Harmful Intent (12 page)

Jeffrey took in a deep breath of the cool, late-afternoon air, enjoying its purity. He watched a robin yank a worm from the moist soil. Then he went back inside to see what else he could do to help.

The dinner was delicious and a great success. In spite of the rather dire circumstances, Jeffrey managed to enjoy himself immensely. Conversation with Kelly was natural and easy. They dined on marinated tuna steaks, rice pilaf, and a mixed green salad. Kelly had a bottle of chardonnay hidden in the back of her refrigerator. It was cold and crisp. Jeffrey found himself laughing for the first time in months. That in itself was a major accomplishment.

With coffee and more of the frozen cheesecake, they retired to the gingham couch. Chris's notes and the textbooks brought Jeffrey's mind back to more serious thoughts.

“I hate to revert to unpleasant subjects,” Jeffrey said after a
pause in the conversation, “but what was the outcome of Chris's malpractice case?”

“The jury found for the plaintiff's estate,” Kelly said. “Payment of the settlement was divided between the hospital, Chris, and the surgeon according to some complicated plan. I think that Chris's insurance paid most of it, but I don't know for sure. Fortunately this house was in my name only, so they couldn't count that among his available assets.”

“I read a summary that Chris had written,” Jeffrey said. “There certainly wasn't any malpractice involved.”

“With that kind of emotionally charged case,” Kelly said, “whether there was actual malpractice or not isn't all that important. A good plaintiff attorney can always get the jury to identify with the patient.”

Jeffrey nodded. Unfortunately, it was true. “I have a favor to ask,” Jeffrey said after a pause. “Would you mind terribly if I borrowed these notes?” He patted the pile.

“Heavens no,” Kelly said. “Be my guest. May I ask why you're so interested in them?”

“They remind me of questions I'd had about my own case,” Jeffrey said. “There were some mild inconsistencies that I could never explain. I'm surprised to see that the same inconsistencies appeared in Chris's case. The thought of a contaminant hadn't occurred to me. I'd like to go over his notes a few more times. It's not immediately apparent what he was thinking. Besides,” Jeffrey added with a smile, “borrowing them will give me a good excuse for coming back.”

“You hardly need an excuse,” Kelly said. “You're welcome here anytime.”

Jeffrey left soon after they finished their dessert. Kelly walked him out to his car. They had eaten so early that it was still daylight outside. Jeffrey thanked her effusively for her spontaneous hospitality. “You have no idea how much I've enjoyed this visit,” he said with sincerity.

After Jeffrey had climbed into his car, along with his briefcase, which now contained Chris's notes, Kelly stuck her head in through the open window. “Remember your promise!” she warned. “If you start thinking foolish thoughts, you have to get in touch with me.”

“I'll remember,” Jeffrey assured her. He drove home in quiet contentment. Spending a few hours with Kelly had done much to elevate his mood. Under the circumstances it amazed him that he'd been able to respond in such a normal fashion. But
he knew it had more to do with Kelly's psyche than his. Making the final turn onto his street, Jeffrey reached out to steady his briefcase, which threatened to fall from the seat. With his hand on it, he thought of its strange contents. Toiletries, underwear, $45,000 in cash, and a pile of notes written by a suicide victim.

Although he didn't expect to find anything absolving in the notes, just having them in his possession gave him a feeling of hope. Maybe he could learn something from Chris's experience that he hadn't been able to see himself.

And although he'd been sorry to say good-bye to Kelly, Jeffrey was glad to be getting home so early. He planned to go through Chris's notes more thoroughly and pull out a few books of his own for some serious reading.

Jeffrey stopped just short of the garage door, got out of the car, and stretched. He could smell the ocean. As a peninsula that jutted into the Atlantic Ocean, all of Marblehead was near to the water. Bending back into the car, Jeffrey dragged his briefcase toward him and hefted it into the air. He slammed the car door and started up the front steps.

As he walked he noted the beauty that was all around him. Songbirds were going crazy in the evergreen tree in the front lawn and a sea gull shrieked in the distance. A bank of rhododendrons was in full bloom in a riot of color along the front of the house. Having been preoccupied by his problems during the last months, Jeffrey had completely missed the enchanting transition from bleak New England winter to glorious springtime. He was appreciating it now for the first time that year. The effect of having visited Kelly was still very much on his mind.

Reaching the front door, Jeffrey remembered his suitcase. He hesitated a moment, then decided he could get it later. He put his key in the front door and went inside.

Carol was standing in the entranceway, her hands on her hips. He could tell by her expression that she was angry. Welcome home, thought Jeffrey. And how was
your
day? He put his briefcase down.

“It's almost eight o'clock,” Carol said with undisguised impatience.

“I'm quite aware of the time.”

“Where have you been?”

Jeffrey hung up his jacket. Carol's inquisitional attitude irked him. Maybe he should have called. In the old days, he would have, but these weren't normal times by any stretch of the imagination.

“I don't ask you where you've been,” Jeffrey said.

“If I'm going to be delayed until almost eight at night I always call,” Carol said. “It's just common courtesy.”

“I suppose I'm not a courteous person,” Jeffrey said. He was too tired to argue the point. He picked up his briefcase, intending to go directly to his room. He wasn't interested in fighting with Carol. But then he stopped. A large man had appeared, leaning casually against the doorjamb leading into the kitchen. Jeffrey's eyes immediately took in the ponytail, the denim clothes, the cowboy boots, and the tattoos. He had a gold earring in one ear and was holding a bottle of Kronenbourg in his hand.

Jeffrey gave Carol a questioning look.

“While you are out doing God knows what,” Carol snapped, “I've been here putting up with this pig of a man. And all because of you. Where have you been?”

Jeffrey's eyes went from Carol to the stranger and back again. He had no idea what was going on. The stranger winked and smiled at Carol's unflattering reference as if it had been a compliment.

“I'd also like to know where you've been, sport,” the thug said. “I already know where you haven't been.” He took a pull on the beer and smiled. He acted as if he were enjoying himself.

“Who is this man?” Jeffrey asked Carol.

“Devlin O'Shea,” the stranger offered. He pushed off the doorjamb and stepped beside Carol. “Me and the cute little missus here have been waiting for you for hours.” He reached out to pinch Carol's cheek, but she batted his hand away. “Feisty little thing.” He laughed.

“I want to know what's going on here,” Jeffrey demanded.

“Mr. O'Shea is the charming emissary of Mr. Michael Mosconi,” Carol said angrily.

“Emissary?” Devlin questioned. “Ooh, I like that. Sounds sexy.”

“Did you go to the bank to see Dudley?” Carol demanded, ignoring Devlin.

“Of course,” Jeffrey said. Suddenly he realized why Devlin was there.

“And what happened?” Carol demanded.

“Yeah, what happened?” Devlin chimed in. “Our sources report that there was no deposit like was promised. That's unfortunate.”

“There was a problem . . .” Jeffrey stammered. He'd not been prepared for this interrogation.

“What kind of a problem?” Devlin asked, stepping forward and poking Jeffrey repeatedly in the chest with his index finger, keeping the pressure on. He felt Jeffrey wasn't coming clean.

“Paperwork,” Jeffrey said, trying to fend off Devlin's jabs. “The kind of red tape you always get at a bank.”

“What if I don't believe you?” Devlin said. He smacked Jeffrey on the side of the head with an open palm.

Jeffrey's hand went to his ear. The blow stung him and startled him. His ear was ringing.

“You can't come in here and push me around,” Jeffrey said, trying to be authoritative.

“Oh, no?” Devlin said in an artificially high voice. He switched the beer to his right hand and then with his left he smacked Jeffrey on the other side of the head. His movement was so swift, Jeffrey had no time to react. He stumbled back against the wall, cowering in front of this behemoth.

“Let me remind you of something,” Devlin said, staring down at Jeffrey. “You are a convicted felon, my friend, and the only reason you're not rotting in prison at this moment is because of the generosity of Mr. Mosconi.”

“Carol!” Jeffrey yelled. He felt a mixture of terror and anger. “Call the police!”

“Ha!” Devlin laughed, throwing his head back. “ ‘Call the police!' You're too much, Doc. You really are. I'm the one with the law behind me—not you. I'm just here as an . . .” Devlin paused, then looked back at Carol. “Hey, dearie, what was that you called me?”

“An emissary,” Carol said, hoping to appease the man. She was appalled at this scene but had no idea what to do.

“Like she said, I'm an emissary,” Devlin repeated, turning back to Jeffrey. “I'm an emissary to remind you about your deal with Mr. Mosconi. He was a little disappointed this afternoon when he called the bank. What happened to the money that was supposed to be in your checking account?”

“It was the bank's fault,” Jeffrey repeated. He hoped to God this giant didn't look in his briefcase, which he was still holding. If he saw the cash, he'd guess that Jeffrey had been planning to flee. “It was some minor bureaucratic holdup, but the money will be in the account in the morning. All the paperwork is done.”

“You wouldn't be jerking me around, would you?” Devlin asked. He flicked the end of Jeffrey's nose with the nail of his
index finger. Jeffrey winced. His nose felt like it had been stung by a bee.

“They assured me there would be no further problems,” Jeffrey said. He touched the tip of his nose and looked at his finger. He expected to see blood but there wasn't any.

“So the money will be there tomorrow morning?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, in that case I guess I'll be going,” Devlin said. “Needless to say, if the money doesn't appear, I'll be back.” Devlin turned from Jeffrey and stepped over to Carol. He extended the beer. “Thanks for the brew, honey.”

She took the bottle. Devlin again made a motion to pinch her cheek. Carol tried to slap him, but he caught her arm. “You certainly are feisty,” he said with a laugh. She yanked her arm free.

“I'm sure you're both sorry to see me go,” Devlin said at the door. “I'd love to stay for dinner but I'm supposed to meet a group of nuns over at Rosalie's.” He laughed a hoarse laugh as he pulled the door closed behind himself.

For a few moments neither Jeffrey nor Carol moved. They could hear a car start out in the street, then pull away. Carol was the one to break the silence: “What happened at the bank?” she demanded. She was furious. “Why didn't they have the money for you?”

Jeffrey didn't answer. He just looked at his wife dumbly. He was shaking from his reaction to Devlin. The balance between anger and terror had tilted to terror. Devlin was the embodiment of Jeffrey's worst fears, especially since he understood he had no defense against him and no protection from the law. Devlin was just the kind of person Jeffrey imagined populated the prisons. Jeffrey was surprised the man hadn't threatened to break his kneecaps. Despite his Irish name, he seemed like a character straight from the Mafia.

“Answer me!” Carol demanded. “Where have you been?”

With his briefcase still in hand, Jeffrey started for his room. He wanted to be alone. The nightmare vision of a prison filled with inmates all like Devlin came to him in a dizzying rush.

Carol grabbed his arm. “I'm talking to you!” she snapped.

Jeffrey stopped and looked down at Carol's hand gripping his arm. “Let go of me,” he said in a controlled voice.

“Not until you talk to me and tell me where you've been.”

“Let go of me,” Jeffrey said menacingly.

Thinking better of it, Carol let go of his arm. Again he started for his room. She quickly fell in behind him. “You are not the
only one around here who has been under strain,” she yelled after him. “I think I deserve some kind of explanation. I had to entertain that animal for hours.”

Jeffrey stopped at his door. “I'm sorry,” he said. He owed her that. Carol was right behind him.

“I think I've been pretty understanding through all this,” Carol said. “Now I want to know what happened at the bank. Dudley said yesterday there would be no problems.”

“I'll talk to you about it later.” He needed a few minutes to calm down.

“I want to talk about it now,” Carol persisted.

Jeffrey opened his door and stepped into the room. Carol tried to push through after him, but Jeffrey blocked her way. “Later!” he said, louder than he'd meant to. He closed the door on her. Carol heard the lock click into place.

She pounded on the door in frustration and began to cry. “You're impossible! I don't know why I was willing to wait on the divorce. This is the thanks I get.” Sobbing, she gave the door a kick, then ran down the hall to her own room.

Jeffrey slammed the briefcase down on his bed, then sat down next to it. He didn't mean to aggravate Carol like that, but he couldn't help it. How could he explain what he was going through when there hadn't been any real communication between them for years? He knew he owed her an explanation, but he didn't want to confide in her until he'd decided what to do. If he told her he had the cash in hand, she'd make him take it to the bank first thing. But Jeffrey needed time to think first. For what felt like the fortieth time that day alone, he wasn't sure what he would do.

For the moment, he got up and went into the bathroom. He filled a glass with water and held it with both hands as he drank. He was still shaking from a whirlpool of emotions. He looked at himself in the mirror. There was a scratch on the end of his nose where Devlin had flicked him. Both his ears were bright red. He shuddered when he recalled how defenseless he'd felt in front of the man.

Jeffrey returned to the bedroom and eyed the briefcase. Flipping open the latches, he lifted the lid and pushed aside Chris Everson's notes. He looked at the neat packets of hundred-dollar bills and found himself wishing that he'd stayed on the plane that afternoon. If he had, he'd now be well on his way to Rio and some sort of new life. Anything had to be better than what
he was going through now. The warm moments with Kelly, that great dinner, seemed to have happened to him in another life.

Glancing at his watch, Jeffrey noticed it was a little after eight. The last Pan Am shuttle was at nine-thirty. He could make it if he left soon.

He remembered how awful he'd felt on the plane that afternoon. Could he really go through with it? Jeffrey went back into the bathroom and again examined his inflamed ears and scratched nose. What else was a man like Devlin capable of if they were locked in the same room day in, day out?

Jeffrey turned and went back to the briefcase. He closed the lid and locked it up. He was going to Brazil.

 

When Devlin left the Rhodes's house, he fully intended to follow his original plan of Italian food, followed by beers at the harbor. But when he got about three blocks away, intuition made him pull over to the side of the road. In his mind's eye, he replayed the conversation he'd had with the good doctor. From the moment Jeffrey had blamed the bank for not coming through with the money, Devlin knew he'd been lying. Now he started wondering why. “Doctors!” Devlin said. “They always think they're smarter than everybody else.”

Doing a U-turn, Devlin drove back the way he'd come and cruised by the Rhodes's house, trying to decide how to proceed. About a block beyond it, he made a second U-turn and passed the house again. This time he slowed down. He found a parking place and pulled in.

The way he saw it, he had two choices. Either he could go back inside the Rhodes's house and ask the doc why he was lying, or he could sit tight and wait awhile. He knew he'd put the fear of God into the man. That had been his intention. Often people who felt guilty about something reacted to confrontation by hastily committing some telltale act. Devlin decided to wait Rhodes out. If nothing happened in an hour or so, then he'd go get some food and come back for a visit afterward.

Turning off the motor, Devlin scrunched down as best he could behind the steering wheel. He thought about Jeffrey Rhodes, wondering what the guy had been convicted of. Mosconi hadn't told him that. To Devlin, Rhodes didn't seem like the criminal type, even the white-collar variety.

A few mosquitoes disturbed Devlin's reverie. After rolling up the windows, the temperature inside the car climbed. Devlin began to rethink his plans. Just as he was about to start the car,
he saw movement at the far edge of the garage. “Now what have we here?” he said, hunching low in his seat.

At first Devlin couldn't tell who it was, the Mr. or the Mrs. Then Jeffrey stepped around the edge of the garage, making a beeline for his car. He was carrying his briefcase, and he ran kind of hunched over, as if he didn't want to be seen by anyone inside the house.

“This is getting interesting,” Devlin whispered. If Devlin could prove Jeffrey was trying to jump bail and caught him, and dragged him to jail, some big money would be coming his way.