Next of Kin

by David Hosp

  The captain picked up the picture, laughed in a short, clipped grunt. ‘He’s not real,’ he said. ‘He’s a ghost.’

  ‘A ghost?’

  ‘That’s what we used to call him. This is a description given by a witness to four murders back in the nineties, before you were on the force. Ugly business, after the Winter Hill gang collapsed, and people were trying to fill the vacuum. There was a group run out of New York that was trying to move in. Some of the more established local players decided to send a clear message, so four guys from the New York contingent were targeted. They were picked off one by one in some of the grimmest murders we’d seen around here in a long time. The New York guys stayed away after that.’

  ‘And this guy was behind it?’

  ‘It was never clear. A snitch named Toby Shilow claimed he’d seen the guy who did it. He’s the one who gave us the description. Said the guy was a freelancer hired by some of Whitey Bulger’s crew. To hear Toby tell it, he was the coldest killer anyone had ever seen. The kind of a guy no one would fuck with. He did piecework as a cleaner and a button pusher. We looked hard into it, though, and we came up with nothing.’

  ‘You think the snitch was trying to throw you off the real killers?’

  ‘That’s what we figured,’ Townsend said. ‘We’ll never know for sure, though. A couple weeks later we found Toby in a suitcase. He’d been cut into about ten pieces. His eyes and tongue were missing. Doc was pretty sure they’d been cut out before Toby was killed.’

  ‘Nasty.’

  ‘Yeah, it was. We went back to looking for this guy, but we never found anything. If he ever existed, he disappeared. We started calling him the Ghost. For a while, whenever we came across a murder we couldn’t solve, we blamed it on the Ghost.’

  ‘Sounds melodramatic.’

  ‘It was. He’s more of a myth than an actual suspect in anything. Like Keyser Söze or Bigfoot. We only keep the picture up for our own amusement.’

  ‘Well, like I said, it’s probably nothing. Just my imagination.’ Long’s neck was starting to ache from looking behind him, so he turned back to his desk. He expected Townsend to leave, but it didn’t happen. He turned around again. ‘Something else, Captain?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Townsend said. He wouldn’t meet Long’s eyes. ‘In my office.’

  Long looked down at the papers strewn across his desk. There was a flask in the drawer; he was tempted to pull it out and have a drink. He could feel his arm reach in that direction, but reconsidered. No point in making matters worse. Not yet, at least. ‘Sure, Captain,’ Long replied. He’d known this meeting was coming at some point.

  Tom Kozlowski listened as Finn described his meeting with Long from the night before. When Finn finished, Kozlowski sat back and thought for a moment.

  ‘Did he tell you you’re a suspect?’ he asked.

  Finn shook his head. ‘No. But he wasn’t particularly subtle when he said that I’m pretty much the only person they’re following up with. Apparently the woman didn’t have very many people in her life. And the letter I wrote …’ Finn didn’t finish the thought.

  ‘Not good, I take it?’

  ‘It explains the visit,’ Finn said. ‘I wasn’t in the most loving frame of mind when I wrote it.’

  ‘Did you make any actual threats in it?’ Kozlowski asked. He was working the issues like a cop. ‘Did you say anything that would suggest that if you found her, you’d do her harm?’

  ‘Not directly,’ Finn said. ‘I told her I thought she was going to hell, and I said I hoped really bad things happened to her, but I never made any direct threats.’

  ‘That’s good, at least,’ Kozlowski said. He stretched his feet out from his body, looked at his toes. ‘In the end, you didn’t have anything to do with her death; you didn’t even know her, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ Finn said.

  ‘But you’re not going to leave it alone, are you?’

  ‘No,’ Finn replied. ‘I’m not.’

  Kozlowski sat forward. ‘No, I didn’t figure you would.’

  ‘Would you?’

  He shook his head. ‘Doesn’t matter one way or another what I would do. She wasn’t my mother, she was yours.’

  ‘I still want your advice.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Kozlowski said. ‘You don’t want my advice, you want my help. You don’t listen to my advice when I give it to you.’

  ‘I listen to it,’ Finn corrected. ‘I just don’t always follow it.’

  ‘Ever. You don’t ever follow it.’ Kozlowski let his head hang down between his knees. ‘I swear to God, keeping your ass safe is becoming a full-time goddamned job.’

  ‘Yeah, but it pays okay.’ Finn leaned forward and looked at Kozlowski. ‘You’ll help me, right?’

  ‘Have I got a choice?’

  Long sat in Townsend’s office. The captain was uncomfortable; most people were around Long these days. He wondered whether that would ever change.

  Townsend shifted in his chair, a big black leather beast that swallowed him up, making him look even smaller against the huge dark backdrop.

  ‘So,’ Townsend began. He stopped, not seeming to know in which direction to take the conversation. ‘We’re still trying to figure out who to partner you with,’ he said. ‘It may take a little while.’

  ‘That’s not surprising.’

  ‘No,’ Townsend said. ‘It’s not.’ He cleared his throat and shifted in the giant chair. ‘I want to be clear with you here, Long. You’ve been one of the best detectives we’ve had on the squad. Your record speaks for itself. Three months ago, I would have pegged you as being a guy who was gonna sit in this chair someday.’

  ‘Not anymore,’ Long said with a sardonic smile.

  Townsend frowned at Long’s attitude. ‘No, not anymore. The investigation into Cullen’s shooting didn’t find any wrongdoing. That’s not the same as finding you didn’t do anything wrong. You get what I’m saying?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Long said. ‘You’re saying people still think I was dirty. So much for the presumption of innocence.’

  ‘Don’t act so self-righteous. You’re a cop. A jury gives a perp a pass, you generally assume he’s innocent?’

  ‘No,’ Long admitted.

  ‘No, of course not. Like everyone else, you assume he got off because someone fucked up.’ Townsend leaned back in his chair and scratched his crotch. ‘You sure this is still the job for you?’

  ‘It’s the only job I know how to do,’ Long said. ‘It’s all I’m good at.’

  ‘How about Internal Affairs, then? They could always use good people. I could put in a good word for you.’

  ‘They think I’m dirty, too.’

  ‘They think everyone’s dirty, who the fuck cares? Besides, they’re the ones who cleared you in the investigation. Why not let them eat their own shit?’

  ‘Thanks,’ Long said.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Townsend sighed. ‘Listen, I like you; I brought you in. But I also know how shitty your life is gonna be here now.’

  ‘I want to chase criminals, not cops,’ Long said quietly.

  ‘That’s not what you told IAD, was it though?’

  Long pursed his lips tightly before he answered. ‘That wasn’t my decision. I didn’t have a choice.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Townsend admitted. ‘But this job is about trust. The other cops in this department need to be able to trust you on the street. Maybe it’s not your fault, but they’ve lost that trust in you. It’s gonna make it hard to do your job.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Long said. ‘I can still do the job.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Townsend said. ‘I’m guessing you can. But is it worth it?’ He stood up and paced behind the desk. ‘Even if you can still do the job, there are things that could get you kicked off the force if you’re not careful.’

  ‘Like what?’ Long demanded.

  ‘Like I’m hearing some rumors about you and the bottle. Not the good kind.’ />
  Long could feel his face darken. ‘Who’re you hearing these rumors from?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘ To me, it does.’

  Townsend shook his head. ‘Not to me. The only thing I care about is whether they’re true.’ He came around the front of the desk and sat on the edge, leaning in toward Long. ‘So, I gotta ask: Are they true?’

  Long stood up. ‘You think anything I do is interfering with the job, you put me on notice,’ he said. ‘I don’t answer to rumors.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Townsend said. He walked back and sat in the giant chair again. ‘Think about it, though. If you need to take some time off, get yourself straight, let me know. I can make it happen.’

  ‘I just got back from taking time off,’ Long said.

  ‘Did you do anything good?’

  ‘I watched my father die.’

  Townsend looked down at his hands. ‘I heard,’ he said. ‘Sorry. Can’t catch a break right now, can you?’

  ‘Lucky for me I’m a glass-half-full kind of a guy.’

  Townsend looked up and locked eyes with Long, and Long had the feeling he was searching for something. Answers, probably. Long knew the captain wouldn’t find any, though, because there were none to be found. ‘I’m on your side here, Long. But I can’t protect you if you screw up now. People are looking to clear you out, even if it’s only so they don’t have to look at you anymore, you understand?’ Long didn’t respond. He didn’t need to; they both understood. ‘Think about IAD, it may be better than here for you now. Even a cushy job on the outside doing private security work; I’ve got connections out there – you say the word, I could hook you up.’

  ‘I’m not a civilian,’ Long said. ‘You know that.’

  ‘Yeah, I know that,’ Townsend said. ‘But everybody here is wondering whether you’re still a cop?’

  Finn was working on a motion to exclude a confession made by one of his clients when Kevin McDougal walked into the office. He seemed less full of bravado. The tattoos on his neck were just as pronounced, and he wore the same angry scowl, but now it seemed an empty threat.

  Finn stared at him from his desk, waiting for McDougal to speak.

  McDougal stared back. The standoff might have continued all day had Lissa not decided to break the impasse.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked from behind her desk.

  McDougal had been so focused on Finn he hadn’t noticed her, and her voice took him by surprise. ‘Uh,’ he said.

  ‘I’m guessing you’re Kevin McDougal,’ she said, rising out of her chair. She came from behind her desk. ‘I’m Lissa Krantz, I work with Mr Finn.’

  He shook her hand and let himself be guided over to the chair in front of Finn’s desk. ‘I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about,’ Lissa said. ‘I’ll be right over at my desk if either of you needs anything.’

  She walked away, and Finn figured he’d secured enough of a victory to be gracious. He acknowledged McDougal with a nod. ‘I take it you’ve changed your mind.’

  ‘I’m here, ain’t I?’

  ‘Yeah, you are,’ Finn said. ‘You understand, we do this my way, right? You listen to what I say, and you do what I tell you to do. No more hanging out with the moron twins from the bar. No more drinking, particularly not in public. No drugs, and no pulling any jobs. Once this is behind you, you can do whatever you want, but until then, you’re in voluntary lockdown.’

  McDougal looked away.

  ‘I’m serious, Kevin,’ Finn said. ‘I told your father I’d deal with this for you, but only if you play by my rules. If this thing gets fucked up, I don’t want my name attached to it. You understand?’

  ‘Yeah,’ McDougal muttered.

  ‘Good,’ Finn said. ‘Lissa will make contact with the DA’s office to see what we can get done. You drive your 7-Series home and stay put in your duplex; it’s the easiest way to stay out of trouble.’

  McDougal stood and walked to the door.

  ‘Kevin?’ Finn said.

  The young man turned. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’m serious. I don’t care how much business your father brings me, I’m not trading my reputation for you no matter what it costs me.’

  McDougal just stared at Finn. After a moment, an evil slit of a smile split his lips. ‘You have no fuckin’ idea who my father really is, do you?’ he asked.

  ‘I know exactly who he is. But if you screw me, I’ll still dump your ass so fast it’ll make your head spin, and you’ll spend the next ten down in Walpole,’ Finn said. ‘Leave your phone number with Lissa so we have some way of getting in touch with you. We’ll keep you informed.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘You’re kidding me,’ Finn said.

  ‘I’m not,’ Kozlowski confirmed. ‘That’s the word from inside the department.’

  ‘Long killed his partner? Holy crap.’ Finn had no idea what else to say.

  ‘That’s putting it mildly. It’s safe to say Long’s not the darling of the force anymore.’ They were headed toward Elizabeth Connor’s apartment. Finn was driving his MG with the top up. His huge partner, who hated the tiny vehicle, gripped the dashboard in front of him, as if having a firm hold would save him in the event of an accident.

  ‘How’d it happen?’ Finn asked.

  Kozlowski shook his head. ‘Everybody I know clammed up when I tried to get into details. It was like bad juju or something.’

  ‘You didn’t get anything? You’re an ex-cop, for Christ’s sake, how could you not get any information?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m an ex-cop,’ Kozlowski agreed. As Finn pulled around the corner from Massachusetts Avenue onto Melnea Cass Boulevard, he could see Kozlowski’s grip on the dashboard tighten. ‘Sometimes people focus on the ex.’

  ‘What good are you, then?’ Finn asked.

  ‘Not much on this, apparently. You wanna fire me, you go right ahead,’ Kozlowski replied.

  ‘I can’t,’ Finn said. ‘I cut you out, and I lose Lissa. Can’t risk it.’

  ‘Then shut up.’

  Finn pulled into a parking space across the street from the apartment building, shut the engine off, reached over and pulled up the emergency brake. The loud clacking seemed to startle Kozlowski, and Finn was afraid he was going to put his enormous fingers through the dash. ‘We’re here,’ he said. ‘You can let go now.’

  ‘You make enough goddamned money to get a decent car,’ Kozlowski grumbled.

  ‘I’ll get a decent car when you get a decent suit.’

  Police tape hung from the doorknob, but it no longer barred the door. It was dark on the landing at the top of the stairs, and Finn felt like he was in the middle of a nightmare. ‘What do you think?’ he asked Kozlowski.

  Kozlowski shrugged. ‘I think it’s ambiguous,’ he said. He put on leather gloves. ‘Let me check something.’ He reached out and tried the knob, which refused to turn. He gripped it and turned harder; Finn heard a loud crack as the lock’s internal workings shattered. The doorknob turned with a grinding sound. ‘It’s not locked,’ Kozlowski said. ‘Must be okay.’ He gave a push.

  The door swung open. Finn waited, but nothing happened. Kozlowski took a step back and swung his arm forward, inviting Finn to lead the way into the apartment. Finn hesitated. ‘You really want to look into this, we gotta start here,’ Kozlowski said.

  Finn nodded and stepped into the apartment. Other than the mess, there was nothing remarkable about the place. There was gray fingerprint powder smudged on most of the surfaces, and a dark stain on the floor where Elizabeth Connor had bled out, but other than that it looked like thousands of other apartments in Boston. It was one-bedroom with just enough room to live. An old television offered the only apparent escape from the monotony of an overlooked life. A chair was pulled up close to the screen with a cheap table in front of it, where most meals were probably eaten alone. Everything about the place depressed Finn.

  He walked around, looking for something – anything – that might give him some insight into th
e woman who’d brought him into the world. There was nothing, though. No pictures. No mementos. Kozlowski moved around the apartment efficiently, poking into the closets and cupboards. After several minutes, he looked up at Finn. ‘We need to go,’ he said.

  ‘There’s got to be something,’ Finn replied.

  ‘If so, I don’t see it. Cops must have had a dozen men search the place. Anything of importance may be gone.’

  Finn scanned the apartment again. ‘There’s nothing here that tells me anything about her. Nothing personal. How is that possible?’

  Kozlowski shrugged. ‘This is how some people live. Work, TV dinners, nothing much else. It’s how I lived before Lissa.’

  ‘So why was she murdered?’ Finn asked.

  ‘Maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Crack-heads don’t care who they steal from.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Finn said.

  ‘If we stay here much longer, the cops will show up and we’ll have some ’splaining to do,’ Kozlowski said.

  Finn nodded and the two of them walked out, closing the door behind them. As they turned, the door to 2B creaked open. An eye peered at them. ‘Whachu doin’ here?’ a voice said, muffled by the door.

  ‘I’m Elizabeth Connor’s son,’ Finn said. ‘I was just looking around.’

  The eye frowned. ‘I called the cops,’ the voice said.

  Finn looked at Kozlowski, who gave a reassuring nod. ‘Detective Long?’ Finn asked. ‘He came to see me last night, to tell me about my mother’s murder.’

  The crack widened and Finn could see an ancient black man, nattily dressed, well coiffed, looking back at them. ‘You know Detective Long?’

  Finn nodded. ‘Like I said, I’m Elizabeth Connor’s son.’

  The man made a face. ‘Didn’t know she had a son,’ he said. He looked more closely. ‘I see it now. You must have some of your father in you, too, though.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Finn said. ‘I was adopted.’ The man took that in, and said nothing. ‘What was she like?’ Finn asked after a moment.