“Okay,” Oscar said.
“Call that number when you are outside the building,” Brody said as he pointed to the piece of paper in Oscar's hand. “Got it?”
“Yeah. I got it. I ain't stupid.”
Oscar wasn't especially bright, either. But Brody wasn't going to bring it up. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed Oscar to make his plan work. It was a two-man job. And he could trust Oscar.
“Repeat the plan back to me,” Brody said. Oscar did. Brody patted Oscar on the face with his meaty hand. “Very good, Oscar.”
Oscar smiled. He took pleasure in having Brody's approval.
“I'm counting on you,” Brody said.
“I won't let you down.”
“I know you won't.”
“You're really going to kill her?” Oscar said.
“What did I tell you about not asking any more questions?”
“Don't ask any more questions,” Oscar said.
“Right,” Brody said. He paused a beat. Then he smiled. “But, yeah, I will kill her.”
“It's a little sad,” Oscar said. “She's very pretty.”
“Pretty. Ugly. Smart. Dumb. None of it matters,” Brody stated. “A client wants her dead, so that is that.”
“That is that,” Oscar repeated.
Chapter 14
DREW PATRICK
The heatwave had broken and the early evening air was warm but pleasant. The sound of traffic two floors below on Brattle Street drifted up through my open office window. An oscillating fan circulated air, keeping the room comfortable. I preferred an open window to the A/C.
Dash approved. He slept stretched across half the couch, lightly snoring. I snapped a picture of the check from Elizabeth Barlow and deposited it with a mobile banking app. My checking account wasn't exactly fat and happy, but it was no longer running on empty.
Marcus Quinn arrived shortly after six o'clock. He was relaxed in jeans and a Celtics t-shirt. His muscular biceps strained the cotton short sleeves. Dash greeted him at the door and then resumed his early evening nap on the couch. Marcus took a seat in one of my client chairs.
“Something to drink?” I asked as I opened my mini-fridge.
“Sure. What you got?”
“Water, soda, and beer.”
“The water is the only healthy thing in there, but I'm off duty, so let's go with a beer.”
“It is after five,” I said. “And you look like you keep yourself in good enough shape to have a beer or two.”
“Old army training has stuck with me.”
“I have a dry-hopped golden ale from a local brewery on Broadway.”
“Hit me with one of those,” Marcus said.
I flipped the tops off two bottles and handed one to Marcus.
“How long were you in?”
“Five years. I enlisted after high school. Did two tours in Afghanistan. Military Police.”
I sat behind my desk. I raised my bottle. Marcus raised his. We each took a pull.
“Nice,” Marcus said.
We each took another sip. No need to rush. It was summer, and for a moment the living could be easy.
“You go to work for the Barlows when you got out?”
Mr. Barlow was looking to build a security team. I guess he liked my military police
background. Most of the security guys are former military, together with a few retired Boston cops.”
“A lot of security for a man in his position,” I said.
“State-of-the-art security system and round-the-clock security personnel.”
“The Barlows are rich,” I said. “Some security makes sense. But...” I let my sentence trail off.
“Yeah, I thought it was a bit much,” Marcus agreed, “until recently. That is why I wanted to speak to you. And, man, I hate to ruin enjoying a relaxing bottle of fine beer,” Marcus said.
“No worries,” I said. “We can multi-task.”
“I like the way you think.” Marcus tipped his bottle in my direction.
“What are your concerns about the Barlows?” I said.
“I could lose my job for even being here,” he said. “And I know I am being disloyal to my employers, but I can't ignore what I think is going on.”
“Loyalty ends where illegal activity begins,” I tried to assure Marcus.
“I can't provide hard evidence,” he said. “In fact, I'm not sure there is any evidence.”
“But you can know, even if you can't yet prove. Most of the time when I'm on a case that's what it's like for me.”
Marcus looked at me. He let his bottle dangle in his right hand. “So you follow your gut?”
I bobbed my head. “Yes and no,” I replied. “I follow my instincts where I think I will get results. Detecting is a lot of poking around where you think you might stir things up. When things get stirred up, you know you are on to something.”
“So you poke around more in those places?” Marcus said.
"Precisely," I said as I raised my bottle and took a tug. Then I continued. "Ultimately, stirring things up leads to clues. Those clues, if you follow them the right way, produce evidence.”
“It's like putting a puzzle together,” Marcus said.
“A good metaphor for investigating a case,” I said. “We're looking for pieces of the puzzle. When we find them, it is a matter of putting them in the right places to get the full picture.”
“All I have right now are random puzzle pieces,” Marcus said. “I'm not even sure if they are part of the same puzzle, or completely unrelated.”
“But you have some pieces,” I said. “Let's start with those. They'll either fit or they won't. Even if they don't, it doesn't mean they are useless. Even eliminating pieces narrows the scope of an investigation.”
“Makes sense,” Marcus said. “As you already know, Mr. Barlow cheats on Mrs. Barlow. Tamara Wallace is just his latest mistress. But it doesn't end there. They basically live separate lives and Mrs. Barlow spends a lot of time at their home in DC. Probably to get away from Mr. Barlow and the constant reminders of his cheating. I almost feel bad for her. Almost.”
I nodded my understanding and finished my beer. I got up to retrieve another. I noticed Marcus had almost finished his beer, so I grabbed two bottles.
“Thanks,” Marcus said as I handed one to him. “Mrs. Barlow is a cool customer. To be honest, I don't like either one of them.”
“There isn't much to like,” I agreed.
“In some ways, they deserve each other,” Marcus said. “But at some point, Mrs. Barlow decides she's done with keeping up appearances for the sake of Mr. Barlow's law career.”
“And that's when she hires me to get evidence of Nevin's affair.”
“Evidence that will make for a nice divorce settlement,” Marcus said.
“No doubt,” I agreed.
Marcus placed his empty bottle of beer to the side. He started in on the fresh bottle. The muscles in his biceps rippled when he lifted the bottle to his lips.
“None of that is any surprise,” Marcus said. “From day one, I could tell it was a bad marriage. If you could even call it a marriage. Besides, none of that has anything to do with my job as head of security. But recently some bad dudes have been coming around the estate.”
“What kind of bad dudes?” I asked.
“Some of them looked like common street thugs. Strange enough for guys like that to be visiting the estate.” Marcus leaned forward in the chair. “But then Leo Mancini started showing up.”
“You know who Leo Mancini is?”
“Not at first,” Marcus said. “But I like knowing who is coming onto the estate. It is my job to make threat assessments. The firepower Mancini's guys carried made me suspicious. So I looked into Mancini's background.”
“And you discovered he is the son of one of Boston's top crime bosses?”
“Angelo Mancini made Whitey Bulger look like a choir boy,” Marcus commented. “I figure the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.”
“Jeez,” Marcus said. He ran his hand across the top of his head.
“Do you keep visitor logs?” I asked.
“Yeah. Complete with dates and times.”
“Law enforcement will be interested in those. While they don't give us what they discussed during the visits, the logs establish meetings took place. It can be part of a larger narrative to support other evidence.”
“I'm happy to provide whatever they need,” Marcus said.
“I'll pass on what you and I have discussed. I am taking an unofficial role in the investigation.”
“Unofficial? How does that work?”
“I help the Staties and the Feds and no one pays me. Except for the occasional cup of coffee.”
“Doesn't seem like such a great deal for you,” Marcus said.
“Justice is its own reward.”
CHAPTER 15
Special Agent Mark Sumners phoned me. “Got a minute?” he said when I answered.
“Sure. I was about to call you and Captain Burke.”
“Oh yeah. What you got?”
“Shouldn't you go first?” I said. “You called me.”
“I'm the FBI,” Mark said. He liked to remind me he was still with the Bureau and I was not. Carrying a private investigator's license didn't exactly come with the same privileges. But I have the benefit of not needing to always play well with others. To me, it's a satisfactory trade-off.
“I must remember that,” I said. “Marcus Quinn, the head of security at the Barlow estate, just left my office. Leo Mancini and other thugs and mobsters have frequented the Barlow home.”
“Does Quinn's security team keep visitor logs?” Sumner asked.
“Yes, they do. Quinn is happy to assist.”
“Good to know. Anything else?”
I told Mark about the rest of my conversation with Marcus Quinn. There was no smoking gun, but it gave us the confidence we were on the right track. While Burke, Sumners, and I each understood there was a possibility Nevin Barlow was merely providing legitimate legal services to Leo Mancini, none of us believed it for a second.
“What do you have?” I asked Sumners when I finished.
“A young woman named Laura Powell contacted our office this afternoon,” he said. “She is a paralegal for Nevin Barlow and claims to have some evidence showing his involvement in illegal activity.”
“Well how about that,” I said. “She seem credible?”
“Very,” Sumners said. “And it gets better. She also claims a Phillip Swanson, one of her associates, was killed the other night in DC because he had similar evidence.”
“What's the word form D.C.?” I inquired.
“Metropolitan Police said Swanson's death looked like a robbery gone wrong. But I've asked an agent down there to look into it in light of Ms. Powell's claims.”
“How does Ms. Powell seem to be holding up?” I asked.
“As well as could be expected thinking she might also have a target on her back. I wanted her to stay put at Barlow, Hughes, and Waterford, but she's too spooked with Barlow around. She says she is taking extra precautions to stay in very public places.”
“Ms. Powell sounds like a pretty smart cookie,” I said.
“And if what she says is true, she's also likely the key to our entire case,” Sumners said. “I'm heading out to meet her. You want to come along?”
“You bet,” I said. “We should also invite Burke or we'll hurt his feelings."
“I don't give a rats ass about Burke's feelings,” Sumners said. “But I believe in the spirit of cooperation between law enforcement.”
“So nice to hear you boys can play in the same sandbox.”
“Let me give you the address where to meet,” Sumners said. He did. I wrote it down on my notepad which claimed World's Greatest Detective and had a spiffy logo of a fingerprint and investigator's magnifying glass.
“Looks like we're going for a ride,” I said to Dash. His ears perked up when he heard one of his three favorite words. The other two were eat and walk, in that order. I hitched his leash to his collar and we exited my office.
CHAPTER 16
Laura Powell
Laura Powell had the same sick sensation in her stomach she remembered having as a little girl whenever she saw an old white van. The constant reminders about “stranger danger” echoed in her brain. Some creep had been trolling for little kids around her town when she was about nine or ten. The creep in a white van may have been cliché, but that is what he drove. Maybe at the time, it hadn't yet become cliché.
Police later arrested him on an unrelated charge before there were any children abducted. But Laura never forgot the feeling that would well up deep inside. Her parents said it was her gut telling her something wasn't quite right. “Listen to your gut,” her father would say. “Better to be safe than sorry,” her mother would add.
Ten years later Laura paid attention to that old feeling while walking on her college campus one evening. It saved her from being attacked and violated. Once again, her sick feeling returned, placing Laura on high alert. She hadn't seen anyone following her, but she could sense someone watching her. Stalking her.
She hadn't been a paralegal for long at Barlow, Hughes, and Waterford, but Nevin Barlow's activities seemed strange to her. At first, she ignored the sense things weren't quite right. The law firm was large and prestigious. It wasn't like John Grisham's The Firm. That's fiction; this is real life, she thought to herself. But the evidence, circumstantial as it may have been, became too much to ignore.
After the murder of Philip Swanson, Laura knew her gut was again correct. She and Phillip each discovered Nevin Barlow's involvement with a crime syndicate. No matter what the police said, Laura knew his murder was not because of a robbery gone tragically wrong.
“Listen to your gut,” her father's voice rang clear. “Better to be safe than sorry.”Her mother's voice was just as present in her mind now as it had been twenty years ago. She needed to call them when she got home. It had been weeks since they last spoke.
Laura had hoped the FBI wouldn't think her crazy when she called. To her relief, they seemed to take her seriously. She would meet with Special Agent Mark Sumners and tell him what she knew. He said they would protect her. Laura believed him. Agent Sumners struck her as both competent and sincere.
At six o'clock she exited her cubicle at Barlow, Hughes, and Waterford. She got on the elevator with two other paralegals and one of the firm's attorneys. They rode the elevator, with stops on three floors, to the lobby. She recognized everyone who got on the elevator.
Laura did not fear her coworkers. She didn't even fear Mr. Barlow around the office. It was out in public where she felt exposed. That is where her gut was telling her she was being followed.
The elevator doors opened at the lobby and Laura stepped out with the others. They passed the security guard and took their turns exiting the building through the revolving door, joining the crowded city street.
Laura took in a deep breath and exhaled. It was only a city block to the coffee shop where she would meet Special Agent Sumners. Stay vigilant and move quickly, she told herself. Everything will be fine. She joined the flow of people walking along the sidewalk.
*****
Oscar
Oscar stood near a T bus stop. Brody told him it offered the perfect cover. He could watch the front entrance to Barlow, Hughes, and Waterford without raising suspicion. Oscar spotted Laura Powell when she exited the building. She looked right past him when her eyes scanned the surrounding people. He was just another passenger waiting for the bus.
Oscar took the burner phone out of his pocket and called Brody.
“She's on the move,” he said when Brody answered.
“Which direction?” Brody asked.
Oscar relayed the information.
“Stay on her.”
Oscar moved into the flow of the crowd on the sidewalk. Brody cautioned Oscar to stay far enough behind the young woman so she wouldn't notice him.
Laura Powell moved like the old folks who power-walked around the mall.
“She's walking kinda fast,” Oscar said into the phone.
“Don't lose her,” Brody said. “And keep me updated. Our timing needs to be perfect.”
Oscar moved toward the interior of the sidewalk, closest to the buildings on his right, and picked up his pace. Oscar was of average height, build, and had an unremarkable face. These traits made him blend in and easy to forget. It is why Brody chose him for this job.
“She's approaching the intersection,” Oscar said into the phone.
“Get ready,” Brody said.
*****
Brody
The burner phone rang. Brody answered.
“She's on the move,” Oscar said.
“Which direction?”
Oscar relayed the information.
“Stay on her,” he told Oscar. Brody started the car and pulled into traffic. He had driven the city block many times, studying the traffic light patterns, and timing how long it took for the average woman Laura's size to reach the intersections on either end of the block. No matter which direction she went, Laura Powell needed to cross an intersection. There was nothing but office buildings between Barlow, Hughes, and Waterford until the next blocks, whether she turned left or right.
“She's walking kinda fast,” Oscar said into the phone.
“Don't lose her,” Brody said. “And keep me updated. Our timing needs to be perfect.”
Brody had planned for her walking either slower or faster. It would be fine as long as Oscar kept up.
Traffic flowed as expected. The lights changed as they had every other time.
“She's approaching the intersection,” Oscar said into the phone.
“Get ready,” Brody said.
****
Laura Powell
Laura glanced over her shoulder. The same faces surrounded her each time. None of them seemed a threat. Several people were on their phones. Nothing unusual about that.
Deception Page 6