Thomas O`Callaghan - The Screaming Room

Driscoll stood at the edge of the dock at Sullivan’s. The tide had gone out and the sun was beginning its descent behind a cluster of clouds.

Aligante and Thomlinson had volunteered to stay behind and file the mountain of paperwork that the murder spree had generated.

His city had shed its armor. Driscoll knew it would be a short-lived hiatus, but he allowed himself to be comforted by the sense of safety and restoration of order.

Tomorrow, he’d return to his office early. He’d need extra time to prepare his formal request that Detective Second Grade Cedric Thomlinson be promoted to the rank of Detective First Grade. Cedric had found the fissure in Malcolm Shewster’s grand scheme. The fact that Shewster would not be tried in New York no longer troubled him. Because of Thomlinson’s discovery, Shewster would surely be tried in a California court. It had taken him and Leticia an enormous amount of time to unearth the evidence that proved Gweneth Shewster died in New York City at the hands of two maniacal twins, and was buried in a grave that bore the name of a sister, Abigail, who existed only on paper.

He had found a witness whom Shewster’s intimidation had silenced years ago. The man knew then, and knows now, that Gweneth Shewster’s California burial was staged.

Spurred by the results of a painstaking exploration of every aspect of Gweneth Shewster’s death, Thomlinson sought to speak to one Giovanni Petrocelli. The detective wanted to know firsthand why Petrocelli had been dismissed from Richard J. Malone’s Funeral Home immediately after the “burial” of Gweneth Shewster.

Giovanni Petrocelli was also a subscriber to the Los Angeles Times. After getting an eyeful, he was certain Shewster’s influence would take a huge hit and when Thomlinson reached out to him, he was happy to speak with an NYPD detective who was investigating Gweneth’s death. Petrocelli thought he’d carry what he knew to the grave. But the thing about vengeance was that it wasn’t mired by any statute of limitations.

During Thomlinson’s exchange, Petrocelli not only told him that the casket which purportedly held the remains of Gweneth Shewster was a weighted coffin, he informed the detective where it was buried. A disinterment in California would support that, while an exhumation of Abigail’s body and an unaltered DNA analysis would further attest to it.

Driscoll headed for Sullivan’s tavern to celebrate, albeit alone, making a mental note to buy Thomlinson a box of Cuban cigars. They’d say a louder thank-you than his duly earned promotion would.

As the Lieutenant placed a twenty on the bar, he wondered what Giovanni Petrocelli, an embalmer’s assistant, considered a proper way to say thanks.