Текст книги "Stormy Weather"

Автор книги: Steve Rollins

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 8 страниц)

 

Chapter Twelve

“What the fuck are you keeping from me?” Albert asked Donovan as he handed him a cup of the hospital machine coffee. “How the fuck did you know she'd be there?”

Donovan looked up at him. “How the fuck did you know where I was?”

“Buddy at the NSA. Insurance database, GPS, blah blah blah. Boring story. My question is more interesting. How did you know?”

Donovan sighed. “Mara Lang. I kept a file on her. She and her brothers went there before Quinn was locked up. There was a picture. It was the day before she died.”

Albert looked at him, then he looked at the operating theatre below them. A surgeon was stitching up Naomh's back. She was sedated. She would be alright, but would have a very nasty scar for the rest of her life. He wanted to ask him what had caused him to think of that, but another question was more obvious. “Why did you keep a file on Mara Lang?”

Donovan sighed. “You know it was my car that hit her?”

Albert nodded. “But that's not all, is it?”

Donovan shook his head. “I was the prosecuting attorney in the smuggling case Quinn Lang was convicted in. Mara Lang came over from Québec for the trial. She wanted to be there for her brothers. But something else happened. Not sure why, but she became obsessed with me.”

“Obsessed with you?”

Donovan nodded. “That's how she ended up under my car. She tried to stop me from driving away from the courthouse. Wanted to talk to me, tried to seduce me. When I turned her away and drove off, she got in front of my car and I drove over her. The cops did not put that bit on record, knowing it would ruin their case against Quinn Lang. Any suggestion of me being involved with his sister, a minor at that, would break their case apart.”

“So that was all hidden from the public eye. But how does that involve Justine? Or Aoibhe?”

“I guess her sister sent her letters and pictures of me. Told her how much she was in love with me. The girls were nearly inseparable. When she died, Aoibhe lost it and she ran away from the boarding school. She wasn't thinking straight. Her brothers would have brought her out to New York if she'd just waited, but she probably tried to make it back here on her own. On her way something happened and she ended up in the water. Then the L'Aigle family pulled her out. She must have banged her head or something, or the trauma of being in the river and the psychological shock combined messed with her memory.

“She did not remember a thing, but it must have kept playing in her subconscious. Not sure what happened after, what set off the murders, but I can guess.”

“Let me guess,” Albert put in. “Quinn recognized the girl on the television and when he got out of jail, he looked her up. Her memory began to return, but meanwhile she's messed up even worse than before because of the constant pressure, brainwashing and in the end, the drugs she was on. She didn’t recognize him at first, but somewhere in her brain she connected him to the death of someone she had loved. She also had the eagle image in her brain, her more recent memories trying to overrule those traumas. That's when she got the tattoo on her back.

“But she could not suppress the old traumas and she decided to deal with the cause of that pain as she saw it at that moment. By killing Quinn Lang. She also remembered who had killed her sister and she remembered hearing how great you were. So she went after you too, but could not kill you because she was convinced she loved you.

“Along the line, she remembered the warehouse and went to check it out. She saw Denny Lang and thought she was seeing Quinn Lang, so she killed him.”

Donovan nodded and rubbed his hands over his face. “It would seem so.” He sighed and sank back in the chair. “Messed up girl was messed up even more by the entertainment industry. Brilliant thing to happen, eh?”

Donovan felt numb when he got home. He had wanted to go and see Naomh Walsh when she woke up, but as he got to her room he saw her husband sitting by her side. He did not know what to do, so he left. He had gotten back in his car and driven home in a zombie state. The house was empty. The butler was still out, and he roamed around the house. He stepped into the living room, but left it immediately. He could not spend time in that room just now. He could not look at the large bloodstain on the white carpet. Instead, he roamed around the house aimlessly.

He went outside, into the gardens. He sat down in the shadow of a tree and closed his eyes. Suddenly he was back there. He was in his car outside the courthouse. He saw the face of Mara Lang again, slammed against his windscreen. He remembered every detail of that day, and then his mind raced on. He saw everything that had happened in the last few weeks. He still felt like vomiting as he recalled the bodies with the eagles drawn on their backs.

A voice stopped his musings. He got up and looked at the surveillance imaging on the street outside his loft. There was a van there. In front of the van was a woman, waving at him. He looked out the front and smiled when he recognized the woman. It was Frankie Saunders.

“Figured you'd need a new carpet,” she said, pointing to the van.

Donovan smiled and used his cell to let the van pass into his private parking bay. She walked in before the van. She kissed him as soon as she could place her lips on his. “It's on me.”

Donovan pulled away from her. “You want to give me more freebies?”

Frankie nodded. “It might shake the image of poor Ms. Graeme from my mind.”

“I don't think I will ever be able to shake that image.”

“Is it true it was Justine Lavoie?”

Donovan nodded. “Don't tell anyone, though. The press is all over it already.”

“You can always persuade me not to tell?”

Donovan smiled. “I can, but I'm not sure I want to.”

Frankie frowned. “How do you mean?”

Donovan looked around. He did not know how to say it, but he had to. “Frankie. A woman I like just ended up seriously hurt, another two went completely berserk and ended up dead. You're engaged, you're one of the most talked about people in this city.”

She nodded, stroked his cheek and walked away. “Call me when you need me again, Storm.”

“I will.” Donovan watched her walk down the narrow street toward the C train. “Thanks for the carpet.”

She turned around and winked. “You're welcome to my carpet.”

Donovan went back in and went to the smoking room. He picked up a cigar from the humidor and lit it. Then he picked up the guitar and began picking at the strings. He just played. Somehow he ended up playing Justine Lavoie's latest hit, but it barely registered that he did. When he finally noticed it, he knew that this was something that would never make it into his file room. There did not need to be a file in that room. Every detail of it would be etched into his mind forever.

Epilogue

Donovan sat in his office. There were emails to answer, there was research to do, there were clients to call, but he could not bring himself to do any of it. He kept thinking about the moment on the hill. He felt the pressure of the trigger against his finger. He felt the shock of his Sig's recoil. He saw little Aoibhe Lang, or Justine Lavoie, slip and fall down. He saw her broken body on the road down below. And he saw the deep cut and the heavily bleeding back of Naomh Walsh.

He had not spoken to her since the incident. He did not want to be too close to her as it was. Her husband would be taking care of her as she recovered and he had no part to play in that.

For days now he had kept to himself. He had stayed in his house, playing his guitar and his piano like a depressed kid. He realized he behaved like one as well. He recalled a scene from a New Zealand cartoon in which Jesus spent Easter playing sad rock songs in his room, blaming his Father for what he did and is remembered around the world each Easter. He felt a bit like that. He saw the horrifically mutilated bodies, the bleeding Naomh Walsh and the broken girl on the asphalt. And every day, he walked around his office and his house he remembered everything that had happened. He could not shake it off.

He was not being self-pitying and he was not suffering from post-traumatic stress over the incident. He had shot people before, but somehow this had been different. This had been something connected to him. It had been about him. It had been a client of his who had committed these atrocities. Someone who had walked through his office, who had sat in his chair. And he simply did not know how to deal with that reality.

About a week after the death of Justine Lavoie, with the papers and the television still buzzing about it, a well-shaped woman with lush, curly hair walked into the office. She walked strangely, keeping her back as straight and rigid as possible. She asked one of the junior partners in the firm where his office was and then made her way to his door. He did not recognize her at first. Her face was a mask of pain which hid her usual vivacity.

He got to his feet when he did recognize her. “Ms. Walsh.”

She smiled. “Hi, Donovan.” She stood just inside his door for a moment, quite indecisively. “I, um... I never did thank you for saving my life.”

“Yeah, no worries,” Donovan muttered, looking down. He did not quite know what to say, which was rare.

“You're not going to offer me coffee or something?” Naomh smiled at him.

“Yeah, yeah sure.” He lead the way to the kitchen and set about making some lattés. Giving her one of the large cups, he still did not know what to say. “How've you been?” he eventually asked, knowing it was a crappy question to ask.

“Fine,” she answered, stirring some sugar into her coffee. “In pain. My stitches keep tearing out. I've been wearing a corset for the last two days now; it has stopped me moving about so much, so there is less strain on them.”

Donovan nodded. “Not been busy? I didn’t see anything on the news about your client having been on a killing spree.”

Naomh shook her head. “There is a big corporation behind her... there was... they thought it better to keep it out of the news. Cecilia, that's Cecilia O'Hourihane, my business partner, has been working around the clock on it. She knows what happened, but it has been a nightmare trying to contain it.”

“I can imagine...”

“Still, that’s why we get paid the big bucks, exactly this.”

Donovan nodded, still unsure what to say. Naomh knew she had to say something.

“Look, Donovan...” she began. “If it were different, if Max weren't in the picture...” Her voice trailed off.

It took Donovan a moment to realize Max was her husband, but he knew what she was trying to say. “You don't need to say anything. I had a great time getting to know you. And that's worth more than anything.”

She smiled, finished her coffee and got up. She ran a hand along his cheek and kissed him tenderly. “Goodbye, Donovan. It was fun. And if you ever need some help with public relations....”

“I'll know where to find you.”

There was an issue resolved, he reckoned as he drove the racing-car-green Jaguar home, but it hardly served to make him feel any better. Back home, he sat down in his smoking room, again, with a whiskey and a Cohiba Cuban cigar and picked up his guitar. It was the usual routine. Next he would go to the dining room for his dinner. He found some things were different around the house. His new housekeeper was still learning the ropes. The new janitor, too, was making some mistakes; there were 40 watt bulbs in his office now and a light scratch on the wooden floor in the humidor. But he was young and Johnson, thank goodness for him, had high standards and was keeping his eye on both of them.

That evening, his musings and his musical meditation were interrupted by a call. A cheerful, chirpy voice sounded through his phone and he had Johnson let the person in. Frankie Saunders sat down in the chair opposite his moments later. She crossed her legs and her arms as she waited for Donovan to put his guitar down. “You need to take a chill pill,” she said as he just sat there strumming his guitar in a depressed manner. “None of this was your fault and you need to let it go.”

Donovan frowned and stopped picking the strings. “I know all of that,” He sighed. “I don't know why I can't shake it off.” He was silent for a moment and played a single chord. “Why are you here, Frankie?”

Frankie sighed and leaned forward. “I don't like the guy I'm engaged to, but you know that already. Good guy, but I don't want him.”

“Ah,” was Donovan's only answer. He had a feeling about what was about to come.

“There's only one guy I want, and anyone else is second best. I'll settle for second best if I have to, but I don't want to.”

“Still doesn't explain why you're here, Frankie.”

Frankie Saunders sighed. “This thing with the mayor... he cares too much. I couldn't let him and Michael meet, so I had to avoid both of them. I can't keep doing that. Given the way this world here works, I'll have to settle down, get married and all. And soon...”

“But you don't want to settle for second best?” Donovan guessed.

“I only want my first choice, but I need to know soon.”

“How soon is soon?” Donovan frowned.

“We moved the wedding up. It'll be next week in California. I'm flying over tomorrow morning.” For the first time Frankie fidgeted. “I'd hoped to get an answer from the guy tonight.”

Donovan sighed and put the guitar down. “I don't know Frankie. I really don't know.”

Frankie Saunders nodded and got up. Donovan thought he saw a glint of a tear in her eye. “I'll see you around then, Donovan. Sometime after the wedding maybe?” She hurried from the room and Donovan buried his face in his hands.

Slowly he got up and walked up the stairs. He went to the top bedroom suite and got undressed. He took a quick shower and sat down on the bed. Here was another problem to add to the big list of things that had gone wrong in the last weeks. In frustration, he threw a pillow across the room and then picked up the television remote control. He turned on the big flat screen and tried to find something he wanted to watch. Eventually he just left one of the news channels on and leaned back against the head of the bed.

“FBI agents in the Caribbean have arrested a Jamaican national by the name of Marcel Brown, nicknamed Moses, on suspicion of drug trafficking, weapons trafficking and forgery. As we speak, we have learned the man is being transported to Washington where he will face charges.”

Donovan turned the television off. He did not want to think about international affairs right now. He closed the curtains and tried to go to sleep, but the image of Justine Lavoie's body on the road below him haunted him.

In the morning he woke up early. He had slept badly again and he was short tempered. He snapped at Johnson for bringing him orange juice with pulp with his breakfast. He cheered up a bit as he drove his E-type Jag as fast as he could down Sunset Boulevard, but he knew he had to find another way to deal with everything than driving fast.

He ran up the stairs and sat down behind his desk again. He checked his emails and answered them. There was a reminder from Frankie Saunders that she was flying to California for her wedding and another dinner invitation from Gregoris Sedakis and Maria, his 19 year old wife.

He knew he was stuck in a rut. He needed to get out of there. He needed to find a challenge.

He walked over to the window seat in the alcove and turned on the television again. CNN flashed on. He saw Wolf Blitzer was filling in for someone and he heard his voice ask the reporter from Washington what he was learning.

“Well, Wolf, Marcel Brown arrived at Washington Dulles International earlier today and he was transported to a holding cell in the city to be read the charges against him.”

“How is he going to plead?”

“So far, we’ve learned nothing on that count, as he does not have an attorney. It seems the case is so sensitive no attorney here will touch it. But we have received a letter from the Brown’s attorney in Kingston, Jamaica and he has informed us that his offices have submitted a formal letter to the Privy Council in England requesting that Mr. Brown be immediately released and returned to Jamaica. He claims the FBI has no right to enter a foreign country and arrested a local person on foreign charges.”

“Is he correct about that? Did the FBI have no right? And why would he write to England to fight his extradition?”

“Well, Wolf, Jamaica is a part of the Commonwealth and the Queen of England is the head of state. The Privy Council is the highest court of appeal and the attorney probably thought they might be more helpful to him than the local government. As for the FBI having the right, maybe what Marcel Brown’s lawyer isn’t aware of is the fact that extradition orders were issued to and have sat with the Jamaican Government for the alleged ‘Kingpin’ since 2009.

“Marcel’s gang has been a thorn in the side of law enforcement on the East Coast for the better part of two decades; one of the most notorious gangs in United States history. They’re aggressive and resilient in their bid for territory in which to distribute the massive amounts of marijuana and cocaine they have coming in from the Caribbean and as they’ve gained footing in New York and New Jersey, they’ve also become known for their crude and vicious techniques of eradicating their competition.

“Until now, Marcel has remained virtually untouchable, keeping a low profile and high security around him as he remained entrenched in his home community in Inner City, Kingston. He preferred to send out others to do his dirty work and he did so very effectively through enforcers and soldiers who ran his operations in every major city up and down the Eastern seaboard.

“Drugs, guns, extortion, you name it; Marcel Brown is accused of having a finger in it, without ever entering the U.S. for any extended period of time. That was why it had been so hard for the authorities to get their hands on him. How could they? He was safely tucked away in one of the most volatile neighborhoods in the world.”

Wolf took over again.

“Meanwhile, we hear reports coming from Jamaica that the arrest has caused serious conflict between rival gangs.”

Donovan only half-watched the news and took his coffee back to his desk. He looked through the case load that was coming in this morning, but he found nothing interesting. Sedakis needed help again, but it was routine stuff. Morris, his neighbor, needed his help sorting out something with a copyright issue. He had cheated some writer out of royalties for a decade and the guy was getting angry.

His mind kept drifting. His mind drifted to the events of the past weeks again and he decided enough was enough. He thought about the news item he had just heard and he Googled the name he had heard. He skipped the first search results until he found an article from a local paper.

THE JAMAICA GLEANER

May 24, 2010

HEADLINE: Attack On State – Police Stations Set Ablaze Cop Shot Civilian Slain

Violence rocked sections of the West Kingston area throughout the day yesterday. Armed men brazenly took on the security forces in sustained attacks on police stations in anticipation of the apprehension of Inner City don, Marcel ‘Moses’ Brown. Four police stations came under attack; a civilian succumbed to gunshot wounds during an assault on the Fletcher's Land Police Station; and a policeman sustained a minor gunshot injury.

The Prime Minister said last night that two members of the security forces had been injured, but The Gleaner could not confirm the second case.

There were indications before dawn broke that something was afoot – five days after the Washington DC Supreme Court issued a warrant for Brown's arrest.

A Gleaner team observed a large convoy of Jamaica Defense Force vehicles – including armored trucks – with soldiers heading into Kingston along the Michael Manley Boulevard.

The tension, which simmered under the surface of day to day life throughout West Kingston, reached its boiling point yesterday as gunmen loyal to Brown came out in a show of support. Even as the security forces seemed to retreat as the day wore on, gunshots rang out and rained down until the early hours of the morning, causing residents in political strongholds to scurry for cover.

Darling Street & Denham Town Police Station

Early in the day, soldiers attempted to remove roadblocks of old cars and refrigerators which were mounted with increasing frequency in the areas surrounding Darling Street. Within an hour, the Darling Street Police Station came under attack. In the absence of strong opposition from local Constabulary Forces, the gunmen grew bold. By the afternoon, they progressed through the city’s ghetto and the Denham Town police station became the next target.

Hannah Town Police Station

Shots have been fired on the Hannah Town Police Station, forcing personnel to be evacuated. Armed thugs looted the empty station, removing computers and other equipment before razing the west wing of the building to the ground.

Downtown Medical Facilities

Medical staff at the nearby Kingston Public Hospital (KPH) and Victoria Jubilee Hospital have been put on alert. The unending sounds of gunshots punctured the air surrounding the two compounds. Medical staff have been abandoning their posts at both locations as they seek cover and safety.

Constabulary Forces have been dispatched to both locations to provide security, but the shots have not ceased in nearby Hannah Town and Denham Town.

Injured Officers and Civilians

It has been confirmed that an armored police vehicle brought the Police Commissioner, Owen Ellington to the KPH gun trauma unit. He released a statement that confirmed he was shot in the hand. The Commissioner’s condition is not considered serious.

A white Toyota Town Ace minivan brought a man into the Accident and Emergency Unit in critical condition. It was understood that gunmen sprayed his vehicle as they attacked the Fletcher's Land Police Station, hitting the occupant multiple times in the chest. He later died at the hospital. The police did not release his name.

The Police Commissioner said yesterday that the security forces would respond in an appropriate manner. “It is now clear that criminal elements are determined to launch coordinated attacks on our security forces,” he said in his statement. “The JCF wishes to advise the public that these attacks are unprovoked and coincide with our efforts to lawfully serve the public,” he added.

The Prime Minister has condemned the ‘calculated assault on our local authorities.’ A limited state of emergency has been put into effect with a curfew in West Kingston areas. He vowed that the security forces will use any force necessary to counter these thugs who have wreaked havoc on the capital.

“Let us make no mistake. The threats that have emerged to the safety and security of our people will be repelled with strong and decisive action. This will be a turning point for us as a nation to confront the powers of evil that have penalized the society and earned us the unenviable label as one of the murder capitals of the world. We must confront this criminal element with determination and unqualified resolve.”

He also sought to assure Jamaicans that the city was ‘not being shut down’ and that there should be business as usual after today's Labor Day holiday. Schools will reopen on Tuesday, he said.

The Government yesterday declared a state of public emergency for the parishes of Kingston and St Andrew, as tension mounted in the Jamaican capital. The state of emergency will remain in place for one month and may be adjusted by Parliament.

Meanwhile, the Commissioner of Police said the security forces will respond with appropriate action. He said that images of barricades, other defensive positions, together with credible intelligence, indicate that scores of criminals from several gangs across the island have joined criminal elements in the Inner City.

***

Donovan grinned. It was the sort of case he liked. It was the sort of thing he wanted to be dealing with.

That afternoon, at home, he turned the television on again and he heard the news anchor report on the man again. There was still no attorney to answer any questions. The man was obviously guilty. And even if he was not, the situation back home was bleak too. The moment he was removed from his power-base, all hell broke loose and all his old partners, the people who ran things for him on the island, had begun to try to claim the top job. Chaos had broken out and even the man's political allies had deserted him. The Prime Minister had appeared on the news several times now, expertly dodging questions about Marcel Brown and his criminal activities, the corrupt government contacts that the man was rumored to have, and the year old extradition request that had laid unconsidered in the Jamaican courts that no one, even the suspect’s lawyer, seemed to be aware of. Instead, he emphasized the fight that the authorities were now taking against criminal elements in downtown Kingston and that their defiance in the removal process of Brown from Inner City, as they launched attacks against personnel and infrastructure, was considered a threat against the state. He was ordering a State of Emergency and curfews were being placed in several areas of the city.

Another person who had spoken out was the Prime Minister of Antigua and Barbuda, the current chairman of CARICOM. He had found the perfect moment to heckle the United States for illegally interfering in the CARICOM community. After the new treaties and regulations the US had been forcing onto the CARICOM members, he now had a reason to really stick it to the president and his government.

The news channel brought a report from the Deputy Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, who cleverly straddled the fence with all his comments regarding the US and the approach they had seemingly taken to remove Brown from Jamaica and the hands of the government they suspected was trying to protect him. Mostly, he just said that he hoped the violence in Jamaica would be dealt with quickly. He also hoped the Jamaican communities across the United Kingdom would not resort to violence to voice their displeasure with the current situation in Jamaica.

Donovan suddenly made up his mind. He picked up his phone and rang the State Attorney in Washington. He knew the man. He was a second cousin and it had been him who had urged Donovan to go to law school. Donovan knew it was late, but the phone was answered after only three rings.

“It's Donovan.”

“Hey, buddy. How's it going?”

“Good. How are you? How's the family?”

“They're doing fine. Me; busy, stressed, but otherwise fine. Not why you're calling though, is it?”

“No, I wanted to ask you something.”

“What did you want to ask?”

“That guy the FBI is holding, the Jamaican. I want the case.”

“You're in New York, you can't be on the prosecuting team. I've already got someone on that.”

“No, I mean I'll defend him.”

“Why would you want to do that? It's a case you can't win.”

“Let's just say I'd like the challenge.”

“Well, if you want it, you've got it. You're the only one who seems to want to defend the guy, so have fun.” There was a pause. “I heard about the Lavoie girl; she was your client, wasn't she?”

“Yeah, that was a challenge of another kind altogether.”

“Entertainers always are. But if you want, I'll get one of the family's jets out there to pick you up.”

“Cool, if you can get one here tomorrow, I'll want to be in Washington as soon as possible.”

“Excellent! And I hope you enjoy the case. Despite everything horrible, he's a nice guy.”

“Will do! See you in a few days!”

Donovan hung up with a smile and turned to look out the window. The sky was beginning to darken as some mean gray clouds gathered on the horizon. He had his challenge and tomorrow he would finally have a reason to leave Brooklyn behind for a while. As he topped up the whiskey in his glass and put it to his lips, he saw the flash of lightning streak across the sky. It was coming. He would be ready for it, too. He relished the thought of it, in fact. He knew that he could really flex his muscles on a case like this one… it could potentially solidify his reputation as an ‘All in, balls out’ lawyer. When the first sheet of cold, gray rain began to pelt against the window, he knew it had arrived and he also knew, without a doubt, that he was ready to ride out the stormy weather.

The end

 

 

~~~~~

 

 

Storm Donovan returns in:

Stormy Night

A Storm Donovan Thriller #2

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