Acts of Mercy (34 page)

Kevin nodded slowly, made eye contact with Officer Duffy, then stood. “Thank you, Carole.”

He cleared his throat and walked slowly, as if burdened, down the hall, to the lobby to where Robert and Susanna waited with Ian.

“I think you need to get a lawyer for her,” Kevin told Chief Collier.

“What did she tell you?” Collier asked.

Kevin took a tiny recorder from his pocket and handed it over. “It’s all on here. We’d like a copy, though.”

“Did she admit she took Ian from the car?” Robert asked anxiously.

“Yeah.” Kevin sat down next to his cousin. “She believes God put him there for her. That he was meant to be her son.”

“Sounds like she got real smart over the past half hour,” Collier said. “That sounds like her defense to me. ‘Yeah, I took the baby, but God told me to.’ Right. Sounds like she just made that up because she knows we can prove he’s not her son and she doesn’t want to spend the rest of her life in prison.”

Kevin shook his head. “I don’t think it’s an act. I think she really believes it. I think she’s believed it since the minute she came across the car in the ravine and heard him crying. She’d been praying that God would guide her, and she believes He guided her right to that car.”

“Maybe He did, but I doubt He meant for her to
keep a child that didn’t belong to her,” Robert snapped.

Kevin turned to Robert. “Remember this: if Carole Woolum hadn’t found him and taken him from the car that day, he would have died there. When you are hell-bent to see her behind bars, remember that she did save his life …”

I
think I want to drive back east,” Sam told Fiona. “There are some things I need to think about.”

“All right.”

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” she assured him.

So he’d taken Fiona to the airport and watched her board a plane to DC and felt empty inside the minute she was gone. But there were things he needed to sort out that would be much more difficult if she was there, and things that needed to be done that only he could do. He rented a car and headed east on I-80 through Council Bluffs and straight across Iowa into Illinois. At Rock Island, he dropped south and headed toward Indiana, where he made his way toward Terre Haute. There was something he had to do there.

He’d called his former boss and asked for a favor, which John, upon hearing what Sam had to say, immediately agreed to.

Several hours later, Sam DelVecchio sat in the visitor’s room and waited for the guards to bring in the prisoner he’d come to see.

The door opened and an older, thinner Don Holland shuffled in, his shackles restricting his movements. He sat in the chair provided for him, and stared at Sam for a long moment before asking, “What do you want?”

“I want to apologize.”

Holland’s laughter was as dry as leaves in late November.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll bite. Why?”

“Because I owe you one. Because you told the truth and I didn’t believe you.”

Holland’s laughter faded, then ceased altogether.

“What brought this about, this change of heart?” Holland asked.

“My wife’s killer confessed. He set it up so that I wouldn’t suspect …” Sam shook his head. “I guess it doesn’t matter why he did it. Suffice it to say that I’m sorry for blaming you for something you didn’t do.”

“I tried to tell you, man. You could have maybe caught him before, instead of letting him run free all this time.”

“No,” Sam shook his head, “if he hadn’t confessed, no one would have ever known.”

“Why’d he confess, then, if he’d never be caught?”

“Because he knew it would hurt me to know,” Sam told him.

“Like killing your wife didn’t hurt?” Holland scoffed. “What was gonna make that worse than it was?”

“He was an old friend,” Sam said simply.

Holland studied Sam’s face, then asked, “Did you pop him?”

“No. The FBI did.”

“I thought you were FBI.” Holland frowned.

“I was.”

“You
was?
You quit?”

When Sam nodded, Holland laughed. “Why’d you go and do that? You were good at what you did, my man. Brought me down, and I was the best at what I did.”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, not wanting to think about what Holland had laid claim to being the best at.

“You should think about going back.” Holland stood, ready to return to his cell. “There are a lot of bad boys outside. A lot of bad, bad boys who need to be caught …”

Sam stood and watched Holland shuffle back out of the room. When he reached the door, he turned and said, “Thanks, man. That was decent of you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, actually, I did.”

Holland’s comment stayed with Sam all the way to the Ohio border, where he had to decide which way to go: through Pennsylvania to Conroy and the Mercy Street Foundation, or through Virginia to Fiona and the FBI.

Once he made his choice, he felt lighter. He called both John and Robert and explained his position. Then he called Chris Coutinho, as he’d promised he’d do once the case had been solved. His last call—and by far, the toughest—was to Lynne Walker, who deserved an explanation of why her husband had to die, and at whose hands. To Sam’s everlasting gratitude, she’d not blamed him, but blessed him for bringing peace to her family, and justice to her husband.

The sun had already set when he pulled in the drive at the bungalow. There were no lights on inside and no car in sight, so he turned off the engine and got out and walked to the front steps, where he sat and waited.

It was after ten when she drove up. She slowed when she saw the strange car, but she parked next to it and walked with no apparent concern to the porch. She sat next to him on the step for a while before saying, “Nice night.”

“Umm-hmm.”

“How are you, Sam?” she asked softly.

“Better than I’ve been in a long time.”

“Good,” she said. “That’s good.”

“I stopped to see Don Holland on my way through Indiana,” he told her.

“Oh? How’d that go?”

“It went pretty well, all things considered.” He turned to her. “It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Apologizing, that is.”

“You apologized to him?” Fiona frowned. “Have you lost your mind?”

“He’s done a lot of really nasty things, but he didn’t kill Carly. He told me that over and over, and I didn’t believe him. For that, I owed him.”

“You’re a better man than I am. I couldn’t have done it.”

“I wasn’t sure I could either, but it worked out all right. One thing he said, though …” Sam leaned back, his elbows resting on the steps behind him. “He said I should go back to the Bureau, that there were a lot of bad boys out there who needed to be caught.”

“Oh, there’s a news flash.” Fiona rolled her eyes. “I
picked up a case today—boy howdy, it’s a killer. Pun intended.”

“There’s no end to it, you know?” He exhaled deeply. “I left the Bureau because I had enough of the Don Hollands of this world. I’d seen them all, I’d studied them all. I wanted out so I got out. I used Carly’s death as an excuse to walk away.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on yourself? Sam, your wife was murdered in your home, and at the time you believed she was killed by someone you were tracking. I think you were entitled to take a walk.”

When he didn’t respond, she said, “Did your travels help to clear your head?”

“Some.” He nodded. “It was good to get away, to leave everything behind me. I thought going to all those places, most of them for the first time, would help me to feel again.”

“Did it?”

“Mostly I felt responsible. That I’d let Carly down. That’s pretty much all I felt,” he said. “The best part of the trip was when I got to Italy and spent some time with my parents. They’re happy in their lives and with each other, and it was a very good visit. My mom invited a neighbor—a divorcée—to dinner one night to meet me, and I was not very happy with my mother for doing that.”

“Why? Was she awful?”

“No, she was lovely, she was a very nice woman. But I felt like I was being unfaithful to Carly. Like I’d be betraying her memory if I let myself be attracted to someone else. After dinner was over, I couldn’t wait to drive her home. I dropped her off and came
straight back to my parents’ place and Mom and I had a few words over the whole thing. I told her I didn’t appreciate her trying to set me up, and she told me she didn’t appreciate the fact that I was rolling over and playing dead, that I couldn’t spend the rest of my life alone, that there was still light and music to be had.” Sam smiled. “Her words: light and music.” He added, “I was certain she was wrong. I’d just finished traveling through a dozen countries, and there’d been no one I’d felt a connection to. Until now.”

He sat up and put an arm around her shoulders. “I hadn’t felt the light or heard the music until now.”

“So are you saying you’re feeling connected, Sam?”

“Yeah. I guess I am.”

Fiona smiled. “There now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Sam laughed softly.

She leaned against him and rested her forehead against the side of his head, and they sat together on the steps for a while.

Finally, Fiona said, “So what are you going to do, Sam? Are you sticking with the new job, or are you coming back to the Bureau?”

“I like the Mercy Street Foundation. I like the concept. I like and admire Robert Magellan and the fact that he’s willing to use his fortune for the greater good. You know, he’d offered a million-dollar reward for information leading to Ian’s return. He’s splitting it between the Sisters of St. Anthony and Barbara Cooper, the woman who owned the cabin. He’s a man of his word, and I respect him for that. The world could use more people like him.”

“I hear a but in there somewhere.”

“But—I think I belong with the Bureau.”

“John will be happy to hear that,” she told him. “He’ll take you back like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“He already has.”

“Seriously? You’re coming back?”

“After I talk to the others there in Conroy, yeah. I’m coming back.”

“Good.” She nodded. “That’s good.”

“So I thought maybe we should do something to celebrate,” he told her. “I picked up a bottle of champagne on the way over.” He reached behind him on the porch and held up a tall bag.

“That’s a good start.” She stood and took his hand. She pulled him to his feet and wrapped her arms around him. “Why don’t we go inside and break it open, and dance a little to that music your mama was telling you about …”

W
hat should I do, Trula? He won’t come near me.” Robert’s agony was written all over his face.

“It’s going to take time, son. The women from Children’s Services said we should expect this,” she said softly. “He doesn’t understand where he is or why he’s here, and where … where his mother is.”

“She isn’t his mother. She never was.” His eyes darkened.

“He doesn’t know that, Rob.” He started to protest and she held up a hand. “You may not like it, but that’s the truth of it.”

Robert sat with his arms resting on the kitchen table. Ian was clearly a very unhappy, lost little boy, and it broke Robert’s heart. He’d never imagined his son’s homecoming to be like this. Ian cried all the time he hadn’t been sleeping on Susanna’s lap on their flight back from Erie, and he’d been crying since they set foot in the house. Now, even Susanna wasn’t able to comfort him.

“I feel really helpless,” Suse told him. “I don’t know what he likes to eat.” She looked at Trula. “What do two-year-olds eat, anyway?”

“They can eat pretty much what you do, only cut smaller, softer.”

“He has to be hungry,” Susanna said. “He hasn’t had anything to eat all day. I tried to give him soup, I tried pudding, I tried crackers, but he pushed everything away except the milk I gave him, and he was not happy because I didn’t let him hold the glass himself.”

“We’ll have to run out and pick up some supplies,” Trula told him. “Sippy cups and toys and so on.”

“His old toys are still up in his room,” Robert reminded her. “Maybe we should try one of those. I’ll run up and get something that he used to like. Maybe he’ll remember—”

“He was only three months old when he left,” Trula reminded him, “so don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t seem to recognize anything.”

Robert nodded and headed up the back steps to the second floor.

“Shhhh, Ian, shhhh,” Susanna tried to comfort him. “It’s going to be all right, baby.” Ian continued to wail. “I know, I know. It’s hard for you right now. But you’re back with your daddy who loves you …”

The back door opened and Chloe came in, wiggling a long red piece of yarn behind her to lure Foxy inside.

“Why is that baby crying?” She stopped in the doorway.

“His name is Ian, and he’s crying because he’s in a place that is strange to him,” Susanna told her. “He’s very unhappy right now and we’re not sure what to do to make him happy.”

“I know what will make him happy.” Chloe
skipped across the kitchen floor. “Foxy will make him smile. She makes me smile.”

She went to Susanna and tugged gently on Ian’s foot.

“Do you want to play with the kitty, Ian?”

At the sound of her voice, Ian turned his head. She held up the bright red string and dangled it in front of him, and he stopped crying.

“See?” she said. “He wants to play.”

Chloe sat on the floor and wiggled the string in front of the kitten. It stood on its hind legs to bat at it, and Ian struggled to get down. He toddled to Chloe and plunked himself down on the floor.

“Here, Ian. Hold the string like this.” She held it between two fingers to show him. When he reached for it, she helped him to hold it, then told him, “Hold it up in the air. Yes, like that. See … Foxy likes playing with you.”

Ian laughed for the first time that day.

Robert came into the room, holding several stuffed animals, a ball, and a pile of books. “I wasn’t sure what he might—”

The sound of Ian’s laughter stopped him in his tracks.

“What happened?” he whispered to Susanna.

“Chloe.” She pointed to the floor where the two children sat playing with Foxy. “Chloe happened.”