'Til Death (part eleven of fifteen)

‘Til Death

A Trick Molloy Mystery

©2009 Michael A. Stackpole

Part Eleven

Talia peppered me with questions on the way over to grandma’s house. She chatted anxiously, and I think part of that was genuine nervousness about meeting my family. Part of it was dealing with what I’d done to Fairfield. That would come back to haunt me.

If I’d told Fairfield the truth, he’d have gone up into some church tower and fiddled his anguish out for an hour or three. Then he’d have done a header. Sure, that might still be in his future, but his future bought me time to give Irina a future.

What I’d done bothered me a bit, too. Not that I’d done it, but that I’d done it so quickly. Lying to perps to get them to confess was part and parcel of being a cop. I used to have a program on my PDA. I’d have a perp put his thumb on the screen and I’d ask him a question. The screen would go red and beep, then the word “Lie” would flash in black. It was all driven off a timer, but they never knew that. The machine knew they were lying, so they just stopped.

It’s easy to rationalize away doing that to murderers and rapists. Fairfield was just a sadsack who’d gotten into a bad situation. I needed his cooperation. I couldn’t compel it. He wasn’t the sort of guy who I figured would be vengeful—and the last guy I wanted going into a fight with guns blazing.

Hell, he probably couldn’t even lift a gun.

And I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. He might have agreed to help to free Irina, but I didn’t think he could carry it off. He had to believe Svetlana was alive; and he never could have hidden his knowledge of her death.

But all that was rationalization, too. I put my needs before his. I was letting the ends justify the means. Talia would have to come to terms with that.

So would I.

My grandmother greeted us warmly and immediately ensconced Talia in the guest chair. Grandma made tea—using good china and better tea—and sent me off to do my errand. “Us girls will get to know each other, Padraig.”

I headed upstairs. The room Loki had used was dark and empty. Aside from a quick glance to confirm that fact, I ignored it and kept going down the hall. Second door on the left, just past Grandma’s bedroom. Small room, bookshelves everywhere, wall to ceiling, and full. It had always been referred to as “the Study.” The implication was that it was my Grandfather’s study. I’d never seen him in the room. Nor had I ever seen him with one of the countless books in his hands.

I pulled out a copy of Sagittarius Rising and one of the bookshelves swung away from the wall with a click. I came around and dropped to a knee, reaching for the first of four wall safes hidden behind the shelf. I spun the dial, then opened the safe. Bunches of documents, two pistols, and a rectangle wrapped in brown paper, secured with rubber-bands. I retrieved the rectangle.

Other grandmothers get their grandchildren ponies. Mine got us each a safe. Money left with her was secure. It didn’t earn any interest, but grandma didn’t need federal bailouts or retention bonuses.

The bag contained five grand. I closed the safe, put the shelf back, then pulled out my phone. I punched up a number and waited four rings.

I started right in when I heard the click. “You’re going to give a $125,000 Patterson Music Genius Grant to Doctor Quincy Fairfield of Coast College. He’s a violinist. Press releases need to go out now, so they hit the paper in the morning.”

“This number will be disconnected, Mr. Molloy, the moment we hang up.”

“I’m calling in a favor here.”

“When people ask a favor of me, it never goes for so little. You underestimate me.”

“And you don’t like being underestimated. Life’s a bitch.” I smiled. ” I need it done now. Two people are already dead, and I’m trying to make sure there’s no trifecta.”

“Really?”

I gave Alfred Wayne Patterson a quick rundown on the situation. I lingered on what I’d done to Fairfield. Patterson manipulated everyone in his life, so I thought he’d appreciate my handiwork. Don’t know if he did, but it caught his attention.

“This will not burn one of the favors I owe you, Mr. Molloy. I will do this. Then I will ask you to do something for me in return. Something of commensurate value.”

“Deal.”

“You realize I will need to endow more prizes and make this an annual thing.”

“I figured you needed a hobby.”

“And I shall need an advisory board.”

“I don’t play well with others.”

“No, you don’t.” He chuckled lightly. “Your Doctor Heron does. She will find it a great honor.”

A chill ran down my spine. I’d wanted to play him, and he let me know he was up for the game. “She’ll be great at it.”

“I’m sure. Good evening, Mr. Molloy.”

I closed my phone and tucked it away. What should have been a simple problem had become very complex. I’d be paying for the complications for a long while. At least, thanks to the late Lou Sandberg, I’d have the time.

We spent a little longer with my grandmother than I wanted, but she and Natalia really hit it off. Grandma actually invited her to visit any time, with or without me. That was a first. And I didn’t get that look which said, “Padraig, you can do better.”

Talia remained quiet on the trip to my place, which I put down to the contentment of good tea more than emotional turmoil over what had happened with Fairfield. As I drove I caught her looking at me, with that half-smile women have when they’re intrigued and have decided to start loving you. Pretty much, in the past, that had been the sign for me to break things off.

I led her to my bedroom, then opened the money packet. It was all hundreds. I spread it over the bed.

Talia raised an eyebrow. “That’s never really been a fantasy of mine.”

“That’s good.” I smiled. “I have a friend who can track the money magickally, but he needs strong impressions to do so. Money is anonymous. It needs to be linked to someone and something. You game?”

She started unbuttoning her blouse. “Will this take long?”

“If we want to do it right, you bet.”

“Good. Tell you what.” Talia smiled. “Let’s go for perfect.”

If you are enjoying this story and don’t want to wait for the last four parts to make it to this blog, I’ve collected the entire story and you can purchase it from The Stormwolf Store. It costs $3, and your purchase goes to supporting more serial fiction like this.

If you were wondering how we got here, please visit the Stormwolf Store. The short story “The Witch in Scarlet” is the Trick Molloy tale that immediately precedes this one.