The Blood Island Brooch

By J. Paul Hickey

Jack Hennessey is a highly decorated, former homicide detective who had a long, successful career. Yet in retirement, Hennessey is consumed by needless guilt, believing he had betrayed his best friend in a botched murder investigation. When the mangled body of a woman is found tangled in the rocks around Fort Sumter in Charleston, South Carolina, Jack sees finding her killer as a chance for redemption.

He discovers what seems to be the robbery of a priceless ruby brooch gone wrong is far more than simple homicide. The victim is African American, and her death leads Jack into a dangerous world of deep racial divides connected to slavery issues of America’s past and bigotry of its present. Along the way, he meets the dark underbelly of resistance and the seedy realm of organized crime.

The novel draws upon actual historical events and contemporary conflicts to frame the world of murder and betrayal Hennessey must negotiate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662473883

Book preview

Chapter 1

Mount Pleasant, South Carolina

Ruby’s Diner

The first Monday

Jack Hennessey lifted the cup of hot, steaming coffee to his nose. He inhaled the nutty, warming aroma and smiled with pleasure. He’d never tasted better java than here at Ruby’s Diner. He sat in a corner booth with three other men: Billy Miller, Roger Merlin, and Stan Musk. The four friends met for breakfast two or three mornings a week to chat and swap stories.

Jack and his buddies felt at home at Ruby’s, a comfortable, old-fashioned kind of diner. Several booths with blue vinyl seats lined two walls, each table outfitted with salt-and-pepper shakers, plastic mustard, and ketchup bottles along with napkin holders supporting menus featuring enough dishes to feed a small army. Six round tables filled the center of the diner, which was rapidly filling with breakfast customers. On this early morning, the satisfying meaty essence of frying bacon and sausage mingled with the scent of the fresh coffee wafted through the place.

Hennessey was the relative newcomer to the group of four men, having moved to Mount Pleasant from San Francisco only recently. He still mourned the loss of his beloved wife, Mary, who had died of breast cancer a year ago. A lonely widower after thirty-five years of marriage, Hennessey had settled in the Charleston area to be closer to his two adult daughters and their children. Jennifer, divorced and the mother of a six-year-old boy, was a rising star in the US Department of Justice as the assistant US attorney in Charleston. Julie, her husband, and their five-year-old daughter lived in Atlanta. Being near them all meant a lot to Jack, especially with Mary gone. Family was always paramount, he believed. As a former cop, he was prone to be overprotective of his kin, quick-tempered at any hint of threat against them.

Hey, Jack, Billy said through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. I see your daughter, Jennifer, is mentioned in the Courier-Post this morning. Billy handed the newspaper to Jack and pointed to the article on the front page. Look, there. It says she is heading up a new federal investigation of organized crime here in the South.

Jack quickly scanned the article and grinned, handing the newspaper back to Billy.

Yeah. She told me about that the other day.

What kind of federal investigation? What are they looking for? Billy asked.

Jack shook his head. I don’t know all the details because as the assistant US attorney here, a lot of what Jennifer does is confidential. But I’m damned proud of her.

Jack Hennessey rarely used profanity. That fact that he just had indicated how much pride he held for his daughter.

She had always been proud of her father as well. Jack was a highly decorated San Francisco homicide detective who had retired after forty years on the job. Taking a sip of the full-bodied coffee, he fell into a reverie, thinking about his years as a cop.

He remembered solving some of the biggest murders in the City by the Bay, bringing to justice some of the worst criminals that society suffered. He knew his reputation for solving crimes. But exhausted after four decades of trying to live up to the famous police motto, To protect and serve, Jack had handed in his badge and service revolver. He was the kind of cop who dragged into retirement a misplaced feeling of guilt for failing so many victims he hadn’t been able to protect or serve. He knew his passion for protecting the innocent ran deep. When Jack was honest with himself, he would admit to a layer of anger lingering within his soul, like hot lava bubbling beneath a volcanic surface. It was bitterness toward the tyrants who always preyed on the weak and defenseless. He meditated every day to keep the anger under control, practicing Kundalini yoga, which combines spiritual and physical techniques designed to strengthen the physical body and sharpen the mind, the consciousness. The regimen worked. His anger remained buried—most of the time.

Such was the burden he carried, unreasonable as it may have been. He was that kind of man. With Mary gone, his loneliness, and his irrational sense of impotence as a lawman, he was borderline depressed.

Earth to Hennessey. Hello. Is anyone home? Stan Musk stared at his friend quizzically.

Jack blinked. Oh, sorry, guys. I guess I got a little lost in my thoughts.

You think? Roger joked. We thought you’d gone into one of those meditative trances of yours or something.

Hey, I keep telling you guys you should give meditation a try. It’ll do you good. Keeps you young. Keeps you fit. Jack glanced at Musk, a man noticeably overweight. That and exercise, of course.

Don’t start, Stan grumped.

At seventy-two, Jack carried a fit and athletic frame that supported a five-foot-ten-inch, lean, muscular body. He had steely blue eyes, which missed little. His mustache bristled gray like his full head of hair, which he kept trimmed short, always the cop. On the job, Jack had become an expert in the science of martial arts, holding black belts in taekwondo, karate, and savate—a French combat sport. He kept up his routines in all three.

The four friends chatted as friends do, half-gossip, half-opinion, about everything from the best method for cutting lawns to the latest outrage of the town council.

Hey, Ruby, Billy eventually called out to the proprietor of the diner. What’s it take to get another cuppa coffee around here, anyway?

Billy Miller was a big, boisterous transplant from New Jersey. His manner was reminiscent of Tony Soprano from the popular TV series about a fictional organized-crime family. He had entered his seventh decade of life. His thinning hair and lined face were proof of that. Billy was not a mean man but liked to feign the persona of a tough guy. Growing up in New Jersey, he sometimes had to be exactly that. But he liked to believe he had mellowed with age.

Ruby stopped working at the grill where she was cooking up more scrambled eggs, bacon, and a mess o’ grits. She slowly turned around with hands akimbo on her wide hips and eyed the four men at the table. Jack watched with amusement. He could guess what was coming.

Ruby was an imposing African American woman who reminded Jack of the all-time great gospel singer Mahalia Jackson. She was wearing a colorful, flowered dress and a starched, white apron. Ruby, whip smart with a quick wit and with wrinkle-free skin, appeared to be in her fifties, although she could have been in her seventies, Jack thought. Her voice could be as powerful as Mahalia’s and as saucy as the actress Pearl Bailey’s when she wanted it to be. Ruby’s great-great-grandfather and his parents had been enslaved in the mid-1800s. They were brought to the new American colony by their White master from Barbados. Ruby, her husband, and their four children still lived on the land her ancestors had acquired after their emancipation.

When the South surrendered in the Civil War, freed slaves were given assurances they would receive confiscated Confederate farmland to till and support themselves. Those assurances turned out to be mostly empty promises. Thus, Ruby’s kin had been more fortunate than most other slaves in that regard. Their Southern plantation master had held up his end of the bargain and given them a portion of his land when he’d realized the war was lost.

Jack could see Ruby did not suffer fools gladly. She focused her gaze on the man who had been so impertinent in his demand for a refill. She shook her head slightly and pointed a spatula at the booth across the room.

Child, you know exactly what it takes! It takes thirty-seven cents, honey, just like your first cup did. Just like it did last week and the week before that. Just like it will next week. You show me thirty-seven cents, and I’ll show you another cup of coffee!

With that, Ruby spun around and slapped her spatula on the grill with an attitude that was discernibly clear. The unstated message was I dare ya to say somethin’ else, as she furiously continued to scramble the eggs, hiding a grin all the while. Jack, along with Roger and Stan, erupted in laughter.

Boy, she really got you good, Billy, Jack chided.

Yeah, Roger agreed. A thirty-seven-cent whoopin’, for sure!

Billy’s face turned bright red. He reached in his pocket and pulled out two quarters.

Here, he called out to Ruby, sliding the coins to the edge of the table. There’s fifty cents. Can I now have ’nother cuppa coffee? Pul-lease. Billy emphasized the last word with two exaggerated, sarcastic syllables.

Ruby laid her spatula aside and poured a twelve-ounce cup of the hot beverage. After reaching into the cash drawer to pull out a dime and three pennies, she walked over to where the four men sat. She slapped the coins down on the table and picked up the two quarters.

When Ruby says the coffee’s thirty-seven cents, she means it’s thirty-seven cents, Mr. Miller. It ain’t no fifty cents. And Ruby ain’t no chiseler neither. This here’s your change, mister, she said in her sassy backcountry accent.

The thirty-seven-cent coffee for senior citizens was a feature of the diner about which Ruby was particularly proud. She had begun offering discounts for elderly customers years ago.

She put the big cup down in front of Billy, pulled herself up as tall as her five-foot, six-inch frame would allow, pushed her shoulders back, and thrust her prominent bosom forward. Jack’s eyebrows lifted in expectation as Ruby loomed over Billy, looking down at him.

I’m giving you this large cup o’ Joe, honey, because I hear that you like ’em big and black!

All the men at the table, including Billy, howled with laughter. Ruby gave them all a big smile and a wink, turned, and headed back to the grill, chuckling as she went.

The four men always looked forward to Ruby’s banter. Miller, Merlin, and Musk were, like Hennessey, all retired and had been successful in their own careers. Billy Miller had become wealthy in what he said was the shipping business. Roger Merlin was a former attorney, and Stan Musk had been an airline pilot. He had picked up Billy’s newspaper and was reading it.

Hey, did any of you guys know about this? he asked. A woman’s body was found on the rocks at Fort Sumter. It says here the woman is still unidentified.

Really? At Fort Sumter? Roger exclaimed. Out there in the harbor! How’d the body get there?

It doesn’t say here, Stan responded. There aren’t very many details in this story. It just says the woman was African American. Oh, wait. It says a boat was found abandoned and adrift in the middle of the harbor. It might have belonged to the woman.

Wow. Incredible, Billy said, concentrating on his coffee.

Could I see that for a second, please? Jack said to Stan who handed it over. Jack studied the article, scant as it was about the details.

Didn’t Fort Sumter have something to do with the Civil War? Stan asked.

Not merely something, Stan. Roger looked at his friend with scorn. It’s where the whole thing started. Didn’t they teach you that in school? Confederates opened fire on it in 1861. It was quite a feat, I guess. I mean, they say those first cannonballs were fired from more than a mile away. The Rebs, that’s what some folks called them. The Rebs forced Northern soldiers out of the fort and held it until the end of the war in 1865 when the North retook Sumter.

Well, now, aren’t you Mister Know It All? Billy quipped.

My son had to study it in his American history class is all, Roger explained. He told me all about it. One of the first things tourists in Charleston do is visit the fort.

As Jack continued to read silently, his cell phone chirped. He absentmindedly fished it out of his pocket, put it to his ear, and said, Hello? still absorbing the article.

He heard a man’s voice say, Jack Hennessey. You may not remember me. This is Ben Lafferty, Charlie’s son.

Jack didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything. He looked up, stared at the middle distance, and felt his blood run cold.

Chapter 2

Mount Pleasant, South Carolina

Ruby’s Diner

Hello, Jack. Are you there? Ben Lafferty asked, sounding puzzled as Jack went quiet. Hennessey remained seated, stunned, still as a statue, his face deathly pale. The other men watched him with concern.

Jack, are you okay? Roger asked.

What’s wrong? Stan asked with some urgency.

Jack snapped out of his stupor. He shook his head and whispered, It’s okay. He didn’t seem okay.

Um, hello, Ben, he said into his phone. This is quite a surprise. How…ah…how did you get my number?

My father gave it to me. It was still in his files, even after all these years, Ben answered with more than a hint of acerbity.

Jack closed his eyes and sighed. A feeling of sadness came over him.

How is your father?

Ben’s answer was curt.

He’s not well, as if you care.

Jack felt as though someone slapped him. Ben’s call had already caused terrible memories to bubble up in his mind. The young man’s comment triggered a renewed sense of guilt and shame that Jack had fought long and hard to overcome.

Jack and Ben’s father, Charlie Lafferty, were once best friends. They, along with their wives, had often traveled together on vacations. The friendship came crashing down after a horrible incident during a cruise they’d all taken six years ago.

The Laffertys were an extremely wealthy family. Charlie was the CEO of his own property development company, which specialized in building mega malls throughout the country. He’d planned to build a major multi-flex business center right here in fast-growing Mount Pleasant. The plan included using sixty million dollars of his own hedge fund investments as collateral for the very large loan he would need for the project. Taking a break from putting the deal together, he had gone on the cruise with his wife and daughter along with Jack and Mary.

However, Charlie’s hedge fund manager, a successful but unscrupulous Wall Street broker, had secretly diverted Charlie’s investments to other accounts in what amounted to a Ponzi scheme. Everything collapsed when the manager’s hedge funds, heavily invested in Chinese infrastructure projects, lost most of their value after China devalued its currency. The swindle all but wiped Lafferty out overnight.

Coincidently, the fund manager had been on the same ocean cruise. He and Lafferty quarreled twice in public over the bunco scheme. Charlie became so angry at one point, he verbally threatened the stockbroker. Other passengers on board the ship witnessed the argument. So the police arrested Charlie as a suspect after someone murdered the broker by shoving him overboard. A passing tanker found the man’s body floating in the sea.

Jack Hennessey had used his detective skills to prove his longtime friend innocent. What he’d uncovered, however, ruined the Lafferty family and destroyed their friendship. Jack blamed himself when his good friend became a shadow of what he once was. Lafferty was a broken man. He resigned as the CEO of his company, and lost interest in anything outside his home. Charlie had spoken to Jack on the phone a few times after the ordeal. But they had been tough conversations, and soon contact between the two men ceased. The case was something Jack never talked about, but it was something he never stopped thinking about either, no matter how hard he tried.

I do care, Ben, Jack said into his phone. He got up and moved to another table at the far end of the diner for some privacy. I’ve always cared, he continued. It kills me, Ben, it really does, that I couldn’t do more for your family. I’m so sorry.

After a long silence, Ben replied.

Well, there is something you can do to make up for that, at least partially, anyway, he said. His voice still carried some bitterness. It sounded raspy.

What do you mean? Jack asked, frowning when he heard Ben cough.

I mean…I mean…Jesus, I can’t believe I’m saying this. I need your help, Jack.

Are you all right? What’s wrong?

I can’t talk about it on the phone, Ben said. I need to meet with you to explain.

Why me, Ben? Jack replied. Why me, after all that happened?

Jack could hear Ben sigh over the phone.

If I had my way, believe me, it wouldn’t be you. Ben’s reply was terse. But my dad insisted. He still believes in you. God knows why. He says you’re a great detective. He believes that despite what you did to our family.

Jack winced at that last remark.

He knew you had moved to the Charleston area. I guess you sent him a note or something. Whatever. He suggested I call you. So against my better judgment, I have. I’m here in Charleston too.

You are? Ben’s remark surprised Jack. "How long have you been here?

I came down here about a year and a half ago, trying to resurrect Dad’s development deal, the one you helped torpedo.

Jack could say nothing to that. Ben realized that the last part was uncalled for.

Okay, he said. I guess I shouldn’t blame you for that. I’m getting the deal started again but… Ben paused.

After several seconds, Jack prompted the young man. But what, Ben?

Ben took a lingering breath and let it out, taking his time.

Well, an issue has come up, a serious issue. I need to see you in person to explain more.

Can you give me some idea about what it involves? Jack probed.

Now there was an endless pause from Ben’s end of the line. Jack was about to speak again when Ben blurted it out.

Murder, Jack. It involves murder.

Chapter 3

Charleston, South Carolina

Redemption. The word rattled in Jack’s brain as he drove across the suspension bridge high over the Cooper River and into downtown Charleston. It buzzed inside his head like a pesky mosquito flirting with an ear. He wanted redemption. He wanted to atone. His obsession with personal salvation never left him since being the cause, or so he believed, of a true miscarriage of justice. He also believed the Lafferty debacle might be the source of his lingering depression.

Jack’s mind flashed back to the ocean cruise six years ago. He had relied on all his expertise to prove his good friend, Charlie, innocent of murder. Jack’s determined investigation had led him to the real killer, much to his shock and unbearable sadness. Charlie Lafferty did not kill the stockbroker. Lafferty’s daughter, Alexandra, did.

The nineteen-year-old teenager, intelligent but headstrong and more opinionated than most women her age, had become incensed when she’d learned the stockbroker swindled her father out of sixty million dollars. The broker’s insufferable sexism and superior attitude toward women also enraged her. The young woman’s anger boiled over when the man had tried to assault her during the cruise.

One night during a violent tropical storm, which caused the cruise ship to toss and heave, Alex had followed the man out to a rain-sodden, wind-swept deck. The stockbroker, falling down drunk, had struggled to maintain his balance on the slippery surface. When a large wave caused the ship to roll severely, he fell overboard, managing to grab a wire railing at the last moment.

Despite his intoxication, the man had clung to the railing, his feet dangling like a rag doll above the raging ocean a hundred feet below, the intense storm drowning out his panicked cries for help. No other passenger had dared to venture out in the savage weather, so no one heard him. No one, except for Alexandra. She’d seen him fall.

With lightning flashing all around and the rain and wind slashing at the distinctive yellow-hooded slicker she wore, Alex approached the suspended drunk while his body, tossed by the storm, slammed again and again into the side of the ship. He’d cried out in relief, believing her to be his savior. But the young woman had said nothing. Instead, she’d reached down to his hands clamped desperately to the wire railing. One by one, she pulled his fingers loose from the wire and let him drop into the tempest below. The furious wind swept his screams away. The ocean swallowed him like a killer whale swallows a seal.

Later, one of the ship’s bartenders told Jack he’d witnessed the inebriated stockbroker stagger out of the bar the night of the storm. He also said another passenger in the bar, wearing a yellow slicker with a tightly tied hood had followed the drunkard out. But in the dimly lit bar, the barkeep hadn’t been able to identify the slicker wearer.

Jack, to his dismay, had realized who the passenger was when Alexandra carelessly wore that same slicker on a rainy afternoon a few days later. When he’d reluctantly confronted her, she confessed to the crime.

The court sentenced Alexandra Lafferty to life in prison, a devastating blow to her family. Jack forever blamed himself for the turn of events. He had tried to help his old friend but wound up destroying him. Jennifer tried to convince her father to see a psychiatrist about his depression. He’d resisted, insisting he didn’t need a shrink.

He needed this case.

As Jack maneuvered through the busy traffic, the more convinced he became. He decided the universe had, at last, answered his prayers and he could make amends for failing his old friend by helping Charlie’s son solve whatever problem he had. Perhaps then, he could renew his friendship.

Charlie Lafferty had been a true pal, a kindred spirit. Their type of friendship comes along only once in