The Coleridge Project: Chapter 1

Bill Conway was still buzzing from the day’s events. It was nine-thirty in the evening, and as he walked down Hanover Street in Boston’s North End to meet up with his buddy, Jeremy Brent, he couldn’t keep the silly grin off his face. Twenty minutes earlier he had put to bed the biggest story of his career, and for once Boston’s ugly sister of a newspaper, the Tribune, would be scooping the more prestigious Globe.

Thirty-five years old, six feet tall, a solid hundred and ninety-five pounds of mostly muscle, Bill was a good-looking man in a rough sort of way, even with all the little twists and bumps that had over the years been added to his nose. He had his thick dark hair grown out far longer than from his army days and several days of stubble covered his face, and that gave him an almost rock star look, or maybe more of that of a country music star. In the cool autumn night, he was dressed casually in sneakers, jeans, a black tee shirt, and his faded and heavily-worn leather bomber jacket. He tensed for a moment as he heard a rush of footsteps from behind, and waited for the hand that clasped him hard on the shoulder. Forcing a deadpan expression, he turned to see his friend, Jeremy alongside him with a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“I thought that was you ahead of me,” Jeremy said, a little out of breath. “Bill, thanks for meeting me tonight. I know it couldn’t have been easy with the shooting that went down today. Knowing O’Donnell, he must’ve been fighting to keep you chained at your desk.”

The O’Donnell Jeremy referred to was Jack O’Donnell, the city desk editor at the Tribune and Bill’s boss. At one point Jack had been Jeremy’s boss also, but two years ago Jeremy left for greener pastures to the Globe, or at least what had seemed like greener pastures at the time. These days all newspapers were struggling, and regardless of the difference in their reputations, the Globe and the Tribune were tottering equally on the verge of extinction.

“He tried,” Bill acknowledged, “And if you weren’t going off to Italy for ten days, I probably would’ve let him guilt me into staying.”

“I appreciate it.” Jeremy tried to look nonchalant. “I heard you covered the shooting today?”

“You heard right.”

“Find anything interesting?”

Bill maintained his deadpan expression. “A few things. Like what she told the police.”

“Bullshit.”

Bill continued his empty stare, knowing from the way Jeremy’s smile had tightened that the Globe didn’t have the story. A buddy of his from basic training, now a member of the Boston Police, had been there at the scene and overheard the woman’s reason for killing Kent Forster. He repeated it to Bill, promising that no other newspaper or media outlet would have it, at least not given the departmental orders to keep it under wraps. The woman’s name was Gail Hawes, and as Bill dug into her background the story became more interesting. He couldn’t find a daughter named Jenny, or any child. He looked into whether she could’ve given up a baby when she was a teenager or in college, but there was nothing there either. No mysterious baby sister appearing in the family, nothing to explain where a child of hers might’ve gone. Her parents wouldn’t talk to him, but friends of the family that he tracked down claimed she couldn’t have hid a pregnancy without them knowing about it.

Since leaving college, Gail Hawes lived in Arlington and worked as an accountant. She had never been married, and according to a close work friend, hadn’t dated in several years. Co-workers and neighbors claimed she led a quiet life that focused on work. According to everyone Bill talked to, she was a decent and stable woman who never showed any signs of mental illness, and none of them could believe she did what she did. Even though Hawes clearly knew Forster by sight and where he had his office for his private hedge fund, so far Bill hadn’t been able to find any connection between the two of them.

Jeremy hard grin tightened to the point where his canines showed through as he tried to size Bill up.

“Okay, I believe you,” he said. “So, what’s the story?”

Bill maintaining his poker face, said, “Read it tomorrow in the Tribune like everyone else, and don’t cry about being in Italy. You can read it online. And what she told the police is only the tip of the iceberg.”

“Sorry, I don’t read rags. Not even ones with your byline. Besides, over the next ten days I’m not going anywhere near a computer. Shit, Bill, I’m on a flight to Rome in two hours. There’s nothing I can do with the story since unlike the rag you work for, we at the Globe like to verify our stories before we run them. So why don’t you satisfy my curiosity and just spit it out, okay?”

It was a bald-faced lie, one that Bill didn’t bother responding to. They both knew that Jeremy would be on the phone to his editor with whatever Bill told him. Jeremy broke off their staring contest first. His hard grin relaxed into something more good-natured as he offered his hand.

“Forget it,” Jeremy said. “If you’re going to be a paranoid fuck, then keep it to yourself. But shit, if what you’re telling me is on the level then congratulations are in order. This is big. Breaking an exclusive like this could propel you, maybe get you into the big leagues, or if you fix that nose of yours, TV. Or maybe even a book deal. I never thought I’d be jealous of someone working at the Tribune, but I have to say right now I am. You just might be able to escape this damn newspaper business before they all crash and burn.”

Bill took his friend’s hand. “Thanks.” With concern, he added, “You hear anything at the Globe?”

“No more than usual, but it’s bleak.”

They were standing in front of a small hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant, and Jeremy’s gaze drifted past Bill and toward the restaurant’s window. Bill turned to see what had caught his friend’s attention. The place was mostly empty but sitting at a table by the back wall was a woman in her late twenties with a small stack of books in front of her, along with a cup of espresso, but no food. She wore glasses, a Boston University sweatshirt that was several sizes too big for her, and had her long red hair pulled back into a ponytail. Bill found himself weak in the knees as he looked at her. She sat oblivious to him and Jeremy, her focus intent on one of her books, her brow furrowed deeply in concentration as she chewed on the end of a pen she was holding.

“You clean her up and she wouldn’t be half bad,” Jeremy remarked. “Definitely fuckable.” He gave Bill a quick questioning look. “How about a change of plan, and we eat here instead?”

Bill found himself nodding. It had been seven months since Karen broke up with him, and the wounds from that had cut him deep. Whether it was because of a low-grade depression or to give himself a chance to heal emotionally or that the breakup had left him too simmering in anger to risk allowing himself to be left vulnerable again, he had busied himself with work these past months and avoided thoughts of meeting someone new. This woman, though, took his breath away. It was more than just how attractive he found her; and she was certainly stunningly beautiful. More also than the gentleness she seemed to exude. It was as if at the instant he caught sight of her that he felt a connection he’d never quite felt before. He wouldn’t have been able to walk away from the restaurant if he wanted to, and he followed Jeremy inside, ignoring the crack his friend made under his breath about how with a little bit of luck he’ll be able to get her lips around something thicker and meatier than the tip of a pen during his cab ride to the airport.

When a waiter approached them, Jeremy asked for a table, preferably next to the woman sitting alone in the back. The waiter complied, placing them at the table neighboring hers so that she’d be facing them if she weren’t so preoccupied with a book on Italian renaissance art. The other books stacked on her table were also on the subject of art history.

Jeremy interrupted the woman, asking if he and Bill could join her at her table. “In two hours, I’m heading off to Italy for ten days, and since you obviously know a lot more about Italian art than I do I was hoping you could recommend museums I should visit.”

She looked up, startled, consternation momentarily ruining her mouth over the prospect of having to turn him down. Then her eyes met Bill’s. He felt the jolt of electricity, and he was sure she did too. Her consternation vanished, and instead the corners of her lips pulled up slightly into a near heart stopping smile.

“I’d like that,” she said, her eyes remaining locked on Bill’s.

Jeremy, oblivious to the way Bill and this woman were looking at each other, left his seat to join her at her table. He gave Bill a sly wink and asked her if she would like to join him on his trip—the wink to Bill clearly to indicate that what he really wanted was to get her in the cab with him to the airport. “I could try to scrounge up an extra ticket,” Jeremy offered. “My itinerary will have us in Rome, Florence and Venice. What do you say, would you like to see these paintings in person instead of just from a book?”

Her smile shifted slightly but she resisted the urge to comment about his proposed adventure. Instead, she politely declined his invitation, while briskly shaking hands with him and introducing herself as Emily Chandler. When she shook hands with Bill it was different. Their eyes remained locked and neither of them seemed willing to let go. Jeremy finally picked up on what was happening and he groaned inwardly, his mood quickly turning sullen. He waved the waiter over and ordered himself dinner, telling the waiter he was in a hurry. Later when Emily mentioned the museums he should be visiting and what they had of special interest, his expression showed mostly disinterest. He was several inches taller than Bill, and he considered himself better looking, and he took it personally whenever women gravitated toward Bill instead of himself. After his second glass of wine, he lightened up, accepting the obvious mutual attraction that Bill and Emily felt. He signaled the waiter over and asked that his dinner be packed up to go. After the waiter walked away, he mentioned how he’d better be heading off to the airport.

“Really? That’s a shame,” Bill said with forced disappointment. “You’re sure you don’t have time to eat here?” Emily said, putting up a token effort also.

Jeremy smiled thinly. “Probably best that I get going.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t want to miss your plane,” Bill said. His eyes flashed as he remembered something. With a concerned smile, he asked, “What are you doing with Augustine?”

Emily raised an eyebrow at that.

“Augustine’s my roommate,” Jeremy explained to her. “A demanding little Persian cat with a pushed-in face who can out stare just about anyone.”

“Why the name Augustine?” Emily asked with a wry smile. “Is it because he’s a saint, or that he waddles around like a hippo?”

“Very good,” Jeremy said. “St. Augustine of Hippo. I named him that more because of his philosophical demeanor, but he is a fat little guy.” Then to Bill, “A neighbor’s looking after him.”

“You could’ve left him with me,” Bill said.

“Yeah, right. If I did that, I’d never get him back.” Jeremy crossed his index and middle fingers and told Emily how Bill and his cat were crazy about each other. “Bill likes to pretend he’s a dog person, but probably the only reason he’s hung around me the last five years is because of Augustine.”

“He is a pretty cool cat,” Bill said.

The waiter brought over a bag with Jeremy’s dinner packed away. As Jeremy left the table, Bill joined him. The two of them shook hands. Jeremy pulled him closer for an embrace.

“Ten days, fuck,” Bill said. “I can’t even imagine that. Have a great time.”

Jeremy nodded. “You bet I will. And for this one time only, I hope you kick the Globe’s ass with this story.” He pulled Bill even closer. In a low voice he added, “It’s good to see you finally moving on past Karen, and this girl’s certainly a sweetheart. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay? Try not to go nuts and marry her while I’m gone.”

“Sure.”

“And you still won’t tell me what you got on this shooting?”

“Not a chance.”

Jeremy smiled at that. Stepping back, he gave Bill a solid punch in the arm that was meant to look friendly, then waved so long to Emily. With his duffel bag and dinner in tow, he left the restaurant. When Bill returned to the table, Emily remarked about what a character his friend is. “Did he really think there was a chance I’d fly off to Italy with him?” she asked.

“It’s hard to tell sometimes with Jeremy,” Bill offered diplomatically. He had ordered lasagna with meatballs, and when it was brought over, Emily helped him with it, as she did with a chocolate-dipped cannoli. As they sat and talked, Bill learned how Emily was from Cedar Falls, Iowa, and had moved to Boston six months earlier to work on a doctorate degree in art history. He admitted he was originally from Queens, New York, but avoided mentioning anything else about his childhood, and she didn’t press him on it, seeming to sense it was something he didn’t want to talk about.

The time went by fast, with Bill mostly lost in Emily’s soft hazel eyes, and he was surprised when the waitstaff started grumbling about closing up, only then realizing it was almost midnight. Emily lived three blocks away, and he asked her if he could walk her back to make sure she got home safely.

“I’d like that,” she told him.

Bill carried her books under one arm and soon found himself holding hands with Emily as they walked. It was the kind of thing he might’ve done back in high school—at least if he’d had anything resembling a normal teenage existence. Emily’s apartment building was a red brick building that had to be at least two hundred years old, and when they got to it, they made their way up four flights of steps to her apartment door. Bill kissed her gently on the lips, pulling away after a few seconds, knowing that otherwise he wouldn’t be able to. As it was, it left him dizzy.

“I’d like to see you tomorrow,” he said. He had told her a little about the story he was breaking in the Tribune, not wanting to go into too much detail about a violent killing during what amounted to their first date. “I’m probably going to be stuck at work until late tomorrow night working this story, but how about lunch?”

“I’d like that, Bill.”

The look in Emily’s eyes and her shy smile confirmed her words. Since she might’ve been the last person in Boston with only a landline and no cell phone, Bill gave Emily his for her to key in her phone number. As she handed him back his phone, she also took hold of his jacket collar and brought him closer to her for a longer, more passionate kiss, which left his face flushed and allowed him to taste the faint remnants of the strawberry flavored lip gloss she wore. He waited until she opened her door before handing her back her books, and watched to make sure she got into her apartment safely. Once her door closed, he stood quietly for a minute reflecting on how much his life had changed over the course of the day.

When he left, he felt light enough where he could’ve flown down the steps, and as he made his way back to his car, he realized he was smiling that same dopey grin from earlier. If he would’ve known that in a little over a week, he was going to be wanted for murder his euphoria might’ve been dampened, especially if he realized that that was going to be the least of his problems.