A reason to kill, p.41
A Reason To Kill, page 41
“And the boy has?”
Caused her to flush with embarrassment and stammer, “It’s dreadful, I should punish him.” She misread the man.
“For what? Holy Mary! You think the lad enjoys that rubber balloon you wrap him in? God knows that alone should discourage the urge.” His lids narrowed over his eyes as he said, “He’s just a mite and you’ll not be laying a hand to him for something he can’t control?”
Now she felt she must defend herself. “He’s fine and healthy, the doctor says so. His arm? His bed wetting?”
“Damn.” He stalked off towards the child’s room leaving her suddenly concerned she said the wrong thing. If he thought the boy only lazy? She hurried after him.
Their noise woke Paddy and he blinked at a rapid rush of tears. That morning, his mama had threatened, “I’ll tell your pa; he’ll not want a nasty, stinky, thing like you to be his.”
As the man neared the bed, Paddy’s lower lip trembled as he squealed, “I ‘orry papa—I stink.”
Unaware of his wife’s threats, the man simply stated, “You sure do.” And the child began to sob loudly surprising the man who asked, “What are you blubbering for?” as he released the rubber prison that held the small captive.
“I stink!” was a howl.
“And can’t I smell? Tell you what. We’ll sponge you off so you don’t. Then I’ve a present for you.”
And the sobbing slowed to a sniffle with, “A ‘resent for me?”
“Only kid I got.” Hanlon laughed. “Stink and all. Off with these.” Fumbling with his workable hand, the child attempted to aid in the unpleasant task of removing his soiled pajamas.
Outside the room, Sandra hugged the puppy, plagued by feelings of guilt for she was aware it had been cruel to threaten the boy with something so important to him as his new father. She returned quickly to the parlor so as not to destroy the man’s pleasure in giving the gift.
“My ‘resent?”
“First we clean you up.” Hanlon nipped playful at the child’s neck starting the giggles that grew in volume as the man carried the boy to the bath. He parked him on the edge of the sink and began washing him. Never had the man tended to him in this manner. Paddy squealed as his papa finished by blowing on his belly. Wrapped in a towel, the child was carried back to his room and surprised when the man yanked the rubber sheeting from the bed declaring, “Too damn hot for this crap.” and tossed it in a corner.
As his father helped him wiggling into underwear, Paddy questioned the breach of rules. “No PJ’s?”
“Too hot. Now you settle back and stay real quite like and I’ll bring you your present.”
The child lay very still with only his large bright eyes following his father’s exit.
As Hanlon reclaimed the puppy, Sandra warned, “Sure, they’ll ruin the mattress.”
“You worry too much lass, they do sell others, don’t spoil the lad’s pleasure tonight.”
“For me?” Paddy bounded upright as set free the puppy quickly leaped on the small chest, slobbering at the boy’s face while Paddy yelped in delight. Then his father held the puppy until it quieted a bit and his son’s good arm could encircle the furry neck.
“Mind you be gentle.” Hanlon warned. “No tugging or squeezing. To keep him, you have to be good to him.” He ruffled the thin blond hair. “Now, he’s a wee bugger, and has to sleep. I’ll leave the light on so he’ll not be scared.”
As he returned to the parlor, his wife said, “Shouldn’t be leaving the light on for him,” admitting for the first time that she knew he often did. “Children must learn not to fear the dark.”
“Sure, but, he’s a lot of years left to learn in.”
~~~
When the alarm buzzed a too early 6:00am, Sandra moaned and yanked a pillow over her head.
Hanlon, whose system still functioned on prison time, had been lying awake. He punched down the alarm and snuggled against her back. Never having indulged in sex at sunup, the idea appealed to him. Butting off her pillow, his tongue ran over the curve of her ear and his hands began to confidently trace the lines of his bride’s body.
Suddenly the door was flung open. His hands fell away, while Sandra giggled and the additions of two more bodies were added to their bed. “Papa!” Paddy announced with pride, “I don’t stink—’uppy either.” And forced his way between his parents with the puppy following.
Giving way to the child, the man quickly grabbed the dog. “Let’s not tempt fate.” He deposited the unhappy mutt on the floor.
“He ‘uddled.” Paddy crawled over his father to rescue the squealing pup. “‘uddled ‘ight on the ‘or.”
Sandra stifled a giggle with her reclaimed pillow, and Hanlon groaned, while Paddy and Puddles took up residency on his belly.
~~~
Sandra set a bowl of warm milk down for the yipping pup. Puddles immediately shut up. Sandra went back to her frying. Her husband had been shoveling porridge into their son’s tiny mouth that was screwed up in displeasure. With his wife’s back turned, Hanlon quickly scooped several overflowing spoonfuls into his own mouth. So the taste didn’t linger, he gulped tea. His son smiled in gratitude. Though Paddy could manage, eggs, meat and potatoes, rather well with his left hand, he was incapable of lifting a spoon of mush without dumping it.
“Lad’s had enough.” Hanlon shoved the bowl away. Sandra, noticing the bottom still full, started to mention the fact, then ignored it.
“Sausage,” Paddy ordered and was rewarded with two.
Pouring water into the sticky bowl, Sandra remarked. “Tom Devlin rang up last night.”
“Suppose to ring him back?”
“Didn’t say you should. Said to give you a message. Strange? Said to tell you ‘it’s nearing the fourth of July’.” She turned quickly to catch his reaction and was disappointed for there was none. “Sure, but it’s nearly August. I told him that and he only said, ‘That’s the Yankee holiday.’
“Um.” Her husband was engrossed with cutting another sausage for the child. He looked up with a wide grin. “Independence Day. Tom warned me not to get hitched up. Tom’s a kidder. Time you met him. Been thinking about taking a trip to the States…
Chapter 76
New Mexico, 1984
Lucy Clark had sworn off cigarettes five years prior to the morning she lit one up again. Better than drinking or popping pills, she consoled herself. She lifted the receiver to silence the ringing phone.
“Lu…C?” Lucy mimicked the voice in her mind. Almost every day, she was blessed with another damn phone conversation.
“My only child was murdered!”
“And that has nothing to do with my son.”
“Her son.”
“Andrea didn’t want him.”
“She paid you well.”
“We didn’t want the money.” Lucy Clark said then corrected the statement. “In the beginning we needed it. But now it’s all in the bank in Gavin’s name—every last cent. And it wasn’t Andrea’s money.”
“That hasn’t been proven. I will have my grandson. I have every legal right to him. You are being very foolish. You are making things difficult not only for the child but for yourselves. What about your own children?”
Unannounced, as was his habit of late, Thomas Devlin came through the family’s opened back door. He claimed the receiver from Lucy’s frozen fingers. He spoke into it and then asked, “What was that about?” as it apparently went dead in his ear.
Lucy burst into a sobbing explanation that he listened to patiently before he gave a short laugh. “Aye, but it’s a dark conspiracy that’s brewing.” He patted her shoulder and handed her a tissue.
“Calm down. Whatever Mrs. Nelson is after, I don’t think it’s the kid himself. Candace Nelson is not the motherly type. Hang up when she calls.” He set about brewing fresh tea. “Let Mike handle her.”
~~~
Later that day, Lucy tried to express her concerns to her husband. Darrell Clark was not in the habit of ignoring his wife but his own thoughts were in turmoil.
“Have your number changed,” Devlin ordered him that afternoon. “Unpublished and don’t be giving it out freely.”
“I hate unlisted numbers.”
“Too bad. Listen to me you’ve got to give Lucy some relief. If the old broad keeps bugging her, she might let something slip. I’m trying my damnedest to get the adoption case though the New Mexico court and I don’t want Mrs. Nelson aware of it too soon. The New York opposition has gone to Fitzgerald with the custody suit. He’s a red ass liberal and not overly fond of The O’Neill. If he gets wind Mike has anything to do with this.”
Lucy hadn’t wanted to go with him to the dealerships meeting. Terrified to leave the kids for even a few hours, his wife had become a hermit since the kidnapping. The few times she went somewhere, she took the kids with her. Clark knew it wasn’t healthy for the boy or her. So he’d finally pressured her into come with him tonight.
Their beige Pontiac pulled on to Route 66 at 6:10pm, due in Amarillo by 8:00pm it was less than an hour and a half drive. His worried mind on his problems, Clark’s speedometer crept a bit over seventy—not that dangerous on a one-way desert interstate.
~~~
Earlier, on the dreary eighty-mile span of desert road separating the city of Clovis from the town of Tucumcari, a bored salesman stopped for a pair of hitchhikers. “Hop in,” he offered. “Hate this tex-new mex run.” He was openly admiring the young female and grimaced in disappointed when the boy got in first. “Where you kids headed for?”
“Kinda hoped to get a ride into Amarillo. But if you take us to Tucumcari, that’ll be great.”
“Headed for the big city myself. How come you’re on foot?”
“My car broke down this side of Clovis. We were closer to Tucumcari so we figured we’d try for there, and call my pop,” the boy said.
After several long miles with numerous yawns mixed in with the small talk, the salesman decided the little bitch was sulky but the boy was all right and he asked, “Got a license kid?”
“Sure.” The boy produced a wallet and flipped it open. The man barely glanced at the small document.
“Think you can handle this baby?” Pride for the large Lincoln was in his tone.
The youth shrugged as if he’d driven cars like this every day. He didn’t bother to tell the man his license was four weeks old.
Pulling over, the salesman said, “I’m gonna crawl in the back and catch me some shut eye. Keep her at the speed limit. You get stopped I ain’t paying your fine.” The salesman warned as he curled up in the rear seat.
The large car moved smoothly along the nearly deserted interstate and in no time its owner dozed off.
“He’s asleep.” The girl was quick to notice. “Give it some gas. That bastard’s got ideas.”
“He didn’t say anything wrong?”
“The way he was leering at me, I could tell. We’ll be walking again. So let’s get as close to Amarillo as we can before he wakes up.”
Soon the Lincoln matched then surpassed the speed of Clark’s Pontiac.
Darrell Clark cursed a sudden deluge that forced him to slow down. The wipers couldn’t contend with the power of the rain and the road became nearly invisible. Clark switched on his headlights.
Several miles behind him the driver of the Lincoln didn’t take the same precautions. He could soon see the taillights on the Pontiac but remained unaware it was slowing down. His attention was taken up by the whispering complaints of his female companion. “Damn rain! He’s going to wake up. Probably ask me to join him in back like that last creep. We’ll be walking again and get drenched.”
The heavy rain gave Clark only a hazy view through the rearview mirror of a car behind them. It was still daylight but the Lincoln, without lights, was a blur nearly obscured by the downpour. It took a while before Clark realized the car was still in the driving lane instead of the passing lane and coming up rapidly right behind them. Flooring the gas pedal, he swerved into the passing lane.
Too late the boy became aware of the closing distance. Even as the Pontiac shot ahead, he spun the Lincoln’s wheels and followed the Clark’s car, rear-ending it with such force it smashed through the guardrails. Slamming on the breaks, the wet pavement caused the Lincoln to spin out of control and follow the Pontiac over the embankment.
A New Mexico State Police car coming up on the opposite side saw the accident and called it in.
~~~
“Dev! Figured your Irish ass was in town when that cloud burst started.” The bartender called in acknowledgement of Devlin’s wave. Without an order he poured a soda water and tossed in two slices of lemon before he shoved it across the bar to be delivered.
Thomas Devlin slipped into a corner booth at the Ashley and nodded in agreement as the waitress said, “Rare.”
“And tell Jake not to skimp on the size—I’ve been anticipating this steak for hours.”
“Baked with sour cream, blue cheese…”
“Right on the money. You did something different with your hair?” He noticed and the woman’s smile got even wider.
“Had it frosted. You like?”
“Terrific, though I’d still love yah if you went bald. You better hurry with that meat before I get other ideas.”
He watched her ample butt swing as she flounced away but he really wasn’t seeing it.
Devlin was congratulating himself on how the initial conference in Judge Harry Moran’s chambers had ended. Having dealt often with the locals on the Connors’ or O’Neill’s behalf, since both owned property in the scantily populated state, he was well known around their courthouses. This gave him a distinct advantage over Candace Nelson’s over-dressed New York Lawyer who made the mistake of patronizing his New Mexican colleagues.
Devlin grinned as he thought, the ass would have been smarter if he kept his mouth shut and let his hired help do the talking. Not being the attorney of record, he only managed to irritate Judge Moran. Devlin had easily gotten the temporary custody order for the Clarks.
He listened now with tolerance to the police scanner squawking at the bar. He considered requesting that someone turn the blasted noise down, when, first the license number then a description caught his interest. He got up and moved closer to the machine to catch the repeated information on the MVA.
“Sounds like they’re all dead.” The bartender said. “Queer thing to happen on that flat stretch of highway.”
Tossing some bills on the bar, with the suggestion, “Tell Sally to enjoy my steak,” Devlin hurried into the pelting rain.
~~~
Toni Randal was Lucy Clark’s neighbor and closest friend so she carried Lucy’s burden on her young shoulders. “When they come,” she sobbed. “I’ll tell them Gavin ran away.” Tears were blinding her as she hurried to pack the overnight case.
Devlin smiled gently at the young female and said, “You’ll have half the State out looking for him.” He patted her shoulder as he instructed. “All you say is that Gavin wasn’t here when you came to baby-sit. Lucy told you he was visiting relatives. Just stick with that—nothing else. Okay?”
With Thomas Devlin, whom his parents called Tom, being a rather consistent visitor of late, Gavin went along willingly. But once the lights of the small city vanished behind the automobile the child commenced to squirm nervously. His kidnapping was still fresh in his memory.
“What’s your problem?” Devlin asked.
“I wanna go back home.” Gavin had become worried though he didn’t know why. He remembered the swollen face of Toni and figured she’d been crying. In a howl now he demanded, “Take me ‘ome!”
“I can’t Gavin, not right now.”
And Gavin’s howling dropped into sobbing.
“Don’t cry. Shit! I hate kid’s crying.” Devlin said with a sharp voice then let it drop in a smoother tone as he offered, “Look sport, you like Mike right?”
Gavin nodded his head though he continued the aggravating noise. “Why?”
“Mike’s got this problem,” Devlin said as he sneered to himself, boy has he, but only asked the child, “You’d help Mike if you could?”
This, the seven-year-old took a moment to mull over then answered through his sniffles. “I’d help Mike. But what will my daddy say he comes home and I’m gone?”
“Toni will tell him you went to help Mike. He won’t mind.” Although the boy didn’t doubt this, he continued bombarding the man with questions that quickly put his skill in side-stepping to a fuller test than any courtroom encounter. So it was with relief the lawyer pulled into the heliport and saw a new interest capture the child. Gavin was racing for the chopper before Devlin was out of the car.
The excitement of his first helicopter ride more than compensated the boy for the man’s lack of conversation on the short flight to Amarillo.
Devlin waited until they were safely inside the executive lounge. He filled the small belly with snack foods and Coke and Gavin doze off on the overstuffed couch. Then he placed the phone call to New York.
“You sure they’re dead?”
“Five bodies, Mike. They took two out of Clark’s Pontiac, man and a woman, and three more from the Lincoln.”
“You grabbed the kid?”
“I went and picked him up.” Devlin corrected. “Like his father had asked me to. Nelson’s lawyers probably won’t hear about the accident or associate it with the Clarks until tomorrow. But it won’t take them long to demand a new temporary custody order. You want me to return the kid?”
“Hell no!” Then there was a brief pause before O’Neill asked, “Does the kid know?”
“No way, boss.” Devlin grunted. “That’s one telling I’ll leave to you.”
“Who knows you have him?”
“Only the babysitter, Toni Randal. We can trust her, she thought a lot of the Clarks.”
“Met her. Nice lady. What about the two little girls?”
“Come on Mike, the boy is one thing. I touch those little girls? Christ! I can already be arrested for kidnapping.”
