One Desperate Life: A gripping thriller, page 17
He doesn’t wait for a response and sits down in Jacob’s seat, between me and the old woman. As he does, I feel the shift in the train and know we’re moving. He nods to the woman beside him and turns back to me. I consider jumping up and making a run for it.
“My name is Michael Delaney,” he says. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a police badge, and shows it to me. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time. I’m so glad to have found you.”
Jacob, feeling my anxiety, raises his head from my chest and looks at me with curiosity.
“I’m sorry to surprise you like this, but I didn’t know how else to reach you. I waited outside the school, but you never came out. I thought you might end up here. I guess I was right.” He chuckles.
What am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to think?
“I’ve been tracking the man you know as Charles, or Richard, for several years. I first learned about you on a visit to Austin.”
The train is moving fast along the tracks now, and I feel my head has been detached from my body. I look past him and see the older couple watching the interchange with curiosity. The man asks me, “Miss, do you know this man?”
I shake my head, and Michael turns to them, showing his badge.
“I’ve been looking for these two for quite a while. She’s not in trouble or anything. I’m here to help them. She’s a very brave woman.”
I don’t know what it is about the comment, but it breaks some imaginary floodgates I’ve built inside. A barricade I’ve constructed against my emotions.
The couple looks from him, then back to me as my eyes well up with tears. A sob erupts from me, and Jacob leans back, looks up at me, then cries himself. I try to control my sobs, but the more I fight for control, the harder they come. I’m aware of others looking at me now. The train attendant who had helped us get seated comes over, and Michael shows his badge.
“Can we go somewhere more private to talk?” Michael asks him.
The attendant has us follow him. I stand, holding Jacob in my arms, and motion for my bag. Michael takes it down and offers to carry it for me.
“Mama?” Jacob asks as we start down the aisle behind the attendant.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, smiling against the tears.
I wipe my eyes and follow the attendant as people stare at us. We enter another car with a different configuration of seats, and I recognize it as a dining car. The attendant motions to a secluded spot away from other guests, and I sit down, struggling to squeeze between the seat and the table with Jacob clinging to me. Micheal sits on the other side, and the attendant leaves.
“Jacob, honey, can you sit down next to Mama?”
I slide him off of me to the seat next to the window. Michael holds out a white handkerchief, and I take it, blowing my nose and wiping my eyes.
“Sorry,” I say.
“What could you possibly be sorry for?”
We stare at each other, then I offer the handkerchief back, but he tells me to keep it.
I take a big breath and look up at him. “So, who are you?”
“My name is Michael Delaney. I’m a detective with the Denver police. I’ve been looking for your husband since he murdered his first wife here. I found him in Kansas City and have been investigating his life since he left here.”
The mention of Kansas City strikes fear in my heart, and Michael sees it.
“Don’t worry. He’s in jail in Kansas City. He can’t hurt you.”
I nod and take a deep breath.
“For the longest time, I thought you were dead,” Micheal says, smiling. “I can’t believe I’ve found you. You didn’t make it easy.”
“I guess I didn’t do enough.”
A server comes over and asks us if we want anything to eat.
“Are you hungry?” Michael asks me.
I shake my head, and he waves away the server. But before he leaves, I call him back. I ask him for milk for Jacob, and he walks away.
Michael looks at Jacob, then at me. “He has his eyes.”
I nod.
“I met your mother in Chicago.”
“You did?”
He nods. “She believed you were still alive. She was right.”
We stare at each other.
“Did you put him in jail?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not murder that landed him there.”
“No?”
He looks at my bag. “It’s that.”
“What?” I say, reaching over and gripping the bag.
“The money,” he says, dropping his voice. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to take it. As far as I’m concerned, you earned it. Plus, the man who really has a claim to it is dead.”
“Who’s that?”
“The man who took over the hotel after Charles…left.” He says the last word with contempt.
“He left Austin?”
Michael nods. “Near as I can tell, he left right after you. I think he knew you went to Kansas City but then lost you.” He smiles, chuckling. “Pretty clever going to Denver. I didn’t figure out that part. It was the doctor who told me.”
“Dr. Frieberg?”
Michael nods.
I sit back in the seat and shake my head. He knows everything.
“So why find me?”
The smile leaves his face, and he leans forward. “I need you.”
“For what?”
“You remember how I said the hotel owner is dead?”
“Yes. Did Charles kill him?”
“Well, you could argue he did. But not in the classical sense. Anyway, he just recently died, and once they find out in Kansas City, they may not be able to keep him.”
“You mean he’ll be let out?”
Michael nods.
“But how? He’s killed all these women. His first wife, Mary, the girl he was dating before me, his aunt and uncle…”
“There isn’t any evidence, though. Nothing that proves he killed them. But you, you’re different. You got away. You survived. I want you to come to Kansas City with me. Talk to the mayor and the sheriff. Tell them your story.”
I don’t even have to think about my response. “No.”
“No?”
“I got away from him. I’ll disappear. He won’t find me.”
He crosses his arms and stares at me. “For how long?”
“What?”
“How long, Louise? How long until he finds you? Maybe he never will. But are you sure? I did. You and I both know he won’t rest until he finds you and Jacob. For the rest of your life, you’ll be out there somewhere, looking over your shoulder, wondering if that man walking down the street is him.”
I stare at him and know he’s right. But the thought of going back, telling someone who I am and what he did to me is too much.
The server comes back and gives me a cup of milk, and I slide it over to Jacob. He grabs for it, and I help him as he gulps down several swallows. When he’s done, I hand him a toy car, and he begins rolling it around the table. I look back at Michael.
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t.”
He nods. I see the look of disappointment on his face. He leans back and puts his arms up on the seat. After a few seconds, he says, “Will you do one thing for me then?”
I look at him warily. “What?”
“Go see your mother. Tell her you’re alive.”
Chapter 44
Michael
Michael walks into the Kansas City courthouse, makes eye contact with the man seated at the table reading the newspaper, then turns and goes down the stairs. When he reaches the basement, he notices the jailer sitting on a chair outside the row of iron bars. Like the last time he was here, the man is asleep.
“Morning, Ron.”
Ron startles awake and looks up, fighting to focus his eyes.
“I’m back to visit Johns again.”
Ron rubs his cheek. “Okay.”
“Can I see him in the same room as before?”
Ron nods, standing slowly from the chair. He pulls the large ring of keys from his belt and inserts the right one in the lock, turning it with ease. “Do you remember where it is?”
Michael tells him he does and moves to the room. He opens the door and closes it behind himself as Ron relocks the gate, then retreats down the hall. Michael sits in the chair he had occupied last time. A minute later, Johns enters the room, his hands shackled in front of him. Ron follows him in. Michael and Johns make eye contact, a slight smirk on Johns’s face. Ron points to the chair and Johns sits down.
“Want me to stay?” Ron asks Michael.
“No, we should be okay.”
Ron looks again at Johns, then closes the door, pulling it shut behind him.
The two men look at each other, but this time, Johns speaks with no prompting.
“How was my hotel?”
Michael leans back as the electric blue eyes dance.
“Looked good. You’d be pleased.”
“Is Johnny still working the front desk?”
Michael nods. He never knew the name of the man who had welcomed him to the hotel, but assumes he must be Johnny, considering he knew the man who sits across from Michael now. They watch each other, and Michael can’t help his surprise. It’s as if he’s seeing a totally new person. The last two times he had come, Johns never opened his mouth. Now, he’s treating him like an old friend. Why the change?
Johns leans forward and drops his voice. “So, what do you want to know? Why I did it?”
“Did what?” Michael asks.
“Killed Helen.”
Michael stares back at him. Helen was Johns’s first wife. Michael nods.
Johns leans back and puts his shackled hands on the table. “We were married for a year. An entire year I wasted on that girl. I humped her,” he looks up at the ceiling, “I can’t even count how many times, and that worthless trash never got pregnant. Then she had the audacity to blame me. Well, that was it. I have no patience for anyone who can’t accept responsibility.”
“So, you killed her?”
Johns nods. “It was time to leave Denver anyway, and she was holding me back. She became so needy and emotional. I couldn’t stand to be near her. You know how women are. At least Louise was better. She wasn’t nearly as annoying. She got pregnant too. If she hadn’t gone to Colorado Springs, I might have stayed with her.”
A chorus of footsteps sounds outside the room, and Sheriff Winstanley calls out to Ron, telling him to open the door. Michael looks at the door as it opens, then steals a glance at Johns. Johns smiles a knowing smile. Sheriff Winstanley enters the room, carrying handcuffs.
“Michael Delaney, you’re under arrest.”
Michael stands, looking at him with raised hands. “On what charge?”
“Impersonating an officer of the law.”
The sheriff comes forward, but Michael steps back.
“Wait, he just confessed to me. He just admitted he murdered his wife.”
Winstanley ignores him and steps forward, grabbing Michael by the arm. Michael spins away and raises his pistol, aiming it at Johns. But before he can fire, the sheriff chops down with his arm, knocking the pistol to the ground. Ron and the sheriff wrestle Michael to the ground and pin his arms behind his back while slapping on the cuffs. Michael sees the pistol resting at Johns’s feet, but he’s surprised that Johns doesn’t try to pick it up. He could easily use it to shoot the three of them and walk out. Instead, he sits calmly, watching as they raise Michael to his feet.
“You’re going to jail,” the sheriff says to Michael, pushing him toward the door. Michael looks back and sees Johns smirk and wave one of his shackled hands.
Chapter 45
Louise
The automobile stops, and the driver looks back at me sitting beside Jacob.
“Sixty-seven Garfield Street, ma’am.”
I look at the two-story brick house and nod. He opens his door, steps down to the road, then opens the door for me.
“Come on, honey,” I say to Jacob, taking him by the hand and stepping down. The driver carries the bag to the bottom of the steps and waits. I hand him a quarter, and he tips his hat, thanking me, and walks back to his automobile.
Standing at the bottom of the steps, I pause and take a deep breath. Jacob looks up at me, his little hand in mine. Holding our bag in my other hand, we struggle our way to the top of the stairs and ring the bell. I turn around and survey the area. A park is on the opposite side of the street, and the streetlamps have turned on. It’s an early summer evening, and the crickets are chirping all around us. I hear a noise from behind the door and turn around, wondering who might open it.
The door opens, and John McKenna stands looking at me. A curious look on his face. After a brief moment, recognition dawns, and his eyebrows lift in surprise.
“Hello, John.”
“Louise.”
We stand awkwardly, looking at each other, before he invites me in. I struggle with the bag, and he takes it from me, looking down at Jacob. He shuts the door behind us, placing the bag on the rug in the entry.
“John?” I hear a familiar voice call from the back. “Who is it?”
He looks at me and smiles.
“Come and see,” he calls out. “You’ll never guess.”
I hear footsteps at the back of the house. Then she appears in the hallway. She’s heavier than the last time I saw her, but all the weight is in the front. Of course, she’s the type to gain all her weight in her belly and nowhere else. Her limbs are still as lean as ever.
“Louise?” she says, rushing forward.
“Hi, Barbara.”
She reaches me, and we hug, laughing. I release Jacob’s hand, and he burrows into my dress, curious and afraid of these new strangers. When Barbara and I release each other, I bend down to talk to him.
“Jacob, this is your aunt Barbara and your uncle John.”
He looks at me with wide eyes, then holds out his arms. I pick him up and stand.
“Come in, come in,” Barbara says, putting an arm around me.
We walk to the couch in their front room, two sisters carrying babies. She has one still inside her. Mine is two and getting bigger every day.
“How old is he?” Barbara asks.
“Two.”
“Is this your first?” I ask, pointing to her belly. We’ve reached the couch now and sit beside each other holding hands. John sits on the chair opposite us. Jacob remains in my lap.
“It is,” she says, smiling and looking at John. It’s a look of admiration, of love. She turns back to me, and we stare at each other. It’s been almost three years. I’m sure she’s got a million questions, and I have some myself. But neither of us seems to know where to start.
“I missed you,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m sorry too.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re still seated on the couch. John went to the kitchen to get us drinks. Jacob lies on the couch beside me, sleeping. She told me about her wedding to John, about our parents, and what names they’ve considered for their baby. I told her about Charles and my life with him, about my time in Denver, and about meeting Michael on the train. She shook her head multiple times and reached out and hugged me. We were never close when we were kids. But now, sitting together, I realize my blame for that. I spent too much time being jealous of her, not loving her.
“I’m sorry I missed your wedding,” I tell her.
“Me too. I wish you’d been there.”
I look down at my hands in my lap. “I was stupid.”
“Louise, I’m not Mother. You don’t have to say anything like that to me. I’m just glad you’re home.”
I look up at her, and tears fill our eyes. We fall silent, and I know we’ve come to the part in the conversation I’ve been dreading. Michael was right; I have to face Charles.
“I need to ask you something,” I say.
“Yes.”
I hesitate.
“What?”
“I need to go back. I need to make sure Charles can’t ever get Jacob.”
“What? Why?”
I told her about the new hotel owner’s death.
“If I don’t go, he’ll be out. I’ll never be safe. I’ll never be able to live here again.”
She nods, the weight of my words hitting her. “What do you need from me?”
I look over at Jacob, who is sleeping on the couch beside me. “Will you take him? Keep him safe?”
She looks into my eyes. “Of course. How long?”
“I’m not sure.”
Chapter 46
Michael
Michael lies on the bed in his jail cell, looking up at the unfinished ceiling. Exposed pipes and wires cover the area separating the prisoners from the free folk. Occasionally, he can hear movement from above, the free world. He always knew this was a possibility. That someday he could find himself in a jail cell. Admittedly, he figured it would be because he had killed the man in the cell next to him, not because he’d been found out.
He swings his legs off the edge of the bed, stands, and paces back and forth. Since being arrested, he’s spent 90 percent of his time in this cell. A man was brought in yesterday for public intoxication. He was assigned to the cell on Michael’s right. The man said he didn’t remember, but he was accused of taking a swing at a couple of police officers. He was released earlier this morning. Now, it’s just Michael and Johns in this area of the jail.
After walking back and forth fifty times in his small, cramped quarters, he sits down and picks up the book he had selected. Yesterday, Ron, the jailer, had come around offering books. He said the community had donated them to the jailhouse a few months back, but most were borrowed by other inmates or ruined. Michael had two options: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn or Pride and Prejudice. He chose the latter.Ron smiled when he selected it.
“Lover boy, huh?”
Michael shrugged. “I’ve read Huckleberry Finn before.”
He opens the book and flips to Chapter Two, having finished Chapter One yesterday. He’s never considered himself much of a reader, and Chapter One did little to change that. It was all about a family of young women eager to marry in Victorian-age England when a rich newcomer, Mr. Bingley, buys a house in their neighborhood.
