Cloaked in Blood (9 page)

“So Uncle Sully sent someone out to take
care of the problem.”

“I’ll be damned if I know how he figured out
what Ireland and I were doing, but he did.  This guy,
Southerby, he showed up and started pushing me to help him figure
out how somebody out here knew anything about the family when I was
the only link in town.”

“If you weren’t guilty, why didn’t you tell
the police?”

Datello snorted.  “Helen would’ve never
believed me.”

“Yet she believed you enough to try to save
your life.  She believed you enough to rescue your daughter
when she was kidnapped.”

“I know,” Datello said.  “And I suppose
that’s why I’m feeling conflicted.  Maybe even a little bit
guilty.”

“Oh?” Wendell’s ears perked with
interest.

He nodded.  “See, there’s a woman.”

“Other than your wife?”

Datello spat, “Not
that
kind of
woman!  I love my wife with all of my heart, Father. 
She’s the one who gave me the courage to try to find another way to
get my uncle out of my life once and for all.  And I’d have
gone to Helen with the truth if my cousin hadn’t been
arrested.  He was giving me information that I could’ve used
against Sully.”

“You said he was married to this woman,
Helen, yes?”

“He was.  Of course when he was
arrested, she filed for divorce immediately.  I guess I didn’t
blame her for that, really.  I mean, using her, her position
at the FBI was more than in the back of my head all along.  I
just figured maybe she loved Rick, that she’d stand by him, or at
least be curious enough to dig into the reasons
why
he ended
up laundering money for the family.”

Wendell grinned in the shadows.  No,
Helen wouldn’t give a damn about the whys or hows that particular
arrangement came to be.  She’d remove herself from it – as far
as humanly possible.  Up until Rick’s arrest, there were no
indications that Helen was even tempted to
really
break the
law.  At least not by killing someone.

“But I suppose in the end, it was clear that
she loved Rick about as much as he loved her.  Not at
all.  I never understood why Rick didn’t fall for her. 
She’s actually quite… beautiful.”

Hackles rose.  “I thought you said you
love your wife.”

“I do,” Datello sighed.  “I just occurs
to me, far too late I suppose, that Helen and I always had more in
common than either of us were willing to admit.  She came from
bad people too, you see, and she turned her life around.  I
thought getting as far away from Sully as possible would be
enough.”

Wendell gritted his teeth.  How anyone
could compare him to Sullivan Marcos – well, it was insulting in
the supreme.  Still, he dug for more. “Go on, my son.”

“Some of the things that have been said
about me since my death, they make me sick, so angry and sick I
think I
could
become what everyone says I’ve been all
along.”

“Ah,” Wendell said.  “This business
about the woman who kidnapped your daughter.  It’s been in the
news, her attorney claiming that you arranged a legal adoption
before you died, that this Melissa Sherman was an unwitting victim
in all of it.”

“Yeah,” Datello said forcefully.  “I’d
never do that to Celeste, or Sofia Helene.  She has the most
wonderful mother in the world.”

Wendell couldn’t suppress his chuckle.

Danny stiffened.

“I apologize, but Sofia
Helene
?”

“Gratitude,” Datello admitted.  “She
did save my daughter’s life after all.”

“I presume you’ve returned to Darkwater Bay
for reasons other than watching over your family,” Wendell
said. 

“Well, the lies make what I’d like to have
happen pretty much impossible.  Maybe if I’d contacted Helen
three years ago and told her the truth, she would’ve helped
me.  Now, for obvious reasons, I can’t do that.  I’m dead
after all, and I’ve got to stay that way.”

“You want Helen’s help?”  The
possibilities grew exponentially in Wendell’s mind.

Datello laughed.  “I know.  Crazy,
isn’t it?  Suicidal even –”

Wendell reached for the latch on the screen
and flicked it with his thumbnail.  It swung open before
Datello could finish whatever he planned to say.  He startled
instead.

“You recognize me, Danny?”

“Why would you open the screen?”

“My name is not Father Joseph O’Malley,
though the reason why the rest of this God forsaken city needs to
believe that will become abundantly clear in a moment.”

Datello paled.  “Who are you? 
You’re not a priest?”

“Hardly,” Wendell said dryly. 
“Relax.  I’m the last person who would share your secrets with
the police – any branch, including the FBI.”

“Why?”

Wendell smiled faintly.  “Because,
young man, like you, I too am dead.  And if you want my
daughter’s help, I have a feeling that I’m the only person who can
get it for you.”

Chapter 9

The phone rang three times before a muffled
“h’lo” yawned over the connection.  Devlin grinned.  “I’d
like to speak with Officer Michael Lucero please.”

“This is Mike.  Who’s calling?”

“Detective Devlin Mackenzie.  I’m
calling from Darkwater Bay regarding Wendell Eriksson.”

“Jesus,” Lucero groaned.  “Don’t you
fuckin’ people ever get sick of talking about that bastard?
 He’s dead, and it’s about time.”

“I’ve got his daughter here with me, former
Special Agent Helen Eriksson, officer.  We’ve got a few
questions about the visitors Mr. Eriksson had in the months before
his death.  On two of those occasions, Attica’s records
indicate you were on duty and transferred Mr. Eriksson from
isolation to a private visiting room.”

“Yeah, the one of ‘em was from your neck of
the woods.  Listen, I don’t exactly keep the records from the
prison with me here at home.”

“We’re looking into some crimes that haven’t
been solved yet, Mr. Lucero, and if Wendell Eriksson was part of
these crimes, we’d like to learn about it now rather than
later.”

“His kid’s there, you say?”

“Hang on a minute,” Dev engaged the speaker
function on the phone in my office and replaced the
receiver. 

“Officer Lucero, this is Helen
Eriksson.  I understand you knew my father for a number of
years,” I said.  “I’ve also learned from the prison’s records
over the course of this investigation that my father had very few
visitors until a few months before he died.  In fact, he had
as many visitors in the space of two weeks last fall that he had in
the previous two years.”

“Yeah, that’s right.  I warned the old
man that the cops would come knockin’ sooner or later.  A guy
like that doesn’t commit a one time crime, begging your
pardon.”

“No need, officer,” I said.  “Believe
me, there were reasons that I severed all ties with Wendell
Eriksson when his crime came to light.”

Dev shot me a glare.  I simply
shrugged.  It was true, just not in the context that I led
Lucero to believe.

“I’m very interested in the two visitors he
had in late October, early November last year.  Anything you
can recall, anything that might help us track down these men, would
be appreciated.  We’ve already spoken to the warden at Attica,
and unfortunately, the video records from that time period have
been recycled.”

“First guy said he was a cop.  Big guy,
like I said from Darkwater Bay, blond, tough looking guy.  He
chatted with Wendell for about half an hour and left.  Never
came back.  Wendell got agitated after he left and started
demanding a phone call.”

My interest spiked.  Of course, the
visitor was Johnny, but he had no way of knowing how Dad would
respond to his visit.  “Did you allow him to make the
call?”

“Shit,” Lucero muttered.  “Yeah, I let
him make his goddamned call.  He called that old cop from the
city that never gave up on your father’s innocence.  Sergeant
Ben Hanks, retired down in Florida.  The old coot always made
sure Wendell had long distance calling cards available so he could
make any calls he needed to without having to call collect.”

“Did you hear what they discussed?”

Fingernails make a distinct sound when
scratching hairy flesh.  It was muffled over the long distance
connection, but I imagined Lucero engaged in debate before he
answered me.

“Sir?”

“We’re supposed to give them privacy, but
they all know that their phone calls are recorded.  Can’t have
them plotting murder and mayhem from the inside.”

“So you heard what he said to Sergeant
Hanks?”

“Yeah.  He said he was in desperate
need of cash for the canteen.”

Devlin snorted.  “What the hell – he
was agitated because he wanted candy bars?”

“Hell, I never bought a word out of
Eriksson’s mouth.  In fact, I figured he and his wily old pal
worked out some sort of code, but never could figure out what it
was.  When they talked on the phone, it was always pretty
benign stuff, asking after each other’s health, talking about the
Knicks.”

My jaw dropped.  “I’m sorry, did you
just say my father asked about the
New York
Knicks?”

“Sure.  They’re pretty popular with
most the guys on the inside, what with most of ‘em being New
Yorkers.”

I shook my head at Devlin.  Dad hated
the Knicks, which was odd for a cop in New York City, but Dad
wasn’t originally from the state, and had ingrained his loyalty to
the hometown –
Beantown
– into me for as long as I could
remember.

“Though I gotta say, there were times old
Wendell asked about the Knicks when the season was long over. 
Maybe he was hoping for a high draft pick, huh?  Your old man
didn’t have many redeeming qualities, but I figure that was one of
them.  Maybe the only one.”

I refocused on the original request. 
“I take it you got to know Wendell pretty well over the years.”

“I don’t mean to be offensive, ma’am, but
it’s no secret that I thought your dad got off too easy. 
Guess you could say I knew enough to know his sentence wasn’t the
glorious victory for the justice system that it could’ve been.”

“And you’re sure that’s all he asked Mr.
Hanks for, money for the canteen?”

“A-yup.  Damnedest thing.  The way
he was yelling you’d have thought the big blond dude threatened his
life.”

“And the second visitor, what do you recall
about him, if anything?” Dev asked. 

“That one came after I called the feds to
let them know this cop from the west coast showed up to see
Wendell.  Some agent, older guy.  What was that dude’s
name?  Shortest visit in the history of Eriksson’s life. 
The guy came in, flashed his badge and so I got Wendell out to the
room for a visit.  He saw the guy, sat down, and when the man
identified himself, he clammed up and demanded to return to his
cell.”

“Did the man say what he wanted to talk to
my father about?” I asked.

“Nah, but it was pretty obvious it was about
that other guy who came.  I mean, Eriksson’s crimes were all
in New York, maybe a few in Jersey too, not the pacific
northwest.”

“Did he ask to call Mr. Hanks after that
visit?” I asked.

“Sure did.  They talked about the
Knicks for about ten minutes.  Eriksson had all kinds of
questions about the new roster that day.  ‘Course, I thought
it was a little strange that he’d be so interested in how tall they
were, weights, so forth.  Maybe he just wanted to believe we’d
get the trophy that time around.”

“Do you recall what the man looked like?”
Devlin asked. “His name, anything at all would be helpful.”

“The name was...  Noel.  Like
Christmas.”

“Noel?” I clarified.

“Sure.  Jeremy Noel.  That was the
name. Tall guy, maybe six four, dark hair, dark eyes.”

“Dark as in brown?”

“Nah, I don’t know.  He just looked…
dark.”

“Like African American?” Devlin asked.

Lucero chuckled.  “He was as white as
Wendell.  He just had dark coloring.”

“Any idea how old he was?”

“He had some gray.  I’d say late
fifties, sixty tops.  Hey, couldn’t you guys get all this
information from the feds?  He was their guy, after all.”

“We didn’t have a name, apparently. 
The one we were given was Noah,” I said, “so Officer Lucero, I do
thank you sincerely for your cooperation.”

“Sure thing.  And ma’am, I am sorry for
your loss.  It ain’t easy when a parent dies, even if he’s a
bad parent.”

I rolled my eyes, and Devlin disconnected
the call.

“You think he gave us the wrong name on
purpose, Helen?”

“Who, Lucero?”

“No, your dad.”

I shook my head lightly.  “You heard
what the guard said.  Dad didn’t stick around to talk to the
guy.  Who could he be?”

“I haven’t got a clue, but if we had the
wrong name, don’t you think that might matter to David
Levine?  This guy could be a legitimate agent.”

I picked up the receiver and dialed again
and thrust the phone into Devlin’s hand.  “He doesn’t know
that I’m aware of any of this.”

“Levine.”

“Agent Levine, it’s Devlin Mackenzie. 
I just finished talking to Mike Lucero.  I think our
information about Wendell Eriksson’s visitors was wrong. 
Seems like the agent who visited him last November was a guy by the
name of Jeremy Noel.  Johnny wondered if you could look him up
for us.  We’d really like to know if somebody else has
information about these missing kids and any links back to
Wendell.”

He nodded to me.  In the silence, Dev
answered benign questions about my sleep of all things, and yes,
confirmed that my appetite was improving, the troublesome side
effects less.  He grinned, “But she’s complaining about her
clothing sizes.  A lot.”

I drew back a fist in playful threat.