The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [122]
Please understand, be strong, and most of all, forgive me for causing you so much hurt.
Love,
Christine
P.S. The key to the jeep will be at the end of the turn off for Rocky Point. It’s in an envelope like this one.
The jeep. David laughed in spite of himself. From an even start it was doubtful the jeep could stay with Christine’s Mustang for more than a few yards. She was certainly determined not to be dissuaded. Well, he would not be dissuaded either. He could not change the situation, so he would simply change his expectations. Whatever she had to face he would face with her, as long as she wanted him there.
David dressed, playing through in his mind the situations the two of them might encounter in the days and weeks ahead. He noticed the bulky sweater he had worn on the ride to Rocky Point. Christine had placed it, neatly folded, on a chair by the bureau. David grinned. Perhaps he could return it to Joey as a contribution toward the wardrobe of the next man chased into the Charles River. As he picked it up, Rolsetti’s heavy revolver fell out. David had completely forgotten about it. He hefted the revolver in one hand and felt the queasy tension that he had come to expect when handling guns of any kind. He tried to recall when Christine said Joey would call again. Last night? This morning? A moment of reflection and he went to the phone. Rosetti’s Boston number was printed on a small card taped to the receiver.
The woman’s voice that answered his call was older than Terry’s.
“Hello, is this the Rosettis’ residence?” he asked.
“Yes. Can I help you?”
“Well, could I speak with Mr. or Mrs. Rosetti, please?” For a time there was silence on the other end.
“Who is this, please?” the woman asked finally. Her voice was ice.
David began to shift nervously from one foot to the other. “My name is David Shelton. I’m a friend of Joey and Terry’s, and I’m stay—”
“I know who you are, Dr. Shelton,” the woman said flatly. Again there was silence. David felt an awful sinking in his gut. “This is Mrs. D’Ambrosio. Terry’s mother. Terry can’t come to the phone. The doctor’s given her some medicine and …” Suddenly the woman began to cry. “Joey’s dead … murdered,” she sobbed. David dropped to the couch and stared unseeing across the room. “Terry hasn’t been able to talk to the police, but she talked to me, and she said it’s because Joey helped you that he’s dead.” She broke down completely, any pretext of anger at him lost in her grief.
“But that’s … impossible,” he mumbled, his mind whirling. It was Leonard Vincent. It had to have been. He pressed his eyes, trying to stop the spinning. First Ben, now Joey … and Christine out there somewhere. “When did this happen?” His voice was lifeless.
“Early this morning. They found him in his car, stabbed and cut and … Dr. Shelton, I just don’t want to talk to you anymore. Joey’s funeral is Tuesday. You can speak with my daughter after that.”
“But wait …” The woman hung up.
For several minutes David sat motionless, oblivious to the bleating of the receiver in his lap. Then he grabbed the sweater and the revolver, along with his crutches, and raced from the house. Hoping against hope, he checked the jeep. There was no key. He threw the gun on the seat and pushed himself down the road in long, swinging arcs. Still, by the time he returned, nearly half an hour had passed. He was soaked with perspiration, gasping for air. His ribs, battered by the unpadded arm supports, screamed as he pulled himself up behind the wheel. Then he stopped.
“Will you calm down,” he panted. “She’s fine. She’s all right.” He started the motor. She was probably in Dr. Armstrong’s office right now, or even with Dockerty. All he had to do was cool down and get to Boston in one piece.
He glanced over at the revolver and thought about Rosetti’s admonition to him. How had he put it? Do it unto others if you even think they’re gonna do it unto you? Something like that. David shuddered,