“Please have a seat, Rod,” Glooscap said. “Dermot, I am concerned about you. Your judgment is impaired, and your anger is escalating. I am afraid that you might do something foolhardy and end up in prison for a long, long time.”
I hung my head.
“Your decisions have been crackpot. You kidnapped a man, and you were planning to kill Nick Avakian. I saw the vengeance in your eyes.”
“He stole everything from me, my future wife, my future child, everything.”
“I love you. You are blood, my brother’s boy. I will to do anything to safeguard you.”
“What am I supposed to do now, crawl into a cave and hide?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he said. “That is why I asked Rod to join us. I believe you two can help each other.”
Glooscap turned to Rod as a prompt to speak.
“I’m sure it’s just paranoia,” Rod said, “but the man I borrowed the boat from is asking questions, and I’m getting nervous. The way the cops can test for DNA these days, it wouldn’t take much to put Avakian on that boat.”
“Hundreds of gallons of seawater splashed over the decks,” I said. “The evidence had to be washed away.”
“I’m just saying I’m nervous.” Rod rubbed the back of his sunburned neck. “I don’t want to end up in an interrogation room, Dermot. I’m a lousy liar.”
“I can teach you a few tricks,” I said.
“Dermot!” Glooscap shouted. “No more levity, this is a serious situation.”
His outburst silenced the room. After a moment he said, “Here is my proposal, a proposal I feel very strongly about. I have already spoken to Rod about this idea, and he is on board with it, so it is up to you, Dermot.”
“I’m listening.”
“Leave Charlestown,” Glooscap said. “If the police cannot find you, the police cannot question you. Go away. Let your head clear. Give yourself a chance to regain perspective, to get on solid footing again. Rod will procure a vessel large enough for a distant sea voyage, and you two will go on a long trip together.” Glooscap leaned closer to me. “What do you say, Dermot? Will you do that for me? You will be helping Rod, too.”
The idea of leaving town held a certain appeal to me, and the appeal increased when I thought of Superintendent Hanson and Captain Pruitt coming at me again.
“How much do you need, Rod?”
He told me.
62
Rod said he would need a couple of days to find a suitable boat, something secondhand that he could get on the cheap. He’d be shopping for a live-aboard cruiser that could handle the harsh ocean elements of the North Atlantic. I asked him where he was planning to take us, the Arctic Circle? He didn’t laugh. I gave Rod the number to one of my three burner phones. He would call me when he secured the vessel.
The next two nights I stayed in a Quincy hotel near the Braintree split, in case the Boston cops came looking for me in Charlestown. I figured that staying in Quincy would make it harder for them to track me down, but I doubted it would if they really wanted to find me. On the third day Rod called. He had found a boat.
“She’s a beauty,” he said. “A Beneteau 48 with a fifteen foot beam, twin steering stations, and a master bedroom. I practically stole it. Do you sail?”
“Not as a crewman, no, but I’ve been on sailboats.”
“You’re about to get an education in seamanship.” Rod said, sounding more upbeat. “Don’t worry. She’s outfitted with an inboard diesel to maneuver in and out of docks.”
“You’re the captain.”
“Meet me tomorrow morning in the Navy Yard at Dry Dock 2, eight o’clock.”
“Aye, aye.”
I couldn’t sleep that night, so I packed my bag and checked out of the hotel, dropping the first of my three burners, the one Rod had called me on, into a trashcan as I exited. From Quincy I drove to Hull Gut and parked at Pemberton Pier across from the windmill, which was spinning like an Evinrude. I stood on the rocking pier and dialed Buck Louis on my second burner.
“Buck, it’s me.”
“I knew you’d be calling.”
“I’m leaving town for awhile.” I leaned on the railing and watched the waves slap the pilings and the gusts starching the flags. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be away, maybe a few months, maybe longer.”
“You got in trouble, didn’t you,” he said.
“The move is preemptive,” I said. “I’m not a fugitive or anything.”
“I don’t suppose you want to tell me where you’re going.”
“I don’t know where I’m going, and that’s the truth. But even if I knew, I probably wouldn’t tell you. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Buck. I trust you like a brother. Hell, I consider you a brother.”
“Me, too.”
“I want to protect you,” I said. “If you don’t know where I am, no legal scheming in the world can get it out of you.”
“Be careful.”
“I will,” I said. “Can you handle things at home?”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about.” There was a pause. “You’ll be incommunicado.”
“Yup, incommunicado.”
There was another pause, and then Buck said, “Victor Diaz is out of jail. He was cleared on the murder charge, but he’s awaiting trial for the B and E. I’ll be defending him and Juan Rico.”
“Okay,” I said, sensing there was more to come.
“Victor wants to meet with you. I know you’re on a timeline, so if you can’t meet him, I’ll tell him.”
“I’m leaving in the morning.”
“It’ll have to be tonight.”
“No, not tonight.” I thought for a moment. “Tell him I’ll meet him tomorrow morning at seven o’clock in Kormann & Schuhwerk’s Deli.”
“Kormann & Schuhwerk’s in the Navy Yard, seven o’clock,” Buck said. “I’ll tell him.”
We hung up and I tossed burner number two into the water.
I called Harraseeket Kid on the third burner to talk to him about the same issue, my decision to leave the area.
“Yeah?” he answered brusquely.
“It’s me, Dermot,” I said. “I’m leaving Charlestown for a spell.”
“On the lam?”
“That’s one way to put it. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
“It’s just as well you’re leaving,” he said. “It’ll give me time to restore your apartment.”
“Thanks for doing that.”
“Ester moved in yesterday,” he said. “She said the sound of the sump pump clicking on and off puts her to sleep at night.”
“A woman satisfied with a basement apartment? She is something special, Kid.”
“You could say I’m moving up.”
“I mailed you a check for the renovations.”
“I’ll fix it up real nice for you,” he said. “I’ll take care of everything around here. Talk to you later.”
Kid hung up before things got sentimental. I threw the burner into the water. I now had no phone, and I found the disconnection liberating. I also found it scary.
I was sitting in Kormann & Schuhwerk’s eating a sesame bagel and drinking coffee when Victor Diaz came in and joined me at the table. I signaled the waitress, and Victor ordered an espresso.
“Thanks for meeting me,” he said.
“Glad to.”
He played with a menu and then he placed it in the holder. “I got mouthy at Nashua Street and I wanted to apologize.”
“There’s no need.”
“You and Buck Louis saved my ass.”
“We did our jobs, nothing more.”
“Well, thanks.”
The waitress came with his espresso. I looked out to the harbor, at the docks and piers and moorings, at the sailboats and yachts, barely rocking on the calm surfac
e. Seagulls and terns dove in graceful sweeps, cawing and shrieking, adding movement to the seaside snapshot.
“The junk is killing me,” Victor said, “the heroin, it’s eating me up.”
“You ever think of going to a meeting?” I asked. “I’m a member of AA.”
“I’m not really a drinker. I drink, but I —”
“Most members are dually addicted these days. The alcoholic-only is nearly extinct.”
“Were you dually addicted?”
“Yes, whiskey and beer,” I said, smiling. “Don’t overanalyze it. Ask yourself this simple question: ‘Do drugs cause my life to become unmanageable?’”
“I guess the answer is pretty obvious,” he said. “I just got out of jail, and I almost went away for life.”
“Try a meeting, see if you like it. Maybe Bianca will go with you.”
“No.” He pushed away his cup. “It’s over with Bianca.”
I wondered if she told Victor about our romp. “Did something happen?”
“Yeah, something happened.” He looked down at the table. “When I was inside I had time to think about her, and something started to bother me. Did I tell you she visited me at Nashua Street?”
“You didn’t.”
“She visited me there and the next thing I knew I was in a side room getting laid. Can you believe it, getting laid by a woman in jail?”
“A conjugal visit, life can be good, even in jail.”
“I found out later that she had to fuck one of the guards so she could have sex with me.” Victor paused. “That was the price she paid to be with me.”
“Desperate times,” I said. “Don’t hold it against her.”
“The sex with the guard, I didn’t like it.” He looked into my eyes. “Hey, it is what it is, right? The sex with the guard, but that’s not what bothered me.”
“Oh?”
“After we had sex, Bianca made a confession.” He splayed his fingers on the Formica top and his knuckles turned white. “She told me that she got involved with Nick Avakian. She said that Nick took advantage of her after I got locked up, but I didn’t believe her.”
“Why not?”
“Nobody takes advantage of Bianca. She takes advantage of them. So when she said that about Nick, I thought it was bullshit.” He paused again and flexed blood back into his fingers. “I feel kind of funny talking about Nick. He’s dead.”
“I’d like to hear what you think.”
“According to Bianca, Nick was a complete dolt. The only thing he could do was make deliveries and stock shelves, and even then he screwed it up. He couldn’t even figure out how to work the cash register.”
“Because he’s a dolt.”
“Mr. Avakian asked Bianca to train Nick. She showed him how to use the computer and cameras and lottery machine, and they started getting close, because they were working together — that’s what she told me. And then she admitted she started drilling him. And I got mad.”
“Don’t blame you.”
“The sex with Nick didn’t surprise me, because I know how Bianca is with sex. She uses it to get what she wants. You’ve seen Bianca. Who could say no to her?”
“No one I know.”
“So she visits me in jail, and takes care of me in a side room, and everything is great.”
“But?”
“But I got the feeling she wanted me to kill Nick. Here I was in jail, and she’s trying to get me to kill Nick. She didn’t come right out and say it, not directly, but that’s what she wanted. Bianca knew I had friends on the outside I could call.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No way, I’m not a killer.”
“You must be angry at Bianca.”
“It’s over with her, and it’s probably just as well. With a girl like Bianca, you never really know what’s going on.” Victor got up from the table. “Thanks for meeting me, and thanks for getting me another chance at life. Who knows, maybe I’ll see you at one of those meetings.” He shook my hand. “Whiskey and beer, huh?”
“I staggered in my sleep.” A thought came to me. “What about boxing? When I was in Lowell investigating, Barney D’Amico said you had tons of talent.”
“Barney said that?”
“He said you had a tremendous right, a lead-pipe right he called it.” I stood with him. “Use the talent God gave you, Victor.”
“I miss Barney,” he said. “Maybe I’ll go back to him after I get the legal problems cleaned up. Barney’s all right. Gotta go, I’ll see you around.”
I watched him go out the door.
I now knew the whole story, the sequence of the crime. Bianca Sanchez conspired with Nick Avakian to rob Gertrude Murray of the winning lottery ticket. Bianca was the mastermind, the puppeteer who pulled the strings, and Nick was her puppet. She heard Norm Yorsky’s phone message to Mr. Avakian; she searched the surveillance video; she found that Gert had bought the winning ticket; and she manipulated Nick into robbing her. That’s why she wanted Nick dead, because he could implicate her in the crime.
Bianca knew that Nick would wilt under interrogation. She knew that if he talked she would go away as an accessory to murder. Bianca couldn’t let that happen, so she went to work on Victor in jail, but Victor was too smart and saw through her ploy. Then she went to work on me, and I was too spellbound to see through it. She handled me like a computer mouse. Point, click, a man dies. Although I didn’t kill Nick directly, he died because of me, a fact that only highlighted the genius of Bianca’s cunning. She played it beautifully. If I were any stupider, I’d owe the world IQ points.
Bianca got away with it, and there was nothing I could do about it. I had no hard evidence that connected her to the murder of Gertrude Murray. I suppose that if I wanted to rationalize it, I could say that Bianca didn’t intend for Gert to be murdered, but when you send a screw-up like Nick on a job, you have to expect the worst.
Bianca walks. I walk. Maybe we’re not much different.
I thought of Mr. Avakian, tied to an anchor, attempting suicide, and forced to leave the country. I thought of Nick Avakian, gunned down by Bo Murray. And Bo is dead, too. I was linked to Bo’s death, because Glooscap intervened on my behalf, saving me from my own idiocy. He put Nick in Bo’s crosshairs, and as a result, he put Bo in the crosshairs of the police.
What a mess. And I caused it.
Self will run riot — that’s what we call it in AA.
63
At eight o’clock I was waiting on Dry Dock 2, on the aluminum pier where the commuter boats come in. Smiling yuppies in designer duds walked by me, talking and gesturing, enjoying the day. I found their joy incongruent, out of place, a contentment I couldn’t fathom. A large sailboat came into view with the sails furled. It motored gently through the flat water and eased to a stop in front of me. Rod Liveliner leaned out of the cabin and yelled, “All aboard!” He didn’t bother to toss a line.
I hopped on the boat.
He steered out of the harbor on a flawless summer day, the sea air warm and salty and smelling fresh, and the breeze at our back easing us along. When we passed Castle Island, Rod unfurled the sails and killed the engine, and we glided out of the harbor under the power of the wind. Rod announced that we had reached the deep anchorages of President Roads and then Nantasket Roads, and soon after that we passed Little Brewster Island, home of Boston Light, flashing white every ten seconds. Before long the seagulls bid us adieu and land was out of sight. I joined Rod at the wheel.
“Was it you, Rod?” I asked. “Did Glooscap tell you to tell Bo about Nick Avakian?”
“Why do you think I’m on the boat?” he said, steering toward the horizon. “Which way do we go, north or south?”
“South,” I said.
“Any destination in mind?”
“The Caribbean island of Montserrat,” I said. “I have a frien
d there who can help us out.”
“Monserrat, I’ll plug it into the GPS.” Rod worked the onboard computer and a map came up. “There it is, Montserrat, in the Leeward Islands, part of the Lesser Antilles chain. These gadgets are great, aren’t they? I’ll chart the course.” He punched in the data. “We’re all set for the voyage. This friend of yours, can we trust him? Will he keep his mouth shut?”
“He’s an exile himself,” I said. “His name is Tossy O’Byrne.”
“Tossy O’Byrne? That’s a funny name.”
“He’s a former soldier in the Irish Republican Army. Tossy had to get out of Belfast a couple of years ago. We helped each other out, and in helping each other, we learned we were related.”
“Irish Republican Army?” Rod chuckled. “He won’t talk.”
“We’ll be safe down there with Tossy.” I opened a pack of Effie’s Oatcakes and said to Rod, “Want one? They’re made from a secret family recipe in Nova Scotia.”
“Sure, why not.”
Acknowledgements
This book would never have happened without the love and encouragement from my wife, Maribeth. She is my everything. Her instinct for story and expertise in editing put this novel in shape. And her support kept me in shape.
I am deeply indebted to the following story consultants: Dick Murphy, Chris Hobin, and John Malkowski. Each of them offered outstanding suggestions. They commented on dialogue, story logic, scene depiction, and word usage — you name it, and they had something to say about it, all for the betterment of the novel.
To my high school classmate and friend, Heidi Hurley, art director of the Braintree Public School, who designed the book cover.
And, of course, you always need your family. A special thank you to my my mother, Patricia MacDonald, and my uncle, Frank Carney. Their edit corrections (there were many) and their story comments, especially their comments on one aspect of the story that I rewrote at their urging, brought believability to scenes that had run askew.
Murder in the Charlestown Bricks: A Dermot Sparhawk Crime Novel Page 23