No Way Back(Jack McNeal #1)(21)

He signed for the large package and hauled it into the house. Inside was a cardboard box full of Caroline’s belongings, including her house keys, and papers sent by her lawyer in DC.

McNeal put down the box and cracked open a couple of cold beers for him and Peter. Their father had left early to head back to the familiarity of his old haunts on Staten Island.

Jack ordered Chinese for two, and they ate at the kitchen table. He was happy to have some company.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Peter said, scooping up some fried rice. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night.”

“And?”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should be cautious.”

“Thanks. It’s a lot to take in. I need time. I need space.”

“I understand.”

After the brothers finished their food, Peter cracked open another couple of cold beers. Jack carefully unpacked Caroline’s papers, which included a copy of her will.

“What the hell is this?” Peter asked.

Jack told Peter about the telephone conversation with Garrett, the executor of Caroline’s will.

“God bless her,” Peter said.

McNeal laid out all the photos and legal papers on the living room table. Methodically. Photos of their wedding. Extensive typewritten notes from her diary that she had passed to her lawyer.

He began to work his way through it all. He skimmed through the sometimes painful insights into his late wife’s mindset. She talked of “being watched” and being “under surveillance.”

He read on, determined to find out what had happened to her.

Jack sipped his beer as he leafed through the typewritten notes. He highlighted in red pen a passage where Caroline had talked about cars following her. The sound of clicking on her home phone. A mysterious prowler outside her home in the weeks before her death.

“I don’t know if she contacted the police about this. I’d like to know if this was followed up. If she even reported it. The Secret Service knew about this.”

Peter shook his head, obviously struggling to wrap his mind around it all.

The more he read the notes, the more depressed Jack got. He knew his wife—or at least he thought he did. She had been a rational person. She wasn’t superstitious. She wasn’t easily spooked. She was tough. Independent-minded. But something had been troubling her. Deeply. She wasn’t imagining it.

Jack spent hours plowing his way through the typewritten diary. He perused the letters from him that she had kept. Personal letters from friends she had received, and a couple of CDs. One was Jackson Browne. He knew she liked him. But Lady Gaga? She didn’t like her music at all.

The last item on the table was a thumb drive.

Peter leaned back in his seat, gulped some more beer. “Wonder what’s on it.”

Jack shrugged. He went up to his study and brought down his laptop. He inserted the thumb drive. The screen came alive. A homemade video of Caroline appeared, smiling, tears streaming down her face, filmed in what looked like her kitchen.

Peter patted him on the back. “I’m so sorry, Jack.”

Jack sighed as his throat tightened, seeing his late wife. “Hey, honey,” he said, without thinking.

Caroline smiled back at him, wiping away tears, speaking from beyond the grave. “Jack, if you’re watching this, it means I’m dead, darling. This is so difficult. I don’t know who I can trust. But I do know I can trust you. I always could. You were always the one I could turn to.”

Jack stared at the screen.

“I want you to know,” she said, brushing her brown hair from her glassy eyes, “I believe people are trying to kill me. I wanted you to know that. Maybe I should have told you sooner. But I guess it’s too late now. I know you’re a good man, Jack. I always did.”

Jack closed his eyes.

“You’re a cop, Jack. So, I know how you think. I know how you feel about things. And you’re probably wondering why I didn’t go to the cops. The truth is, I did. I reported this. I believe they spoke to someone. They didn’t give me a name. The thing is, I’m scared. And I want you to know what I know. There’s so much I want to talk about. I want you to know that I bitterly regret leaving you. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me one day. You know my happiest day? It was the day I married you. Don’t forget that. I remember that day. Hottest day of the year. Pouring rain the day before and the day after. But for our wedding, it was flawless. Do you remember that day, Jack? I’m sure you do.”

Jack tasted his salty tears and shook his head.

“I feel so unsafe. I’m afraid. You know me, Jack. I’m a fighter. But I know something is wrong. I know you’re probably wondering what this is all about. It’s a long story. I think it has to do with a story I’m working on. All the information, my notes from the story, are on a disc.”

Jack immediately thought of the Lady Gaga CD. He smiled as Peter wrapped his huge arm tight around his shoulders.

“I trust you, Jack. I know you’ll find out not just who killed me, but also who killed the woman whose story I was investigating. Her name was Sophie Meyer. It wasn’t a sanctioned story by the Post. They didn’t want to touch it. This is my work. I wanted to write a book about it. But I guess that wasn’t to be.”

Jack reached out and touched the screen. “I love you, darling.”