Sunken Graves Alan Lee (reading e books .txt) 📖

outfit, the kind a woman wears so her date will think of nothing else, and his heart thundered. “Besides, I’m excited.”

“Gentlemen get excited?”

“This one does,” said Jennings.

“Do we have five minutes?”

“Sure.”

She smiled and grabbed his jacket and pulled him in. “Good.”

The door closed, sealing them inside.

Sitting in a dark Acura sedan, one block removed from Hathaway’s house, Francis Lynch watched her pull Jennings inside and close the door. He released a great sigh at the ceiling of his car.

He didn’t know why he was following Jennings. Some biological imperative demanded it, but for what reason?

His emotions were hard to identify. He acknowledged the overwhelming flood of them, but he’d spent a lifetime suppressing and ignoring anything that made him feel. There was grief, of course. Anger. Sorrow that he’d lost a father and brother in an instant. Guilt and fear. Yet there was also a sweet release, like a huge debt had been paid. He’d found himself singing earlier.

He wanted to thank Daniel Jennings and have him murdered, at the same time.

Something about him and the girl was fascinating. Their youthful innocence, the wide open horizon before them. They’d come out of the fire when his family hadn’t.

Francis hadn’t been there but his thumbprints were all over that night. He’d planted the idea with the chief. He’d baited Jennings into going. In his plan, Jennings and Peter would be dead.

But things hadn’t gone according to plan.

I know it all, Francis. I know everything.

He wished he knew how Jennings had done it. He’d read every police report and statement he could get his hands on and they were baffling. No murder weapon? How was that possible? Shotguns were big things, hard to hide, and an army of police officers and fireman had looked. Francis knew Jennings was formidable, but he didn’t realize the man was a magician.

The couple emerged from her door a few minutes later. Even from a distance, it was obvious they were flushed and beaming like teenagers. Jennings opened the door for her.

“They are beautiful children,” Francis told himself.

He dropped into gear and pursued the truck at a distance. Christmas music murmured softly on Q99.

He needed to get home. Peter’s children were living with him now. Benji was taking it harder than Junior or Ann. They had an appointment with a therapist tomorrow.

Ann worried him. She was showing very little emotion. She appeared to be more attached to Homer than Peter.

Jennings’ truck reached Brambleton Avenue and Francis guessed they were headed to El Rodeo. At the Cave Spring Corners stoplight, he almost turned for home.

Not yet, just a little longer. He felt he owed it to Peter and Chief Gibbs. A show of respect.

The Tacoma stopped at El Rodeo and Francis parked in the adjacent lot belonging to a gym. He sat within the drone of the engine and the warmth, and he watched Jennings and Hathaway stroll inside, holding hands.

Forgiveness, that’s what he needed. He needed the forgiveness of his father and brother. On some unknown, pathetic subterranean level, he needed it from the happy couple too.

If the chief heard that, he’d pound Francis with a phonebook, demanding he act like a man. Demanding he avenge his father’s death.

Sorry, Chief. I’m done cleaning up messes.

Francis withdrew his new burner phone with shaking fingers. He made a call.

A man answered and Francis said, “Good evening. The thing we talked about? Forget it. It’s off. …Yes, that’s right, cancelled. …I want him alive and have my reasons. Keep the money and forget we ever spoke. Don’t contact me.”

He hung up.

Deep breath. Nodded to himself.

Good. That was the wise move, especially after August’s visit. It spoke well of Daniel Jennings that he’d made such a powerful ally, an ally Francis didn’t dare cross.

He shivered. I’ll come in through your window.

One more phone call to make.

The number Francis dialed went straight to voicemail, as he suspected it would. The owner of the number was busy and would check his messages later.

Francis cleared his throat. “Daniel, I’d like to briefly tell you a story. About a little boy who was abandoned. The boy was thrown into awful foster homes with his brother, and then one day a man adopted them. Or mostly adopted them. And things got even worse because the state thought the boys would be okay, but they weren’t. The end.

“Do you know why I’m telling you this story, Daniel? There are cases, however rare, when the pain of being separated from a parent is far better for the child in the long run than the pain and damage caused by remaining with that parent. Sometimes children should be removed.

“However. It’s important Benji never finds out it was you, Daniel. That would be another death for him, because he idolizes you. So I propose we let the past stay in the past. I forget you trespassed and murdered Peter and you forget everything else, and the world is better for it.

“You have a brilliant future ahead. I believe you should be the beneficiary of injustice, this one time. Who knows, maybe you’ll grow to enjoy it.

“Goodbye, Daniel.”

Francis hung up and powered off the phone. He planned to smash it with a hammer when he got home. And that would be that.

Inside the restaurant, Jennings and Hathaway were brought a margarita each and they touched glass rims. Had they looked through the window, they’d have seen a dark Acura sedan pulling away. Brake lights flared as the car turned, and then it was gone. But the couple was too preoccupied to notice. They spoke quietly about the Christmas party and the past before it. About teaching. About doing life right and their goals. Alcohol and freedom from fear created an insular bubble, and inside they were alone with one another and their hard-won hope.

The End

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed Sunken Graves (you did). The story of a corrupt attorney who can bury his sins in legal paperwork was burning a hole in me, and it had to