| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted November 15, 2024 | Chapters: |
...12 13 -14- 15... 
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Donatelli's car is discovered
A chapter in the book Miracles
Miracles - Chap 14
by Begin Again
After several attempts, Matthew sat upright on the bed's edge. The effort was agonizing. His cracked ribs screamed in protest. Using the nightstand and headboard, he stood on his wobbly legs, his muscles trembling from the effort.
As he shuffled toward the door, his shoulder brushed against the frame, jarring his battered body. A sharp pain radiated through him, and he noticed fresh blood seeping through his bandages.
The small cottage felt like a maze as he staggered between the furniture until he reached the front door. With trembling fingers, he turned the handle and stepped outside.
The cool, fresh air smelled invigorating but burned his lungs when he inhaled. He gripped the porch railing for support. His knuckles were white against the weathered wood. He shifted positions, moving further along the porch, attempting to see what the loud, crushing noise was all about.
The crane by the lake creaked and groaned, hoisting a waterlogged vehicle from its murky grave. His gaze locked on the car as it swung in the air. His chest tightened, and a hazy sense of familiarity stirred in him.
He leaned against the railing, his strength fading rapidly, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.
Why does this feel important?
The question echoed in his mind, but the answer remained out of reach.
Suddenly, Miriam was beside him. "What are you doing out here?" she asked, slipping an arm around him. "You shouldn't be out in the open. If anyone sees you—"
Matthew stared at her — confusion written on his face. "What's going on? I saw the car lifted out of the lake. Something about it seemed familiar. Does it have anything to do with me?"
Miriam stared at the cliffs, seeing people buzzing around like bees in a hive. "Let's go inside. I'll make us some tea, and then we can talk."
Matthew looked at the crane and car, hoping for something, but his mind remained blank. He relented and allowed her to usher him back into the cottage.
He exhaled loudly, suddenly aware he'd been holding his breath, trying to combat the pain. Sitting at the kitchen table, he rested his bandaged head in the palms of his hands, exhausted.
"You'll need new bandages. I'll tend to that after we have some tea." Miriam sat a kettle on the stove to boil, glancing over her shoulder at him. Soon, the aroma of tea filled the air as she brought two steaming mugs and a plate of sugar cookies to the table.
The cozy kitchen was silent as they sipped the spicy brew to which she'd added a touch of cinnamon. Matthew munched on a cookie, enjoying the sweetness.
She reached for his hand and looked at him with apprehension. "Do you remember anything about the night I found you?"
"Not really. I've tried, but nothing connects. Yesterday, I thought I saw a pool table and billiard balls clacking together, but —" He rubbed his temples as if coaxing his mind to remember. "It was a fleeting second, just a flash. Everything's a fog."
Miriam nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "It's all right. Your memory will come back in time." She hesitated, staring into the steamy mug, carefully choosing her following words. "There are people looking for you. People who think —" She paused, raising her eyes to look at him. "People who believe you are responsible for something terrible."
"Me? Responsible? Did I — oh God in Heaven, did I hurt someone?"
Her gaze dropped to her teacup again, and she stirred it absently. "They think you're connected to a murder."
She watched as confusion etched his face. A shudder passed through her as she wondered if she'd gone too far, too soon.
His voice was barely audible as he asked, "Murder? Do you — think? Do you know who I am?"
Miriam's heart ached at the desperation in his tone. She shook her head and breathed, "No, I don't know who you are, but —" She hesitated and glanced toward the bedroom. "I believe the badge might hold a clue."
She stood and hurried into the bedroom, returning with the badge, and sat it in front of him. His eyes locked on the metal, but his expression remained blank.
"I showed this to you before," Miriam continued. "I thought it might jog your memory, but I know it didn't. Still — I believe it's connected to you. It's an important part of you."
He picked up the badge, turning it over in his hand. "If this is mine, why can't I remember anything?" He slid it across the table.
Miriam reached out and placed a hand over his. "Sometimes the mind takes time to heal," she whispered. "But there's something else." She paused, wondering if she should mention Eleanor. "I met a woman — someone I believe is connected to you. I don't know the full story, but she might have the answers you're looking for."
His head jerked up, a flicker of hope breaking through the fog. "Who is she? Where is she?"
Miriam shook her head, her expression cautious. "I don't know who she is — she's been looking for someone, and I think it's you. I can bring her here, but we must be careful. If anyone finds out where you are —" She lets the warning hang in the air.
Matthew's grip tightened on the edge of the table. "Bring her," his voice pleaded. "Please. If she knows anything, I need to see her."
Miriam nodded. "I'll bring her. But for now, I need to tend to those bandages, and you need to rest."
As she cleared the teacups, she glanced back at him. He was staring at the badge again, turning it in his hands as though willing it to unlock the secrets buried in his mind. The sight tugged at her heart, yet she feared for his future.
Garth and his men gathered at the edge of the cliff, watching the crane hoist the car from the murky lake.
Tango could see the pain and apprehension etched on his boss's face. "It's his car, but that doesn't —"
"Tango, nice try, pal, but the divers already radioed me about the body inside."
"Sorry, boss. I know you and Donatelli have history, but he was a friend, too."
Garth nodded, choking on his emotions as he awaited confirmation that his friend was in the car.
"What brought you to this, my friend? Did you give up and drive off the edge, or —"
Garth watched the crane swing the car around. His mind jumped from one scenario to the other.
Did someone do this to you? Did you meet up with the wrong guys?
Garth knew that Doyle had tossed threats around, but was he capable of arranging the death of someone in law enforcement? One thing he was sure of was that if it wasn't an accident and Doyle or anyone else was involved, they'd be dealing with him. Matthew's death wouldn't become a cold case.
A government car pulled to the side of the road and parked. Three men stepped out — Owen Maxwell, newly appointed special prosecutor for Landon County; Joseph DeLuca, one of Bayside's detectives looking to claim Donatelli's position; and Vince Rossi. Maxwell and DeLuca strode across the grass while Rossi hung back, leaning against the car.
The two men stopped to watch the crane set the car down on the ground, neither eager to face down their current opponent, FBI number one officer Garth Woodman. Having observed and recognized Maxwell approaching, Garth remained cool and continued to watch the business at hand. As soon as the car settled, he nodded to Tango and Poppa, and without further conversation, the two agents hurried to the car.
Owen Maxwell walked toward Garth, his stomach churning but his face set in a firm expression. "Agent Woodman, fine job of discovering Donatelli's vehicle. We appreciate your efforts, but Detective DeLuca will take over from here."
Garth frowned, caught off guard by the sudden shift. He tipped his Stetson back on his head so his cold gaze met Maxwell's eyes. "You're welcome to join us in the investigation, but we have this."
Maxwell's steely gaze locked on Garth as he responded, "Agent, this isn't an FBI case."
Garth looked at DeLuca, who remained a few steps back from the two men. "How'd you even know we'd located Donatelli's car?"
"We — uh, had our own feelers out, of course. After all, Donatelli was — is one of our own."
Another officer motioned for DeLuca, and the detective stepped away from Garth. After exchanging a few words, DeLuca motioned for Maxwell to join them.
In the meantime, Poppa radioed Garth, telling him it wasn't Matthew. His face remained ready for any poker game these two brought him, but his heart felt much lighter.
The second the car was safe to approach, Tango had leaned into the twisted frame and pried open the door. He had seen the new arrivals at the scene, so he was aware that his time would be limited. As he checked the body, his fingers brushed against something in the victim's shirt pocket — a leather wallet, damp but intact. He slipped it out, barely glancing at the ID before an officer tapped his shoulder.
"Sir, you need to step back. Please exit the vehicle and move behind the tape," the officer said firmly.
Tango scowled and shifted his glance to his boss, who nodded. Clutching the wallet as he joined Garth, he quietly slipped it into Poppa's jacket pocket. Poppa walked away, casually blending in with the other workers.
By this time, the pow-wow ended, and Maxwell and DeLuca rejoined Garth and Tango. Garth was prepared and waited for the first shot. It didn't take long for DeLuca to fire.
"Your men have probably made you aware that the body in Donatelli's car is not his. I will be taking over the case from here, and you and your men will need to clear the crime scene."
Garth narrowed his eyes, piecing together the implications. "You keep mentioning a case — what exactly are we talking about here?"
DeLuca, nervous under Garth's piercing stare, nodded for Maxwell to join the conversation. "Donatelli is being charged with murder."
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. "Murder! On what evidence? How do you know his body isn't still somewhere in the water? What makes it murder?"
"I'm not free to provide you with that information at this time, but we have reason to believe that Donatelli had a beef with this guy and chose to end it this way."
"You're crazy. Matthew Donatelli would not, under any circumstance, step outside the law to settle a beef." Garth glanced across the grass at Vince Rossi. "Since when does a special prosecutor hang out with the mob's number one lawyer."
Maxwell's eyes widened. "Oh, you recognized Mr. Rossi? I was having a discussion with him when Owen contacted me, so we finished our conversation on the ride out here."
Garth wasn't buying one word of it, but he nodded as if in agreement. "Did Doyle come up in the conversation?"
"Doyle? Do you mean Judge Doyle? He's behind bars. Why would I be discussing him?"
"Just a passing thought." Garth turned away, motioning for Tango to follow, and they left Maxwell and DeLuca staring at their backs as they ducked under the crime scene tape.
"Vince Rossi," Garth muttered under his breath. "The mob's lawyer." The realization tightened his jaw as he turned to Rossi, his eyes sharp. "Doyle is behind this, isn't he?"
Rossi met Garth's gaze with a cool, unreadable expression. A slow, mocking smirk crept across his face, but he said nothing, maintaining an air of detachment as if the accusation was beneath him.
Garth's gut twisted. The mob's involvement could mean Donatelli's murder wasn't as simple as it seemed. Rossi's silence spoke volumes, reinforcing Garth's worst suspicions — he's up against more than just a murder case. This could be a tangled web of corruption, and Vince Rossi was here to ensure nothing slips through.
After several attempts, Matthew sat upright on the bed's edge. The effort was agonizing. His cracked ribs screamed in protest. Using the nightstand and headboard, he stood on his wobbly legs, his muscles trembling from the effort.
As he shuffled toward the door, his shoulder brushed against the frame, jarring his battered body. A sharp pain radiated through him, and he noticed fresh blood seeping through his bandages.
The small cottage felt like a maze as he staggered between the furniture until he reached the front door. With trembling fingers, he turned the handle and stepped outside.
The cool, fresh air smelled invigorating but burned his lungs when he inhaled. He gripped the porch railing for support. His knuckles were white against the weathered wood. He shifted positions, moving further along the porch, attempting to see what the loud, crushing noise was all about.
The crane by the lake creaked and groaned, hoisting a waterlogged vehicle from its murky grave. His gaze locked on the car as it swung in the air. His chest tightened, and a hazy sense of familiarity stirred in him.
He leaned against the railing, his strength fading rapidly, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.
Why does this feel important?
The question echoed in his mind, but the answer remained out of reach.
Suddenly, Miriam was beside him. "What are you doing out here?" she asked, slipping an arm around him. "You shouldn't be out in the open. If anyone sees you—"
Matthew stared at her — confusion written on his face. "What's going on? I saw the car lifted out of the lake. Something about it seemed familiar. Does it have anything to do with me?"
Miriam stared at the cliffs, seeing people buzzing around like bees in a hive. "Let's go inside. I'll make us some tea, and then we can talk."
Matthew looked at the crane and car, hoping for something, but his mind remained blank. He relented and allowed her to usher him back into the cottage.
He exhaled loudly, suddenly aware he'd been holding his breath, trying to combat the pain. Sitting at the kitchen table, he rested his bandaged head in the palms of his hands, exhausted.
"You'll need new bandages. I'll tend to that after we have some tea." Miriam sat a kettle on the stove to boil, glancing over her shoulder at him. Soon, the aroma of tea filled the air as she brought two steaming mugs and a plate of sugar cookies to the table.
The cozy kitchen was silent as they sipped the spicy brew to which she'd added a touch of cinnamon. Matthew munched on a cookie, enjoying the sweetness.
She reached for his hand and looked at him with apprehension. "Do you remember anything about the night I found you?"
"Not really. I've tried, but nothing connects. Yesterday, I thought I saw a pool table and billiard balls clacking together, but —" He rubbed his temples as if coaxing his mind to remember. "It was a fleeting second, just a flash. Everything's a fog."
Miriam nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "It's all right. Your memory will come back in time." She hesitated, staring into the steamy mug, carefully choosing her following words. "There are people looking for you. People who think —" She paused, raising her eyes to look at him. "People who believe you are responsible for something terrible."
"Me? Responsible? Did I — oh God in Heaven, did I hurt someone?"
Her gaze dropped to her teacup again, and she stirred it absently. "They think you're connected to a murder."
She watched as confusion etched his face. A shudder passed through her as she wondered if she'd gone too far, too soon.
His voice was barely audible as he asked, "Murder? Do you — think? Do you know who I am?"
Miriam's heart ached at the desperation in his tone. She shook her head and breathed, "No, I don't know who you are, but —" She hesitated and glanced toward the bedroom. "I believe the badge might hold a clue."
She stood and hurried into the bedroom, returning with the badge, and sat it in front of him. His eyes locked on the metal, but his expression remained blank.
"I showed this to you before," Miriam continued. "I thought it might jog your memory, but I know it didn't. Still — I believe it's connected to you. It's an important part of you."
He picked up the badge, turning it over in his hand. "If this is mine, why can't I remember anything?" He slid it across the table.
Miriam reached out and placed a hand over his. "Sometimes the mind takes time to heal," she whispered. "But there's something else." She paused, wondering if she should mention Eleanor. "I met a woman — someone I believe is connected to you. I don't know the full story, but she might have the answers you're looking for."
His head jerked up, a flicker of hope breaking through the fog. "Who is she? Where is she?"
Miriam shook her head, her expression cautious. "I don't know who she is — she's been looking for someone, and I think it's you. I can bring her here, but we must be careful. If anyone finds out where you are —" She lets the warning hang in the air.
Matthew's grip tightened on the edge of the table. "Bring her," his voice pleaded. "Please. If she knows anything, I need to see her."
Miriam nodded. "I'll bring her. But for now, I need to tend to those bandages, and you need to rest."
As she cleared the teacups, she glanced back at him. He was staring at the badge again, turning it in his hands as though willing it to unlock the secrets buried in his mind. The sight tugged at her heart, yet she feared for his future.
Garth and his men gathered at the edge of the cliff, watching the crane hoist the car from the murky lake.
Tango could see the pain and apprehension etched on his boss's face. "It's his car, but that doesn't —"
"Tango, nice try, pal, but the divers already radioed me about the body inside."
"Sorry, boss. I know you and Donatelli have history, but he was a friend, too."
Garth nodded, choking on his emotions as he awaited confirmation that his friend was in the car.
"What brought you to this, my friend? Did you give up and drive off the edge, or —"
Garth watched the crane swing the car around. His mind jumped from one scenario to the other.
Did someone do this to you? Did you meet up with the wrong guys?
Garth knew that Doyle had tossed threats around, but was he capable of arranging the death of someone in law enforcement? One thing he was sure of was that if it wasn't an accident and Doyle or anyone else was involved, they'd be dealing with him. Matthew's death wouldn't become a cold case.
A government car pulled to the side of the road and parked. Three men stepped out — Owen Maxwell, newly appointed special prosecutor for Landon County; Joseph DeLuca, one of Bayside's detectives looking to claim Donatelli's position; and Vince Rossi. Maxwell and DeLuca strode across the grass while Rossi hung back, leaning against the car.
The two men stopped to watch the crane set the car down on the ground, neither eager to face down their current opponent, FBI number one officer Garth Woodman. Having observed and recognized Maxwell approaching, Garth remained cool and continued to watch the business at hand. As soon as the car settled, he nodded to Tango and Poppa, and without further conversation, the two agents hurried to the car.
Owen Maxwell walked toward Garth, his stomach churning but his face set in a firm expression. "Agent Woodman, fine job of discovering Donatelli's vehicle. We appreciate your efforts, but Detective DeLuca will take over from here."
Garth frowned, caught off guard by the sudden shift. He tipped his Stetson back on his head so his cold gaze met Maxwell's eyes. "You're welcome to join us in the investigation, but we have this."
Maxwell's steely gaze locked on Garth as he responded, "Agent, this isn't an FBI case."
Garth looked at DeLuca, who remained a few steps back from the two men. "How'd you even know we'd located Donatelli's car?"
"We — uh, had our own feelers out, of course. After all, Donatelli was — is one of our own."
Another officer motioned for DeLuca, and the detective stepped away from Garth. After exchanging a few words, DeLuca motioned for Maxwell to join them.
In the meantime, Poppa radioed Garth, telling him it wasn't Matthew. His face remained ready for any poker game these two brought him, but his heart felt much lighter.
The second the car was safe to approach, Tango had leaned into the twisted frame and pried open the door. He had seen the new arrivals at the scene, so he was aware that his time would be limited. As he checked the body, his fingers brushed against something in the victim's shirt pocket — a leather wallet, damp but intact. He slipped it out, barely glancing at the ID before an officer tapped his shoulder.
"Sir, you need to step back. Please exit the vehicle and move behind the tape," the officer said firmly.
Tango scowled and shifted his glance to his boss, who nodded. Clutching the wallet as he joined Garth, he quietly slipped it into Poppa's jacket pocket. Poppa walked away, casually blending in with the other workers.
By this time, the pow-wow ended, and Maxwell and DeLuca rejoined Garth and Tango. Garth was prepared and waited for the first shot. It didn't take long for DeLuca to fire.
"Your men have probably made you aware that the body in Donatelli's car is not his. I will be taking over the case from here, and you and your men will need to clear the crime scene."
Garth narrowed his eyes, piecing together the implications. "You keep mentioning a case — what exactly are we talking about here?"
DeLuca, nervous under Garth's piercing stare, nodded for Maxwell to join the conversation. "Donatelli is being charged with murder."
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. "Murder! On what evidence? How do you know his body isn't still somewhere in the water? What makes it murder?"
"I'm not free to provide you with that information at this time, but we have reason to believe that Donatelli had a beef with this guy and chose to end it this way."
"You're crazy. Matthew Donatelli would not, under any circumstance, step outside the law to settle a beef." Garth glanced across the grass at Vince Rossi. "Since when does a special prosecutor hang out with the mob's number one lawyer."
Maxwell's eyes widened. "Oh, you recognized Mr. Rossi? I was having a discussion with him when Owen contacted me, so we finished our conversation on the ride out here."
Garth wasn't buying one word of it, but he nodded as if in agreement. "Did Doyle come up in the conversation?"
"Doyle? Do you mean Judge Doyle? He's behind bars. Why would I be discussing him?"
"Just a passing thought." Garth turned away, motioning for Tango to follow, and they left Maxwell and DeLuca staring at their backs as they ducked under the crime scene tape.
"Vince Rossi," Garth muttered under his breath. "The mob's lawyer." The realization tightened his jaw as he turned to Rossi, his eyes sharp. "Doyle is behind this, isn't he?"
Rossi met Garth's gaze with a cool, unreadable expression. A slow, mocking smirk crept across his face, but he said nothing, maintaining an air of detachment as if the accusation was beneath him.
Garth's gut twisted. The mob's involvement could mean Donatelli's murder wasn't as simple as it seemed. Rossi's silence spoke volumes, reinforcing Garth's worst suspicions — he's up against more than just a murder case. This could be a tangled web of corruption, and Vince Rossi was here to ensure nothing slips through.
 Recognized |
Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
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