me.  And she’s Helen Orion now, if you don’t
mind.  I’m curious, agents.  Why is this case so
interesting to the men trying to build the best possible case
against Sullivan Marcos?  Did someone happen to make you
believe that Uncle Sully is part of some vast, criminal enterprise
on the west coast?”

“Joel is here on another matter,
Johnny.  You know damn well why I’ve been involved in
this.  A state senator was murdered, one who appeared to be
headed for the governor’s office.  I told you hours ago that I
thought we should question Mr. Henderson.  He could very well
have important information about Sanderfield’s enemies.”

“Well, you’re going to have to wait your
turn.  Mr. Henderson is already in our custody.  We can
waste time battling it out in court, but I think my case trumps
yours, and possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“Maybe we should have this conversation in
private,” David’s mouth set with grim determination.

Johnny stepped around the barricade. 
“My car is right over there, David.  I’d be happy to go out to
headquarters and discuss all of this to your heart’s content.”

Levine glanced at Soule.  “Are you all
right hanging out here and keeping an eye on things?”

“This is ridiculous, Agent Levine. 
We’re the FBI.  If you want to talk to this man, our
jurisdiction –”

“Will just have to wait,” Johnny
interrupted.  “Or we could take this to Judge Hathaway’s
chambers.  I know him well, and I’m sure he’d be delighted to
hold an emergency session.  In fact, Chris Darnell plays golf
with the guy.  I could have Chris call as soon as he gets
here.”

“Not necessary,” David said.  “Just
wait here, Agent Soule.  We’ll talk in Johnny’s car, and I’ll
be back when we’ve got this tussle ironed out.”

They sat in the car in silence for a several
minutes.

Finally, David spoke.  “You saw me,
didn’t you?  I thought you might’ve when you pulled Helen away
from the ledge and had CSD cut the lights.”

Johnny drummed his fingers on the steering
wheel.

“I should’ve said something, explained what
I was doing.”

No response.  Just more determined
thumping, fleshy pads against leather, slow and rhythmic.

“For God sake, Johnny.  Say
something.  Rail at me.  Accuse me of deception!”

“Why?  It’s been obvious to me for some
time that you’re lying.  It’s also pretty clear that it’s
about my wife and not your alleged investigation into
Sanderfield.”

David cursed.  “This isn’t what you
think.”

“What do I think?  What, if our
positions were reversed, would you think Special Agent
Levine?  Would your red flags be flying, or would you blindly
trust someone simply because your wife says he’s trustworthy?”

“Helen doesn’t trust me any more than you
do, Johnny, but I swear to you, I am only looking out for her best
interests right now.”

“Do you think our investigation, this human
trafficking ring, is somehow related to Sully Marcos?”

“Nobody said that.”

“Then why is Joel Soule out here again?”

“Johnny, I cannot tell you that.”

“He’s looking for a dead man, clearly.”

David’s eyes snapped into focus. 
“Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on.  How stupid do you think
I am?  He shows up in Darkwater Bay mysteriously on the day
another one of your agents tries to kill Datello, and all of a
sudden, access to the surgical unit where the medical gods are
working diligently to save his life is restricted by none other
than Agent Soule.  Datello survived, and
you
let Helen
anguish in guilt over the fact that she couldn’t save his
life. 

“What, did he slip away from the almighty
FBI, David?  Is that why Soule’s here?  Does he think
Datello is gonna run back to his wife and daughter?  Or are
you all worried that Helen will kill him too?”

“I never believed for one second that Helen
killed anybody!”

Johnny snorted.  “Well, I promise you,
she has.  Your very own Alfred Preston is six feet under
thanks to Helen’s aim.  She freely admitted that she killed
Andy Gillette and Umberto Gutierrez.”

“Defense of others and self defense. 
That’s not what you implied.  I don’t think Helen
murdered
Rick Hamilton.”

“Franchetta changed his story and said she
did it, didn’t he?”

David nodded.

“And was this after I told you what really
happened in that park last year?”

“Yes!” David insisted.  “Why would I
believe a punk like Eddie Franchetta over a woman I’ve known for
all her professional career?”

“Because she’s guarded and a world class
liar when she thinks it’s justified.  She doesn’t let anybody
get close to her.  She’s an emotional desert.”

“She wasn’t always this way,” David
protested.  “You didn’t know her before Rick was
arrested.  She wasn’t… it wasn’t the way it is now.  Did
they have a great love affair?  No.  I never saw anything
remotely passionate between them, certainly nothing like she has
with you.  But Helen was happy.  She laughed.  She
cried.  She confided her pain to me, Johnny.  I knew how
some of our cases gnawed at her heart.”

“And after Hamilton’s arrest?”

“I never saw such rampant paranoia from
someone who was always rock solid, Johnny.  It was like the
woman I knew, my friend, my partner on the job, something inside
her died that day.  Do you know what she did when she got the
call that Seleeby arrested her husband?”

“No, as I’m sure you can imagine, Helen is
still very guarded about all of that.”

David laughed wryly and dragged one hand
over his face.  “She plucked a cigar out of one of the
detective’s mouths and puffed on it until she turned green. 
She got drunk that night at dinner and cried her eyes out. 
The next morning, she filed for divorce.  I know for a fact
that until the night Rick committed suicide, that the only contact
she had with him was in the presence of their attorneys.”

“And this was paranoid?”

“No,” David said.  “She thought people
assumed she knew.  Our team never thought that, but there was
no convincing her that we had her back.  She thought the term
suddenly equated having knives in her back.”

“But Seleeby didn’t believe it.”

“He did,” David insisted.  “He believed
it until we got the call that Rick was dead.  And even then,
he was going through the motions.  He didn’t really get
suspicious until Helen resigned rather than giving a statement
after Rick died.  So Seleeby served a search warrant. 
What I know now is that he still wasn’t convinced of her
guilt.  Not until Franchetta started whispering in his
ear.”

“Franchetta,” Johnny spoke the name like the
curse it had become.  “He keeps cropping up in all of
this.  I’d really like to know why.”

David shifted in his seat.  “You asked
if I thought Marcos was connected to all of this, Johnny.  I
didn’t give you a very specific answer.  I owe you that much,
and I owe Helen a hell of a lot more than that.”

“I’m listening,” warily. 

With a sigh, David admitted what else he
knew.  “Franchetta claims that Wendell Eriksson was contacting
him last year, Johnny, that the man was scrambling to cover up what
he swears Helen did.  Of course I tore into that
investigation, if for no other reason than to prove that Franchetta
is a liar of epic proportion.”

“You need
proof
of that?”

“Not for myself, no.  Juries like
evidence.  But here’s the thing.  Somebody was contacting
Eddie – even after he was in our custody late last fall.  They
were very shrewd.  Throw away cell phones, calling Franchetta
at several shady bars and corner convenience stores Franchetta
frequented while he was trying to evade the FBI.  Proving that
it wasn’t Wendell was quite simple.  As you know, inmates
aren’t afforded much privacy when they make calls, and even if
Wendell had managed to gain special favors at Attica, there wasn’t
a single call made by the man without a witness.  Usually it
was Mike Lucero, whom you know Helen spoke to recently.  He
hated Wendell.  There was no way anyone was going to slip the
man a throw away cell.  And he was kept segregated from the
rest of the population.

“So we started asking ourselves who really
was contacting Franchetta, and why was he letting the man believe
he was Wendell Eriksson?”

“And?”  Johnny’s fingers strangled the
steering wheel.

“I’m getting there.  Franchetta was
convinced that it had to be Wendell because, as he said, the man’s
main concern was always Helen.  He was the one who suggested
that Franchetta remain open to alternate theories on Rick’s
demise.  He told Eddie that even if he happened to fall into
our custody, that he could still get to him – which he did.”