Strained Mercy: BOONE-BELL, #8

By Frederic W. Burr

'Strained Mercy' opens with a more introspective Boone as he adjusts to married life with Deborah, while carrying the office by himself. Marianne works from home to care for infant Caden, recently out of NICU. Things for her go from bad to worse as developments threaten her marriage.

Aside from a voicemail from a climate scientist Sarah Richardson, worried about threatening phone calls from a climate change cult, his principal concern is Abe Freed, his journalist friend. Abe is investigating MS-13 and the Albany drug trade, and Boone worries for Abe's safety.

At the same time, Abe seeks advice from Boone about helping Chantelle, a high-end prostitute, escape a vicious pimp. Boone decides to consult Tom McAvoy and Clive Townsend for assistance. Both cases involving Freed come together in unexpected ways, with tragic results.

When the climate scientist disappears without a trace, Boone and Albany police detective Mark Wallace are frustrated by the lack of any clues as to who has taken Richardson, or her whereabouts. The case leads to an explosive resolution, presenting ethical challenges for Detective Wallace.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frederic W. Burr
• Release date: Oct 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223460565

Frederic W. Burr

A native of Cincinnati, Ohio, Fred enlisted in the Navy at the age of seventeen, and retired in the rank of Commander in the surface warfare community. He is a graduate of the University of Louisville and the Albany Law School of Union University. Retiring from the private practice of law in upstate New York, Pennsylvania and Kentucky after thirty-six years, he considers himself a fully recovered attorney. Fred and his wife Donna (who also writes) make their home in Kentucky.

Book preview

chapter one

WHAT'S ON YOUR mind, husband? Deborah asks me.

Oh . . . lots of things, I say, trying to think of her as my bride since she calls me ‘husband’, but I feel evasive. We were married yesterday in a civil ceremony, and I can’t help thinking we’re both trying, each in our own way, to convince ourselves we are married, and not just playacting.

She bores in. Like?

Well, the wedding yesterday and all the 'thank you' notes we have to write, for one thing.

That's two things, at least. But something else is troubling you, I can tell.

We are breakfasting at The Sagamore on Bolton Landing in Lake George, the first full day of a very short honeymoon. I can’t be away from the office for any length of time, because my partner Marianne is working from home, while she cares for baby Caden, fresh out of the NICU.

Stalling, I ask her, More coffee?

You're dodging. She knows me so well. Come on. Tell me what's bothering you?

I ‘fess up. Well . . . that voicemail I got yesterday.

I had put my phone in silent mode for our ceremony and the luncheon afterwards. Apparently, at some point a woman tried to reach me and left a troubling voicemail.

Yes. Is it still on your phone?

It is.

So, play it, and tell me what bothers you.

I let go of the coffee pot and pull out my phone to bring up voicemail.

"Mr. Boone? My name is Sarah. Sarah Richardson." From the way she spoke, she sounded nervous.

"I got your number from my sister Kelly. She says she talked to you about a case, the Creekson murder she thinks it was. She says you seemed honest, and you listened to what she had to say. Anyway, I'm getting messages on my phone from some people who say they're part of something called the Earth Rescue Family. They say if I don't disavow my articles about climate change, I'll live to regret it. Actually, I think they said I won't live to regret it. I called the police, but they say without more information, there's nothing they can do. I'm worried. Can you help me?"

There was a second voicemail to leave her phone number, apologizing for not including it in the first one.

I can see why that might bother you. Did you ask Marianne to work up the file for you?

I did ask her to set up an appointment after we get back. But she’s preoccupied with her son’s problems. I don’t want to bother her with anything more right now.

Caden was born prematurely, three months ahead of term by emergency C-section. Barely a foot long, he weighed all of two pounds and has a number of serious medical issues.

I remind Deborah of Caden’s circumstances. She shakes her head. That’s not good, not good at all. He may not survive infancy, given that his brain, his heart, and vascular system aren’t fully developed. So how is he doing? Do you know?

Unfortunately, I do. Marianne says he doesn’t seem to want to nurse. She thought they’d be out of the woods when he made it past his first twenty-eight days, but now . . . I don’t know. But I just can’t ask her for anything.

I understand, she replies. So, back to the thing at hand. What about this case bothers you?

I sigh before answering. I hate not knowing what the problem is, and not having the background on everyone involved. That's all, I guess. Patience on learning everything there is to know about a case at the outset is not my strong suit.

That's understandable. And yes.

Obviously, I’ve missed something. Yes, what?

I'd like some more coffee. Are you going to pour, or should I?

I look down at my hand resting next to the coffee pot and shake my head before pouring some for her, and then myself.

Is that the only thing troubling you?

No, but it's probably at the top of the list.

You have a list? She arches one eyebrow, telling me she’s not really surprised.

I don't know if I'd call it a list, I say. I'm thinking about something Abe Freed asked me after the ceremony. It's not a case. He just needs someone to help him with a problem.

And can you talk about it?

Abe Freed is a reporter on the crime beat with the Schenectady Gazette. In the past, he has helped me on cases, and in return, I’ve fed him information for stories to push state police investigators on another case. I’ve grown to consider him more a friend than a resource.

Do you remember the young lady with him?

Yes, I do. A beautiful girl, she answers.

Abe's date was a light-skinned black woman, and beautiful if I do say so myself. Despite the fact she was nicely dressed, I remember her looking as if she felt uncertain and out of place. Her name is, according to Abe, Chantelle.

Well, he told me she was just a friend with a problem. He said she is a high-class call girl, or escort.

Did he tell you this in her presence? she asks me.

No, I answer. Abe is pretty circumspect when circumstances call for it.

And what’s the problem?

He told me she wants to get out of the life, make something of herself. But she has this really vicious pimp. Abe has to give her three hundred dollars for her pimp, like he's one of her Johns. Otherwise, the pimp beats her. The bastard even told her if she ever quit working for him, he'd disfigure her face so badly, she'd never work for anyone else.

That's terrible. But what does Abe want from you?

He was hoping I might know someone who could help her.

And you do, don't you?

I told him I might have a guy in mind. I was thinking of Tom McAvoy.

Your best man? You've known him a long time, haven't you?

Deborah sometimes has a gift for understatement, which she sometimes indulges. You could say that, for starters.

Tomiichi McAvoy, who goes by Tom, is the son of Rob McAvoy, an American neurosurgeon of Irish descent with Doctors Without Borders. He met Tom’s mother, Imani Zuberi, a nurse originally from the Swahili coast in east Africa, also working with Doctors Without Borders at a clinic in Kenya. After Tom’s birth, his parents returned to America to raise him and settled down in northern Virginia.

I met Tom when we were both stationed at Joint Base Andrews. He was a staff sergeant in the Marines, working on Marine One, the Presidential helicopter. I was a first class petty officer stationed at the Washington Navy Yard. We became friends, I’m not even sure how at this point, and used to go on liberty together, hitting all the jazz clubs and bars in Southwest Washington.

After the service, I joined the New York State Police. Tom signed up to maintain and operate the news choppers for WRGB. More than once, he has helped me with a case, not to mention bringing me back from a time I don’t like to dwell on.

So why didn't you introduce Abe to Tom? she asks. They were both at the ceremony, and at the lunch after.

I couldn't. By the time Abe came to me, Tom was on the way out the door, and I haven't had a chance to call him since.

Well, you can do that when we get back, unless you think you need to do it sooner, she suggests.

No, I tell her, thinking tomorrow or the next day should be soon enough. There’s time after we get back to Albany.

I sip my coffee and look out over the lake, which is reflecting the cloudless blue sky. The brilliance of the fall colors on the far shore looks almost artificially saturated.

It's beautiful here, I say, and suggest a short walk. Anything to get away from talking about all the problems that await me back in Albany.

She agrees. Just let me go up to our room for a light jacket and I'll meet you . . . where?

Right here is fine. I top off my coffee.

She pushes her chair back and, after bending over to kiss my forehead, promises to be right back.

I watch her walk away for a long moment, then look down at the shiny new gold wedding band on my hand. It’s hard to believe I’ve entered into a second marriage at my age. I know fifty-seven isn’t exactly old, but I am on the far side of middle age. But what worries me is this sense we’ve lost something in our relationship by getting married.

I stand up and, coffee in hand, walk over to the edge of the outdoor serving area. I can see the lake and the far shore. But I couldn’t help thinking about the other thing Abe told me, which is what really worries me.

He said he had picked up rumors that the vicious Salvadoran gang, Mara Salvatrucha, or MS-13, was moving in on the Albany drug trade. He intends to develop a series for his paper if that was true.

Knowing the risks Abe takes when ferreting out a story, I tried to warn him to be very circumspect. If MS-13 ever gets wind of Abe's sniffing around, he might wind up wishing he was dead for a long time before he actually got around to the dying part.

I remember reports of the gang hacking people to death with machetes, cutting out the hearts of their victims, and beating the corpses into the ground with baseball bats. Federal authorities have described their murders as 'medieval.'

Abe assured me he would be extra careful, but I know better than to take that at face value. Abe is relentless when he’s working a story. As much as Tom could help Abe with Chantelle's pimp, watching Abe's back might make more sense.

Deborah startle me, coming up behind me and asking, Ready?

To cover, I turn around, smile, and tell her, I was born ready. But even as I say that, in the back of my mind I wonder if I was ready to get married.

I believe that, she says.

After putting my cup back on the table, I take her hand, and we start walking along Boathouse Lane. The air is brisk, but comfortable. Although we’re on an island connected to the village by a single bridge, the lane is set back from the waterline. The homes and wooded areas are between the street and the narrows of Lake George. We might as well be in a developed subdivision in the Albany exurbs.

Deborah occasionally points out something of interest to her. I do my best to appear interested as well. But all I can think about is Sarah Richardson's voicemail, and Abe investigating MS-13.

Mostly I worry about Abe. If he even so much as annoys MS-13, he'll be in much bigger trouble than I and Tom McAvoy together could ever get him out of.

chapter two

WEDNESDAY MORNING, I walk into my office to find Tom McAvoy sitting behind my desk.

Boone, I say to McAvoy, you're even uglier than I'd heard.

But you're not funnier than I thought you'd be, McAvoy replies.

You know what your problem is? I ask him.

What? Besides being black and having a disadvantaged childhood? And bald? Don't forget that.

Respect, I say. You don't show respect when it's deserved.

McAvoy makes a show of looking around the office. I don't know about that. I respect this desk and this chair. With both eyebrows raised, he asks, What else is there I'm supposed to respect?

I shake my head slowly in mock resignation. It must be hard being you.

Yes. But it’s so worth it.

We are interrupted when Barbara at reception comes up on the intercom.

Carl, Marianne is on line two for you.

I am immediately excited, not having heard from my partner in some time. Tell her I'll be right with her.

Grinning at me with more teeth than should be allowed, McAvoy stands up and walks around the desk, slapping me on the back as he passes. He sits in one of the two chairs in front of my desk. I sit behind my desk and press the line button for the intercom, leaving the call on speaker.

How are you and little Caden doing? I ask her. Hearing an odd noise on her end of the line, I add, And what’s that noise I hear?

Marianne sighs. It’s my breast pump, she tells me. I have to express as much as I can. Caden barely takes enough when he nurses before he loses interest, and I’m running out of room in the refrigerator . . .

McAvoy mumbles something, and she shouts, Hey! Am I on speaker?

Uh . . . yes, I admit, wondering if I’m in trouble.

Who else is in the office?

Just Tom.

Oh. He's okay. Anyway, as I was saying, Caden doesn’t seem to want to eat. The doctors told me his odds aren’t the best, but we’re hopeful. Between trying to get him to nurse and the weekly checkups, it's exhausting.

Do you have any help?

Sure. Luke takes over Caden during the night after he gets home from work, bless him, so I can get some rest. He can sleep in the next morning, so it works out.

What can I do for you?

Nothing, she tells me. I just wanted to make sure you were in, and remind you that Sarah Richardson is coming in to see you this afternoon.

What time?

She's not on your calendar at the office?

I look at my desktop screen for a moment. Nope, don't see her.

She was supposed to call in yesterday. I set it up with her, and . . .

Stop thinking about the office. Caden is more important than anything going on here.

I know, she agrees. I guess I’m just trying to think of something else for a few minutes is all.

Well, don’t worry about us. I'll give her a call, I try to reassure her that we’re not on the verge of falling apart without her, even if things are touch and go at times.

Okay then, she says. It’s nice to hear her voice. You need any searches done, let me know.

Maybe, I tell her. She knows what I mean though.

"I’m serious. When Caden is resting, all I have to do is sit around and worry about him. Having something to occupy my mind, if only for a few minutes, will help.