by David Hosp
The others in the room were still and silent, their mouths agape. Eamonn ignored them and chased the visceral pleasure that had come with the first punch. He took two steps toward Kevin and grabbed him by the shirt, spinning him around. With the boy so far off balance, it was easy to generate momentum, and Eamonn gave a heavy shove as he let go of him, sending him headlong into the glass shelving along the wall. The whole apartment seemed to shatter, and Kevin crumpled to the floor. Eamonn’s wife had paid over a thousand dollars for the shelves that now lay in shards on top of her son. For the first time, Eamonn felt they were worth every penny. He wasn’t done yet, though.
He stepped through the glass, grabbed his son by the shirt and hauled him up onto his feet. The boy was bleeding, but not badly enough to be in any imminent danger, and not enough to douse Eamonn’s anger.
Holding his son’s face close to his own, Eamonn yelled, ‘I’m not going to say it again! Tell these people to leave!’
Kevin was too incapacitated to say anything, but it no longer mattered. The room was immediately thrown into motion. The two girls were on their feet, tripping as they fled to the front door. Dorito and Alred were right behind them, grabbing armfuls of their belongings, not bothering to pull on their shoes and jackets. No one said a word – not to Eamonn, not to Kevin. Within a matter of seconds the door slammed behind them and the apartment was still.
Eamonn was still holding his son dangling helplessly in front of him. All at once he felt tired, and he let the boy slide to the ground. He walked over to the kitchen and pulled a beer out of the refrigerator, twisted the cap off and took a long drink. There was a dishrag on the counter and he picked it up, ran cold water over it in the sink. Reaching into the freezer, he pulled out some ice, wrapped it in the wet dishtowel, and tied off the end. Her picked his beer back up and walked out into the living room.
Kevin was still lying on the floor, looking up at him. ‘Get up,’ Eamonn said.
His son didn’t move. ‘Do as I say, boy,’ Eamonn said, throwing the ice pack at him. ‘Don’t make me angry again.’
Kevin struggled to his feet and made his way over to the sofa, holding the ice to his lips.
‘I need you clear headed now,’ Eamonn said. ‘I catch you with any of this kind of shit again, and I won’t have a son anymore. Do you understand?’
‘I understand,’ Kevin mumbled through the ice.
‘Good.’ Eamonn sat in a chair across the coffee table from his son. ‘The police came to talk to me. They wanted to know about a woman who worked for me. She was murdered.’
Kevin stared at his father. ‘Is that bad?’
‘There’s good and bad in everything,’ Eamonn said. ‘It’s all in how you look at it, and what you’re willing to do with it.’
The boy said nothing, and it was clear to Eamonn that he didn’t understand. At least he was learning to keep his mouth shut; Eamonn supposed that was the best he could hope for at the moment.
‘I may have some work for you to do, boy,’ Eamonn said. ‘You keep your head clear and your mind on what you’re doing, I may just be able to keep you out of jail. You think you can do what you’re told?’
Kevin took the ice pack away from his lips and examined it. The blood had soaked through the dish towel, turning it a deep, dark crimson. He looked up at his father and nodded.
‘Good,’ Eamonn said. He finished the rest of the beer in one swallow. ‘Maybe we can turn this fuckin’ mess to our advantage.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Long slammed open the door to the brownstone office building in Charlestown. The doorknob hit the brick wall in the entryway hard enough that he wondered whether the glass would shatter. He didn’t care if it did; breaking a door might make him feel better. For the first time in months the booze hadn’t. He’d downed half a bottle of vodka to settle his mood after his meeting with McDougal. But rather than settling him, as it usually did, it had thrown his equilibrium off. He was determined that his inebriation wouldn’t stop him from getting answers from McDougal’s lawyer, though.
A young black man holding an infant poked his head around the corner from the office. ‘Excuse me, can I help you?’ he demanded angrily.
‘Who are you?’ Long demanded back.
‘I’m Reggie,’ the man replied. ‘Who are you?’
Long wondered whether he had burst into the wrong building. ‘I’m looking for Finn,’ he said.
‘He isn’t here,’ Reggie said. The man’s attitude was obdurate. ‘Can I give him a message? What do you want with him?’ He stood there with the child on his hip, looking defiant.
Long pulled out his badge, held it up. ‘None of your goddamned business,’ he said.
The badge didn’t seem to intimidate the man, who simply squared his shoulders, as if to block Long from passing. ‘Lissa,’ he called over his shoulder, back into the office, ‘you may want to come out here.’ Reggie’s eyes never left Long’s, and Long was tempted to escalate the confrontation. He was in no mood to be challenged. He wasn’t sure what he’d do with the child if he tried to frisk the man, though, so he stood there, a feeling of inebriated impotence growing within him.
A moment later a woman came around the corner. She looked at Long, noting the badge he still held aloft. ‘Officer,’ she said with a hint of steel.
‘Detective,’ Long corrected her. ‘Detective Long.’
She nodded. ‘Detective. I’m Lissa Krantz, Mr Finn’s associate. Can I help you?’
‘I’m looking for Finn,’ he said. He could feel himself sway ever so slightly.
‘As Reggie just said, he’s not here right now,’ she said calmly. ‘Can I give him a message when he gets back?’
‘Where is he?’ Long demanded.
‘I couldn’t say,’ the Krantz woman responded. It was a carefully worded response.
‘How about Kozlowski?’ Long asked. ‘He here?’ As he asked the question, Kozlowski came around the corner from his office in the back of the building.
‘Long,’ he said when he saw the police detective. ‘What are you doing here?’ He frowned as he got a closer look at Long. ‘You all right?’
Long didn’t ask what the man meant. He scowled and took two steps forward. ‘I’m here to find out what the hell is going on,’ he said. His voice sounded loud to him.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I should have run you two in this morning when I found you at the Connor woman’s apartment. I should have my head examined for letting you go.’ He shook his head. ‘You played me!’ he yelled. ‘Now I want some goddamned answers!’
‘Back up,’ Kozlowski said. ‘You’re not making any sense. Answers to what?’
‘Answers to this,’ Long said. He took the business card McDougal had given him out of his pocket and flipped it at Kozlowski.
Kozlowski picked the card off the floor and looked at it. ‘It’s one of Finn’s business cards,’ he said. ‘So what?’
‘Eamonn McDougal gave me that card,’ Long said.
Kozlowski said, ‘So? He’s a client. Why were you talking to him?’
‘Because he’s a scumbag,’ Long replied. ‘And he’s also Elizabeth Connor’s former boss. And he’s also one of the few people Elizabeth Connor called in the days leading up to her murder. You gonna tell me you and Finn didn’t know any of this? You gonna tell me this is all a big fuckin’ coincidence?’
Kozlowski’s face turned to stone. ‘Calm down,’ he said.
‘So, I gotta wonder,’ Long continued, ‘why is this scumbag’s lawyer – the son of the victim, who’s already expressed his hatred for the departed in a letter – going to the woman’s apartment, trying to take over the investigation? Is it possible he’s looking to make sure the investigation is steered away from him and the scumbag client?’
Kozlowski shook his head. ‘You’ve got it wrong,’ he said. His face was still expressionless, though. Long couldn’t tell whether or not he was hiding something.
‘Yeah? Give me some reas
on to believe you, then. Tell me where Finn went.’
He could see the muscles in Kozlowski’s jaw flex. ‘He’s not here,’ he said simply. ‘We’ll call you when he gets back.’
‘That’s it?’ Long said. ‘That’s all you’ve got?’
‘For now. You need to go calm down.’
‘What the fuck does that mean?’ Long hollered. Looking up, he suddenly realized he was still holding his badge in the air. He stuck it back in his pocket. He didn’t give Kozlowski time to answer the question; he didn’t want to hear the response. ‘You tell him that if I find out he’s pursuing this investigation, I’ll bust his ass for obstruction. And if I see you anywhere near this, I’ll have you brought up on charges so fast you won’t know what the hell happened. I’ll get your goddamned pension stripped if I can. You got it?’
Kozlowski was still working his jaw slowly. ‘We’ll call you as soon as Finn gets back,’ he said.
‘You better,’ Long said. His mouth was turning dry. ‘If I don’t hear from you, I’m coming after you with everything I’ve got.’ He turned and stormed out of the office building before Kozlowski could say anything else.
Route 2 wound north from the Brighton School, through Cambridge, past Alewife, and out toward Lexington and Concord. Just past the prison in Concord, the road broadened into a highway that slashed north of Worcester, through Leominster and past a dozen other towns only New Englanders would pronounce correctly. On Friday nights during the winter, the road was bumper-to-bumper with wealthy suburbanites, fleeing the city for skiing in the mountains of Vermont and New Hampshire. In October, though, there was no skiing to be had, and the road was deserted. It made for a pleasant drive.
‘How far is it?’ Sally asked.
‘Not too far,’ Finn replied. ‘Another hour and a half, maybe.’
‘When was the last time you were up at this place?’
‘Forty-five years ago.’
‘You’ve never been back up here since you were born?’ She sounded surprised.
‘No. Why would I have been?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe you could’ve learned something sooner. It’s a long time to wait before returning to the scene of the crime.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You know what I mean.’
Finn said, ‘Are you sure you’re gonna be okay with your homework?’
‘It’s Saturday tomorrow,’ Sally reminded him. ‘Besides, I’m ahead in every class. I can work if I need to when we get home.’
‘It may be a little late.’
‘How late?’
‘I don’t know,’ Finn admitted.
She glanced at him, hesitated before asking the next question. ‘Is what we’re doing dangerous?’
It took Finn by surprise. ‘No,’ he said emphatically.
‘Is it illegal?’
‘Of course not!’ Finn shook his head. ‘You really think I’d get you involved if it was illegal or dangerous?’
She shrugged. ‘It’d be okay if you did. It’s not like I’ve never done anything dangerous before. And my parents taught me how to break the law and get away with it when I was just a little kid. It’s no big deal. Besides, I told you I wanted to help.’
‘It is a big deal,’ Finn said. ‘I don’t want you doing things that are dangerous or illegal, you understand? Not for me, not for yourself.’ He glanced over at her; she looked surprised. ‘That’s not your life anymore.’
His eyes were back on the road again, but he could feel her looking at him. ‘What is my life now?’ she asked.
He frowned. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said.
‘Let me know when you figure it out, okay?’
‘Yeah, no problem.’
They drove for a few miles without talking. That was fine with him; it was a beautiful autumn day, the height of the season in New England, and the foliage was putting on an explosive display of color. The landscape, filled with reds and yellows and oranges dotted with evergreens, made for a relaxing drive. The road was virtually empty; the only car Finn had seen in ten miles was a heavy black dot a few miles back, and he only caught sight of that on the long straightaways. Other than that, they were alone on a ribbon of smooth asphalt cutting through the crisp wilderness. He really couldn’t ask for anything more.
‘You can help me,’ he said after a while.
‘How?’ she said.
‘When we get there, listen to what people say. Pay attention to how they say it. You’re a good judge of character; I’ll be curious to hear what you think.’
‘You serious?’ she asked. ‘That’s it? No stealing files or breaking into offices?’
‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘It’s important, though.’
She shrugged. ‘Sure. If that’s all you need.’
‘That’s all I need,’ he said.
They were almost there; another twenty minutes. He watched the highway signs, looking for the exit. In his rearview mirror, the dark dot of the car reappeared occasionally. He figured it was probably some venture capitalist coming up to check on his ski house before the season started.
The big black Mercedes cruised along the highway, following the little MG convertible. The engine growled angrily at the restraint; it was used to traveling at much greater speeds. There was no need to catch up to the lawyer, though; keeping him in sight was sufficient. Even if the Mercedes fell back a little and lost contact, that was all right. There was little question where Scott Finn was headed.
The darkened windshield of the Mercedes reflected the sun at the top of the mountains to the west as it purred along Route 2, and then split off north up Interstate 91. Coale’s eyes were almost as impenetrable as the tinted windshield, hiding from view his determination and resolve.
So many questions remained, the answers hidden in the past. And yet the danger was now greater than ever, as were the stakes. In the face of that danger, Coale’s eyes revealed no hesitation. After all, in the gathering storm of uncertainty, only one thing remained clear: There was no turning back now.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Finn half expected to feel some sort of emotional epiphany upon seeing the place of his birth. He’d prepared himself for a lightning bolt of recognition; the staggering impact of a homecoming long delayed.
It didn’t happen, though.
The place had a gothic aura, no question, and the architectural style was suggestive of the supernatural. But the guts of the place had been so efficiently institutionalized that the ghosts had fled, leaving behind only a first-rate medical facility.
When Finn was born, the place had been called the New Hampshire Home for Wayward Girls. Now it was called the New Hampshire Health Services Center. Catholic Charities had sold the place to a medical non-profit in the 1990s. The place still provided reproductive counseling, birthing and adoption resources to indigent and single women, but the need for the two-month-long stays for pregnant girls had vanished with the changing times, and the abortions that were now performed at the center were out-patient procedures requiring relatively little space. Three quarters of the facility was currently dedicated to drug and alcohol rehabilitation. It had both in-patient programs and out-patient services, and it catered principally to the children of the upper and upper-middle classes who, deprived of actual life challenges, had built their own obstacles to overcome.
The driveway presented well, in a deliberate way. Immaculately manicured hedges and close-cropped lawns conveyed a sense of order and stability that must have been comforting to those depositing loved ones for extended recovery stays. Giant signs with bright, easy-to-read lettering directed visitors to the various medical destinations with anxiety-reducing clarity. The place’s exterior had the feel of an antique castle lovingly updated with all modern amenities, keeping only the outline of the classic structure.
Finn parked in a visitor’s spot near the front of an endless parking lot.
‘You ready?’ he asked Sally.
‘For what?’ she responded as she opened t
he door. ‘We’re just asking some questions.’
Inside the building, architectural authenticity had been completely abandoned for convenience. The reception area struck a careful balance between the sterility of a modern medical facility and the welcoming comfort of a 1980s rumpus room. The reception desk was scrubbed, shiny Formica, well ordered and neat. A broad expanse of spotless hospital tile covered most of the floor. Off to the side, there was a section that was covered by red carpeting. On the carpeting, bright leather chairs of a low-slung, curving modern design in all the colors of the rainbow gave a hint of orchestrated whimsy.
Finn and Sally walked up to the reception desk. ‘May I help you?’ the woman behind the desk asked. She was in her thirties, her hair was more tossed than brushed, like a salad, and it fell in unruly tangles into her face. Her sweater was a large, loose-knit sack of undyed wool, and she had two studded hoops through each nostril.
‘I hope so,’ Finn said. ‘We’re looking for someone to talk to about adoption.’
The woman immediately looked with sympathy at Sally. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘We have a wonderful group here, they’re really special.’ She lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘They’ll also be able to tell you about your other options.’
‘No,’ Finn started to say, then decided to skip the explanation. He thought they would face less resistance if the woman had some sympathy for them. ‘Where can we find someone to talk to?’ he asked simply.
‘I’m not pregnant,’ Sally interjected.
The woman behind the desk looked confused. ‘You’re not?’ Finn watched her face as her mind ran through the other possibilities and settled on the most bizarre. ‘You aren’t looking to adopt, are you?’ She regarded Finn as though he were a pedophile; he’d been instantly transformed into the enemy.