Chapter 5 - THE CHURCH OF DEAD MENSt. Agnes Church sat on a hill overlooking South Providence, built from gray stone darkened by nearly a century of New England winters.
At 5:52 in the morning, Helena stood beneath its bell tower alone.
At least, that was the appearance she intended.
Marcus was two blocks away inside a bakery delivery van.
Luca occupied the alley behind the church.
Three Ferraro men watched the surrounding streets.
Helena had objected to all of them.
Marcus ignored her.
“I thought I didn’t take orders,” she had said.
“You don’t.”
“Then why are your men following me?”
“They’re following me. I’m following you.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Now Helena pushed through the church doors.
No priest.
No parishioners.
Only candles burning near the altar.
Someone had unlocked the building early.
She moved down the center aisle.
Her footsteps echoed.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
She touched the pistol beneath her coat.
A man spoke behind her.
“Thomas used to sit in the third pew.”
Helena spun.
An elderly priest stood near the confessional.
Thin.
White-haired.
Maybe seventy-five.
She lowered her hand.
“You sent the message?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
The priest studied her face.
“You look like Margaret.”
That startled her.
“You knew my mother?”
“I married your parents.”
Helena searched her memory.
Father Michael Donnelly.
Her mother had mentioned him.
He disappeared from parish life shortly after Thomas died.
“They told us you moved to Maine.”
“They told many people many things.”
Helena’s pulse quickened.
“What does the symbol mean?”
Father Donnelly looked at the medal around her neck.
“The Lantern.”
“What is that?”
“A promise.”
“Between who?”
“Men who learned Providence had been purchased.”
He gestured toward the third pew.
Helena sat.
The priest remained standing.
“Your father was not investigating Marcus Ferraro when he died.”
“Marcus said Thomas investigated his family.”
“He did.”
Donnelly nodded.
“But only because he believed Ferraro money was moving through police hands.”
“Was it?”
“Some.”
Helena stiffened.
“So Marcus lied.”
“Marcus was twenty-five and knew less about his father’s business than he believed.”
The priest sat beside her.
“Salvatore Ferraro helped create the Lantern.”
Helena stared.
“A criminal created an anti-corruption group?”
“Life is rarely considerate enough to separate villains and heroes.”
“What was the Lantern?”
“Police officers. Judges. Business owners. Two journalists. One priest.”
Donnelly smiled sadly.
“We gathered evidence on a network that controlled smuggling through Providence Harbor. Drugs, weapons, stolen antiquities, human beings.”
Helena’s stomach tightened.
“And police protected it.”
“Police ran part of it.”
“Who?”
“That is why you are here.”
Donnelly reached into his coat.
Helena’s hand moved toward her weapon.
He pulled out an envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Thomas Callahan.
Salvatore Ferraro.
Warren Hale.
Arthur Bell.
And six others standing around a table in the basement of St. Agnes.
Marcus’s older brother Gabriel stood near the back.
Helena recognized him from old Ferraro photographs.
Twenty-one years old.
Smiling.
“The Lantern,” Donnelly said.
“Marcus doesn’t know?”
“Not everything.”
“Why?”
“Because Gabriel died protecting him from it.”
Helena’s throat tightened.
“From what?”
“The Harbor Circle.”
A name.
Finally.
“Who runs it?”
“Today? I don’t know.”
“Then who ran it twelve years ago?”
Donnelly looked toward the altar.
“Commissioner Raymond Vale.”
Helena nearly stood.
The current police commissioner.
Celebrated reformer.
Thirty-four years in law enforcement.
The man who had delivered the speech when Helena graduated from the academy.
“You’re sure?”
“I heard Thomas say it.”
“Where is the evidence?”
“Your father hid copies.”
“Where?”
The priest looked at her medal.
“Inside the one thing nobody would steal from a grieving child.”
Helena froze.
She removed the bronze medallion.
It appeared solid.
Donnelly took it carefully.
He pressed the edge with his thumbnail.
Nothing.
Then he twisted the outer ring.
A seam appeared.
Helena stared.
The medal opened.
Inside was a tiny circular piece of black plastic.
A microSD card.
Her father had placed evidence around the neck of his nine-year-old daughter.
For twelve years.
She had worn it through school.
Through the academy.
Through her mother’s funeral.
Through thousands of police shifts.
Helena’s hands shook.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because the safest secret is one the carrier does not know exists.”
She looked at Donnelly.
“You knew.”
“I knew there was something hidden. Not what.”
“Marcus’s medal?”
“Also contains something.”
Helena thought of him sitting two blocks away.
“Gabriel?”
Donnelly nodded.
A sound came from the rear of the church.
One quiet click.
The priest’s face changed.
“Down.”
Helena dropped.
A suppressed bullet struck Donnelly in the shoulder.
He fell across the pew.
Helena drew her pistol and fired toward the balcony.
The attacker moved.
Black coat.
Tall.
Another shot.
Wood exploded beside Helena’s head.
She dragged Donnelly to the floor.
“Marcus!”
She shouted it without thinking.
The church doors burst open.
Marcus entered with Luca.
Gunfire erupted.
The attacker fled toward the side exit.
Luca pursued.
Marcus dropped beside Helena.
Donnelly was bleeding heavily.
“Pressure here.”
Marcus pressed both hands against the wound.
The priest grabbed his wrist.
“Gabriel was not killed in the accident.”
Marcus stopped.
“What?”
Donnelly coughed.
“He found Vale’s ledger.”
Marcus’s face emptied.
“My brother died in a car fire.”
“No.”
The priest’s breathing became ragged.
“His car burned after they killed him.”
Marcus leaned closer.
“Who?”
Donnelly whispered something Helena barely heard.
“Your father knew.”
Marcus pulled back.
The words struck him harder than the gunfire.
“Salvatore knew Gabriel was murdered?”
Donnelly closed his eyes.
“He made a deal.”
“What deal?”
The priest’s hand slipped.
Marcus grabbed him.
“What deal?”
But Donnelly had lost consciousness.
Sirens approached.
Luca returned.
“Shooter got out the east door. Black SUV.”
Helena looked at him.
“Police?”
“Three minutes.”
Marcus lifted Donnelly.
Helena stopped him.
“You can’t be seen.”
“He’ll die.”
“And they’ll arrest you.”
“Then they arrest me.”
He carried the priest toward the front doors.
Helena stared at him.
For the first time, the legend of Marcus Ferraro looked different.
Not softer.
More dangerous, perhaps.
Because there was something he feared more than prison.
Another person dying while he ran.
Father Donnelly survived surgery.
Marcus did not stay.
They reached an abandoned Ferraro-owned townhouse before police sealed the area.
Helena placed the microSD card into an offline laptop.
Password protected.
One field.
Eight characters.
She tried Thomas’s birthday.
Wrong.
Margaret.
Wrong.
Her own birthday.
Wrong.
Marcus held his brother’s medal.
“Open it.”
He twisted the ring.
Inside was another microSD card.
They inserted it into a second adapter.
No password.
One audio file.
Date stamped twelve years earlier.
Helena pressed play.
Static.
Then Thomas Callahan’s voice filled the room.
“Gabriel, if Marcus ever hears this, it means Salvatore failed.”
Marcus sat completely still.
Thomas continued.
“The Harbor Circle knows you copied their accounts. Vale believes the duplicate is destroyed. Keep it that way. Your father says he can move Marcus overseas until this ends.”
A younger man answered.
Gabriel.
“He won’t go.”
“He doesn’t get a choice.”
“He’s twenty-five.”
“He’s your brother.”
A pause.
Then Gabriel said something that changed Marcus’s face.
“If I die, tell him I wasn’t protecting the business.”
Another pause.
“I was protecting him from our father.”
The recording ended.
Marcus stared at the laptop.
Helena said nothing.
Then the screen flashed.
A second file had unlocked automatically after the first played.
A scanned document.
CONFIDENTIAL PAYMENT AUTHORIZATION.
Harbor Circle.
Recipient: SALVATORE FERRARO.
Amount: $3,000,000.
Purpose:
May you like
GABRIEL FERRARO TERMINATION.
Marcus stopped breathing.
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