The Evil That Men Do (21 page)

“Buy land. It’s the only thing they’re not making any more of,” Sops said.

Tenant opened his eyes.

Sops was pointing out the car window toward the trees on the side of the road. A sign made of paper and wooden stilts was stuck into the dirt. It read: SOLD GIANT REAL ESTATE. Land development.

“Something my father used to say,” Sops said. “Land was going to be big.”

“You think Willy Hackett’s getting a land deal from the senator?”

Sops shrugged.

Tenant smiled and put his hand on Sops’s shoulder.

“I like the way you think. Stop the car. I’m going back to Connor.”

“You’re going to walk?” Sops said, braking.

“Yeah. You don’t need to be involved anymore. This is almost over.”

“What will you do after that?”

“I’ll find my own way home. And then I’m going to talk to Willy Hackett.”

“But you need to take something with you if you’re going to follow this through.”

“What?”

“It’s not much, but you never know.”

Sops reached across the car to the glove compartment and fished out a Swiss Army knife. He handed it to Tenant.

“If you’re really going to go through with it, jam this in his throat.”

ELEVEN HOURS

“Something’s bothering you,” Jason Marshall said.

Donne didn’t answer at first. The sun rose behind them as they drove along Route 3 back toward Montclair. The highway headed east was backed up, a distinct difference from a few days ago. Once the news confirmed that the explosion at Carter’s hadn’t been terrorism, tourists, employees, and everyone else flocked back to the city unafraid.

“Donne?” Marshall asked.

Of course something was bothering him. His mother was dying. He had two murdered relatives and one who’d been kidnapped. There was a massacre at his sister’s home. He’d shared all that with Marshall already, but the state cop had good instincts. He knew there was something else.

And there was.

“I never really knew Bryan Hackett,” Donne said. “He was a part of our extended family, but I never felt like he was really involved.”

Marshall got off on Valley Road.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“When he came over from Ireland, he was polite but withdrawn. He didn’t want to talk to us. He would only say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ at the dinner table. Hellos and good-byes and that sort of thing. But even when we were around, he’d disappear into his room and only come out to eat.

“Then for whatever reason we didn’t see each other for a few months. The next time I saw him, he’d lost the accent and become a bit of a prick. A bit crazy. The smallest comments bothered him and he’d fly off the handle.”

Donne’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He expected it to be Susan, calling to tell him the coast was clear, the police had left her home. Or the exact opposite, to stay away. But it was a restricted number.

He looked at Jason Marshall, whose eyes were on the road. He wouldn’t mind Donne taking the call.

He picked up and announced himself.

“Ah, Jackson. It’s been a long time.”

“Who is this?” he asked, though deep down he knew.

“You’re still alive, I see.”

“Hackett? What the hell are you doing?”

He laughed. “I thought it was time you and I talked. Susan was boring me.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Settling old scores, I guess you’d say.” Donne could still hear a trace of the left-behind Irish accent.

“Is Franklin alive?”

“If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t have any leverage, would I? Yeah, he’s alive. Though I wouldn’t say he’s doing too well.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“No.”

Marshall kept glancing toward him.

“Why are you doing this, Hackett?” Donne asked. It was useless to argue about talking to Franklin. If he was dead, there was nothing Donne could do about it. And if he was still alive, then Hackett would have to keep him that way until they got the money for him. Money they weren’t going to be able to get.

“Your family has been screwing mine over for decades. Nearly seventy years, asshole. And it’s time someone did something about it.”

“My family?”

“Yours, the Carters’. Your grandfather and Lisa Carter. Your parents and Lisa’s kids. Your sister and Franklin were childhood friends, high school sweethearts. Your families have been intwined for years. But no one remembered mine.”

“Faye and George did. They tried to make you part of the family. They wanted to fix whatever was wrong.”

“They didn’t do a good enough job.”

“Tell me what’s going on. Why are you doing this?”

“Been keeping my eye on you for a few years, Jackson,” Hackett continued. “Known all about you. You haven’t seen your family in a few years. Not since you’ve been a PI. And now you’re back.”

“What do you want?”

“Your sister’s what inspired this, you know. Started this whole thing, or at least my role in it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your sister was a bitch. She told me she would make sure I was never a true member of the family. She was seventeen or eighteen, and I was eleven. And she wouldn’t accept me. And neither would you. So I ran off.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She provoked me. You were a part of it too. That day Susan told me I wasn’t a part of the family? And I pushed her?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Donne said.

“You came outside and threw a rock at me. I still have the fucking scar on my forehead. You blamed me for your sister crying, when it was her fault. Neither of you cared. You both hated me!”

“You’re insane. This is because you didn’t get enough love as a kid?”

“This is because your family has always been fucking with mine!” Hackett said. “Eleven hours to get me the money. Or Franklin’s body will sink into the swamps.”

“Why is the money so important?”

“It’s nowhere near what I’m owed. What my family is owed.”

“Bryan,” Donne said. “Be reasonable.”

“Reasonable? You know what? I hope the money never shows. Because then I can kill Franklin. And your sister.”

“Hackett—”

“And then
you
.”

He disconnected the line.

“What did he say?”

“We have to find him. In a hurry.”

Eleven hours had never felt like such a short amount of time.

Bryan Hackett hung up the phone and put his head in his hands. They should have the money by now. It shouldn’t be taking this long. They were stalling. Donne was looking for him. And if Hackett wasn’t careful, Donne would probably find him.

Maybe he should just kill Carter now.

No, that wasn’t the way to do it. Killing Carter would drop all the leverage out from under him. Holding on to Carter, and the hope that the money would come to him, was the only thing he could do.

He wanted Donne and Susan Carter and Franklin Carter dead. The money was one way to get settled, but their deaths was another. He wanted both.

Hackett still had his tools in his car, whatever was left over from New York. He knew he should have gotten rid of them — they were evidence, after all — but he kept them in case of emergency, and it was a good thing he did. Because now he’d find another way to get rid of the evidence, get revenge, and get the hell out of Dodge.

He popped the trunk and was hit with a quick smell of fertilizer. He dragged the bag out of the trunk and carried it back inside, down the stairs. He’d tied Carter back up earlier, listening to the little bitch scream as Hackett pulled the broken arm behind him. It was a highlight of the past few days.

But now Hackett didn’t say anything to Carter. He just slowly and methodically went about his work.

“What are you doing?” he heard Carter mumble.

Wouldn’t you like to know?
Hackett continued working.

Soon, this would all be over.

TEN HOURS

Susan was out the front door, down the steps, and at the window of the car before Marshall shut the engine. She tapped on the glass, looking panicked. Donne expected the worst. Maybe it was about Franklin. Maybe Hackett had killed him.

He got out of the car. Behind him, Donne heard Draxton’s car pulling into the driveway.

“What is it?” Donne asked, grabbing Susan by the shoulders.

“I can’t take this anymore. We have to get the money.”

“There is no money, Susan. You weren’t going to be able to get it.”

Jason Marshall got out of the car and leaned on the roof. He didn’t say anything, and when Donne looked at him, his expression didn’t change. He knew he wasn’t a part of the conversation, but at the same time, he and Draxton weren’t about to be left out of it.

“What are we going to do?” Susan asked.

He gave Draxton and Marshall a moment to offer input. They didn’t.

“We’re going to go inside and figure this out.”

And they did. Sitting in the living room where Delshawn Butler had grabbed his sister, Donne spread out all his aunt and uncle’s information about Bryan Hackett.

There wasn’t much. A few pictures of family, his adoption paperwork, and an article about Bayonne, New Jersey, which seemed out of place. He didn’t read it, and he was about to take it off the table when Jason Marshall stopped him. Sam Draxton had been uncomfortably quiet since they’d gotten here.

“That’s important,” Marshall said, holding the newspaper article.

“How?”

“When we did a background check on Mr. Hackett, we found a link to an old case involving a New Jersey senator. Ever hear of Connor O’Neill?”

“My mother mentioned him. Susan jarred it loose the other day.” He glanced at Susan, whose face flushed. “It sounds so familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“He was a popular senator here during the Great Depression. He really helped settle some of the few areas around New Jersey that hadn’t been built up. He helped with some of Roosevelt’s New Deal proposals around here. Should be a legendary senator, but he’s not. Turns out he was in cahoots with a local Irish gangster.”

“How is that linked to Bryan?” Susan asked.

Donne didn’t say anything. He wanted to let Jason Marshall talk. This seemed like the most he was going to get out of him, and he was afraid asking questions would get Marshall to clam up and realize he was only talking to civilians.

But Susan’s question didn’t rile him.

“The Irish gangster’s name was Willy Hackett. When we hired Bryan, we asked him about it. He told us he didn’t know anything about it. On a lie detector. But we researched it and things got really fuzzy. But it appears there was land in Bayonne that Connor O’Neill wanted to help sell.”

Susan leaned over and put her chin in her hands. Draxton stepped forward. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Marshall waved him off. “You didn’t ask, and it didn’t seem important.”

Draxton leaned against the wall and shook his head.

“The purchase of the land came down to two buyers. Willy Hackett and Maxwell Carter.”

Donne thought of his mother the other day, calling out Maxwell Carter’s name. She did know something about what was going on. She was trying to tell them about it.

“Maxwell Carter was Franklin’s great-grandfather,” Susan said. “He was murdered. Franklin’s talked about it a lot.”

Some of the pieces were falling into place.

“So all this is about some deep-seated revenge?” Donne said.

Marshall shrugged. “I don’t know. Hackett didn’t know about all of this when we asked him about it.”

“Who owns the land in Bayonne now?” Draxton said.

“Texaco, but it’s going to become government land. Right now it’s basically an abandoned swamp.”

“Are there buildings there?” Donne asked.

Marshall shrugged. “Probably. Abandoned, I’d imagine. There was a story on it in the
Star-Ledger
a few months ago. About how the new ethanol factory was going in there. And the old buildings were going to be demolished, starting in November.”

“Do you think—” Susan started to say.

They all did. They all thought it at the same time.

Donne vocalized it.

“That’s where he’s hiding Franklin. He told me—” Donne looked at Susan and decided to say it anyway. “He told me that if we didn’t get him the money, we’d find Franklin’s body in the swamps.”

“He could be talking about the Meadowlands,” Marshall said.

Susan put her face in her hands.

“We’re running out of time,” Donne said. “I’m willing to take a shot.”

Bryan Hackett made the trip to St. Phillip’s Church in Clifton. It took about forty minutes in rush-hour traffic. Bayonne was one of those places it seemed you could get to only by helicopter. Either a person could go to Staten Island — and who the hell really wanted to go there? — or take the Route 78/Turnpike extension back to civilization. Then he followed the Turnpike to exit 16W and then Route 3 to Valley Road.

Now he knelt in a pew in the last row. Hands clasped together, he pressed his forehead against them.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name.
He forced his way through the prayer in his mind, willed the words to God. Hackett hadn’t prayed much since he’d moved to America. It seemed a much more Irish thing to do. But today he needed it. It was going to be a hellish day, whether or not he got the money, and Hackett wanted to make sure God was on his side.

Bryan Hackett finished the Lord’s Prayer and started a Hail Mary when he felt a tap on his shoulder. There was someone else he needed on his side, and when he turned and saw Jill, he knew she was still pushing for his success.

Her blond hair fell over her eyes and caressed her shoulders. Her thin red lips were pressed together, covering a slightly crooked front tooth. Hackett’s heart sped up. He stood up and pulled her toward him in a hug. They hadn’t seen each other in three days, the longest they’d been apart since they met.

“Are you okay?” she asked.