CHAPTER ONE
“Peter O’Brien is here, mayor. He doesn’t have an appointment but insists on seeing you. He says it’s important.”
“Peter O’Brien, Irene? What does that old bastard want? He hasn’t talked to me in years.”
“Not just old, but stubborn. What is he now? Seventy-something?”
“He’s seventy eight, Irene, the same age my father Jack would have been, and just as cantankerous. All right, send him in; but if he hasn’t left in 10 minutes break in and remind me of a meeting, or make up some other excuse so I can get rid of him. I really dislike that old man, but he is a constituent.”
“From what I’ve heard, the feeling is mutual. He badmouths you all the time. Goes back a long way, doesn’t it? To all those murders?”
“Yes, a long way. Send him in.”
Ψ
Leaning heavily on his cane, Peter O’Brien made his way into Mayor Bob Jones’ unpretentious city hall office and headed for the lone padded chair in front of the mayor’s ancient desk. He carefully lowered himself into the seat, rested his cane between his legs and offered a tired smile from his unshaven face. He spoke with a voice that retained a semblance of his Irish heritage.
“Thanks for seeing me, Bobby. I wouldn’t be bothering ya if I didn’t think it important.”
“You’re looking well, Pete,” the mayor lied.
Pete snickered. “Yeah, real well. I’m crippled, aching, bald, and wearing Depends. I’m enjoying what they call ‘The Golden Years’. You can crap on this kind of lifestyle, Bobby.”
The mayor didn’t reply. He had noted Pete’s bent back, multiple facial wrinkles, age spots, double chin, and gnarled arthritic hands extruding from the sleeves of his unkempt woolen shirt. He had to say something.
“But you’re alive and kicking, Pete.”
“Not for long, I’d guess. That’s why I needed to see you right away. I heard at Dunkin’s this morning that you’re thinking of running for governor. Is that true?”
The mayor frowned. “Word gets around fast in a small town. But yes, I’m planning to run.”
“I wouldn’t bother. You’ll never make it.”
“And why not?” the mayor said indignantly. “My supporters say my chances are excellent….”
“They won’t be after word gets out your father murdered that Turk girl back in 1946,” Pete said, his voice now filled with contempt.
The mayor’s jaw dropped, and then his face reddened. “What in hell are you saying, you old fool.”
“I’m saying sure as hell Jack killed that Turk girl, right here in town. It’s been an unsolved case for more than 60 years, but it’s gonna come out soon. I’ll see to that. That man made my life miserable, and you ain’t fallen far from the tree, with your smart-ass manners and shady deals….”
Bob Jones stood up with such force his wheeled chair shot backward and slammed against the wall. “Get out of here, you old goat. Don’t ever come near me again,” he shouted, his face contorted in anger.
Pete got up with difficulty. Cane in hand, he turned and headed for the door. “Thanks for your time, mayor. I’ll see you and yours in hell.”
In the outer office, Irene, who heard almost everything, stood gaping at Pete. He smiled at her -- a sickly smile – and made his way out of the building with a somewhat springier steps than he had managed earlier.