Beneath the Cracks (18 page)

"I'd think they'd pound it into the heads at
your police academy too, Tony.  Maybe if cops didn't take
short cuts, prosecutors wouldn't have such a hard time putting the
bad guys in prison."  I refocused on Crevan's search after
verbally dancing too close to my guilty conscience.  "How
often do the shelters in Darkwater Bay get the attention of the
press?"

"Every time they raise money, which for most
of them, is at least a quarterly occurrence.  It's odd that
the Sixth Avenue Shelter hasn't had a fundraiser in more than a
year."  Crevan scrolled through his search result. 
"See?  June, last year, they held a gala out on Hennessey
Island, some casino night at the casino, and all the proceeds went
to the shelter."

"Casino night in a casino.  How
freakin' original," Briscoe grunted softly.

"Which casino, Crevan?"

He clicked the link.  "Uh, that would
be…the Island Hotel Resort and Casino."

"Owned by Danny Datello.  No doubt, one
of his efforts to polish his public image," I said. 

"What're you thinkin', Eriksson?"

"Old habit," I said.  "Any time someone
from the Marcos family's name crops up in the news, we start
wondering what's going on behind the scenes."

"Like?" Crevan peered up at me from the
computer screen.

"Like maybe they haven't raised any money
for so long because Datello laundered a shitload of it for Uncle
Sully through a charitable organization."

Briscoe scratched his head.  "So by
that logic, since we have our annual department bash in his
enormous banquet room every Christmas, it makes Darkwater Bay dirty
too?"

I perched on the edge of Crevan's desk and
looked from one detective to the other.  Should I tell them
what the police chief and commissioner told me when I arrived in
Darkwater Bay?  Maybe they needed a dose of my paranoia to hit
close to home.

"When I came here a few months ago, it was
insinuated by pretty reliable people that Datello might have solved
his legal woes in Darkwater Bay by writing a check."  I sipped
while they pondered.  "To make matters even more interesting,
I also learned that a blackmail situation exists with the very
people who took me into their confidence about their suspicion of
Danny Datello."

"So…I'll write you a check, and if you don't
take it and look the other way, I'll expose something you really
don't want the world to see?"  The Adam's apple bobbed in
Crevan's throat.

"That was the gist of it.  I suspected
that Lowe might be the blackmailer, since the primary purpose of
what was being held over some pretty high heads seemed attached to
strings that nothing at Central Division would ever change. 
But nothing was ever found linking Jerry Lowe to…the victims of the
silent crime."

"Maybe we should see if Danny boy's business
interests have branched out into another area," Crevan said. 
"Like farming for instance."

"I doubt they would," I said.  "Even
though his logging interests are located outside Bay County, he was
careful to incorporate the business here, in Darkwater Bay, making
it fall in central's jurisdiction should anything criminal ever be
investigated.  From what you two told me about Dupree Farm,
it's self contained, and Johnny said it's outside Bay County, let
alone any Darkwater Bay jurisdiction."

Briscoe's eyes widened.  "You've been
doing research on Datello?"

"Old saying, Tony.  Keep your friends
close and your enemies closer.  I don't trust anyone on the
Marcos family tree, no matter how far removed and transplanted that
branch might be."

"You know more about him than you've let
on," Crevan said.  "Have you told Johnny?  Has he told
you about the case he's been trying to build against –"

"What I know has nothing to do with Danny
Datello.  His uncle on the other hand is a different
story.  The FBI knows what I do.  That doesn't mean I'm
willing to dismiss the notion that Datello's part of Sully's
organization or running his very own out here.  It's simply a
matter of prudence, Crevan.  I can't help Johnny's case. 
If I could, I'd do it in a New York minute."

I dropped the empty cup into the trash
beside Crevan's desk and reached for my coat.  "I've got stuff
to do tonight, guys.  Give me a call if you pull up any names
from the shelter.  I'm particularly interested in knowing who
runs the charitable foundation and who's in charge of the day to
day operation on Sixth Avenue.  I should be home by nine or
so.  If I haven't heard from you by then, I'll call.  We
need to hammer out a time for the trip to Dupree Farm
tomorrow."

"We're here at seven every day," Crevan
said.  "Whenever you get here, we can head out."

"Sure could've used this today out on the
street," I cinched the belt on the cashmere and wool trench
coat.  "Remind me to wear long-johns if we need Nancy
undercover again."

On the way to MSUH to see Maya, I listened
to the weather forecast on a local radio station.  A low front
was pushing it's way up from the Pacific, and rain was expected for
the rest of the week, along with low temperatures in the
mid-forties.  Our highs would be a dismal ten degrees
higher. 

My heart ached for the changing colors of
the east coast, the warm days and chilly nights, the contrast of
summer and fall in the trees and the sky.  Darkwater Bay was
clouds and fog and rain wrapped in a cocoon of perpetual
gloom.  Mist rolled through the city streets as dusk
fell.  A blasting heater in the Expedition only heated the
damp air but did little to alleviate the chilly ambiance.

By the time I worked my way through the
inching rush hour traffic (a misnomer if ever there was one), it
was only a couple of minutes before six.  The lights of the
modern high rise hospital rose like a beacon of hope shining
through the haze.  I found a spot in the lower level of the
parking building and made my way to the lobby elevators.

Hopefully, Maya remembered that I promised
to visit.  Even more, I silently wished that she would be kind
enough not to grill me about what she thought happened with Orion
when she called.  It hadn't.  Yet.  I wasn't ashamed
of it, but at the same time, Briscoe's not-so-subtle digs about it
all day had left me in a prickly mood. 

I knocked lightly on the door to her room
and pushed it open.  Maya was sitting up, looking far more
lucid, not to mention human, with the anesthesia completely out of
her system.  On one side of her bed sat Ken Forsythe.  On
the other was Orion.  I forced a smile and resisted the urge
to run out of the room.

"You came!  I was wondering what time
you'd finally drag in here tonight."  Maya patted the side of
her bed.  "Come over here and say hello."

I inched around the side of the bed where
Forsythe sat, hoping for security in distance.  The last thing
I needed was Johnny mauling me at the hospital too.  I bent
over and gave Maya a peck on the forehead before sitting down
carefully.  "You look like you're feeling a lot better
today."

"They pulled my drain a couple of hours
ago," Maya launched into the territory of too much information and
explained that something called a Jackson-Pratt drain had been
removing excess lymph and blood from the surgical site, but that
the doctors were amazed at her body's quick bounce back from such a
drastic procedure.

"Apparently, she comes from a long line of
robust women."  Forsythe petted her hand fondly.  "I knew
nothing would keep her down for long."

"How's the pain?"  I wasn't completely
ignorant of the medical realm, and saw the fatigue in her eyes, the
dark circles that seemed to deepen by the minute. 

"Oh, about eight on a scale of one to
ten.  Where'd we put that button, Ken?"

He handed her the device that sent an
additional bolus of pain medication pulsing through the IV tubing
to her vein.

"Still on the fentanyl?"

"Hmm," Maya nodded.  "They're talking
about switching over to something by mouth for breakthrough pain
tomorrow, provided I can keep down the wide variety of Jell-O they
keep throwing at me under the guise of food."  She squeezed my
hand.  "How was your day?"

"Busy.  Chilly.  Same old same
old."

She grinned.  "Not quite.  You
spent more time out of the house today than I bet you have since
you moved into that place."

"True enough."

"So what's on the agenda for tomorrow?"

"I'd rather not bore you with the details of
my day," I dodged the question.  "What did the doctor say
about your discharge?  Will you be heading home soon?"

"Probably by the end of the week, barring
any complications of course," Maya said.  "I talked to the
county supervisor today.  They're planning to make do with the
medical examiners we've got on staff for the next six weeks, and
then when the chemo starts, we'll play it by ear about how much
time I can spend on the job.  I was pretty encouraged."

"See?" Forsythe said.  "I told you they
weren't going to jump at the chance to bring back Riley Storm."

"He's still around here?" I'm not sure why
the news surprised me, but it did.

"Riley chose to retire when we replaced him
with Maya," Johnny finally spoke.  "He's usually found at the
Bay View Country Club plotting his strategy to sue the county for
his wrongful dismissal over martinis with cocktail onions."

"Lovely.  So he's a drunkard
and
an incompetent medical examiner."

Maya giggled and immediately braced her left
side.  "Oh, oh.  Don't make me laugh, Helen.  It's
too soon."

I cringed.  "Sorry.  I wasn't
trying to be funny."

"It's all right.  Laughter is the best
medicine, but maybe not when you've been used for Ginsu training by
an aspiring sushi chef."  She squeezed my hand again, glanced
at Johnny, back at me for an intense gaze.  "Aren't you going
to tell Johnny hello?"

I took a sidelong peek.  "I guess I was
a little surprised to see him here."

"He told me that you asked him to keep this
quiet, Helen, but since technically, Johnny was the person most
responsible for bringing me to Darkwater Bay, I was glad that you
told him and that he stopped by to see me.  Did you see the
flowers he brought?"

An audacious bouquet of daisies and
sunflowers looked ready to break out into Broadway song and dance
on the over bed table.  "They're lovely.  Very
anti-Darkwater Bay."

Maya laughed again, still braced from the
first jarring motion.  "Helen, you are funny.  Sometimes
I think it's the fact that you're not trying that makes it so
amusing."  She jerked her head in Johnny's direction. 
"Go ahead and give the man a proper greeting."

I rolled my eyes, huffed an exaggerated sigh
and said, "Hi Johnny."

"All that humor and a smart ass too," she
demurred.

Orion was staring at the floor. 

Jesus.  Do these people ever stop
being so damned manipulative?
  I walked to the other side
of the bed and nudged his leg with my knee.  Johnny looked up
at me, regret for some reason, filled his eyes.  I draped
myself in his lap and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Thanks for the coffee this morning."

He leaned in but hesitated.  Johnny's
eyes glanced in Maya's direction and he looked down again. 
"Did you remember to eat?"

"I had breakfast. 
With
jam."

A grin quivered at the corners of his
mouth.

I looked at Maya.  "Happy now?"

"Euphoric."

"Yeah, that's the fentanyl.  I hope you
don't get too used to the feeling.  They're gonna drag you
back down to earth sooner or later."

A nurse came in and moved Johnny's flowers
and replaced the bouquet with another tray of Jell-O and clear
juice.  Maya rolled her eyes and groaned.  "See what I'm
talking about?  When do I get real food?" she whined.

"If you keep this down, we can try some
pudding tomorrow."

"Didn't cut up my guts," Maya
grumbled.  "I don't understand why you've got to be such a
stickler for the rules, Ginny."

"You understand it perfectly," the nurse
chided.  "Just because
your
patients don't live to
complain about your bedside manner doesn't mean I aim to have mine
in the same condition. 
Bon appétit
."

Maya started picking at her tray, offering
the first bite to Forsythe. 

"No, no.  That's all for you,
Maya."

She waved the jiggling mass on the spoon at
me.  "No thanks."

Johnny's hand crept over my thigh and
settled into a light rhythm.  "Besides, if she eats one bite
of Jell-O now, I'll never talk her into having dinner with me
later."

"I have work to do tonight, Johnny."

Maya snorted.  "One day back on the job
and she's already up to her usual tricks.  You should've seen
her on the case when we first met, Johnny.  I'm no slacker in
the morgue, but this woman wouldn't rest until she had the final
autopsy report in hand to back up her theory of the perp's
motive."

"Was she right?"

"Of course she was," Maya slurped the Jell-O
off the spoon.  "Helen's always right.  We were fast
friends from that day forward, and let me add, that I started
tearing pages from the Helen Eriksson playbook from then on. 
My peers hated me, but we didn't have to call the FBI in to rescue
as many cases."

"That's a lie," I chuckled.  "At least
about who insisted on working 'round the clock.  As I recall,
you were the one who insisted that the unusual ritual before death
had to play a role in the perp's psychopathy, and I drew the short
straw on the team and got to spend the night in the morgue waiting
for
you
to finish your report."

"No, no," Maya said.  "You were the one
who suggested that I look for saliva in strange places on her
body."

"Do we really want to know where you found
it?" Johnny asked.