Chapter 4 - THE WIDOW WHO WOULDN'T FORGIVE HIM
“Arthur knew?”
Gideon held the green dispatch sheet so tightly that its edges bent.
Thomas stood motionless.
“I don't know what he knew when he signed it.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
Thomas took a slow breath.
“Arthur was worried about Declan. For weeks before the ambush, they argued about money. Something involving the relief fund and a contractor at Pier Nine.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“You were dealing with the waterfront dispute. Arthur said he would handle it.”
Gideon stared at the initials.
He remembered Arthur arguing with Declan.
Remembered being told it was a routine disagreement over operating expenses.
He had trusted Arthur to settle it.
Now a man was dead.
And Gideon was sitting in a wheelchair wondering whether his closest friend had helped send him into danger.
Neta folded her arms.
“You need more than initials before deciding what happened.”
Gideon looked at her sharply.
“You don't understand these men.”
“No,” she said. “But I understand what happens when people decide guilt before hearing the whole story.”
Thomas lowered his eyes.
Gideon said nothing.
After several seconds, he carefully placed the document on the table.
“Tomorrow, we speak to Miriam.”
By morning, the storm had passed.
Laith ate pancakes in the mansion's kitchen while Thomas arranged for a trusted driver to escort him and Neta home.
Gideon offered to pay for a hotel.
Neta declined.
“We have an apartment. We have our things. We're fine.”
“You shouldn't have been caught in this.”
“Neither should your birthday cake.”
For the first time that morning, he smiled.
Before leaving, she looked back.
“If you're going to see that widow, don't go expecting forgiveness.”
“I'm going expecting answers.”
“Good. Because those are two different things.”
She surprised herself by adding, “I can come after I take Laith to school. He has an after-school program.”
Gideon studied her.
“Why would you?”
Neta glanced toward the dining room.
“Because I don't like people using innocent families to settle arguments.”
At eleven, Gideon's accessible vehicle stopped outside a modest brick house in a working-class neighborhood of Philadelphia.
Miriam Hale opened the door before Thomas reached the porch.
She was sixty-two.
Gray hair.
Tired eyes.
A wedding ring on a chain around her neck.
The moment she saw Gideon, her expression changed.
“No.”
“Miriam, please.”
“Get off my property.”
Gideon stopped several feet from the front steps.
He had remembered the house as having a temporary wooden ramp. It was gone.
He didn't move closer.
“I need to talk about Russell.”
Miriam's eyes filled with anger.
“You don't get to say my husband's name.”
Neta stood beside the vehicle.
She didn't interrupt.
Miriam pointed at Gideon.
“Seventeen years Russell worked for you. Seventeen years he drove your father and then you. He missed Christmas dinners and birthdays because your family needed him.”
“I know.”
“And when he died, you sent me a letter saying his death wasn't covered by your relief program.”
“I didn't send that letter.”
Miriam laughed bitterly.
“Of course you didn't.”
Gideon held out the copied rejection notice.
“Someone used my signature.”
Miriam glanced at it.
Then away.
“That's convenient.”
“I understand why you wouldn't believe me.”
“No, you don't.”
She stepped onto the porch.
“My husband called me that night. He said the route had changed, and he didn't like it.”
Gideon's stomach tightened.
“What else?”
“He told me if anything happened, I should ask Arthur about Pier Nine.”
Thomas looked down.
Neta noticed.
Gideon did too.
Miriam continued.
“Then he never came home.”
Silence settled over the porch.
Gideon finally said, “Russell saved my life.”
Miriam's expression trembled.
“I know.”
“He turned the vehicle toward himself when the shooting started. He knew what he was doing.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Then why did you abandon his family?”
Gideon looked directly at her.
“I didn't. But I failed to discover that someone had made it look as though I did. That's on me.”
Miriam studied him for a long time.
Then she disappeared into the house.
When she returned, she carried a small metal biscuit tin.
Inside were photographs, Russell's watch, and a folded piece of yellow paper.
“Arthur came here three weeks before he died,” she said.
Gideon leaned forward.
“What did he want?”
“To explain something. But he looked sick, and he kept stopping to catch his breath.”
She unfolded the paper.
It was a warehouse storage receipt.
Pier Nine.
A rented storage unit.
Registered under Arthur's name.
“He said he was collecting proof that Russell's death wasn't an accident.”
“Why didn't he tell me?”
Miriam's face hardened.
“Because he said telling you too soon might get another person killed.”
Neta looked at Gideon.
The words landed heavily.
Miriam reached deeper into the tin.
“There was something else.”
She pulled out a photograph.
The picture showed Arthur standing beside Declan Walsh at Pier Nine on the evening of the ambush.
Behind them was a white commercial truck bearing the name Harborline Recovery.
On the back of the photograph, Arthur had written a time.
7:10 p.m.
Just over an hour before Gideon's convoy was attacked.
Gideon stared at the picture.
He remembered seeing a white truck blocking the road that night.
He remembered the headlights.
The sudden impact.
Russell shouting.
Then pain.
Terrible pain.
Neta watched the color leave his face.
“Mr. Croft?”
Gideon raised the photograph.
“That truck was at the ambush.”
Miriam nodded.
“Arthur told me.”
Gideon's voice dropped.
“Then why was he standing beside it beforehand?”
Miriam's eyes filled again.
“That's what I asked him.”
“What did he say?”
She looked toward Thomas.
Then back at Gideon.
“He said, 'Because I made a mistake I can't take back.'”
Gideon slowly lowered the photograph.
For six months, he had believed Declan's ambition explained everything.
Now he had to consider something far more painful.
Arthur might have been involved.
And the older man who had just brought him to Miriam's house was hiding something too.
Because Thomas was staring at that white truck as though he'd seen a ghost.
“Thomas,” Gideon said.
The old man didn't answer.
“Look at me.”
Thomas finally raised his eyes.
Gideon held out the photograph.
“Do you recognize this vehicle?”
Thomas's lips trembled.
May you like
Then he said the words Gideon would remember for the rest of his life.
“Yes, sir. I'm the one who opened the gate and let it through.”
