“Exactly,” I say. And now he’s going to tell me my assailant was Tek. I knew it. I always figured it was Tek and wondered whether he was just going to get away with it. I prepare to hear the real story of that frightening morning in the archives, wondering how Franklin and I can incorporate it into our Dorinda investigation.
And Ortega doesn’t know the half of it. “Situation”? Now I’ll finally get a chance to confront him about the bogus photo array. His “situation” is about to get worse.
“So are you saying you know who that was?” I ask, more than prepared for the answer. This may also explain the noticeable absence of Ortega’s usually ever-present chief of staff. Tek wasn’t in court for Dorinda’s hearing, even though he was the lead detective on the case. And he’s not here now.
Oz purses his lips and leans back against Kevin’s desk. Kevin scoots his chair away, his personal space invaded by Oz’s physical bulk and commanding presence.
“We do,” he says, putting the police report back into the file. “But you should know you’re out of danger now.”
I open my mouth to ask where Tek is and whether he’s being charged with anything, but Oz keeps talking.
“Mr. Hardesty had been tracking you for almost two weeks now,” Ortega says. “It was him in the archives. He followed you there. When Tek headed for the file room and you weren’t with him, Hardesty decided to-as he put it-get that television bitch off his back.”
He glances at Susannah. “No offense. When that didn’t work, apparently you used your shoes? Very resourceful. Nevertheless, when that didn’t work, he just kept on your trail, and waited for his chance.”
Susannah gasps and puts a hand to her mouth. Even Kevin looks concerned. But I’m skeptical. “Wait a minute,” I say. “That’s impossible. The case is three years old, certainly CC left town afterward. Where was he? And how on earth could he know, from wherever he was, that we were working on this story?”
“There was only one person in Swampscott Hardesty kept in touch with. She didn’t know he was reincarnated as Tommy Bresnahan, of course, and he hadn’t seen her for years. They just communicated, sporadically, by postcard, then e-mail. And a phone call on her birthday.”
“Who?” I ask. I run through the list of possibles in my head and cannot figure out who might have been CC’s confidante. “Everyone thought he was dead.”
Oz continues as if I hadn’t interrupted. “But when you asked her about him, she e-mailed right away. He had told her he wanted to disappear. Asked her, years ago, to keep his secret. Very dramatic. And she did. Of course it was all innocent on her part. She had no idea he’d killed Ray Sweeney, and she told him everything you said. Which wasn’t much, but enough to let him know you were working to exonerate Dorinda. And that brought him right back into town. He wasn’t on your tail every second, he told us, said he didn’t need to be, once he found out where your mother was.”
“Who?” I demand. Not Poppy. Pink-fingernailed Myra Matzenbrenner? Not Rosemary at the shelter, certainly.
“Marybeth-” he checks a file “-Gallagher. Remember her?
It takes me only an instant to remember that day at Swampscott High, the day I was searching for the yearbook.
“The librarian,” I say. I rewind my brain, trying to recall what she told me. Was there anything I should have suspected? But, from what I can remember, she never even hinted she was still in touch with CC. I mean, he was supposed to be dead. I shake my head. “She’s the last person…”
“She’s been the librarian forever,” Ortega says. “And back when CC and Dorinda went to Swampscott High, she was also the drama coach. She was the one who picked the two of them to play Romeo and Juliet, she told us. Apparently that was the beginning of a ‘special relationship,’ she called it.”
Romeo and Juliet. Of course. And in her mind, perhaps, the librarian was playing Friar Laurence, the confidant who kept Romeo’s secret. Like Romeo, CC was not dead, just pretending. Marybeth Gallagher probably thought it was romantic. But she should have remembered how that story ended. A tragedy.
Oz is still talking, outlining their investigation. “But once Hardesty realized the case was under scrutiny…” He shrugs. “He had to come back and make sure the coast was clear. And that no one could identify him as the person who was bartender that night.”
The puzzle pieces fall into place. “DeCenzo,” I say, solemnly. “Claiborne Gettings.”
“Hardesty came into DeCenzo’s bar right after you did,” Ortega says. He sighs. “And too bad Gettings picked right now to come home for a visit. Hardesty nailed him, too. We think he tracked him to some bar, got him drunk, and, well…we’re still investigating that one. But-”
Kevin picks up his phone and starts punching in numbers.
I’m, suddenly, flaringly, mad as hell. “My mother,” I say, glaring at Oz. “And me.” My mouth is dry and my fists are clenched. I stand up, though I didn’t plan to, and point to Oz. “Franklin and I told you Dorinda wasn’t guilty. Will Easterly knew it. Rankin knew it. We told you there was someone else out there. But you just dismissed us. And threatened to report us to the FCC. For what? Reporting the truth?”
Kevin looks up, concerned. “Charlie?” he says. “This is the attorney general…”
I’m aware that I’m crossing the line, but I’m too enraged to be polite. I plop back into the chair just to appease Kevin, but I’m still furious.
“You and Tek decided it was more important for you to protect your reputations as crime busters, right? Make your way to the governor’s office? So you law-and-order types allowed two more people to be killed. Actually, almost four. Why aren’t you guilty of murder, too?”
Kevin and Susannah stand up, and start talking at the same time.
“Charlie,” Kevin says, making the time-out sign. “We need to talk about this like reasonable-”
“She’s upset,” Susannah interrupts, her ropes of pearls clanking against her notebook. “She doesn’t mean-”
Oz waves them both off and shifts his position on the desk. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him look defeated. “We have to make decisions, the best we can,” he says. His voice has lost its luster. It’s hollow and grim. “Law enforcement is not an exact science. It’s evidence, and instinct. And in this case…”
I know what he’s going to say next. I wish I could put my fingers in my ears so I don’t hear it.
“She confessed,” he says.
There’s a tap at the door. It’s Franklin, notebook in hand. Kevin waves him in. “Kevin, you called?” Franklin says. He looks between me and Ortega, then to Susannah, then to Kevin. Then back to me, his forehead furrowing. “What.?”
“It’s big,” is all I can think of to say. “CC Hardesty, boy Romeo. Jealousy, obsession, rage and murder.”
“Susannah,” Kevin begins.
“Right,” Susannah replies. She’s flipped open her cell phone, and speed dials a number. “It’s me,” she says into the phone. “I need promo studio C, asap. New Charlie promos, airing tonight.” She snaps the phone closed, and points to Franklin and me, back and forth. “You’re both working late, correct?”
You bet, I say silently. “And we’ll need a camera,” I tell Susannah. “For the exclusive interview with Mr. Ortega.”
I look at him, challenging. “Correct?”
EPILOGUE
I never imagined I’d see them all sitting in the same place. In rows of white and gold chairs, festooned with puffs of white tulle and nosegays of white peonies, one after the other, my friends and family and familiar faces. Some who have been happy for a long time. One who thought she’d never be happy again. My sister Nora and her husband Bix. Franklin and Stephen, heads together, reading the sleek white wedding program. Next to Stephen, Gaylen Sweeney. Next to her, Will Easterly. And though I can’t see his face, I can see his arm. It’s draped protectively and lovingly across the shoulders of the person sitting next to him. Dorinda Sweeney.