by David Hosp
Anyway, he was not the only viable suspect, she reminded herself. She had to keep an open mind until she knew more about Natalie Caldwell. There might be something to Finn’s theory about Natalie’s older boyfriend.
She picked up the sheet of paper and held it in front of her face without opening it. She could still turn back now and lay the Caldwell murder at Townsend’s feet. That was what most people wanted—a clean, quiet end to it all. If she opened the piece of paper, any hope of that would be gone. She knew herself too well to believe she’d let the investigation drop once she’d seen the list of names.
She looked over her shoulder to see if anyone in the squad room was watching her. It was an odd thing to do, she knew, but she felt like she was somehow betraying the department by casting a shadow over the biggest public relations victory it had had in decades. Satisfied no one was spying on her, she slowly, deliberately opened the piece of paper and looked at the list of names.
She heard herself gasp as she read it. Every name felt like a punch in the stomach. One by one, she read the names and the brief descriptions of their connection to Natalie Caldwell. She was tied in, Flaherty realized, and tied in big-time. It looked like she knew or had worked with every person with any significant power in Boston. These weren’t the kind of people who’d appreciate being investigated. Jesus, she thought, even the governor is on the list.
Wait, that’s impossible, isn’t it? Hadn’t Clarke specifically said he’d never met Natalie Caldwell? She was sure he had. So it was possible Finn’s list was wrong, wasn’t it? Maybe she could ignore it. More than that, maybe it was possible that Finn was deliberately giving her false information—leading the police in the wrong direction to cover his own guilt.
There was only one way to find out, she knew, and it depressed her to think about it. She should have just thrown the list away. She hadn’t, though, and it weighed heavily on her. Just then the phone rang.
“Lieutenant Flaherty,” she said as she picked up the receiver.
“Is this the world-famous Detective Lieutenant Flaherty?” the voice asked. It was Finn. She felt her back stiffen, and it took a moment to compose herself. She was not sure what to say. “Linda?” he said after a moment.
“Yes, is this Mr. Finn?” she asked, trying to buy time.
“We’re back to ‘Mister’? How did that happen?”
“I’m sorry, I was just thinking about you.”
“Well then, I guess great minds think alike, because I was just thinking about me too. Specifically, I was thinking I’d like to see you.”
“Yes, I think we need to talk.” She was deliberately distant with him, and she knew he’d notice it. This wasn’t going to be easy.
“Okay, do you want to do it over dinner at Il Panino?” he offered.
“I don’t think that that will be possible.”
“Well then, you pick a place,” he pressed.
There was a long pause on the line. “I think I’d prefer it if you’d come down to the station house so we can talk here,” she said finally. The silence on the other end of the line sent a cold shiver up her spine, and she had the feeling she had just destroyed any hope of their being anything other than enemies.
Chapter Thirty-four
“YOU’RE KIDDING, RIGHT?”
Kozlowski and Stone were in the interrogation room with Finn and Flaherty, but Finn directed the question to Flaherty alone.
“You were the last person we know of who talked to her,” Kozlowski spoke up, somewhat defensively. “You were her former lover—a fact you neglected to tell us the first time we interviewed you—and you still haven’t been able to give us a decent alibi. What do you expect us to think?”
Finn glared at him. “I don’t expect you to be able to think at all, Detective. Just by looking at you, I understand that would be expecting far too much. But I do expect Lieutenant Flaherty to be able to think. And if she’s thinking straight right now, she’s remembering that the last time I saw Natalie was early on Friday evening, and I left the bar we were at without her. She’s also probably realizing that the first time you interviewed me you never asked whether Natalie and I had had a physical relationship. You only asked what our relationship was at the time.”
“So it all depends on what the definition of ‘is’ is? That excuse has been tried before,” Kozlowski sneered.
Finn ignored him. “And she’s probably also remembering that I didn’t hesitate to tell her about my past relationship with Natalie the second time we met, when she asked me about it. Finally, as far as an alibi goes, I dropped by several bars after leaving Natalie. I can name at least a few, and I’m sure I can find some people who saw me there alone—I haven’t lined anyone up, because I wasn’t aware I was a suspect until two minutes ago.”
“Nobody said you were a suspect, exactly,” Flaherty corrected. Her voice was flat, though.
“Then why, when you’ve got a guy in custody who was actually caught in the act of killing one of these girls, are you trying to jam me up for allegedly killing my friend?”
“We’ve told you, nobody’s trying to jam you up. It’s just that we haven’t found anything that ties Townsend to Natalie, and he’s claiming he didn’t kill her. Normally, we wouldn’t be too surprised or concerned that the main suspect denies being the murderer. But in this case, Townsend seems willing to admit to all of the other murders. So the question is, why does he deny killing Natalie Caldwell? That puts us in a position where we have to consider every possibility,” Flaherty said. This time her voice was more reassuring.
“Fine, so look at every possibility. I gave you a two-page list of people Natalie worked with, and who fit the description of her boyfriend. Why not start by looking into that?”
“We do plan on looking into that, Mr. Finn,” Kozlowski said. “But the only evidence we have that Ms. Caldwell was even having an affair comes from you. So before we go knocking on the doors of some of the most powerful people in Boston, accusing them of murder, we thought we’d get to know a little more about the guy who’s pointing the finger at them.”
“Besides,” Flaherty continued, “we’re pretty sure that at least some of the information on the list is false.”
“What’s false about it?”
“For example,” Flaherty began, “we know Governor Clarke didn’t know Ms. Caldwell personally, as your list suggests.”
“How do you know that?” Finn asked.
“He told us so,” she replied.
Finn looked at her, incredulous, waiting for more. “That’s it?” he asked after a moment. “He told you so? He didn’t even take a pinkie-oath on it or anything? Did he at least cross his heart and hope to die?”
Kozlowski scoffed. “He had no reason to lie to us when he said it. At the time, we weren’t even considering that the killer might be someone other than Little Jack, so he wouldn’t have had any reason to go out on a limb like that.”
“Right,” said Finn, rolling his eyes. “If he were the real killer, he’d certainly have no motive to foreclose any investigation into his relationship with her.” The on-point sarcasm made Kozlowski feel a little foolish.
“We still have no reason to think he’s lying, yet,” Flaherty said. “We wouldn’t have any reason to suspect him if it weren’t for you.”
Finn threw up his hands. “As I explained in the list I gave you, Natalie worked with the governor on one of his crime initiatives—I think it was the one aimed at domestic violence. Her name has to be on the legislation somewhere.”
“We thought of that, but we haven’t been able to find anything.” Flaherty sounded almost sympathetic.
“Which means it’s just back to your word.” Kozlowski was back on the attack. “Besides, there are other issues we have to talk to you about.”
“Like what?” Finn asked wearily.
“Like have you ever been to the Kiss Club?” Flaherty asked. The question was like a slap in Finn’s face, and he physically rocked back in his chair. He looked back a
nd forth between Flaherty and Kozlowski in a state of confusion.
“What does the Kiss Club have to do with anything?” he asked. He had to take a deep breath to keep from becoming defensive. He didn’t like the direction the interrogation was heading.
“The Kiss Club was the last place Natalie Caldwell was seen alive. Whoever killed her may have met up with her there.” Kozlowski was in his element now, and he was enjoying turning the screws on Finn. “Have you ever been there?”
Finn thought for a moment. As a lawyer, he knew that the smart thing to do at this point would be to shut his mouth and answer no further questions. He’d always advised his clients to stop talking whenever it became clear they were a suspect in a crime, even if they were innocent. As a general rule, nothing good ever comes from talking to a police officer who believes you’re guilty. But this was different, wasn’t it? “I was there with Natalie once,” he admitted.
“Ever been back there?” Kozlowski asked. From his tone, Finn had the feeling the detective already knew the answer.
“I was in there a week or so ago,” he answered.
“You want to tell us about that?” Kozlowski asked.
“What’s to tell?”
“Officer Stone saw you in there,” Flaherty said, pointing to Stone in the corner of the room. “He witnessed you assaulting a working girl who apparently looked very much like Natalie Caldwell.” She said it as fact, without any emotion, but Finn could still feel the anger and disappointment in her voice.
Finn turned bright red. “So that’s what this is about?” he fumed. “Officer Stone saw something he took totally out of context, and now you all want to hang me for it?”
“Is there a context that would make this reasonable?” Flaherty asked, her tone exasperated.
Finn shook his head in disbelief. Then he turned to Stone. “Well, for starters, I’m guessing that Officer Stone didn’t hear any of the conversation I had with the young woman, did he?”
Stone looked at Kozlowski, who held his palms up, indicating that he was free to answer the question.
“No, I didn’t,” Stone admitted. “But I don’t see what—”
Finn interrupted him. “So you couldn’t hear that the entire altercation started because she propositioned me and I turned her down, right?”
“Right,” Stone said, “but—”
“And I’m also guessing that you were watching from an angle where you couldn’t see what was happening underneath the bar, weren’t you?”
“That’s true.”
“So you couldn’t see that she reacted to my rejection by trying to crush my testicles, and that I was only acting in self-defense, could you?”
“Like I said, I couldn’t see from where I was.” Stone was backpedaling now.
“I see. So basically, you’ve all convinced yourselves that I murdered my best friend because I went to a bar that she took me to once and then rejected the advances of a prostitute who looked marginally like her. Do I have that about right?”
The three officers looked at one another silently. They seemed defeated, and each hoped that one of the others would find some leverage to go back on the attack. It was Kozlowski who finally spoke.
“That was a fine cross-examination, Mr. Finn. I can see why clients pay the fees that Howery, Black charges. But it doesn’t mean shit in the real world. You’re still the last person we know of who talked to Natalie Caldwell. You’re still her former lover, and you still don’t have an alibi. In my book, that means that we’ve got to take a long, hard look at you. If you have a problem with that, you’ll just have to live with it. And until you can verify some of the information on this list you gave us, I’m going to take the governor’s word over yours every day of the week.”
Finn rolled his eyes and looked at Linda. “If I can prove to you that the governor really did know Natalie, will you stop leaning on me and take a harder look at the people on that list?”
Flaherty nodded. “If you can convince me the governor actually lied to us, then we might be persuaded to alter the current direction of the investigation slightly.”
“Fine,” Finn said, getting up out of his chair. “Come with me.”
All three of the officers got up to follow, but he shook his head and pointed at Flaherty. “Just her,” he said. “I’m not about to go traipsing around this city with the three of you in tow. She’s less conspicuous, and you guys only need one person to verify my information.”
Flaherty looked at Kozlowski and waved him off. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “You stay here and I’ll let you know what I find.”
Chapter Thirty-five
THE STATION HOUSE was only a few blocks from Finn’s office, so they walked. The silence between them was deadly, and neither could find a way to break it for a long while. It was Finn who finally spoke.
“You actually think of me as a suspect in this mess, don’t you. After everything I told you that night, after everything that happened, you still think of me as a murderer.”
“I don’t think of you as anything, Finn. I hardly know you,” Flaherty said. “We’ve got a murderer and a victim who don’t seem to match up. I’d love to pin Natalie’s death on Townsend, but we just don’t have any evidence on him, so for the moment we have to keep an open mind about possible suspects. No one is saying they think you did it, it’s just that you were the person closest to her. The first rule of a murder investigation is to take a good long look at the people who were closest to the victim. More than two-thirds of all victims are killed by their family or close friends, so we’ve got to investigate you.”
“That’s bullshit. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to on this investigation. I find it bizarre that you think I might have done this.” Finn shook his head.
“Yeah, and I find it bizarre that you were at the Kiss Club beating up hookers. I guess we’re even,” Flaherty said indignantly.
“I told you, that was self-defense. She attacked me first, and she attacked me precisely because I didn’t want to be with her. I was depressed and lonely, and that bar was one of the places I’d gone to with Natalie when we were together, so I went back there. It was a mistake, but that doesn’t make me a murderer.” Finn felt like his head would explode soon.
“Yeah, it was a big mistake,” Flaherty agreed. “And now we’ve just got to make sure you’re not our guy. Once we’re sure, we’ll move on.”
“Great, so you’re expecting me to prove a negative?”
“That shouldn’t be too hard. I’m sure you can find people who can vouch for your whereabouts at the time of Natalie’s death.”
Finn shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, hopefully. But what if I can’t?”
Flaherty thought for a moment, her brow furrowing. “It also wouldn’t hurt if you provided us with a blood sample.”
“What the hell for!” Finn almost shouted.
“We found semen inside of Natalie’s body. We think she was raped before she was killed. If you give us a blood sample, we’ll be able to tell if you were with her that night. It won’t definitively rule you out as the killer, but it would take some of the pressure off you in the investigation.”
Finn looked skeptical. The lawyer in him told him simply to clam up and provide the police with no information. That would be what he’d advise any client at this point. The more information you provide to the police, the more likely it is they’ll have something to use against you. He could hear himself giving that same counsel time and again to clients when he was a public defender. He knew he should start listening to his own advice. At the same time, though, he wanted Linda to believe him. He needed her to believe him.
“I’ll think about it,” he said after a moment.
“Suit yourself,” she said. “I’m just trying to help.”
In spite of his innate skepticism, he believed her.
Chapter Thirty-six
WHEN THEY ARRIVED AT the office building that was home to Howery, Black, they stopped at the front desk to
sign Flaherty in. The Anniversary Bombing had placed a renewed emphasis on security, and Finn now needed a separate building pass to get into the office. Bringing visitors involved filling out a pile of forms to verify identification, although Flaherty’s badge helped bypass some of the hassle.
They rode the elevator in silence. Finn was glad there was no one else from the firm on it with them. Now that he was a suspect, he felt self-conscious about bringing the police into the office. He’d do it to clear his name, but he wasn’t comfortable with it.
The door to Natalie’s office was closed, and the room was stacked with boxes of documents from various cases. That it was still being used as a storage room Finn found repugnant. Of the original furniture, only the desk remained—the same basic L-shaped wooden one that all of the associates had. The room had been cleaned out by the police, who’d gone through all of Natalie’s belongings looking for clues. They’d found nothing, and now all of Natalie’s personal possessions were boxed up and stacked in a corner, waiting for someone to come get them, although she had no family members who might care enough to take her mementos home.
Finn picked his way through the clutter to Natalie’s personal effects.
“What are you looking for?” Flaherty asked.
“Pictures,” he said. He spoke over his shoulder as he dug through the boxes, pulling out little pieces of Natalie Caldwell’s life as he went. There was a large framed seal from the Justice Department signed by all her coworkers—a traditional gift given to all departing federal prosecutors. There were diplomas from Harvard Law School and Yale University. There were letters, and workout clothes, and breath mints, and cold medicines—everything reminding Finn of the basic humanity of the woman with whom he’d once been infatuated.
“I’m not as evil as you may think,” said Flaherty, interrupting his thoughts. “I do have a job to do, though.”