Chris Mooney - The Dead Room

Coop didn't speak. She could hear chatter and noises on the other end of the line. He's at the airport, she thought, and her heart started racing.

'He's dead, Coop. So is Kevin Reynolds. You don't have to leave.'

'What happened?'

'I'll tell you in person. Where can I meet you?'

'I'm at the airport.'

'You don't have to leave,' she said again. 'You and your sister can come home.'

'I'm going to London.'

She felt short of breath.

Don't leave, she wanted to say. I need you here. With me.

'I've got to go, Darby. Final boarding call.'

She could hear the sadness in his voice. No, that's not entirely true. She also heard relief. In six hours he would be walking through a new airport halfway around the world, walking through a new country where nobody knew his secrets. Where he could start afresh, maybe even reinvent himself.

'Take another flight, Coop. I'll pay for it. I want to see you before you go. Spend some time and talk -'

'It won't change anything.'

'Just listen to me for a moment.' She knew what she wanted to say – words that rushed through her a lot these days every time she saw Coop – but couldn't put them together.

Start with what happened back at the house.

'This afternoon, when you were about to leave, you came back.'

'I shouldn't have done that,' he said.

'I'm glad you did. I…'

Why is this so goddamn hard?

'I just wanted to say… I…'

'I know', he said. 'I feel the same way, for whatever it's worth.'

'It's worth a lot.' And I was too stupid or too scared or too selfish or all of the above and probably a hundred other things to act on it. But I don't want you to leave. I don't think I'll be able to live with that.

'If you feel that way,' Darby said, 'then don't leave.'

'I have to. I've wanted to get away from here for a long time. There's no reason for me to stay.'

What about me? I'm not a good enough reason?

'I've really got to go,' he said.

Darby squeezed her eyes shut.

'Okay,' she said, choking on the word. 'Have a safe flight.'

'Bye, Darb.'

'Bye.'

A soft click and the airport noise disappeared. Coop was gone.

Jamie lay on a gurney in the back of the wailing ambulance. With the use of her good eye, she watched the EMT with the pudgy face and curly hair clip an IV bag above her head. She tried to speak to him but her words were lost inside the oxygen mask covering her mouth.

She didn't feel any physical pain. They had given her some sort of shot and the pain had disappeared but not the worry. No cruiser-load of dope could take that away. That and love.

The EMT moved away in a blur and disappeared. Michael took his spot. He knelt down next to her and a moment later she felt his cold hands clamp around hers. The anxiety vanished, her heart swelling with relief. And love. He could be a stubborn shit, yes, but she loved him, Christ, she did, and if she could have one wish right now it was that Michael might know what she carried inside her heart.

Michael's face crumpled. 'I'm so sorry, Mom.'

She wanted to take off the mask and speak to him but the EMTs had strapped her down so she couldn't move.

'You… ah… did right… ah… thing,' she said, knowing Michael couldn't hear her but still needing to say the words.

'I wanted to run downstairs to the phone but I was afraid to leave Carter alone. I didn't want anything to happen to him. If anything did, you'd hate me.'

'Proud,' she said. 'Proud… of… ah… you.'

Michael started sobbing. 'He was so scared, Mom. So scared. I put my hands over his ears when you started screaming. I turned his face so he wouldn't see anything. I had my hands over his ears and he could still hear you screaming and he was starting to cry and I wanted to run – we both did – but I kept whispering to him that he had to be quiet. He had to be quiet no matter how much he was scared 'cause that was the only way we could protect you.'

He buried his face in her lap and squeezed her hand. She could feel him shaking as he cried.

'I love you, Michael. Proud.'

She turned her head to the EMT, wanting to ask him why he was just sitting there, and then she saw Carter's face, shiny with tears, appear above his brother's shoulder. She wiggled her fingers, trying to wave hello.

Carter crawled on top of the gurney. The EMT, thank God, didn't stop him. Carter kissed her forehead, then curled his small body beside hers, the stubble of his crew cut pressing up against her cheek. His head and all its scars still smelled faintly of soap.

He placed an arm gently across her chest. He kissed her cheek.

Jamie closed her eyes. She could drift off to sleep now. Michael and Carter were safe. There was no need to worry any more. Michael and Carter were safe.

'Mommy?'

She opened her eyes and saw Carter's face hovering above hers.

'Michael and me are here,' Carter said. 'You can go to sleep and when you wake up we'll be here.'

She smiled behind the mask. Carter smiled too.

Her babies. Her two brave boys.

'We won't go anywhere, Mommy,' Carter said. 'We won't never ever leave you. You won't ever be alone. Promise.'

This is the only thing that matters, Jamie thought. This is what you lived for, this feeling you had for your children. And nothing – not even God Himself – can come between it.

Christina Chadzynski was buried on a bright summer morning in her hometown of West Roxbury. Boston police had cordoned off the surrounding streets to accommodate the swelling numbers of officers and politicians attending the funeral. The media were out in full force, their numbers swelling behind the police barricades, to film the spectacle

While the murder of a police commissioner was front-page news, the real reason for their presence was to hunt for information about how dead FBI agents had somehow risen from the ashes. Had the FBI known? Had they deliberately helped in the subterfuge? So far, Boston PD and the FBI had managed to prevent anything from leaking out.

Well, maybe not for long, Darby thought, and checked her watch.

She stood with hundreds of other mourners at the cemetery. Her lawyer, a man named Benjamin Jones who had successfully handled a lot of investigations for Boston police officers, had insisted that she come. He wanted her front and centre, to show everyone she had nothing to hide.

She didn't have anything to hide, but that hadn't prevented her from being suspended, with pay, pending an internal investigation.

She recalled her SWAT instructor's warning: Every bullet has a lawyer's name on it.

From behind her dark sunglasses she looked at the predominantly male faces across from her, staring and watching. Her. She had got used to the stares. Some officers, she was sure, had found out what really happened. There was no such thing as a secret inside Boston PD. She was also sure that some of those officers were wondering if their voices or names were on Kendra Sheppard's flash drive.

Darby hadn't been allowed to listen to or see what was on the USB drive. It had been confiscated by the Boston brass, along with her phone containing her taped conversation with Chadzynski.

For the past week the commissioner's death had been front-page news. The national news outlets were more interested in the discovery of the body inside an abandoned East Boston auto garage – Special Agent Jack King, a man who, along with Frank Sullivan and three other Federal agents, had supposedly died in 1983.

There was still no official comment from the FBI. The Boston Police Department's PR machine, though, was already in motion.

The PR rep cited how the police commissioner's Criminal Services Unit discovered the bodies of two other 'dead' Federal agents – Peter Alan, who had been found shot to death inside the basement of a home owned by Kevin Reynolds; and Steven White, who had been killed at the Wellesley home of Jamie Russo, a previous victim of an unsolved home invasion that had claimed the lives of her husband and two children. While the PR rep would not cite actual specifics of the 'ongoing investigation', it was reported that Police Commissioner Chadzynski had been shot to death by a nine-millimetre handgun belonging to Arthur Pine, a Belham detective who had died at the garage along with former Federal agent Jack King.