An Empty Hell Page 24

  “You win some, you lose some. You’ll get better.” Carver winked. “It does suck to lose, though, doesn’t it? Believe me, I know.”

  “Maybe I’ll get another shot at the title.”

  Carver shrugged.

  Herrick’s legs and abs burned hot from adrenaline. He followed his escorts back into the lobby. They didn’t pound him into meatloaf, but their muscles were tense and their hands were fists. One wrong move and he’d be chopped meat.

  They stopped at the front desk.

  “Mind if I make a phone call?” Herrick asked.

  “You got a cell phone.”

  Herrick shook his head. “It’s waterlogged. Gotta get a new one.”

  The bouncers didn’t respond. They just crossed their arms. The receptionist passed the landline over. Herrick dialed Sarah. He was surprised she answered, since the number was likely unknown.

  But she did.

  “It’s over,” he said. The heaviness of those words sat in his chest. “I’m coming home.”

  TOO MUCH time in police stations.

  That was Herrick’s thinking as he walked through the Jersey City station double doors and felt the whoosh of the heaters on his face. Outside, the first hard December snowfall was covering the pavement. Thank God it was Saturday. After school had been closed the day before, St. Paul’s couldn’t afford this early a snow day. By the afternoon, they could have seven inches—and it wasn’t supposed to stop until the next morning.

  McKinny was at the front desk waiting. Herrick had called in advance, let him know he was stopping by. When Herrick got to the desk McKinny winced.

  “You look worse than the other night,” he said.

  Herrick didn’t mind, it was just a hangover. He’d had them before. The bruise on his stomach was pure yellow now, though. The knife wound had scabbed over. Healing, he told Sarah.

  “Nah, life’s getting better.”

  “Let’s go to my office,” McKinny said.

  Herrick knew the way, but didn’t take the lead. McKinny took them down a long hallway, away from the cubicles and uniformed cops. They went into his office, a sparse room with a filing cabinet, a picture of his family framed on the wall, and a large window looking out toward the Hudson. Unfortunately, the view was marred by most of the buildings in the way, but if you squinted, you could see the Freedom Tower.

  McKinny sat behind the desk and typed something into his computer. Clicked the mouse a few times, then turned back to Herrick. Herrick liked McKinny’s guest chair. The padding didn’t have an indentation in it. He didn’t have many visitors.

  “You can’t see him,” McKinny said.

  “I bring recruiting information,” Herrick said. “Syracuse, Duke, Notre Dame. They’re all coming next week.”

  McKinny shook his head. “Not my call.”

  “What’s going on?”

  McKinny sat back and took a deep breath. The wheels on his chair creaked.

  “He killed a guy. The other one we brought in. Mosley.”

  McKinny pressed his lips together hard. Waited. Herrick didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say.

  “We have it on tape. Only person we’re letting see Donne is his lawyer.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Herrick said.

  He’d spent the night before with Sarah, doing things to loosen the tension in his chest, back, and neck. It had worked. Sarah hadn’t asked much about what had happened at the institution, and Herrick only told her he’d talk about it after he saw Donne. Now everything came back in one huge lump. He felt like the Tin Man, frozen in place and begging for oil.

  “I shouldn’t even be telling you that much,” McKinny said. “But I think we have him.”

  “Have you talked to his lawyer?” Herrick asked.

  “A little here and there. But even the great Lester Russell looks defeated.”

  “Jackson Donne is the good guy.” Herrick’s mouth was starting to go dry. He wiped at his lips. “The guy you should be talking to is Leo Carver about Alex Robinson.”

  It was his last-ditch effort. Put the right guy away. Make sure Jackson Donne was cleared of all charges and back on the street.

  McKinny shook his head.

  “He’s in Bethlehem Institution,” Herrick told him. “He was the guy who led the Narc squad when Donne was a cop. Donne turned on him when the Narcs were skimming off the top. He went away.”

  “Didn’t Donne work with Bill Martin?”

  Herrick shrugged. “Carver was the head of everything. Martin was number two. Donne told me he was supposed to finger them both, but when he got up on the stand, he panicked and only snitched on Carver.”

  McKinny said, “So he felt guilty years later and killed Martin too?”

  Herrick wasn’t going to win here either. He talked for twenty minutes, laying everything out for him. Why Donne went on the run, how the Mosleys were hired to kill him, and how Herrick tied into it all. McKinny listened, fingers steepled, stopping to ask a clarifying question here or there, but not judging.

  “Call Kearny,” Herrick said, finally. “Ask about Alex Robinson. Maybe you can get him to flip.”

  Herrick wasn’t even sure Robinson knew everything. The Mosleys may have been hired by Robinson, but they probably didn’t keep him in the loop.

  Silence filled the room. McKinny stared Herrick down. He didn’t blink, and Herrick’s chin started to ache. It was nerves—that’s all—not the power of the stare.

  McKinny went for the phone, and Herrick breathed again.

  “Yeah,” McKinny said by way of a greeting. He identified himself and then paused, listening. “Can you give me the cop who dealt with Matt Herrick last night?”

  Herrick nodded. Might as well use his name.

  “Hi.” McKinny identified himself again. “Yeah, I have Matt Herrick sitting here. He is having me call to ask you about a key piece in a case I’m working on involving Jackson Donne. Yeah, that guy. Can you believe I caught him?” McKinny laughed. “The state guys are coming in this afternoon if the snow doesn’t keep them home. Everyone wants a piece of him.”

  There was a long pause. Herrick looked out the window. The snow was intensifying. He couldn’t see Manhattan anymore. He could barely see the building across the street. Smart move taking the Light Rail.

  “Yeah, I want to ask you about Alex Robinson.”

  Herrick didn’t need to hear anymore. When the color went out of McKinny’s face, he knew. Somehow Carver had contacts everywhere. Little minions he could send out to do his business. He was clearing the deck. Donne was in prison, and Herrick was silenced.

  McKinny said a few more things that Herrick didn’t catch, then hung up the phone.

  “Alex Robinson killed himself in prison last night.”

  “How?”

  “They won’t say. Sounds like someone on their end screwed up.”

  Herrick put his head in his hands.

  McKinny shrugged. “You’re sure about this thing win Donne, huh?”

  Herrick nodded.

  “I think he’s going to plead guilty, Matt.”

  “Let me talk to him.”

  McKinny shook his head. “You’ve known him—what? A week? What does he mean to you?”

  “It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Anyone with that amount of death following him around shouldn’t be on the street. Even he knows it at this point.”

  Herrick slumped in his chair.

  “Go home, Matt. Let yourself heal. Get your team better.” McKinny stood up and held out his hand. “You win some, you lose some. You know that.”

  Herrick stood and shook hands. Too many people were telling him he lost. Maybe it was time to accept it. The court-long pass to Laettner didn’t work this time.

  He left the station and walked out into the snow. Flakes settled on his jacket shoulders and in his hair as he walked to the Light Rail.

  “I LOST.”

  Herrick got through the doorway and slumped against the wall. His face hurt, his side
hurt, the total sum of all his injuries overtook him. It was as if his body had given up the fight. It was just trying to hold on long enough to get through this case and let everything hit at once.

  Sarah got off the couch, ran over, and held him tight. He tried to hold his weight up so he wouldn’t crush her by falling into her arms. She held on and he put his left arm around her and pulled her in.

  “Let’s get your coat off,” she said.

  He took it off and dropped it on the floor, a clump of snow falling with it. Water started to spread across the hardwood. Sarah took his hand and led him over to the couch. They sat and she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and snuggled in with him. She was warm and the heat started to transfer into his body.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  He did. Everything from Donne’s arrest, to Mosley and Carver, and finally to the meetings with all the different police officers. As he was talking, he realized it was all a rambling mess. He wasn’t sure if Sarah was following, but McKinny must have. He hoped he hadn’t fucked it up even more by trying to speak.

  “You did lose,” Sarah said.

  “It could cost Donne his life.”

  He pictured Donne sitting in a cell. Did he even know it was snowing out? He was probably just staring at a gray wall, counting time in his head. Maybe the blood from Mosley was still on his hand, crusting up, digging into his fingertips.

  He felt Sarah close his eyes against his arm, her eyelashes rubbing against his sleeve.

  “New Jersey doesn’t have the death penalty,” she said.

  “Not what I meant. I meant—he’s going to jail for a long, long time. Maybe even life.”

  “You can’t save everyone, Matt.”

  He thought about his father. “It’s funny—our parents make decisions and it affects us years later.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Not today.”

  Herrick stared at the TV across from him. Sarah had muted it when he came in. Two SportsCenter talking heads were going back and forth about something. An image of the Bulls logo was splayed across the screen behind them. The movement was distracting. He pulled Sarah in closer and kissed her hair. It smelled like Head and Shoulders shampoo. She’d been here three days and hadn’t gotten her own shampoo yet.

  “I had to try,” he said.

  He thought about Alex Robinson’s sister. He could have been there sooner, gotten a shot off and stopped the boy even earlier. The more people he could have saved, even though it meant a child would die. He’d made peace with that ages ago.

  At least, he thought he had.

  “Maybe he’s not worth it,” Sarah said.

  “Everyone should have a chance.”

  “He did. You gave it to him.”

  “McKinny thinks he might plead guilty.”

  Sarah sat up and looked at him. She brushed the good side of his face with her hand.

  “Then that’s his choice and that’s his answer.” She grinned. “The way I’m looking at it, you won.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  She stood up and walked into the kitchen. He forced himself up and followed him. When he got there, she was standing at the refrigerator. She pulled it open. It was stocked with two six packs of beer, a bottle of wine, and a bunch of pizza toppings and dough. There was a bottle of Angel’s Envy bourbon on the counter.

  “We’re going to be snowed in this weekend. I went out this morning and got beer, wine, and some stuff to make pizza. I even bought you a pizza stone and bourbon. And what blizzard is complete without”—she pointed at the top of the fridge where a bag rested—“a bag of potato chips.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “But you said I won.”

  “You did,” she said. “Think about it. Your team is okay. You didn’t lose them. We have this weekend to get you better. Physically and mentally. It sucks. The past two weeks have been hell on you, but by Monday, you have to get back to the team. Like I said, they need you too.”

  “We have a championship to win,” he said. His body still ached, but some clarity was coming back to his thoughts.

  “That’s right. And I have faith in you. Those kids have faith in you.” She put her hands on her hips. “But you’re forgetting one other thing.”

  He smiled. “No, I didn’t. There’s one other way I’ve won.”

  “Go ahead,” she said, matching his grin.

  “You.”

  She walked up to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Knew you’d figure it out eventually. Took me a while to figure it out too.”

  They went back into the living room, and Sarah turned off the TV. They sat together for a while, she leaning on him, he occasionally kissing her hair. Too much kissing hurt but he didn’t care. Occasionally one of them would look out the window and comment on the snow. They could barely see three feet away at this point.

  “There’s one more thing I have to do,” he said, sometime later.

  “You’re not going out in the snow,” Sarah said. “I was just about to go get you a beer.”

  Herrick shook his head. “No, it won’t be for a while. I want to see how the trial turns out. If there even is a trial. But there’s a way I can help Jackson. One more way. I don’t talk about it much.”

  “Well,” Sarah said, “you don’t have to think about it now.”

  “I didn’t think I’d have to worry about it ever.”

  They didn’t talk about it again. Instead, they kissed and drank and made pizza and had a good weekend.

  Maybe, Herrick thought, even when you lose, you win.

  The snow fell through Sunday afternoon. They never left the apartment. Monday came and Sarah went back to work. He went back to coaching. The team was ready to be coached.

  Life went on. His wounds healed.

  Wins came.

  HERRICK SAT in Rahway State Penitentiary in the visitors’ room. He sat at a table looking around. No one else was there. It was a Monday morning, and—he suspected—most visits happened over the weekend. He waited.

  Donne had pled guilty only days before. Ten years. Five for good behavior. His lawyer made a deal to get him in Rahway, close to home. Herrick went to watch on the first day of the case. Donne sat in a suit, sullen and reserved. He didn’t make eye contact with the jury or the crowd. The plea deal must have come at the last minute, because even the selections were finished. Donne and Lester Russell stood up in front of everyone and announced their guilty plea. Cameras went off, some people gasped. One guy groaned; on the way out, Herrick heard him complaining about giving up three days of work for a plea deal.

  Now Herrick waited. He tapped his fingers on the table and whistled to himself. The security guard had taken his phone and wallet, promising he’d get it back when he left. Herrick had been smart and left the ASP at home.

  Time passed, but Herrick wasn’t sure how long.

  The door opposite the one he came in swung open. Jackson Donne came through it. His right eye was swollen and black. His left arm was in a sling. He walked slowly, but without a limp, over to the table Herrick sat at.

  “They don’t do the phone and glass thing anymore,” Donne said. “We’re just on all sorts of cameras.”

  Herrick nodded. “Heard you had a rough couple of days.”

  “I put some of my new roommates in here years ago. They missed me,” Donne said.

  Herrick tried to stifle the laughter, but couldn’t. Donne didn’t join in.

  “Sorry,” Herrick said.

  “How are things on the outside?”

  Herrick thought, but didn’t say, good. He and Sarah were going strong. Herrick made cash working divorce cases. Messy, but simple. The team came in second in the Tournament of Champions. Not enough to make everyone happy, but enough to keep St. Paul’s open. His two seniors found spots in North Carolina and UCLA. That’s all that mattered.

  But Donne didn’t want to hear that.

  “Life goes on,” Herrick said.

  “What the hell are you doing
here?”

  “I think I can help you.”

  Donne nodded. “I don’t need help.”

  Herrick sat back in the chair. The plastic back bent a little bit.

  “I thought I could get you out. Those first couple of days after the school stuff. I thought I could clear you.”

  Donne shook his head. “You didn’t have to. I didn’t want you to. I think I deserve to be here.”

  Herrick nodded at the sling. “You don’t deserve that.”

  Donne pursed his lips and breathed audibly through his nose. His eyes rolled up to the ceiling. Herrick waited.

  “Maybe I do,” Donne said, finally. “Nobody should have to live the life I had without punishment.”

  Herrick said, “It always seemed like you were trying to do the right thing.”

  Donne huffed.

  “I think I can help you.” Herrick forced the issue.

  Donne didn’t respond. They sat in silence for some time. Herrick thought about the move he was about to make. The thing from his past he was about to make public. He had only told Sarah this last night. He only told her because if he was going to share it with Donne, he had to be fair. She took it well.

  Herrick wondered what Donne was thinking about.

  “I miss beer,” Donne said. “That would help. Did you bring that?”

  “That probably would have been a better gift, you’re right.”

  “You could have tracked down some Heady Topper.”

  “I’m not a miracle worker.”

  Herrick reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper. He put it on the table, keeping his finger on it. He counted to ten before passing it. Needed to make sure it was the right choice. Seemed like it was the best one, anyway.

  Donne didn’t touch the paper. It sat in front of him, a corner of it starting to unfold against its own tension.

  “Are you offering me a job?” Donne looked around the room. “I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

  “Open it,” Herrick said.

  Done sighed. With his good hand, he picked up the paper and unfolded it. He read what was on it and then looked at Herrick.

  “Who the hell is that?”

  Herrick took a breath. “My dad.”