A String of Beads (33 page)

On the third night, the man for the job arrived. His name was Angelo Boiardo, and
he was in his early twenties. He had been raised in Pittsburgh, but after he’d gotten
in trouble there he had been sent to Buffalo to live with an uncle. He had been working
for Mr. Malconi for about four years, making himself useful, gaining knowledge and
respect. At the moment he was in jail awaiting trial for carrying a concealed firearm.

His lawyer had come to the jail and told him that Mr. Salamone had personally selected
him to perform a service for Mr. Malconi. Boiardo had only a vague idea what Slawicky
had done to displease the old man. There was something about endangering a business
by lying about throwing a gun in the lake. It didn’t matter to Boiardo. If he had
been expected to worry about that, he would have been told all about it.

What he was told was that at 2:39
am
, there would be a short circuit in the electronic locking system affecting his cellblock,
Slawicky’s cellblock, and the sliding gate between them.

Boiardo was sleek as a whippet and very quick. At 2:39 when he heard the electronic
lock click and the bars begin to roll out of the way, he was already standing sideways
beside the lock ready to slide his body out of his cell. He hurried down the cellblock,
reached the gate when the bars had only opened a few inches, and slipped through to
Slawicky’s cellblock. When he reached Slawicky’s cell the bars were fully open, but
Slawicky was still asleep.

Boiardo produced a toothbrush handle with three blades from a safety razor embedded
in the shaft like a long scalpel.

He swiftly tugged the wool blanket up over Slawicky’s head with his left hand, slipped
his right under the blanket, and brought it across the throat by feel. He released
the toothbrush handle and held the blanket in place for a few seconds while Slawicky’s
heart’s last beats pumped the blood in spurts from the artery and it soaked into the
wool.

In three more seconds he was out again. He moved down the cellblock like a shadow
to his own cellblock. A friend had kept the automatic gate from locking by placing
a book between the two sides. The gate bumped the book and retracted, bumped and retracted.
As soon as Boiardo passed, the man removed the book and the bars clanged shut. The
two men were in their cells long before the guards came to find out why the gate had
been registering an unlocked signal.

The tracing of the short circuit that had opened the locks on one circuit for a few
minutes began a few hours later, but it had to be interrupted because that morning
there was a general alarm and lockdown, so the electrician couldn’t work. A prisoner
had been found dead in his cell.

25

A
s Sally Schnell sat on the couch in the living room of her niece Amy’s house in Aurora,
Colorado, she felt unsettled and worried. She was holding little Madison, rocking
the pudgy newborn and humming to soothe her, but her mind was on her own child. Maybe
she had made a terrible mistake that would make Chelsea furious at her. Maybe she
had done exactly the right thing, and saved Chelsea from danger. The uncertainty was
terrible.

The two federal agents had come to her here in Aurora. They had arrived with no warning
at all. When they rang the bell at the front door, Amy’s husband, Sam, had been the
one to go to the door. He had looked through the peephole first and seen two men in
suits. They were both athletic looking, one of them blond and the other darker. As
soon as Sam opened the door, the two held up little black wallets with their pictures
on cards like licenses on one side, and gold badges on the other. When she had looked
at the wallets closely a minute later, she had seen a big spread eagle on the top
and DEA in the middle.

Sally had been across the room from the door and seen them and heard the blond one
say, “Sir, I’m Special Agent McNally, and this is Special Agent Herrera, Drug Enforcement
Administration. We’re here to speak with Chelsea Schnell. Can you get her for us,
please?”

Sam was so shocked that at first he was speechless. Then he had said, “What? Chelsea?”

“Yes, sir. We need to speak with her.”

Sam was stunned. He had turned to look at Sally on the couch, opening the door wider
so the two men were able to see into the living room. “Chelsea’s mother is here, but
Chelsea isn’t.”

Special Agent McNally said, “May we come in, please?”

There was that oh-so-careful politeness that police officers had, no matter what they
were called, but this one spoke in an especially cold, no-nonsense way. The fact that
they were federal instead of local seemed to make them even more cold and steely.
Of course Sam let them in. Who knew what would happen if he didn’t?

The two men stepped into the living room and held up their identification wallets
so Sally could see them and repeated their names. Sally had been trembling so hard
by then that she was afraid she’d drop the baby. She realized after a few seconds
that she had been breathing through her mouth. She held little Madison up so Sam would
take her.

Special Agent McNally said, “Your name, please?”

“Me?” she said. “Sally Schnell.”

“And you’re Chelsea Schnell’s mother?”

“Yes. What’s happening?”

“We’re looking for Miss Schnell in connection with an investigation,” said Special
Agent Herrera. “Is she here?”

“No,” she said. “She’s not. She had planned to come, and we’d even bought tickets
for both of us, but she decided she just couldn’t come right now.”

“So you can assure us that she’s not in the house right now.”

“Yes,” said Sally. “She didn’t come to Colorado with me. I don’t know if you’re aware
of it or not, but only a few weeks ago her boyfriend was shot to death in front of
her eyes.”

“We were made aware of that, Mrs. Schnell,” Special Agent McNally said. “We’re very
sorry for your daughter’s loss.”

“Yes,” Special Agent Herrera said. “What we’ve come to talk with her about was her
most recent misfortune. As I’m sure you understand, one aspect of the case falls within
our area of responsibility.”

“What most recent misfortune?”

Herrera looked at her, incredulous. “She hasn’t told you?”

“No. What misfortune? What’s happened to her?” Sally was terribly agitated now, and
her hands were trembling so much that they felt useless, limp and fluttering. “Is
she hurt?”

Herrera looked solemnly at McNally, who took a breath and said, “She was allegedly
given a drug known for short as GHB. It’s a common date-rape drug. While she was unconscious,
she was allegedly sexually assaulted.”

“Oh, no!” She put her hand over her mouth and a second later the two agents blurred
and she knew she was crying. “Oh no no no no. Not Chelsea.”

“I’m afraid so, ma’am,” said Herrera. “Our agency was contacted because GHB is an
illegal substance. In this case it entered the country from Mexico.”

“But the man. Who?”

“A suspect has been arrested. His name is Daniel Crane, and he had been dating your
daughter recently.”

“That can’t be. She just saw her boyfriend killed. She’s been in a state of mourning.
She wasn’t ready to date anybody yet.”

McNally spoke. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We understand your surprise, and the precise nature
of the relationship will be a matter for the court, no doubt. Our specific task concerns
the possession and use of illegal substances. In this case, the drug was GHB, which
has a very strong but transitory effect on the victim. By the time she was tested
at the hospital, the GHB had been metabolized and the tests weren’t conclusive. That’s
why we need her cooperation.”

Herrera said, “In cases that aren’t mostly about narcotics offenses, we’re usually
a secondary resource, a source of expert consulting. But because of the kind of drug
it was, the local police don’t have much to charge the suspect with. So for the moment,
we’re the lead agency in the case. Of course we’ve taken steps to stop the people
who sold the drug, and Mr. Crane will be charged with possession of the drug. For
the more serious offenses, they’ll need the help of the victim.”

“You’re telling me Chelsea has to be grilled and forced to relive a rape in front
of a court?”

“It’s more complicated than that I’m afraid,” McNally said. “Stopping all illegal
drugs from entering the country is impossible, but we stop some of them. This is about
a victim, your daughter. She deserves some justice.”

“I don’t know,” Sally said. All of this was confusing. But Chelsea certainly had decided
what to do—go away for a while, and stay out of sight. “What if she’s not up to this?”

“She might be subpoenaed to testify in a trial. No judge would be able to tell her
what to say. But she would be reminded that if she doesn’t cooperate, the man who
raped her will pay a fine and walk away. Someone has to stand up and say, ‘I did not
consent to sex with this man, but the tests show he had sex with me.’ Otherwise, he’ll
do this to other women. There will be other pointless investigations and trials until
a victim has the courage to stand up.”

Sally Schnell could think of nothing to say. She knew that they were right. Letting
him go on doing this was terrible, a sin.

Herrera said, “She’s not at her home in Avon, New York. Can you tell us why that is?”

“I can’t really tell you. She didn’t even tell me what had happened to her. She went
away. Now I guess I know why she wanted to get away.”

“Mrs. Schnell, can you tell us where she is at present?”

“She wants time to get over this, to get her head straight. That’s what she said.
It’s what she needs, and she made me promise not to tell anyone anything for any reason.
Let her come home when she’s ready to face this.”

Herrera and McNally looked at each other, and their expressions turned grim. McNally
said, “We appreciate your position. But I’m going to ask you again. There are two
very good reasons to answer. The first and most important is that we happen to know
Mr. Crane has been trying hard to find Chelsea. Probably she doesn’t want to hear
him pleading with her not to testify. But we believe it’s more serious than that.
He knows that he’s about to be charged with a crime that could result in a very long
prison sentence.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Think about it. If she testifies he could spend the rest of his life in prison. If
she doesn’t, he’ll pay a small fine and the case will be closed.”

“Oh,” said Sally. “I’ve got to call her.”

“We have to ask you not to do that,” said McNally.

“Why not?”

“Chelsea has a choice about whether to cooperate with the investigation—not legally,
of course, but in practical terms. She has no choice about whether or not to submit
to an interview. We—or our colleagues—must speak with her. And these interviews have
to be conducted in person, not over the phone. Please give us her current address,
and we can be on our way.”

Sally hesitated. “All right. Do you carry a pad or something? I’ll write it down for
you.”

McNally produced a small spiral notebook and a pen. She wrote and handed it back.
He read aloud, “Thirteen sixty-four North Chambers Street, Hanover, New Hampshire.
Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

McNally looked down again at his small spiral notebook, then put it into his pocket.
“Thank you, ma’am. We may be in touch later. If you get any other information, call
us. Here’s my card.” They headed to the door.

She looked at the card and said, “What was the other reason?”

“Ma’am?”

“The other reason why I should give you her address.”

Herrera said, “We’re federal officers. Lying to us or not answering our questions
is a crime. Both you and she could have been charged with obstruction of justice.
It would be a terrible thing if the rapist went free and the rape victim and her mother
went to a federal prison.”

Then they were out the door. She was relieved that they had not told her the second
reason until after she had decided. She would always have had to wonder if she’d done
it to save her child or to save herself. This way she knew.

As the two men walked away from the house, the tall blond one turned toward his companion.
“You drive. I’ll make the call.”

They got into their rental car and the shorter, darker man drove away from the house.
The blond one dialed and waited, and then said, “Hello. This is Al Galbano, calling
for Mr. Salamone.”

He waited for a few seconds, watching his companion maneuver into the traffic heading
for Denver.

“This is Salamone.”

“Mr. Salamone, I’m calling you from Denver. Ron Pozzo and I found the cousin’s house,
but Chelsea never came to Denver. We talked to her mother, and got another address
for her.”

“You think this is the right one?”

“Yes, I do. Pozzo and I do this routine where we’re special agents in the DEA. We
use it to confiscate drugs and money. We usually let the drug dealer go, and charge
him a fee for protection. We’ve got ID and badges, and we’ve convinced everybody so
far.”

Salamone laughed. “You pulled that on the girl’s mother?”

“Yes. We said we were involved in her case because of the drugs. We said the guy who
raped her daughter would walk away with a small fine for possession of the drug if
she didn’t get the girl to cooperate with us and prove he used it on her.”

“Brilliant. Absolute genius. Can you give me the address?”

McNally took out the small notebook, read the address to Salamone, and then tore the
sheet out of the notebook, crumpled it, and let it fly out the window. There was no
sense in leaving an address like that in his notebook. Pretty soon it would be a dangerous
thing to have.

26

J
a
ne drove the Volkswagen Passat up New Hampshire Route 120 to the town of Lebanon,
continued to Han­over, and turned on Wheelock Street to North Chambers Street. She
drifted past the apartment at 1364, looking at the doors and in the windows. She couldn’t
see Jimmy, Mattie, or Chelsea, but there seemed to be no damage to glass, locks, or
latches, and no signs of anyone watching the house.

She had driven for several hours, and she had been extremely careful. She had brought
two people here in separate trips over a period of a few weeks and sent a third by
plane. There had never been any sign of a problem, but three was a lot of trips. All
the way here she watched to be sure that no other car stayed in her rearview mirror
for long enough to be following her. When she left her hotel in Niagara Falls she
had looked under the car with a makeup mirror to be sure nothing had been stuck to
the undercarriage or in the engine compartment, and checked again after she’d made
a stop in Albany. On the way she had taken exits from the thruway four times to see
who came off the ramp after her, and then gotten back on. Nobody had followed.

Now Jane drove along the streets in the vicinity of the apartment. She studied the
cars parked within sight of the apartment building, looking for heads inside. She
searched for any van that could hold a surveillance team, and for any SUV that reminded
her of the ones that had pursued her in Ohio and on the reservation, or the one that
had brought the cooler to the storage facility outside Akron. She saw high school
students and their parents who had come during summer to look at Dartmouth, a number
of earnest-looking graduate students, and another group, mostly young men, wearing
shorts, backpacks, and hiking boots, many of them carrying hiking staffs. There was
an entrance to the Appalachian Trail between a store and a restaurant on Main Street,
and Hanover was a good place to stop and get a good meal on the long walk from Maine
to Georgia.

When Jane was satisfied, she parked on a street parallel to Chambers so she could
come out the back door of the apartment and get to her car if she needed to. As she
walked to the apartment she never stopped watching for any sign that she might have
missed while she was in the car.

When she reached the apartment building she looked even more carefully to see if any
window held a human silhouette or the glint of a lens. She saw nothing. She rang the
bell and Mattie opened the door. Mattie took Jane’s hand, pulled her inside, and hugged
her for a moment. “It’s so good to see you,” she said.

Jane looked over Mattie’s shoulder. Jimmy and Chelsea came out of another room together,
and Jimmy was carrying the remote control from the television set. “Jane,” he said.
When the two stopped a few feet away, Jane noticed their shoulders were touching,
and that they stayed that way.

Jane released Mattie. “Hi, everybody.” She slung her backpack off her shoulder and
set it by the couch, then sat down. “I made the trip again because I’ve done all I
can back there for the moment. It’s safer for all of us if I’m here.”

“What does that mean?” Mattie asked.

“I’ve learned some things about our troubles. I’ve managed to get what I’ve found
out into the hands of a state police sergeant who’s been searching for Jimmy all this
time. He’s been in the hospital but he’s sane and honest, so he’ll get the information
to the people who are now running the investigation of the murder.”

“The state trooper we saw in the woods?” asked Jimmy. “The runner?”

“Yes. I did him a favor, so he owed me.”

“He let you tell him all this stuff and walk away without having you followed or anything?”
said Jimmy.

“I didn’t say it was a small favor.”

Chelsea said, “So where are we now?”

“I’ve set the dogs after the people who are responsible for this mess. Now we stay
out of sight for a while and give the dogs time to work.”

Mattie said, “I’ll get you something to eat.”

Jane said, “Thank you, Mattie.” She knew that refusing food would be foolish and insulting.
Jane was a traveler who had genuinely just come off the trail, and Mattie was the
older woman, the hostess, so she would bring out food.

While Mattie went off to the kitchen and was out of hearing, Jane said, “Maybe I’ll
go help her.”

“I’ll do it,” Chelsea said, and hurried after her.

“Okay.”

Jimmy took a step in that direction.

“Not you.”

Jimmy sat down in the chair across from where Jane sat on the couch.

Jane said, “Want to fill me in?”

“About what?”

“How long has she been here? A week?”

“A little longer.”

“Not much. You know that she’s been through a whole lot in the past couple of months.
And you may recall that what the police want you for is killing her boyfriend.”

“But I didn’t,” he said. “She knows that.”

“I can see she does.”

“You don’t approve.”

Jane shrugged. “I’m offering you the benefit of my skepticism. You’ll both do what
you decide to do. She’s lost somebody she cared about, and afterward learned that
he was a thief. The next man in her life drugged and raped her, and now he seems to
be trying to find her to keep her from testifying against him. It’s not hard to look
good in that field.”

“Do I deserve this?”

“No,” Jane said. “You’re a good, honest, decent man she’s been cooped up with for
over a week. You’re also a victim of the same scheme that has hurt her.” She smiled.
“And I guess you’re not as ugly as you used to be. She’s undoubtedly missing her mother,
and you’ve even been sharing yours with her. My point is that it wouldn’t be too strange
if she turned to you on the rebound just because she needs somebody who’s not a monster.
She doesn’t deserve to be hurt again, and I don’t want this to end badly for you,
either.”

He sighed deeply. “You’re the objective observer.”

A voice from behind them said, “But do we need one of those?”

They both looked to see Chelsea standing in the kitchen doorway. “I’m okay now. I
have all my faculties. I like Jimmy and I can tell he likes me. For the moment that’s
all there is. You wanted us all to get along, and we do. Just what you wanted.”

Jane said, “That’s good. It’s just that whatever living together in hiding is, it’s
not normal, and it’s not permanent.”

Mattie came in carrying a hot plate. Jane could see slices of roast beef, some asparagus,
and a baked potato. “These are leftovers, I’m afraid, but it’s what we had for dinner
and it’s pretty good.”

“It looks better than that,” Jane said. “I’ll eat at the kitchen table.”

While Jane ate, Mattie talked about Hanover, the stores where she had found the best
food, and the way the region was in the summer, with farmers’ markets along the roads
to the east, and over the Vermont border to the west. The others had little to add,
because they had rarely been outdoors.

As the night wore on, first Mattie got tired and went off to bed. Then Jimmy brought
out a blanket and pillow and lay down on the couch.

“I guess we’ll share a bed,” said Chelsea. “If you don’t mind.”

“No, it’s fine,” said Jane. She glanced at Jimmy. “I guess it’s time.”

They said good-night to Jimmy, and went into the remaining bedroom. In a few minutes
they were in the dark and in bed.

Chelsea spoke in a whisper. “I’m really grateful for
every­thing you’ve done. I was in danger, and you fought for me. I needed to get away,
and I needed a rest from being sad or angry or scared, and you sent me here. It’s
been good to be with normal people in a safe place. And I’ve had a lot of time to
think.”

“I’m glad.”

“I said that so you would understand what I’m going to tell you now. I don’t want
to let you risk your life because of me, and then lie to you.”

“About Jimmy?”

“Yes.”

“You like him more than you’ve said.”

“Much more,” she said. “I heard what you said to him. Yes, I’ve been through a lot,
and then been locked up with an attractive man, and knowing his mother makes me see
what made him such a good man. But if I hadn’t been through anything, and I had met
him some other way, I would still feel the same.”

“I’m only interested in keeping you safe. If you both remember why you’re here, then
I’ll be satisfied. The rest is up to you.”

“Thanks,” said Chelsea. “I’ve taken your advice, and I’m not just letting some guy
pick me. I’m doing the picking. It’s a good feeling.” She turned away from Jane, tugged
the covers up to her chin, and closed her eyes.

Jane lay in the dark, staring up toward the ceiling, where the smoke detector’s tiny
red light blinked once every ten seconds. There was as much to worry about as there
had been when she had started. She had, for the moment, managed to keep Jimmy, Mattie,
and Chelsea alive and hidden far away from the people who were hunting them. She had
kept Ike Lloyd alive, barely. She had set the forces in motion, but all she could
do now was wait and see if the forces accomplished what she wanted. Maybe what she’d
done would be enough.

She was exhausted from the days and nights of stalking and hiding, and the long drive
to New Hampshire. It was late. After a time the slow, rhythmic sound of Chelsea’s
breathing put Jane to sleep. She slept peacefully in an empty place, without sight
or sound or thought.

“Jane.” It was a whisper, but it wasn’t Chelsea’s voice, Mattie’s, or Jimmy’s. “Jane!”
This time she thought she recognized it. In her dream she pulled aside the covers
and got up, then put on her clothes. “Jane,” the whisper came again.

Jane opened the bedroom door, walked silently past Jimmy where he lay on the couch,
out the front door, and closed the door behind her. There he was. She said, “Hi, Harry.
I see I’m dreaming.”

Harry stood in the shadow a few feet from her at the corner of the porch, leaning
against the redbrick wall. “Of course you’re dreaming.”

Harry Kemple was the runner she had lost. He was the only one who had been found by
his pursuer and killed, and his death had been Jane’s fault. Harry died about ten
years ago, and he had visited her in her sleep many times since then. Harry was still
wearing the bad gray-green sport coat he wore the first time she’d met him. He had
made his living running a floating poker game, and the coat with elbows worn from
leaning on a table and the pants with the seat shiny from sitting through the endless
games were his work clothes. He had come to her in a hurry from Chicago.

Harry was alive only because at the moment when the shooters had burst in on his game
and shot all of the men at the table, he had been in the bathroom. He had heard the
gunshots and then the silence, opened the door a crack, and seen them. When they were
gone he had come to Jane. She had taken him to the stationery store in Vancouver where
Lewis Feng, a highly skilled forger, was selling identities to Chinese nationals who
had fled to Canada. Feng had made a new identity for Harry. Years later, Jane had
taken John Felker, another runner who needed a new identity, to see Lewis Feng. She
had not known that Feng kept a written record of the identities he had sold, and that
Harry’s new name and address were on the list.

Within a day Feng had been tortured and killed. A day after that, John Felker had
found his way to Santa Barbara, California, and cut Harry’s throat. Whenever Jane
saw Harry in her dreams, it was with his throat cut, and sewn back together by the
undertaker or the coroner with a stitch that looked like the stitching on a baseball.

“Janie,” he said. “You always look so guilty when you see me.”

“I am guilty.”

“Sorry my being dead makes you uncomfortable. Think how it makes me feel.”

“I’ve never let that happen to anybody again,” said Jane. “He fooled me into taking
him to the same person who had made your ID. I was stupid. I’m sorry.”

“What the hell.” Harry shrugged, and the coat seemed to rise and fall by itself. “Love
is blind and deaf and ignorant and forgetful.”

“It wasn’t love.”

“You certainly went through all the motions. Does your husband know about John Felker?”

“He was long before Carey’s time. And you know there was no John Felker. That was
just a name he made up to fool me and seduce me, and eventually, kill you and me.
His name was Martin. James Michael Martin. Why are you here, Harry?”

“Because you need to be reminded.”

“Have I left something undone? Is there something I didn’t see or remember?”

“Is there something? Yes. Think about what happened to me, not what happened to you.
Tonight you told Jimmy and Chelsea not to do what you did—jump into the sack with
what amounts to a stranger.”

“Is that bad advice, Harry?”

“Not bad, just beside the point. What you should be remembering is what I consider
the main event—my untimely death. The men who kicked down the door and killed everybody
in my poker game were after Jerry Cappadocia. Mafia. The men who killed everybody,
shot them through the head and chest, were hired by other guys in the Mafia.”

“Of course I remember that, Harry. How could I forget?”

“The nuggets of knowledge you should have taken home are the following. They didn’t
mind killing six other human beings with Jerry. And it took five years for one of
their hired killers, Felker—or Martin, as you prefer—to catch up with the seventh
other human being, me. If it had taken five more years, they would have kept looking.
If I were alive now, there would still be men out there waiting to cross me off their
to-do list. They have what you might call a strong corporate memory.”

“Yes,” said Jane. “What I don’t know is why they’re involved in this at all. I’m almost
certain that Daniel Crane killed Nick Bauermeister with the rifle that Walter Slawicky
owned. I think he did it because he wanted Bauermeister’s girlfriend.”

“I’ve seen her. Plenty of guys would shoot somebody to get at that.”