The 24th Letter ((Mystery/Thriller)) (35 page)

O’Brien’s mind flashed back to his dream—he’d touched the Bosch painting, the paint wet and sticky on the tips of his fingers.  “Why did you kill Alexandria?”

“Why?  I would not expect you to understand.  She was extraordinary, the epitome of what a woman should be—a goddess, the embodiment of the most exquisite in the form of flesh.”

“Then why kill her?”

“Because she fought me!  She dissented.  Alexandria did not understand how we were destined to become one.  And if I couldn’t have her…then no one would.”

“Is that why you kept her flying high on heroin?”

“So you discovered that, O’Brien?  Regardless, people called her a supermodel, but inside she was an artist, Alexandria loved to work with her hands and heart…the heroin helped her self-actualize.”

“The heroin was your only way of controlling a woman who was far beyond your capabilities—” 

“Shut up!  You know nothing, O’Brien.”

“Now I know that Jonathan Russo was the ultimate pimp.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You cut a deal with him, didn’t you?  In working the Russo coke investigation, you became infatuated with Alexandria Cole.  You found the kilos of heroin along with the cocaine and decided to cut Russo a little deal.  When Todd Jefferies and his DEA agents weren’t paying close attention, you stole the heroin.  This ensured Russo’s charges would be cut to almost nothing, meaning his jail time would be very little.  And all you wanted in return was to take Alexandria’s body and own her soul.  You wanted a trophy and Russo was willing to hand the ultimate one over to you for a steep price—he bartered her off to you in exchange for the deal.  And you kept some heroin to use on people like Alexandria, and then you managed to sell the rest.  That’s how you paid cash to Sam Spelling after he blackmailed you.  And you knew the cash couldn’t be traced—”

“Shut up!”  Manerou raised the pistol toward O’Brien’s head.

“You knew it would be easy to frame Charlie Williams in the death of his former girlfriend.  All you had to do was watch, wait and strike.  And you knew if you could put enough degrees of separation between you and Alexandria, you might never be caught.  That’s why you pointed me toward Oz and your pimp, Jonathan Russo.  You believed either I’d kill Russo, silencing him, or he’d kill me, stopping the reopened investigation into Alexandria’s murder.  And all of this started when Sam Spelling started thinking about how he’d make money after he was released.  He contacted you.  Your plan almost worked, Christian.  You almost killed him on the courthouse steps.  If you’d succeeded, your dark secret would have been buried with Spelling, and Charlie Williams would be executed for your original crime.”

Manerou grinned and said, “Impressive, O’Brien.  But none of that detective work matters now because I have the gun pointed at you.  I’m in control and you’re standing there helpless while they prep Charlie Williams for the needle.  It’s been nice knowing you, Detective.”

O’Brien glanced at his watch.  5:51 a.m.  Nine minutes left.

Manerou mocked a grin, his face shining and wet from blowing rain, villainous eyes inflamed with hate.  He said, “Too late for Charlie Williams!  Like it’s too late for that dumb guard and his wife!  Then there was greedy Sam Spelling.  He accepted death without much more than a hiccup.  Then there was the priest.  You, O’Brien!  You made me kill these people.  It was your meddling after all these years.  Now it’s your turn to die.  I’ll make it quick and painless for you.”

Manerou pointed the gun at O’Brien’s forehead as headlights swept over the statue and tree line.  Manerou looked away for an instant.  It was enough time for O’Brien to grab Manerou’s gun hand and slam it against the statue.  The pistol dropped and Manerou pulled a knife from his belt.  He lunged at O’Brien, the tip of the blade cutting his shoulder.  O’Brien hit Manerou solid in the mouth.  The blow knocked him to the ground.  He got up and moved the knife to his right hand.

“Do you really think you can defeat me?”  He jabbed at O’Brien, the knife coming inches from his stomach.  O’Brien dropped quickly.  He picked up two fistfuls of wet dirt and threw it into Manerou’s wild, mocking eyes.  “Throw dirt little man!”

O’Brien grabbed Manerou’s wrist and held the knife hand, pushing Manerou to the statue.  O’Brien head butted him, causing Manerou’s head to crash against the statue.

O’Brien maneuvered the knife closer to Manerou’s neck.  The arms of both men shook as they pushed, muscle and bone, the rain pelting their faces.  O’Brien turned the tip of the blade toward Manerou’s throat.

“Sean!  Don’t!  Don’t kill him!  Let the state do it!”  Detective Dan Grant screamed.  Grant and two deputies pointed guns and flashlights at Manerou’s face.  Grant pushed a pistol barrel inches from Manerou’s forehead and said, “Drop the knife!”

O’Brien twisted the knife out of Manerou’s hand and let it fall to the ground.

“Hold him right there!” O’Brien shouted over the rain.

“This guy’s not going anywhere except to the death chamber.” Dan said.  “Put the bracelets on him, Bobby.”

NINETY-SEVEN

O’Brien looked at his watch:  5:57.  He called Tucker Houston. “Tucker we have Manerou in police custody.  We have the knife he used in the Cole killing.  He admitted he killed her and the rest.  And he just tried to kill me.”

“I’ve got the Governor’s office on hold.  Stand by.  I’m putting you on hold.  I’ll be right back.

#

AT 5:59 A.M., the black phone rang in the Florida State Prison death chamber.  The warden answered, “Warden Stone.

“This is Governor Owen.  What’s the status of the prisoner?”

“We’re ready to begin, sir.”

“Don’t.  I’m issuing an oral executive order to halt the execution.  You’ll have it faxed over momentarily.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Warden Stone, please convey to Mr. Williams our apologies for what he’s been through.”

“Yes, sir.”  Warden Stone turned to Charlie Williams and said, “Mr. Williams, you are being removed from death row.  The State of Florida will be reviewing your case, sir.  Governor Owen sends his apologies.”

Charlie Williams wept.  He looked at his reflection in the glass window.  He recognized the man he always was.

An innocent man.

#

“SEAN,” SAID TUCKER, “the execution has been stopped.  I told the Governor Owens everything. Charlie Williams is alive.  We’ll get him out.”

“Thank you, Tucker.”

“You’re the hero in this.  I’m glad I was able to play the man behind the curtain for you, the guy to help pull strings to get a few political ears to listen.  Talk with you later.”

O’Brien turned to Dan and the deputies.  He said, “Execution was stopped.  Charlie will be walking soon.”  To the two deputies, O’Brien said, “Lock this animal up.”

They nodded and led Manerou, hands cuffed behind his back, to a squad car parked behind Dan’s unmarked car.

Dan said, “Sean, you need to get to the hospital.  You’ve lost some blood out of that shoulder.”

“I’ll be okay.  Thanks for everything, Dan.  I have my Jeep just over there.  I can drive myself.  Here’s the knife that Manerou used to kill Alexandria.  Take it to the lab.”

Dan nodded, took the Tupperware box and walked to his car.

O’Brien stood in front of the statue for a minute.  The rain had stopped and the dark clouds rolled across the moon like tumbleweeds.  It would be dawn soon.  The moon was full.  It sat in the sky directly above the angel’s arm, near the tip of her pointing finger.

O’Brien felt weak from the loss of blood.  He stared at the statue and the moon in the background.  In his mind’s eye, he saw the painting, excerpts from his dream, the angel, Saint John, and he saw the Virgin Mary.  He held his bleeding shoulder, shook his head, and tried to concentrate on the statue and the moon in front of him.  But within a few seconds, a white cloud folded over the moon like a silk handkerchief. 

It was fine, O’Brien told himself.  The moon will be back tomorrow night.

And now Charlie Williams will live to see it.

NINETY-EIGHT

Charlie Williams was now a free man.  He was going back to North Carolina.  Back to reclaim eleven years of his life he would never retrieve.  He would forever be suspicious of cops, crowds, the system, always looking over his shoulder.  O’Brien was there when Williams walked out of prison.  He met Williams in the hot parking lot after the reporters had done interviews and filed their stories.  O’Brien said, “It’s good to see you, Charlie.”

“Good to see you, too.  I appreciate all you did for me.”

O’Brien nodded.  “I’m sorry it took so long to do it.”

“But I’m alive, O’Brien.  And I’m going home, back to North Carolina.”

“How are you getting there?”

“Catch a bus I suppose.”

“How’d you like to ride there in a convertible?”

“Huh?  Convertible?”

“Yeah,” O’Brien pointed to the T-Bird parked next to a high fence. “That’s your car, Charlie.”

“You got to be kidding me!”

“No.”  O’Brien tossed Williams the keys.  “It’s got a full tank of gas.  Take care of it.  It’ll be a classic some day.”

“Man, how’d this happen?”

“I bought it from an old friend of mine.  Thought I liked convertibles, but I’m more of a Jeep kind of guy.”

Williams smiled.  “You’re ok, O’Brien.  One of the good ones.”  He walked to his car got in and turned the key.

O’Brien stood in the lot and watched as Williams pulled away for the prison, the wind tossing his hair, a country song on the radio.  In less than a minute the T-Bird was a dot on the horizon.

#

A STATE SENATOR WAS proposing a resolution to compensate Charlie Williams a payment of two million dollars for eleven years in prison and four minutes too long strapped to a death chamber gurney.  

After a month, O’Brien’s shoulder was healing well.  Most of the movement restored in the muscle and tendons.  The stitches had been removed.  He was lifting weights, eating fish and lots of salads.  He ran every day from his river house along an old Indian trail by the river. 

He sat at the end of his dock with Max curled in his lap, sleeping in the late afternoon sun.  O’Brien watched a baby alligator crawl up on a log, its yellow eyes catching the last warmth of the day.  He thought about the events of the last few weeks and what would await him.  The state attorney in Volusia County would prosecute Christian Manerou for the deaths of Sam Spelling, Lyle and Anita Johnson and Father Callahan.  In Miami, D.A. Stanley Rosen had held a press conference and said Manerou would be brought back to Dade County to stand trial for the death of Alexandria Cole.

Forensics had found her blood in the plastic bag along with a one inch strand of hair that matched Manerou’s DNA.  The same DNA matches the lab got from the wool fiber found on Anita Johnson’s ring.  Rosen filed accessory-to-murder charges against Jonathan Russo, reminding the media that there is no statute of limitations in a capital murder case. 

Father Callahan and Sam Spelling had been buried next to each other.  O’Brien went to their graves right after he had his shoulder stitched.  He’d left flowers and silent prayers.  He sent a gift certificate to Barbie Beckman for two dinners at Joe’s Stone Crab.  She was enrolled in college.  Tuition paid for.  O’Brien would be the prime witness in the separate trials of Christian Manerou and Jonathan Russo.  In the meantime, O’Brien needed an income.  Maybe he could actually learn the charter fishing business from Nick.

There was the sound of a car door shutting.

Max perked her head up, looked toward the house as a woman walked around it, a picnic basket in hand.  She approached the dock.  Lauren Miles was dressed in shorts, white cotton top, and her long brown hair was down. 

O’Brien smiled.  “You’re right on time.  No problem finding us.”

Lauren set the basket down on a wooden bench seat.  She petted Max and said, “You gave good directions.”

“You brought food which means you won Max’s heart for life.” 

“She’s adorable.  Hi Max.”  Lauren stood and looked across the river.  She watched two roseate spoonbills stalking the water, their pink feathers reflecting off the

river’s surface  “It’s beautiful here.  No wonder you left Miami.  So this river is the St. Johns River.  It’s breathtaking…peaceful.  I can see why you love it.”

“It grows on you, gets in your pores, seeps in your blood and changes you.”

“One day you can tell me how it got its name.  Not now.  No more work, it’s time for a picnic on this beautiful river, and as I recall, you promised me a boat ride.”

“My boat,
Jupiter’s
over at Ponce Marina.  A boat ride might result in a few days finding the right fishing spots.  Lots of remote places up and down the Atlantic coast.” 

“I have a whole week off.”  Lauren smiled.

 “Okay, tonight after I show you a sunset on the river, we’ll head to the marina, stock up on groceries, some choice wines, and get lost at sea, at least for a while.”

“Sounds like a marvelous plan.”

“One thing though.”

“Oh, what’s that?

O’Brien looked at Max and she raised her brown eyes up at him. “I’ll be bringing another lady along.”

“Pardon me.”

“She weighs about ten pounds.”

Lauren smiled, the golden light from the setting sun caught in her brown eyes, a breeze across the river’s surface touching her hair.  “Would that other lady be Max?”

“It would.  She’s my first mate.  Max is not a Labrador retriever, but she looks great balancing on the bowsprit with the wind lifting her ears like the wings of a little angel.”

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We hope you enjoyed The 24th Letter.

The following is an excerpt from the third novel in the Sean O’Brien series,