by Derek Fee
‘I was hoping that wouldn’t be the case.’
‘I cannot believe that Greg got himself disappeared for something in those files.’
‘Did you manage to get any sleep?’
‘Not really. I kept trying to think up some reason why a baker in Concord or a shoe shop owner in Cambridge might want to kill his or her accountant other than the fact that Greg might have bored them to death with letter after letter requiring useless financial information.’ Shea descended into silence.
Moira had been there. Hundreds of hours spent following up leads that went nowhere. Motivation draining away with the speed of rainwater running down a sluice. Shea was like every other neophyte to investigation. He wanted to flip open the first file and be presented with the reason for Gardiner’s disappearance. Little did he realise that it might take months, even years, of diligent police work to elicit the lead that cracks the case. Moira had committed to one month knowing that within that period they might accomplish nothing. Shea had a brilliant mind, but he had come from an industry where decisions and information moved in nano-seconds. It was light years away from police work.
They drove in silence to the address Ricky had located for Jamie Carmichael. Queensberry Street had a leafy suburban feel although it was only a stone’s throw from Fenway Park. Most of street was designated as resident permit parking only, but Shea eventually found a space in an off-road parking garage. The address on Ricky’s text was almost across the street from the garage. It was a fine four-storey-over-basement brick apartment building. There was a sturdy-looking front door at the centre of the building and gates on either side of the small front garden led to what were most likely the basement apartments. Shea and Moira walked purposefully to the front door and pushed it open. They entered a small hall with letterboxes appended to the wall on the right and an inner glass door facing them. Shea removed a set of keys from his pocket, carefully selected one and slipped it into the lock. The key turned and they heard the click of the lock opening. He pushed the door open and stood aside to permit Moira to enter before him.
She looked at him as she passed.
‘First year, Devens College, Burglary 101,’ he said.
There was a lift just inside the glass door and a stairway to the right. They chose the stairs. Carmichael’s apartment was number four on the first floor. Shea smiled when he saw the locks. He was taking out his keys when Moira stopped him.
‘Let’s check if there’s someone home first.’ She knocked sharply on the door. They waited in silence for a few moments. Moira knocked again. ‘OK, now it’s your turn.’
Shea chose a key and put it on the bottom lock. The key turned and the lock opened. He chose a second key from the bunch and tried the top lock. The door opened and they entered Carmichael’s apartment.
Moira had taken the precaution of buying a small box of surgical gloves in a pharmacy and she handed a pair to Shea before putting some on herself. Carmichael hadn’t been to Concord in two weeks and although there wasn’t the tell-tale strong odour of decaying flesh, there was always the possibility that she might be dead. In any case, they had already committed a felony by breaking and entering, so it was best not to leave any evidence of their presence. Moira, as a former police officer, knew very well though that a clean entry and exit was virtually impossible without the use of the ubiquitous plastic jumpsuit.
The apartment was small but adequate for a single person. They were in the living room, which contained a couch and coffee table in front of a forty-inch TV on the wall. On one side of the room was a small desk and chair, with a laptop computer on the desk. There were two modern prints on the walls. They looked like the kind of pictures that could be bought in a Scandinavian home furnishings shop for a couple of dollars, but they gave the room a lived-in feel.
Moira motioned to Shea to examine the desk. She noticed a small eat-in kitchen just off the living room but headed for the door leading to the rear of the apartment. The bedroom and the bathroom were situated off a small corridor. The bed was covered with a colourful duvet and everything was neat and tidy. Carmichael was certainly not a slob. People who are tidy in their surrounding also tend to be logical thinkers. She opened the wardrobe and examined the clothes arranged neatly on hangers. She looked for signs of quick flight but found none. She opened Carmichael’s underwear drawers. They were no more disturbed than the rest of her clothes, but Moira was sure that there was some underwear missing. Her search for a suitcase was unsuccessful, but an examination of a bedside locker produced a couple of paperback novels and a packet of photographs. Moira scanned through the photos. They were mainly family photos and since she didn’t know what Jamie Carmichael looked like she slipped the photos into her messenger bag to examine in detail later. She moved on to the bathroom. The toiletries were arranged neatly on a shelf above the washbasin and everything seemed to be in place. At least the apartment didn’t look like the Mary Celeste. Carmichael had neither cleared the place out nor left in a panic. Moira returned to the living room and saw Shea standing with Carmichael’s laptop under his arm.
‘Looks like Carmichael is a dead end.’ The tone of Shea’s voice couldn’t hide his disappointment.
‘We need to get that laptop to Ricky as soon as possible.’
‘I already called him. He’ll meet us in the parking garage.’
Moira looked at Shea’s hands to ensure that he was still wearing the surgical gloves. ‘We need to get out of here. The worst thing that could happen right now would be for one of the neighbours to get suspicious.’ She started immediately for the apartment door, opened it slowly and then slipped out quietly. Shea followed her onto the landing. They descended the stairs and were heading for the front door when a young man and woman entered the hall and made for the glass door. The young woman had a small baby in a sling across her chest. ‘You don’t stop,’ Moira said in a low voice. ‘I’ll distract them.’
They permitted the couple to open the door with their key and as soon as they entered Moira dropped her head and concentrated on the baby. ‘What a beautiful baby.’ She kept her eyes on the small face protruding from the sling.
‘Thank you,’ the young mother said.
Shea slipped out ahead of Moira, and the couple didn’t give him a second glance. He noticed that Moira and the couple were concentrating their gaze on her child. ‘Beautiful,’ Moira turned quickly and exited before the door closed. She was sure that if required neither of the new parents would be able to identify either her or Shea.
Moira would have preferred to have the time to carry out a detailed examination of the apartment – after all, she was used to working with a team of forensics people. Her cursory exploration led her to conclude that Carmichael wasn’t just out shopping when they called, she was gone. Carmichael might just be an innocent in Gardiner’s disappearance or she might be the reason behind it. The apartment didn’t have a permanent look, it was a stop over from somewhere to somewhere else. Maybe she had been freaked out by the disappearance of her boss, but she had waited some time before leaving. That meant that the danger she felt was not immediate but had become apparent as Gardiner’s disappearance continued.
‘We’re stymied, aren’t we?’ Shea said as they sat in the car in the parking garage.
‘It’s still early days.’ She had been hired to investigate a disappearance not to be Shea’s cheerleader.
‘The files were a bust and Jamie Carmichael is a bust. Where do we go from here?’
Moira had a pretty good idea where they should go but was afraid they would start to intersect with the official investigation and that would not be a good idea. ‘I don’t suppose you have a good connection in Boston PD?’
Shea smiled and nodded.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
D etective Sergeant Michael O’Malley pushed open the door to the Bancroft restaurant at 15 Third Avenue in Burlington. O’Malley was part of the investigations team in District A-1 of Boston Police Department. The station at 40 Sudbury Str
eet covered Downtown, Beacon Hill, Charlestown, Chinatown, North End, West End, Leather District, Bay Village and the Downtown Waterfront. It was not a beat for the faint-hearted. His area was a place where the expression ‘crime never takes a break’ was wholly appropriate. O’Malley was responding to one of those phone calls that make you ask ‘What the hell?’ He’d known Frank Shea forever. They were born in the same projects within two months of each other. They played in the same streets and attended the same school until Shea moved up to Saint Pauls(?). They’d still hung out together until Frank departed for MIT and O’Malley entered the police college. O’Malley had never really wanted to be a policeman, but it was part of his Irish heritage and his parents were always going on about the great job he could have in the police or the fire service. He had really wanted to be a teacher, but that ship had sailed the day he put on the blue serge uniform. So now, after more than fifteen years of silence, Shea has invited him for lunch, and at the Bancroft no less, just wait until Sally hears about this, he thought.
O’Malley walked into the main dining room and looked around. The Frank Shea that he remembered was a fat kid with a wild crop of curly black hair. There was no one resembling that kid in the dining room. He looked along the tables and saw a man who might have been a slimmed-down version of Shea sitting at a table with an attractive woman with the reddest hair he’d ever seen. When the man rose and smiled in his direction, he knew he’d found Shea. He walked forward and into Shea’s outstretched arms.
‘I didn’t recognise you,’ O’Malley said holding Shea at arm’s-length. ‘Where did the fat kid with the curly hair go?’
‘I left him in Devens.’
‘The food was that bad?’
‘I learned how to work out.’ Shea turned to Moira. ‘This guy was the best basketball player in South Boston. Moira this is Michael O’Malley. Michael meet Moira McElvaney.’
Moira extended her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Michael.’ Maybe she was getting better at divining people’s occupations, but she would have known Shea’s friend was a cop just by looking at him. O’Malley was a great bear of a man, well over six feet and with a girth to match. His head was like a bowling ball perched on his wide shoulders and there was an ugly scar across the left side of his face. She would not like to get into an argument with this man.
O’Malley took her hand. ‘It’s Mike. Is that accent for real? Are you really from the old country? And that hair.’
Moira smiled. ‘It’s all real, Michael.’
O’Malley sat at the table and picked up a menu. He opened it immediately and looked at the lunch options.
‘I know,’ Shea said smiling. ‘Did we come here to eat or did we come here to talk?’
O’Malley returned the smile. ‘On what I earn, meals at the Bancroft are few and far between.’ He turned to Moira. ‘And how did a nice girl like you fall into such bad company?’
‘Via Brendan Guilfoyle, I’m his partner,’ Moira replied.
O’Malley turned his gaze on Shea. ‘You still connected to that family? How is the old bastard?’
‘I see the old man from time to time.’ Patrick Guilfoyle had sometimes said that Shea was like a son to him, but he never once visited him in jail.
Moira could almost see the spark of electricity between the two men. It was apparent that they had opposing views on her partner’s father.
‘First we eat,’ Shea said. ‘Then we talk.’
‘I’d drink to that,’ O’Malley said. ‘If I had something to drink.’
Shea raised his hand and a waiter came to their table immediately.
An hour later O’Malley pushed away a plate that held no sign of the filet mignon that had graced it when it arrived in front of him. He noted that both his companions had confined their choices to the starters and the salad. It was their loss. ‘You guys must be out of your minds.’ He was commenting on the subject of the conversation over the meal and not on their choices for lunch. He turned to Moira. ‘And as a seasoned police officer you should have more sense. This is a case on the table of Miami PD. Leave it to the experts. If this guy Gardiner wants to be found, they’ll find him. If not, then forget about it. We still have posters back at the station about weathermen who haven’t been seen since the sixties. After all, this is one of the best countries in the world to go underground. On the other hand there are guys out there who are professionals in this business and, if you really want to find this guy, that’s the road you should take. I could give you some contacts.’
Moira could see the disappointment in Shea’s face. He was getting O’Malley’s message loud and clear and wasn’t liking what he was hearing.
‘I’ve been down that road,’ Shea said without missing a beat. ‘I talked to a professional, but I got the impression that he was just after the money. We care. That’s our edge.’
O’Malley stroked his chin and smiled. Frank had been the smartest kid on the block and had used those smarts to make a fortune. But he was naïve and, from what O’Malley had heard, that was what had landed him in Devens. ‘You think the guy’s dead, principally because he had a stable family life and a business that while not thriving provided him and his family with a good living. I gotta agree that it’s not the profile for a runner, so he probably has been murdered. So what are you really after? And what do you want from me?’
Shea and Moira looked at each other. Neither was about to divulge the real reason they were on this particular search. ‘Gardiner might be dead.’
‘It sure looks that way,’ O’Malley interjected.
Moira pushed her plate aside. ‘But until the body is found, his family will never have closure. Frank is very fond of his cousin and her family and he wants them to know for once and for all what happened. You and I are coppers, and we don’t like open cases. Maybe we can’t find out what happened to Gardiner, but we can certainly try. Miami PD will no doubt keep the file open until they get a break, if they ever get a break, but it’s probably no longer a priority for them. They must have contacted Boston about the case though. Can you find out what they sent?’
O’Malley looked at Shea. ‘You’re lookin’ good, Frank. Jail was good for you. The newspapers said you were smart to deal with the government. You got to keep most of your money. Why the fuck are you playing around now with something that could get you killed? Not only that but you could also get this pretty lady killed just for tagging along with you. If someone offed Gardiner, they did it nice and quiet and neat. It was professional. You turn over whatever rock they’re hiding under and the same could happen to you, to both of you.’ He stood up. ‘Thanks for the lunch. I suppose I owe you something out of friendship, so give me a call this evening.’ He produced a business card from his pocket and tossed it on the table in front of Shea. ‘In the meantime, think about what you may be getting yourselves into.’
Neither Moira nor Shea spoke as they watched the big man in his cheap sports jacket turn and leave the restaurant.
Moira felt like a teacher had just slapped her on the hand. O’Malley was a colleague of sorts, and possibly a more experienced one than her, so the fact that he was looking into her motivation for joining Shea’s quest bothered her. She was already examining her motives and wasn’t happy with what she was coming up with. Running around like a crazy electron trying to create space where there was none was keeping her mind busy so that it wouldn’t concentrate on what was really happening in her life. She didn’t want to believe that she had made an error in following Brendan to America. For God’s sake, she loved the man and she wouldn’t be the first woman to give up what she really wanted to do to keep the love of her life. But did she really want to join that club? Would loving Brendan be enough to assuage the pain of giving up her previous life? The jury was definitely out on that one. Joining Shea’s quest kept her in a holding pattern where the real decision was somewhere in the future.
Shea watched O’Malley’s retreating back. The guy was a colossus at school and probably at college. He had been
one of the bullies who held kids up against the wall for their lunch money. There had always been something solid about him. When Shea heard that he had become a cop, he wondered whether he would gravitate to the dark side as many police officers have done since the Earps ruled Tombstone. He had a sneaky feeling that O’Malley knew him better than he would have liked. ‘Where exactly does that leave us?’ he said after a gap of some minutes.
Moira picked up her glass of water and sipped. ‘We might just have been hit with a dose of realism and we’re both recoiling from the experience.’
Shea called a waiter and asked for two coffees and the bill. ‘Does that mean we stop?’
‘Maybe. It certainly means that we should have a deeper reflection on what the consequences might be of continuing. O’Malley is right. If Gardiner was mixed up in something that was serious enough for someone to disappear him, then that someone might not be too happy with a couple of amateurs with no backup sticking their noses in where they don’t belong. The police have huge resources and they get paid for taking exceptional risks.’
‘How much do you want?’
Moira laughed. ‘Every problem can be solved by throwing money at it, is that your basic philosophy? I’m afraid establishing your own police force might be beyond even your financial capacity. I’m beginning to reflect on my motivation for joining you, but I’m also wondering about your motivation. Did you ever consider that Brendan might be right about you? Maybe you are like a shark and you need constant challenges. I hear you even treated prison as a challenge and totally reinvented yourself there.’
The waiter deposited the coffee and the bill beside Shea. ‘Brendan is one hell of a psychologist. I like his analogy of me as a shark, and maybe it’s true. Look, I admit that I may have started out thinking about myself and what I needed, but now I see that closure for Jean and the kids is what’s really important.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘So, is it over?’
She didn’t answer immediately. The goalposts had shifted subtly. They were now not just looking for Gregory Gardiner. They were trying to find out what happened to him in order to give closure to his wife and family. ‘Not yet, but if things get too hairy, and I tend to agree with O’Malley that things will get hairy, we have to have an exit strategy up our sleeve.’