Marcia Talley - Dark Passage

Until Islander entered the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay at Norfolk later that evening, cell phone reception was simply a fantasy. We could have Skyped from the library, of course, but then everyone within earshot would have overheard the conversation – both sides.

After discussing a plan of action with my sisters, I used the cabin phone to telephone Paul.

‘Sweetheart! I was hoping you’d call.’ He sounded so cheerful, I hated to burst the bubble.

I twisted the telephone cord around my finger, trying to calm my nerves. ‘Not sure you’ll be so happy when you hear what I have to say.’

‘What’s happened? Is everyone OK?’

‘Sort of,’ I told him. ‘Do you have a piece of paper and something to write with?’

While Paul grunted, cursed, ranted and raved, using words of power I didn’t even know were in his vocabulary, I filled him in on the previous twenty-four hours. Then I told him what we wanted him to do.

After I hung up, with reassurances from him that everything would be OK, Ruth checked in with Hutch. Hutch agreed to cancel his appointments for the day, swing by to pick up Paul and drive up to Baltimore where they would bring Scott into the picture.

I imagined the pow-wow: a tenured college professor, a prominent attorney and a well-respected C.P.A. The F.B.I. would never know what hit them.

When David Warren returned my call he asked to meet me in Athena, the casino bar. Hoping it wasn’t smoking hour at the slot machines, I agreed. When I arrived, he was sitting on one of the banquettes near the window. A glass of white wine sat waiting for me on the coffee table. ‘That was thoughtful,’ I said as I sat down next to him.

As I predicted, he expressed no surprise over Martin’s reluctance to clap Westfall in irons and perform a thorough search of his cabin.

Knowing that his main concern was not Julie or Noelle, who had survived, but to avenge the murder of his daughter, who had not, I said gently, ‘But, surely you can turn this information over to the F.B.I. agent working your daughter’s case. It has to be relevant.’

‘There is no case,’ he said sadly. ‘Charlotte’s death was ruled accidental, possibly suicide. Case closed. And Westfall will never confess to it.’

‘But they can nab him for kidnapping Julie, and maybe pin Noelle’s rape on him, too. He could go away for a long, long time. That would be better than nothing.’

‘I’ve lost my daughter, Hannah. I’ve lost my wife. I’ve spent the last year of my life trying to get justice for Charlotte, and I’m not going to stop now.’

While I considered what David had just said, I twirled the wine glass slowly in my hands, admiring how the multicolored lights of the casino shape-shifted in the condensation. Justice! Justice for Charlotte had been David’s all-consuming purpose. Together we’d tracked down her killer – and found Julie and Noelle’s attacker, too. It wasn’t perfect justice where Charlotte was concerned, for sure, but I prayed David would settle for that and move on with his life.

‘The sensible thing is leave it to the F.B.I.,’ I said at last. ‘My sisters and I have decided we have no choice but to do that.’ I explained about the troika of fuming father/uncles that would be descending on the Baltimore field office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation like enraged bulls. ‘I figure you know that’s the sensible thing to do, too. But, if you have something else in mind, please, tell me how I can help.’

David considered me over the rim of his martini glass. ‘Do you know how to get rats out of your drainpipes, Hannah?’

I smiled. ‘Call the Orkin man?’

David actually laughed. ‘No, you flush them out.’

‘ “Where the river Weser, deep and wide, washes its walls on the southern side…” I quoted.

His dark eyes gleamed with a spark of recognition, but perhaps it was simply a reflection of the casino lights. He leaned back and sipped his drink appreciatively. ‘Ah, yes. “The Pied Piper of Hamelin.” ’

I could have bitten off my tongue. I’d forgotten that when the Pied Piper wasn’t paid for getting rid of the town rats, he’d used his magic pipe to lure their children away, never to return. ‘I know the poem by heart,’ I told him, hastening to change the subject. “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” too. Shall I recite it for you?’

David chuckled. ‘ “The very deep did rot: O’ Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs, upon the slimy sea.” ’ He winked, raised his glass. ‘Thank you, Sister Mary Carmelina at Sacred Heart Academy, may your soul rest in peace!’

‘So, David,’ I asked after a bit. ‘How do you now plan to lure this particular sea-going rat out into the open?’

He took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘I wasn’t on the Voyager and neither were you, Hannah. We’ve got to make Westfall believe that somebody has finally put two and two together. That somebody has twigged to what he’s been up to.’

I was pretty sure I knew where David was going with this. ‘Pia Fanucci.’

‘Exactly. Pia holds the key to everything. She’s the only person among the crew that I think we can trust.’

I set my glass down, swiveled in my seat to face him. ‘Do you think that’s wise, David? Things didn’t turn out too well for poor Charlotte. Pia could be – no, make that would be – putting herself in danger. You’d never forgive yourself if something happened to her, and, frankly, neither would I. I’ve grown very fond of that girl.’

David nodded. ‘I know. It’s a dilemma.’

‘What do you expect her to do, David? Send Westfall a note like in that old movie, “I Saw What You Did! And I Know Who You Are”?’

‘Something like that, except I think it’d be more compelling if Westfall believes that Pia might be amenable to a little financial compensation.’

I sank back against the cushions. ‘Oh, what a good idea!’ I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

David stiffened his back. ‘No, no, I think it might work. What if Pia tells him that she has written everything down in a letter, and she’s mailed it to her sister with instructions that should anything happen to her… blah blah blah.’

You’d have to be a fan of grade B movies to come up with that sort of lame brain plan. Still, I could tell from the expression on his face that he was deadly serious about it. ‘Even so,’ I said, ‘it could be risky.’

‘I think Pia should make that decision, don’t you, Hannah? Where would we find her right now?’

I knew the answer to that question. ‘She’s got a show tonight, so she should be backstage with Channing, getting ready.’

David set his empty martini glass down and started to get up. ‘Shall we go talk to her, then?’

I laid a restraining hand on his arm. ‘Why don’t you let me talk to her? Then, if she’s willing, we three can put our heads together and come up with a safe and workable plan.’

When we stood up, I asked, ‘Do you intend to tell Officer Martin?’

David laughed. ‘He’d never sanction such a thing. If this is going to work, we’ll need to do it on our own.’

‘The end of all magic is to feed with mystery the human mind, which dearly loves mystery.’

Harry Kellar (1849-1922)

It was a short hike from the Athena bar to the Orpheus Theater located on the same deck in the bow of the enormous vessel.

Pia was backstage, as I had predicted. She sat on a straight-back chair, surrounded by Channing’s illusions, using a needle and thread to sew up the tear in the leg of her yellow harem pants. ‘Just now getting around to it,’ she said, drawing the thread to her mouth and cutting it with her teeth. She held the pants up for my inspection. ‘Do you think anybody will notice?’