Chris spoke first; he had some skin in this game. “Isn’t it possible they did know you were coming? I mean, there must have been leaks, even in the military.” He spoke logically but his eyes told the real story. He knew his own father had gone to the base investigating something; he wanted it not to be in vain. He wanted something to be wrong. And, of course, something was.
“I thought about that, too. There are a couple of reasons why it doesn’t seem right. First off, we were never questioned after the explosion. It seems that an accident like that happens so close to a safety inspection that was passed with flying colors, the investigation itself would be called into question. Did we cut corners? Did we miss something? Were we bribed? But nothing. Myself, or anyone else on the inspection team—never questioned, never consulted. Doesn’t that seem strange?”
Chris was nodding; Betty was looking from Chris to him, wanting the story to go on. “It sure does. Especially because of what I know of my dad wanting to investigate. There was something going on.” He spoke with conviction. He spoke like an ally. “What else? You said there were a couple of things?”
“Some things people said while I was there, on the base. Part of the inspection involves personnel interviews. Nothing obvious, but looking back after the explosion, I just don’t know.”
Betty might as well have been sitting there with pencil and paper. You could almost see the wheels of her memory bank turning, filing all of this away for later. “What kinds of things?”
He shook his head, not sure how much to tell. “Some of the soldiers seemed spooked, you know? Some talked like they were afraid of the base commander, but others were afraid just to be there. They talked about noises, late night activity around the lake. The place was an ammo depot, not a training facility, what were they doing at night? Some even thought people were disappearing. They mentioned a couple of guys who were suddenly reassigned. But they could never get in touch with them. I looked into it; the records were all intact, transferred, a security clearance too high for me to get any details. Then the explosion. No survivors. Not a single person off-site? Nobody on leave? Nobody patrolling far enough away to live through it?” He shook his head again, not having to feign the grief and frustration he felt.
“My father didn’t think it was an ammunition depot.” Chris looked to Frank, then Betty. “Weapons. He thought they were testing some new super-weapon. Maybe nuclear. It would explain a lot, the secrecy, especially the explosion. I was too little to remember but my mom told me all this.”
Betty looked about ready to burst. He felt torn between the satisfaction of getting these people on his side and getting information and the fact that he was using them. He was no better than Gunlinger: whatever means necessary to reach his end. But if his end was for the good of the town, to clear an innocent man’s name, did that make it alright? Self-doubt and the need for a drink began making a play, but Betty, God bless her, just kept talking.
“I’ll tell you one thing; someone needs to get to the bottom of it. Haven is too nice a town to survive much more of this. People’s spirits break, the good folks leave and soon all you’re left with are the thugs and drunks and rowdies. Then where will we be? Now that poor Sheehan family, the funeral tomorrow is going to be a tough one.”
It was a soapbox speech if ever he’d heard one, but one look in Betty’s eyes confirmed that she meant it. Chris sat nodding and he could see the same pride for his town that Betty was verbalizing. And he knew that while Betty didn’t know it, the “someone” she mentioned that needed to take action was sitting right in front of her. It was a daunting responsibility but it was also the first time in a very long time that anything but a cheap drink actually got him excited. He needed to make things right, if not for the town then for his family. For himself. Then the moment of exhilaration passed and left him tired to the core. He had a funeral to go to in the morning. “Betty, you’ve got yourself a beautiful spot here and I’m sure things are going to work themselves out. Everything happens in cycles: war, peace, the economy… everything but the Red Sox… they’re a constant, I guess.”
Betty and Chris took the bait again and the mood lightened. The next half hour was all baseball and he soaked it in. This is what could have been, he thought. “Well folks, I’ve had a long trip and that was the finest meal I’ve had in… I don’t know how long.” Wasn’t that the truth. “Now I need a hard bed, a soft pillow and about ten hours of sleep.”
Betty the innkeeper took over, shooing Chris out and getting him settled in one of her guestrooms. The room was perfect and even though the night remained hot, he slept the sleep of the righteous. Or at least the exhausted.
(45)
Father McCarthy looked out over the congregation, feeling every day of his 72 years. Funerals were a part of being a priest, but the funerals of children were something he would never get used to, not if he lived another 72 years. The shining casket was so small, too small, but the pain it inflicted was immense. His eyes found Molly and Rich Sheehan and he felt their grief. They looked nothing like the happy young couple that attended Mass faithfully, always holding hands and smiling, their two boys in tow. Their faces were lined with loss. The distance between them in the pew told an old story: grief-stricken parents looking for someone to blame and ultimately finding each other. He made a mental note to pay them a visit in a week or two to see how they were coping.
As he was about to begin the service, the door at the back of the church opened and a blinding slice of sunlight pierced the gloom. McCarthy watched as the silhouette resolved into an old man as the door closed behind him. It was nobody McCarthy recognized, probably a distant relative, he thought, and began the service. When it was time for the eulogy, Rich Sheehan made his way clumsily to the dais, already sobbing; his eyes held the hollow look of heavy sedation. He did admirably well, speaking with a dreamy, loving joy of both his boys, bringing sad smiles to the faces in the crowd as he related a couple of amusing stories about his rascal sons. Molly was stoic throughout, making McCarthy wonder who had it worse; Molly for being there or Rich for not being there. His question was quickly answered.
As Rich finished his prepared speech he paused and looked at the casket, then at Molly. “My last memory of Eddie is kissing his sleeping forehead before leaving for work on the day he died. My wife, my poor Molly, has a different scene to remember. I can close my eyes and see his face, puffy with sleep, rolling over after my kiss. What Molly sees…” His voice broke and fresh tears were streaming down his face. “What Molly must see when she closes her eyes… it haunts me. Because what she sees is my fault, for not being there, for not being there to save my son…” His knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Molly couldn’t hold back her emotions. First a single tear rolled down her cheek, then she was at her husband’s side trying to console him, her own grief pouring out in her tears.
She helped him down from the altar and he stopped abruptly in front of the casket. He placed one hand gently on it.
“I’m so sorry, Eddie. Why…”
Then Molly and other family members carried his sagging form back to the pew. McCarthy looked into his eyes and immediately looked away. The pain and guilt were something he didn’t want to see. How Rich could survive this, he didn’t know. McCarthy again looked out at his congregation. They were waiting for something to make this better, waiting for him to make it better. He stepped up to the podium and cleared his throat. He cast his eyes over the anxious crowd and they found the old man sitting in the back. He was sitting with his head in his hands, shoulders shaking, clearly crying. At that moment he looked up and his eyes met McCarthy’s. In those eyes, McCarthy saw the same anguish and shame he had just seen in Rich’s eyes. Then the man got to his feet, and without looking back, exited the church. As the blazing shaft of sunlight narrowed with the slowly closing door, McCarthy began to speak.