Mary Clark - Silent Night

Tom opened his eyes again. “Now you’re talking.” A smile flickered on his lips. And then he was asleep again.

For a long moment, she laid her head on the bed, then got up as the nurse tiptoed back in. “Doesn’t he look fantastic?” Catherine asked brightly as the nurse put her fingers on Tom’s pulse.

She knew that even slipping into sleep, Tom might hear her. Then with a last glance at her husband, she hurried from the room, down the corridor and to the elevator, then through the lobby, and into the waiting police car.

The plainclothesman answered her unasked question: “No word so far, Mrs. Dornan.”

“I said, give it to me,” Jimmy Siddons said ominously.

Cally tried to brave it out. “I don’t know what this boy is talking about, Jimmy.”

“Yes, you do,” Brian said. “I saw you pick up my mom’s wallet. And I followed you because I have to get it back.”

“Aren’t you a smart kid?” Siddons sneered. “Always go where the buck is.” His expression turned ugly as he faced his sister. “Don’t make me take it from you, Cally.”

There was no use trying to pretend she didn’t have it. Jimmy knew the boy was telling the truth. Cally still had her coat on. She reached into the pocket and took out the handsome Moroccan leather wallet. Silently she handed it to her brother.

“That belongs to my mother,” Brian said defiantly. Then the glance the man gave him made him shiver. He had been about to try to grab the wallet; instead, now suddenly fearful, he dug his hands deep in his pockets.

Jimmy Siddons opened the billfold. “My, my,” he said, his tone now admiring. “Cally, you surprise me. You run rings around some of the pick-pockets I know.”

“I didn’t steal it,” Cally protested. “Someone dropped it, I found it. I was going to mail it back.”

“Well, you can forget that,” Jimmy said. “It’s mine now, and I need it.”

He pulled out a thick wad of bills and began counting. “Three hundred-dollar bills, four fifties, six twenties, four tens, five fives, three ones. Six hundred and eighty-eight dollars. Not bad, in fact, it’ll do just fine.”

He stuffed the money in the pocket of the suede jacket he had taken from the bedroom closet and began to dig through the compartments in the wallet. “Credit cards. Well, why not? Driver’s license -no, two of them: Catherine Dornan and Dr. Thomas Dornan. Who’s Dr. Thomas Dornan, kid?”

“My dad. He’s in the hospital.” Brian watched as the deep compartment in the wallet revealed the medal.

Jimmy Siddons lifted it out, held it up by the chain, then laughed incredulously. “St. Christopher! I haven’t been inside a church in years, but even I know they kicked him out long ago. And when I think of all the stories Grandma used to tell us about how he carried the Christ child on his shoulders across the stream or the river or whatever it was! Remember, Cally?” Disdainfully he let the medal clatter to the floor.

Brian swooped to retrieve it. He clutched it in his hand, then slipped it around his neck. “My grandpa carried it all through the war and came home safe. It’s going to make my dad get better. I don’t care about the wallet. You can have it. This is what I really wanted. I’m going home now.” He turned and ran for the door. He had twisted the knob and pulled the door open before Siddons reached him, clapped a hand over his mouth, and yanked him back inside.

“You and St. Christopher are staying right here with me, buddy,” he said as he shoved him roughly to the floor.

Brian gasped as his forehead slammed onto the cracked linoleum. He sat up slowly, rubbing his head. He felt like the room was spinning, but he could hear the woman he had followed pleading with the man. “Jimmy, don’t hurt him. Please. Leave us alone. Take the money and go. But get out of here.”

Brian wrapped his arms around his legs, trying not to cry. He shouldn’t have followed the lady. He knew that now. He should have yelled instead of following her so that maybe somebody would stop her. This man was bad. This man wasn’t going to let him go home. And nobody knew where he was. Nobody knew where to look for him.

He felt the medal dangling against his chest and closed his fist around it. Please get me back to Mom, he prayed silently, so I can bring you to Dad.

He did not look up to see Jimmy Siddons studying him. He did not know that Jimmy’s mind was racing, assessing the situation. This kid followed Cally when she took the wallet, Siddons thought. Did anyone follow him? No. If they had, they’d be here by now. “Where did you get the wallet?” he asked his sister.

“On Fifth Avenue. Across from Rockefeller Center.” Cally was terrified now. Jimmy would stop at nothing to get away. Not at killing her. Not at killing this child. “His mother must have dropped it. I picked it up off the sidewalk. I guess he saw me.”

“I guess he did.” Jimmy looked at the phone on the table next to the couch. Then, grinning, he reached for the cellular phone he had taken from the glove compartment of the stolen car. He also took out a gun and pointed it at Cally. “The cops may have your phone tapped.” He pointed at the table next to the couch. “Go over there. I’m going to dial your number and tell you I’m turning myself in and I want you to call that public defender who is representing me. All you have to do is act nice and nervous, just like you are now. Make a mistake and you and this kid are dead.”

He looked down at Brian. “One peep out of you and…” He left the threat unspoken.

Brian nodded to show he understood. He was too scared to even promise that he’d be quiet.

“Cally, you got all that straight?”

Cally nodded. How stupid I’ve been, she thought. I was fool enough to believe I’d gotten away from him. No chance. He even knows this phone number.

He finished dialing and the phone beside her rang. “Hello.” Her voice was low and muffled.

“Cally, it’s Jimmy. Listen, I’m in trouble. You probably know by now. I’m sorry I tried to get away. I hope that guard will be all right. I’m broke and I’m scared.” Jimmy’s voice was a whine. “Call Gil Weinstein. He’s the public defender assigned to me. Tell him I’ll meet him at St. Patrick’s Cathedral when midnight Mass is over. Tell him I want to turn myself in and I want him to be with me. His home number is 555-0267. Cally, I’m sorry I messed up everything so badly.”

Jimmy pressed the disconnect on the cellular phone and watched as Cally hung up as well. “They can’t trace a cellular phone call, you know that, don’t you? Okay, now phone Weinstein and give him the same story. If the cops are listening, they must be jumping up and down right now.”

“Jimmy, they’ll think I…”

In two steps Jimmy was beside her, the gun to her head. “Make the call.”

“Your lawyer may not be home. He may refuse to meet you.”

“Naw. I know him. He’s a jerk. He’ll want the publicity. Get him.”

Cally did not need to be told to make it quick. The moment Gil Weinstein was on the line, she rushed to say, “You don’t know me. I’m Cally Hunter. My brother, Jimmy Siddons, just called. He wants me to tell you…” In a quavering voice she delivered the message.

“I’ll meet him,” the lawyer said. “I’m glad he’s doing this, but if that prison guard dies, Jimmy is facing a death-penalty trial. He could get life without parole for the first killing, but now…” His voice trailed off.

“I think he knows that.” Cally saw Jimmy’s gesture. “I have to go now. Good-bye, Mr. Weinstein.”