Chapter 14
Tennyson
Ten slept surprisingly well, as had Ronan.
The entire family had been out by half past eight.
There had been no requests for extra stories, more songs, or one last drink of water.
When morning dawned, Ten got the kids up, dressed, fed, and sent to Cope’s house, all before the sun rose.
Fitzgibbon wanted to hit Doctor Andrew Savini’s house as early as possible, preferably before the doc was awake.
The ride to the Savini estate in Marblehead was a silent one. Jude sat in the front seat, while Ronan was in the back with Ten. Usually, under this kind of pressure, Jude would tell off-color jokes to break the tension, but this morning, he was quiet as a church mouse.
Fitz parked the SUV down the block from the Savini house.
The neighborhood he lived in was full of big houses and well landscaped front yards.
Fitz put on his tactical gear. The others did the same with Ronan helping Ten with his Kevlar vest, while Jude strapped a knife to his thigh.
In all the years Ten had worked cold cases, he’d never once carried a weapon.
In this instance, he didn’t mind the solid weight of the knife against his leg.
Ten noticed other squad cars pulling up with the team who was going to conduct the search warrant. Other than the gentle shutting of car doors, the neighborhood was still.
When the other officers gathered around, Fitz broke the silence.
“So far as we know, Savini lives with his wife, Chloe, and a housekeeper/chef named Briony. It’s early enough for her to be meal prepping for the day.
If you encounter her, usher her out of the house where the uniformed officers will be waiting.
I’ll call over the radio when we’re ready for you to start working the warrant.
“Understood, Captain Fitzgibbon,” one of the uniformed officers said, stopping short of saluting.
“Ronan, I want you and Jude on the door. Ten and I will be right behind you.” Fitz turned to Ten, a look of surprise on his face. “You’re ready to go.”
“No pep talk needed today.” The other times Ten had been part of a tactical team Fitz had to assure him he’d be safe and to shout if his gift gave him any information. Today, Ten was ready to breach the door to take down Savini.
“Be mindful that you’re experiencing an adrenaline high. Watch out when it starts to fade, you’ll crash hard.”
Ten nodded. He’d had enough talk. What he wanted now was action.
He crept along behind Fitz while Jude and Ronan climbed the winding driveway.
He was surprised a house like this wasn’t guarded by a fence and wrought iron gate.
Savini’s lack of security was their good fortune.
If they’d had to ring a bell for the gate to open up, that would give the doctor plenty of time to destroy evidence, the most important piece of which was the scrapbook.
Ronan pounded on the beveled glass and stood ready, along with the other officers, to breach the door. It was opened seconds later by an older woman dressed in workout clothes.
“Who the hell are you?” The woman asked.
“Detective Ronan O’Mara, Salem Police. We have a warrant for Andrew Savini’s arrest.”
“I recognize you from the news last night.” A look of relief came over the woman’s face.
“It’s about damn time. He’s still in bed.
I’m Chloe Savini, Andrew’s soon to be fourth ex-wife.
He’s all yours, boys. Make it hurt. I’m off to the gym.
Bye.” Chole gave Ronan the once over before heading out on her way.
“I like her,” Ronan muttered.
“Savini tried to beat her on their honeymoon and instead of cowering in a corner she Krav Maga-ed his ass into next week.” Ten snorted.
“I hope she drains his bank account on the way to the gym.” He meant every word.
Ten almost didn’t recognize himself. It wasn’t like him to behave without empathy, but as far as he was concerned Savini deserved none for what he’d done to those young, helpless teenagers at the St. Agnes House, not to mention for what he’d done to Kitty Maxwell.
Ronan entered the house with Jude by his side.
The front door opened onto a larger foyer that soared twenty feet to the roof.
A large black chandelier dangled above his head.
“Clear the downstairs,” Ronan said to his fellow officers.
“We’ll take the bedrooms.” He took the steps two at a time.
Jude was a step behind, followed by Fitzgibbon.
Ordinarily, Ten would have hung back waiting to be told it was safe for him to enter, but not today.
His hand brushed the knife strapped to his leg.
He knew he’d be ready to use it if someone came at him.
“Clear,” Ronan whispered from bedroom to bedroom on the right side of the hallway. Jude did the same on the left, until the only door that was left unopened was the master bedroom. Ronan kicked it open. It hit the back wall with a barely audible thump.
It sounded as if there was a hurricane in the room. Ten could hear the sound of pouring rain and lashing winds. What the hell was going on?
Ronan snapped on the light and charged toward the bed where Andrew Savini slept on his back in grey pajamas, his mouth slack, snoring heavily. Ronan gave his shoulder a shove. “Wake the fuck up!”
“What the fuck! Who the hell are you? Get out of my house!” Savini shrieked, yanking the sleep mask from his eyes.
Fitz stepped forward. In one hand he held a warrant. In the other his badge. “Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon of the Salem Police Department. Get the fuck up. We’ve got questions for you.” He shoved the search warrant at the disheveled man.
Savini took the warrant and grabbed his reading glasses from the night stand. He began to read.
“Shut that fucking sound machine off. I can’t hear myself think,” Ronan said, grabbing Savini’s arm and yanking him out of bed after he’d complied with the order.
“Where the hell are you taking me?” Savini yelped.
“To the kitchen while our officers carry out the warrant.” Fitz took Savini’s other arm and together with Ronan, led the man down the stairs and into a huge eat-in kitchen.
In Ten’s estimation, the kitchen was bigger than the entire downstairs of his house. It held a French Kitchen Suite of appliances and the table could comfortably seat ten people. Ronan pulled Ten aside after shoving Savini into the closest chair. “Find the scrapbook. We’ll wait in here.”
Ten nodded and hurried out of the kitchen. He ran into several officers who were searching an office with large windows that looked out toward the sea. “Have you seen a library?”
“Living room.” One officer pointed the way.
Ten practically ran into the room. It looked just as Everly described it.
Shelves lined the two long walls of the room.
There must have been hundreds of books, which ordinarily would have piqued Ten’s interest, but today, he couldn’t care less.
He snapped on gloves and started pulling open the cabinet doors below the shelving.
Some had more books stacked inside. Another had various candles, while the last two on the right hand wall held blankets.
Ten yanked them out of the cupboard to make sure they weren’t concealing the box.
Moving to the left side of the room, he repeated the same process. On the second cabinet, he hit pay dirt. A long, black box, with a matching lid sat pushed to the back. He pulled it out and walked it back to the kitchen.
Ronan’s eyes lit up when he saw what Ten was carrying. Savini’s back was to Tennyson.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Savini demanded. “I’m calling my lawyer. He’ll make sure you all lose your jobs.”
“You’re free to call your lawyer at any time, Mr. Savini,” Ronan said.
“That’s Doctor Savini!” the angry man shot back.
“You go call your lawyer, Doctor Savini, and we’ll just have a peek through your scrapbook.” He motioned for Ten to bring the book to the kitchen table.
“My scrapbook?” Savini asked, sounding confused. He spun around to see Tennyson standing behind him, cradling the box as if it were a newborn baby. “That’s just a picture album.” Savini shrugged.
“Open it, Tennyson.” Fitz stood with his hands at his sides, looking ready to lunge for Savini if he made a move.
Ten didn’t need to be asked twice. He took the book out of the box and opened the front cover. “1955-1975,” he read.
“Hmmm,” Ronan hummed. “Now where have I heard those dates before?”
Ten flipped to the first page and saw the Bowerman Family who lived on Commonwealth Ave, just like Everly said. “What a beautiful family,” Ten said, sounding deliberately syrupy. He flipped to the next page and found a similar image of the Patterson family with their new son.
“See, just a photo album.” Savini sneered at Ronan. “I’m an obstetrician and delivered babies my entire career. This book is filled with happy families created thanks to my expertise.”
“Yeah, your expertise,” Ten muttered, flipping to the back of the book.
He searched through several pages before coming to the one he was looking for.
“Ralph and Monica Sayers. Lime Street, Newburyport, Massachusetts. What’s this other name here, Natalie Fairchild?
How did another woman come into play here? ”
Savini smiled broadly at Tennyson. “Some of my patients were not able or equipped to become mothers at young ages. I helped these girls by putting their babies up for adoption. It was a win-win situation. The baby was raised by competent parents and the young woman was able to resume her life. Natalie Fairchild was one of the young women I helped.”
“Win-win.” Ten’s voice was barely above a whisper.
He kept flipping pages, until he reached one that made his blood turn cold.
“You want to explain this one to me?” Ten turned the book around to show Ronan and Savini the photograph.
It was of the St. Agnes section of the Act of Mercy Cemetery, capturing all fifty-seven baby graves.
“I would think that would be obvious,” Savini said, sounding more confident than ever. “Some of my patients were stillborn. It was my policy to ensure each child had a proper burial with a stone to mark their grave.”
Ten flipped the book back around, intent on turning to the next page, when a piece of paper slipped out.
“Sweet Jesus,” Ten whispered. The paper contained a list of names followed by numbers.
He skimmed through it, stopping at a familiar name.
“Fairchild, plot 44.” He eyed the doctor, who looked less self-assured than he had moments ago.
“I’m confused, Doctor Savini. You just said the Fairchild baby was adopted by the Sayers family and here is a notation that this same child was buried in plot number forty-four.
How can both things be true at the same time? ”
“I’m not saying another word until my lawyer gets here.” Savini’s face turned red. The man looked like he was going to explode.
Ten knew he had the son-of-a-bitch by the balls and was about to tell him that very thing when he flipped to the next page in the book.
Ten gasped at the images. He blinked several times to make sure he was seeing the pictures correctly.
He’d never been more angry and sickened in his entire life.
Ten looked at Savini, his hands balling into fists.
“What is it, Ten?” Ronan asked, sounding a little taken aback.
“Kitty Maxwell. Dead on the living room floor of the house on Pickman Road. There are six pictures detailing her death and entombment in the fireplace. In the last image, Kitty is in the same position we found her remains yesterday.” Ten felt his eyes fill with tears.
He’d never seen anything so depraved, so cruel, so heartbreaking.
He stepped back from the book as tears began to course down his cheeks.
He didn’t want to contaminate the pages with his DNA.
Ronan stepped up to the book in Ten’s place. He gasped and reached for the table to steady himself. “Are you okay?” Ronan asked Ten, his voice soft. “I’m gonna need you to slap the cuffs on this motherfucker. Think you’re up to that?”
Ten swiped at his eyes, wiping his tears on his pants. “Damn straight.”
Ronan held out his handcuffs. Ten grabbed them and approached Savini, who Fitzgibbon and Jude were guarding. “Doctor Andrew Savini, you’re under arrest for the murder of Kitty Maxwell.” He snapped the cuffs over Savini’s wrists. “You have the right to remain silent,” Ten recited from memory.
How many times over the years had he heard Ronan, Jude, and Fitz recite those exact words?
Now, here he was, doing the honors. As he finished giving the disgraced doctor his Miranda Warning, he watched as Fitzgibbon yanked the man to his feet and dragged him toward the front door, kicking and screaming all the way.
Savini loudly protested his innocence. “I didn’t kill that bitch! I want my lawyer! I want my phone call!”
Ten took a deep breath when he could no longer hear the man screaming.
“Stay right here,” Ronan said. Seconds later, he returned with one of the officers, giving the young woman instructions to take photographs of every page in the scrapbook, along with the handwritten plot list, before bagging it as evidence. “Let’s get the hell out of this house.”
“Right behind you,” Ten said, movement catching his attention out of the corner of his eye.
He turned and saw Kitty Maxwell standing near the refrigerator.
Three other women stood with her. Women Tennyson didn’t recognize.
Were they Kitty’s support system or other victims?
He approached the spirits intent on finding out.
If Andrew Savini had left more bodies in his wake, Ten was going to make sure he paid for every life he took. A first degree murder conviction was an automatic life with no parole sentence. He and Ronan wouldn’t rest until Savini became just another number wearing prison orange.