Vengeance is Mine - A Benjamin Tucker Mystery (38 page)

“Hi, sweetheart,” I croaked.

“Hi, Daddy.” She beamed and came over and hugged me tight. “They said you’re going to be okay. You might even get to go home tomorrow.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Mr. Netter called early this morning, and Aunt Patty dropped me off about six o’clock. She’s coming back later when I call her to pick me up.”

“What time is it now?”

“Almost eight. I ordered pancakes for you and some orange juice. I hope that’s okay. They’re bringing me some, too.”

“Sounds good, cowpoke,” I said. “I could eat a horse.”

 She grinned and gently touched my cast. Does it hurt, Daddy?”

“Yes, but not as bad as last night when two mean paramedics put a splint on it.”

“They had to put a metal rod in your bone.” She shivered. “Yuk. Anyway, you have a really cool cast. It goes all the way from your foot up past your knee. I already signed it.”

I looked down at my leg. There was a large heart drawn on it with her name inside.

“Thanks, baby,” I said.

Our breakfast was served at eight fifteen, and a nurse came in shortly after that to check my vitals. Amanda Jane watched as she finished eating her pancakes. Nurse Adams had on lavender flowered scrubs and white Crocs. “I like your uniform,” my daughter said cheerfully.

Nurse Adams smiled warmly at her and said, “I like your boots.” I think they bonded.

“Julie texted me a little while ago,” Amanda Jane said to me. “They’re on their way back from the beach and will probably be here this afternoon. I wish I could have gone with them. She said they have these cool, hot bodyguards.”

I raised my eyebrows and blinked.

CHAPTER 57

Netter walked through the door just as I pushed my rolling table away. “Hey, Tucker. How’s the leg?” He tossed a small paper bag on the foot of the bed.

“Good enough to kick your ass in a few minutes,” I said. Julie opened the bag and held it, so I could see what was inside. Raisinets and fried pork rinds. She looked at Netter, and he winked at her. “Why aren’t you at the meeting?” I asked, smiling.

“Frank and I are still processing the Improvement Center disaster site. The place is nearly leveled. It’s a damn miracle you got out of there alive. We found your revolver, but there’s no sign of Prescott … at least not yet.”

“He got away?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. There’s wreckage strewn all over a couple of city blocks. He could still be buried somewhere underneath it. There were also a couple of warehouse workers in that building … Paul Dilbeck and Martin Whitaker. They found Dilbeck’s body two blocks away. He looked like raw hamburger. They haven’t found Whitaker yet.”

Amanda Jane stood. “I think I’m going down to the gift shop and nose around,” she said, with a tight little smile.

Netter caught himself and apologized. “Jeez, I’m sorry, honey, I have a big mouth.” Amanda Jane left, and Netter looked back at me. “Sorry about that,” he said.

Netter continued. “And that big sign that was out front? Well, they found a piece of that in fuckin’ Durham. Anyway, Woodward’s giving an update at the meeting. Prescott could be at the bottom of Lake Johnson for all we know. I don’t like loose ends, but I really don’t see how he could’ve come out of that building alive.”

“I did.”

“Yeah, but you were also seriously injured and suffering from hypothermia. Without getting some help, Prescott’d be a goner. What’s the last you saw of him?”

“We were fighting for the gun when the building just came apart at the seams. I saw him fly through the air backwards … like a piece of paper sucked into a jet engine. It happened in the flash of an instant. But I saw it.” I could still see it vividly in my mind and would probably never forget it. “I can also tell you that his hair is short now, like mine. But when you see him up close, face-to-face with the shorter hair, our resemblance isn’t quite as strong as we had originally thought. I mean, I think we look extremely similar, but not absolutely identical.”

We were interrupted when a young man walked in carrying the largest arrangement of flowers I’d ever seen. It must have been four feet high and almost as wide. He looked around for a place to set them and finally put them on the floor.

“What on earth?” I asked. Hundreds of calla lilies in every imaginable shade of yellow, orange, red and purple were arranged in a large copper umbrella stand. I was beginning to be able to recognize expensive, and the umbrella stand looked
e-x-p-e-n-s-i-v-e
.

Netter walked over, pulled out the card, and read it. “
I will be forever in your debt
. It’s signed by—” Netter looked up at me in surprise. “Vincent Salino.”

I was stunned. “Salino? As in … the crime boss?”

“The one and only,” Netter said. “We found a list of names at Prescott’s apartment. Three of the first seven names had been checked off. Renee Clancy, Carla Knudsen, and Judy Krauss. Four of the names were scratched out. We believe Prescott discovered something pertaining to those individuals that gave him cold feet. Maybe there was someone else at the house most of the time … or maybe he tried but the door from the garage into the house was locked. The eighth name … the next name … was Angelina Salino … Vincent’s daughter. Looks like Salino thinks you had something to do with saving his daughter’s life.”

“Can’t imagine what he would’ve sent if I’d died.”

He pointed to my roll away table. “Are you going to drink that coffee?”

“Help yourself.” I grimaced slightly at the thought of it all.

Netter rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, Tucker. I can’t even imagine what you must be feeling.”

“Actually, I’m feeling a lot of things. I’m relieved that this whole mess is finally over. And I feel terrible for Prescott, and I’m sorry he’s dead … if he’s dead. But mostly I feel grateful that I was the one given up, so I could live a normal life. Does that sound selfish?”

He looked at me sympathetically. “No, it sounds human. But I need to tell you something. Woodward continued looking into the sister. Marie Louise Prescott also went into the foster care system, where she lived with Andrew and Carol Bennett until Marie left for Boston University in 1997.

“Anyway, it was Marie who phoned in the complaint of abuse against her mother. The Bennetts said, even so, Marie was troubled that she hadn’t done more to help her brother.

“She graduated Sigma Cum Laude with a Masters in Forensic Science in 2003, and shortly after in 2004, married Arthur Driscoll. Woodward and his SBI team arrested Marie Driscoll this morning.”

I looked at him, confused. “Driscoll? Dreckmann’s CSI deputy?”

Netter took a large gulp of coffee and nodded. “One and the same. Do you believe that shit? What are the chances that you, Prescott, and Driscoll would come together on the same case?” He finished the coffee and tossed the cup in the trash.

“It seems she saw the photograph from the museum and recognized her brother … and then she discovered the physical similarity with you. We believe she checked her own DNA to verify the relationship, and then she tainted all of the pertinent DNA evidence to point at you to provide reasonable doubt if we caught Prescott.”

I was stunned. “So Plum and I aren’t related after all.”

“Probably not. The physical similarity between you two is coincidental, as we originally thought. Still, we’re gathering new samples and rechecking the DNA. I don’t know how the hell she expected to get away with this. Now she’s lawyered up and not talking. I called MacKenzie to fill her in. I know you two liked each other.

“It’s ironic,” he added. “We now know Plum is Prescott.” He paused for effect. “But we haven’t got a clue who the fuck
you
are.”

He was right. Who was I? I didn’t want to think about it right then. And with the adoption records being bogus, I might never know.

His phone rang and he immediately picked up. “Yeah? … No shit? … All right, all right, I’m on my way.” He hung up, and headed for the door.

“Gotta go. That was Frank. They found a body that fits the description of Prescott. The face is battered pretty bad, but he’s wearing a dark hoodie, and his hair is the same color as yours. I’m headed there now, then I need to stop by Prescott’s place and pick up his cat—probably drop it off at the shelter. I’ll give ya a buzz later with an update.” He left.

A few minutes later, Amanda Jane returned with a magazine and two Cokes. She handed me one and laughed. “Mr. Netter’s funny,” she said. “He reminds me of the Grinch.”

I smiled and nodded. “That and a few other things.”

“Oh my god, Daddy, where did all these flowers come from?”

I gave her an edited version, and she walked over and started counting them. They were almost as tall as she was.

Patty and Bruce arrived shortly before noon to pick up Amanda Jane. Bruce was holding a helium-filled balloon that read ’Screw getting well soon … ” on the front, and “Get well now!” on the back. Patty looked at my cast and said, “Hello, Ben. How are you doing?”

“I’ve felt better, but I’m on the mend.”

She noticed the mammoth flower arrangement on the floor and looked at me questioningly.

“From Maggie,” I said. My daughter snapped around to look at me, and then she smiled.

“I want to thank you both for taking care of Amanda Jane. But this nightmare is over now, and if it’s okay with you, I’d like to have her come home again with me after I get out of here.” Amanda Jane ran over and threw her arms around me and buried her face in my shoulder. I could feel tears running down my neck, and I didn’t know if they were hers or mine.

“Of course. She needs to be with you,” Patty said, “and I’ll support you with Dr. Whitley.” She looked at me with sadness and regret. “Ben, thank you for getting the man who killed my sister.”

I smiled and simply nodded. I told her I’d call about Amanda Jane as soon as I knew what my discharge plans were. We weren’t bosom buddies yet, but that had been a giant step forward.

After Bruce signed my cast, the three of them left.

My head was swimming with information overload. I reclined back to close my eyes as a heavyset nurse entered the room. “Hello, Mr. Tucker. My name is Nancy Slaughter. I’m the head duty nurse for this shift.” She checked my vitals and entered the readings into the patient record. “According to this, you’ve refused the morphine drip. How’s the pain?”

“It’s pretty bad, but I don’t like the thought of taking opiates. It would have to get a lot worse before I’d be willing to go that route.”

Slaughter shrugged. “Okay. It seems kind of silly to lie there and suffer, but suit yourself. Just hit the call button if you change your mind. I’ll come back and give you an injection, and you’ll be out for the count.” She smiled, I think, and left the room.

Maggie arrived at three thirty. She hugged me tight and gave me a long, hungry kiss. She wouldn’t let me go and cried softly on my shoulder. If this kept up, I was going to need a dry gown. I held her close and breathed in her smell. Both of us were drained and exhausted, overcome with relief that the ordeal was over, and we could go home together again.

Finally, she straightened up and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Everything Maggie did was delicate—except blowing her nose. She honked, and I laughed. Real ladylike! “So what happened to the painting of my father?” she asked.

I was in trouble, but I intended to plead the fifth. “What are you talking about?”

According to Maggie, the family had gone straight to the main house to drop off Julie and Nora. Maggie and Roberta were going to make a quick pit stop and then switch cars and take the Bentley directly to the hospital. Maggie was outside looking down the driveway at the new security gate when she heard Roberta scream. She ran back into the house to find Roberta on her knees in the great room praising Jesus, tears streaming down her face. Roberta pointed to the painting and cried out, “It’s a miracle! Mr. Henry turned his head!”

I covered my face with my hands. Busted. “Good god! What did Nora say?”

“Mother was crying too—from laughing so hard. She said to tell you she doesn’t give a
rat’s ass
about the portrait, her words. Anyway, I called Marcus, and he said the painting had been damaged, and you replaced it.”

“Great. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a damn blabbermouth.”

Roberta walked in, huffing and puffing. “Sorry,” she said. “My legs are too short.”

She looked at my cast and started to cry. “Look what they deed to my poor Mr. Ben.” She walked over and put her arms around my head, sobbing. My face was between her huge breasts, and I couldn’t breathe. When she let go, Maggie bent over laughing as I gasped for breath. “You come home,” Roberta said. “I will take care of you.” She wiped her eyes and slipped her hankie in her sleeve.

“I think I can come home tomorrow … or Monday,” I said.

Maggie left to run a couple of errands, but Roberta stayed. She sat in the chair to my right and wouldn’t take her eyes off me. “You’re famous, Mr. Ben,” she said. “They talk about you on the TV this morning. Are you going to get a big reward?”

“No, I’m afraid there’s no reward.”

She slowly shook her head, but didn’t add the usual
Poor Miss Maggie
. Instead, she reached over and held my hand. It felt good. The last few days had been just terrible—and I was so tired. I closed my eyes, and we just sat silently together for awhile. “I saw the painting … ,” she said softly, still holding my hand. “Have you talked with Jesus?”

I laughed. “No, I haven’t had time. But I’ll do it when I come home.”

“Let’s do it now,” Roberta said. “We pray together.”

“No, thank you. Not right now. I don’t feel very well.”

She huffed, and then she pleaded. “You must, Mr. Ben! You must do it now! You must open your heart to Jesus and confess your sins … or else your soul will go to hell.”

I rubbed my face. “Roberta, please. Besides, I don’t have a Bible.”

“I do! I have one in my bag!” She bent over and began rummaging through her bag.

“No, Roberta … not now … please, Roberta?” She wasn’t listening to a word I was saying. I was about to be forced to talk to Jesus until Maggie returned. I grabbed the pendant and hit the call button.