An Empty Hell Read online

  “Of which murder? We got him on at least four bodies, and who knows what else over the past five or six years.”

  “There were people trying to kill him,” Herrick said. His hands were warm as he gripped the steering wheel. Everything Donne had done was on the table now, and Carver might be his only hope.

  “There’s a guy in Bethlehem Institution, it’s Donne’s ex-boss.”

  “The guy I helped you go see?”

  “Yeah.” Herrick pulled out of his parking spot. “If I can get him to talk …”

  McKinny coughed. “It’s not going to work, Matt. I’m sure his lawyer is going to hire people to review our evidence, but Donne killed somebody in our jail cell last night. We got him. It’s over.”

  The words cut through Herrick like an ax through a mushroom. “Who’d he kill?”

  “Mosley. Lucas Mosley. Donne says he fell, but we have it on video.” McKinny did something that made a tinking sound, like metal hitting metal. “Donne beat the shit out of him.”

  “Uh-huh. And what did your guys do to Jackson?” Herrick nearly blew a red light as he drove. He slammed on the brakes. “Donne didn’t kill your officer. It was Mosley. I was there.”

  Someone honked the horn behind him. The light had turned green. Herrick accelerated, and the next thing he knew, he was getting on Route 21, heading toward Newark. There he’d connect with Route 78 and go see Carver.

  “Someone’s got to pay for this, Matt. Might as well be Donne. Can you believe it? Biggest news story around here in years and I catch the last guy involved.”

  Herrick said, “Bye.” He disconnected the call. Then he dialed Sarah. She picked up quicker than McKinny did.

  “Matt, are you okay?”

  No easy way to answer that one. At least his jaw had stopped throbbing in the past twenty minutes. Maybe, though, that was because of adrenaline. “Are you still at my apartment?”

  She was. Sarah told him she’d gone out to get lunch, and to buy a book. But she came back. She wanted to be there when he got back.

  “Please stay, then. I’m going to be home soon. It’s almost over.”

  He pictured her sitting on his couch, reading a paperback. She liked thrillers, people on the run, stakes high. He thought about asking if somewhere inside, she was enjoying hearing him tell this story. He doubted it.

  “Tonight, we’ll go out and get some dinner.” He smiled. “I want to do this right.”

  “Me too,” she said. “How’re you feeling? Can you move okay?”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Where are you now?” Sarah asked.

  “Trying to help Jackson.”

  “Do you think you can?”

  Herrick looked at the stretch of road in front of him. Some brake lights flashed up ahead. The lights of the city skyline were starting to flicker, as the sky got darker. Only half past four, and it was already dark outside.

  “Give me two hours,” he said. “I’ll be home then.”

  “Matt, I asked and you didn’t answer. Makes me wonder if what you’re doing is worth it. Can you get him out?”

  Herrick took a breath. “No. I don’t think I can. Maybe I can find someone to testify for him, though.”

  “IT DOESN’T take much to know they got ya,” Russell said. His voice was quiet now. It had lost some of the power he’d had earlier. Guess that happened after bouncing ideas back and forth for hours.

  Donne was still in the chair, with an aching back and cramps in his calves. A McDonald’s burger wrapper crumpled on the table, next to half-eaten fries and an empty cup. His stomach gurgled uncomfortably. He’d already been escorted to the bathroom once, and now didn’t want to get dragged through the hallway again.

  He could wait.

  “They’re letting me talk to you for this long, which means they don’t care what we figure out.” Russell gnawed on a French fry. “They got you dead to rights.”

  “What’s the next step?”

  Russell shrugged. You never want to see your lawyer shrug.

  “You shouldn’t have run, Jackson.”

  Donne stood up, and his back cracked. Kate flashed before his eyes. He thought he’d chased that image away up in Vermont. The linger of her voice as she told him she had her beer goggles on. A sign that everything was going to be okay. He ran, and it was the wrong move.

  A life of wrong decisions.

  “Spur of the moment type thing,” he said.

  Russell nodded now. There wasn’t much force behind it. The smell of the fries still hung in the air. The light was starting to bother Donne’s eyes. A dull ache hung in his sinuses.

  End of the road.

  “So, when do we plead?” Donne said. He wondered how many years he’d get. Five? Ten? Life? Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.

  “We’ve got some time.” Russell ate another fry. They were probably ice cold. “I’m going to double check the cops. My investigators will follow up and see what they really have. We’ll get the tape they have, and maybe we can find an out there.”

  “We should just plead now.”

  Russell shook his head. “Not how it works. We go through the rigmarole. We’ll see if they offer a plea. Maybe we do better than we think.”

  “And if not?”

  Russell ran a finger across his throat. “You’ll be away for a long time.”

  Donne took a deep breath. “Maybe that’s how it should be.”

  Russell stopped chewing his fry.

  “All these years, how many times have you gotten me out of trouble?”

  Russell smiled. “I have a beach house.”

  Donne didn’t laugh. His eyes felt heavy, and the pain in his head was expanding. He could get some sleep in the cell. His body could heal.

  “How many times did you help when you thought … maybe you shouldn’t have?”

  Russell didn’t answer.

  “I thought getting away and going to Vermont was the answer. I thought if I hid and stayed out of everything down here, I’d be okay. After Kate, I felt like I had to hide. Staying there … no one else would get killed. I could drink my beer, cut some trees down, and maybe find the light.” Donne rubbed his face. “And hell still managed to find me. People died again.”

  “Jackson, you didn’t say this to the cops, did you?”

  Donne smiled. It hurt to smile. “I make dumb decisions, but I’m not that dumb.”

  “Good.”

  “It’s time to go away, Lester. Let’s take a plea.”

  Russell wiped his nose. “If they offer it.”

  “Otherwise, we tell the judge I’m guilty. Whatever happens then happens.”

  Russell looked over Donne’s shoulder. There must have been a camera there. Maybe he was looking for a microphone. Screw it all.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Russell said. “You gonna be okay tonight?”

  “I need to sleep.”

  Russell rubbed his face. He closed his briefcase and clicked the lock shut. Then he grabbed all the wrappers, fry boxes, and cups and threw them into the brown paper bag it all came in. He crumpled the top of the bag closed. He pushed out his chair and stood up.

  “I’ll talk to them. You’re important property,” he said. “I imagine the state cops are going to want to talk to you too, but they probably want you to sweat.”

  Donne shrugged. “I don’t have any sweat left.”

  Russell walked to the door and knocked. “I’ll make sure you get your own cell tonight.”

  Donne shrugged again. “I had it and they still beat the shit out of me.”

  “They won’t do that again. Now that they have you on tape killing a guy, they’ll leave you alone.”

  “I didn’t kill that cop. Either cop.” Donne coughed. “I would never.”

  “I know. But they don’t care.”

  “Can you get the tape of them beating me up?” Donne asked. “I think that’d help.”

  Russell laughed. “I’d imagine there was a malfunction with their equipment at th
e exact moment you got your ass kicked. But I’ll ask.”

  “Just not my day.”

  “Hang tight. I’ll be back before they lock you up tonight.”

  The door opened and Russell left. As the door swung back closed, the cop who let Russell out stared Donne down. The door clicked shut.

  Donne took a deep breath. He folded his hands together and rested them on the table. The metal table top was icy cold, and that radiated through his wrists. It sent a shiver through his body. Donne closed his eyes and breathed. His body was humming and he willed it to stop.

  He opened his eyes and looked across the room at the white wall. It was empty. He focused in on the paint chip, a small imperfection in an otherwise impeccable piece of nothingness. The gray drywall contrasted with the white, a lone raincloud in a sea of clear sky. He stared and tried to will it larger.

  Then he laughed. A long, loud guffaw.

  This was how he was going to spend the rest of his life, staring at walls and trying to wish them to fall down. Like he was Obi-Wan Kenobi. But he wasn’t. Not a Jedi. Not an escape artist.

  He was just a man who tried to do the right thing, and always managed to get it to blow up in his face.

  He caught his breath before the laughter could morph into tears.

  THE LOBBY was quiet.

  Herrick had only been here twice and both times, it was in the middle of the day. The bustle of visitors had dimmed, and the waiting room was empty. A man wheeled a tray full of dinners through the room and then into the hall that led to the inmates. He reached into his pocket, took out his iPhone, and started another voice memo. Only the receptionist was in the area with him.

  Herrick wasn’t about to deal with her.

  Instead, he rushed by. Act like you belong and no one will question you. He made it through the doors and into the hallway before he heard the receptionist shouting. Herrick kept moving, not listening to her requests to wait.

  Carver’s room was up on the right. The door was closed, but Herrick turned the handle and stepped through into the room. He locked the door, turning the little switch on the knob.

  Leo Carver was lying on his bed. He turned his head toward Herrick and said, “They have keys, you know.”

  The desk chair was in arm’s reach of Herrick, and he grabbed it. He dragged it over to the door and jammed it under the doorknob. The glass of water on the desk wobbled as he pulled, but it didn’t spill.

  With luck, the receptionist didn’t see Herrick’s face, and they were still scrambling to see who and where the intruder went. Outside, the tempo and volume of voices were starting to pick up.

  “We don’t have much time,” Herrick said.

  Carver sat up, putting his feet flat on the floor. He folded his hands in his lap.

  “I’m not sure I remember who you are.” Carver was very still. “Do I know you? You’ve been here before.”

  Carver’s name had been so engrained in Herrick’s mind the past few days, he barely remembered he’d only talked to Carver once. Over a week ago. Before he’d even found Donne. The second time he’d been stopped.

  “I’m Matt Herrick. You hired me to find Jackson Donne.”

  Carver tilted his head and knitted his eyebrows. “No. I most certainly did not.”

  “Well, maybe not you specifically, but you had Alex Robinson do it.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Herrick wanted to lead Carver, but not give him all the answers. This was his first misstep. But they had to rush things a little bit, because once the hospital attendants figured out where he was, they’d be working hard to get in here.

  The cacophony outside grew louder and more panicked. Herrick was pressed against the wall next to the door, like he’d been instructed during school lockdown practice. They shouldn’t be able to see him through the little window in the door.

  “Alex Robinson,” Carver said. “He used to work for me. Comes to see me from time to time. A good man.”

  “Listen,” Herrick said. “I’m going to get you out of here. Help me get Jackson Donne out of jail.”

  It was something Herrick had thought of on the drive down. Offer something that Carver would want. Freedom. Sidle up to him and become his confidant. Make him believe in you.

  Didn’t work.

  “I don’t even know you,” Carver said. His voice was even. “And who says I want to leave. I have my crossword puzzles, good food, and people I can talk to who make sure I’m okay. I don’t trust myself always.”

  Herrick sighed. He reached into his pocket and took out the iPhone and held it up for Carver to see. He face remained stone. Herrick reached over and stopped the recording. The moment Carver said he didn’t trust himself, the memo stopped working. It threw everything into doubt.

  Someone knocked on the door. Carver gave them a wave. No one tried the doorknob. It didn’t jiggle.

  Carver exhaled. “He got one phone call. And he called me.”

  Herrick put his phone away and waited.

  “Have you ever lost, Mr. Herrick?” Carver cracked his knuckles.

  “I’m a basketball coach,” he said. “I lose a lot. But I’ve also won state championships.”

  Carver nodded. “How do you deal with those losses with your team?”

  Where was he going with this?

  “We go back to the film. We practice. We get better for the next game.”

  Carver nodded. “Well, maybe you’ll become a better private investigator.”

  Herrick didn’t respond.

  “You’re going to lose today, Mr. Herrick.”

  It amazed Herrick that Carver’s voice never wavered. There wasn’t emotion behind it. It kept the same tone as an NPR broadcaster, the entire time he was speaking. Maybe, just maybe, Herrick thought, he could detect a little joy in it. But that was tentative.

  Herrick’s heart, however, was going a mile a minute.

  “You’re going to help me get Jackson Donne out of prison. You’re going to tell everyone what you’ve done.”

  Carver spread his hands. “What did I do? Nothing. I’ve been here for over a year. Before that I was in Rahway State Penitentiary. Eastern New Jersey State. Whatever they call it now.”

  Herrick searched for the words. Looked for a comeback. Like when he was a coach and just wanted to stop the opponent’s run. He once read a Hall of Fame coach said calling a time-out during the opponent’s run was a sign of weakness. That the players needed to find a way out of the situation. Just get a stop on their own.

  He wanted nothing more than to call a time-out right now.

  “You know,” Carver said, “years ago, I wanted Donne to be dead. Not anymore. I forgave him. He did what he thought was the right thing to do. He tried to save his partner and the rest of the crew. But he put me away. Maybe I deserved it.

  “And I wasn’t lying before. This?” He waved around the room. “This isn’t bad. I can do what I like. The employees here look out for me. They protect me. I’m safe here. It’s not the empire I once had, but it’s my own Elba. I can live my life for now. Maybe one day I’ll be ‘cured’ of my illness and see the world again. But this is okay. But Jackson? He’s going to suffer.”

  Herrick didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. His mouth was dry and his palms were wet.

  “You want me to testify on his behalf? All I’d be is a character witness, and there is no way I’ll say anything gold about him. He put me here, and some might say that was a good thing. But ultimately it got three good men killed. Three people who worked hard for me.”

  “Why? Why did they have to die?”

  Carver shrugged. “Because Alex Robinson is and always was a baby. He never figured things out—never grew up. The other guys? They figured out their lives. Two of them became very good private investigators. Family men. But Robinson couldn’t stand that. He had them killed And he didn’t even do it just to start his little plan. If he was going to be miserable, everyone else would be too. He was the imperfect piece to my crossword
puzzle. And I let him.”

  Carver shrugged as if to say There you have it.

  “Now, it’s time for you to go. Tail between your legs, of course.” Carver stood up. “Now, we can do this the easy way or I can make sure you’re dragged out of here and have to deal with the police again. I’m still Robinson’s boss. I’m a better father to him than his was. So I won’t let him go away because of my words.”

  Herrick stood up straight. A lead ball had formed in his stomach.

  “Give me your phone, or I will yell for them.” Carver held out his hand. “Do what I say and you get to walk out of here without a scratch.”

  Herrick rolled the situation around in his head, looking for possible outs. The sounds of police sirens and the shouting in the halls gave him no choice. Carver was right. Tail between your legs. He pulled out his iPhone and handed it over. Carver took it and dropped it in the glass of water. Some of the water splashed onto the desk.

  Out loud, Carver counted to ten. He reached into the glass, pulled the phone out, and handed it back to Herrick.

  “Now, walk over, open the door, and tell them where you are.”

  “They’re going to—”

  “Trust me,” Carver said. “You’re showing good sportsmanship.”

  Herrick pulled the chair out of the way, unlocked the door, and stuck his head out into the hallway. Two of the employees were standing right there.

  “I’m here,” Herrick said, and then ducked back into the room.

  The two employees rushed in behind him. They were burly men, more like bar bouncers than asylum nurses. But, Herrick guessed, when you’re dealing with insane meltdowns, sometimes you might need some toughness. Herrick braced for the beating.

  Carver held up a hand again.

  “This is my fault,” he said. “He came to visit me.”

  “You don’t get visitors,” one of them said.

  “Exactly,” Carver said. “He didn’t know he had to check in.”

  One of the guys looked at Herrick, who shrugged.

  “You’re an idiot. Do you live in the real world?”

  “From time to time,” Herrick said.

  “Come on,” the guy said. “Let’s go.”

  Herrick started to follow, but gave Carver one more look.