Next of Kin

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Next of Kin Page 18

by David Hosp


  ‘Am I off the case?’ Long demanded.

  Captain Townsend looked to the sky for help. ‘Jesus, you just don’t get it, do you? We’re talking about a goddamned senator here. Not to mention one of the richest men in the Commonwealth. You can’t just go out there and start making accusations!’

  ‘I didn’t make any accusations,’ Long said. ‘And you still haven’t answered my question – am I off the case?’

  ‘No!’ Townsend shouted. ‘You’re not off the goddamned case! But you will keep me in the loop on whatever you’re doing. And the next time you want to go out to talk to someone at Buchanan’s level, you’re taking me with you, you got that?’

  ‘I need a babysitter now?’

  ‘You need a witness, you jackass! Buchanan’s people were on the phone all day yesterday and this morning, raising hell with anybody in the city who would listen. You’re on a short leash as it is; you get into a situation where it’s your word against his, guess who loses?’ Townsend rubbed his forehead. ‘I swear to God, Long. Ya know?’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Long conceded. ‘As long as it’s still my case.’

  ‘It’s still yours,’ Townsend said. ‘I don’t know why you want it. I know I don’t want it.’ It looked like the man was going to have a heart attack. He took a deep breath. ‘This angle on the campaign finance got legs?’

  Long shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Something messed up was going on with McDougal’s employees and the senator’s fundraising. The Connor woman made the calls to both McDougal and Buchanan before she was murdered. You put those things together –’

  ‘And it doesn’t prove anything about her murder,’ Townsend said. ‘It could just be a coincidence. As far as we know, this could still be some crackhead and a random break-in. It still makes the most sense.’

  ‘It could be,’ Long said. ‘There’s one other thing, though. There were no fingerprints at the crime scene.’

  ‘How does that help us on anything?’ Townsend asked.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Long said. ‘There were no fingerprints at the scene. Not even prints from Elizabeth Connor. Not from anyone. The whole place had been wiped clean. I mean professionally. The way people hired by Eamonn McDougal would clean a place.’

  Townsend rolled his eyes at Long. ‘You’re still thinking about the man in the composite sketch, right? The ghost. You’re stuck on the idea that he was at the Connor woman’s apartment.’

  ‘I saw what I saw,’ Long said. ‘You’ve got a better explanation?’

  ‘Yeah, you’re imagining things. That’s a better explanation than the idea that a phantom from two decades ago showed up to whack Elizabeth Connor. What’s she got to do with anything that would get her killed?’

  ‘I told you; she knew things she might have been using against the wrong people.’

  ‘So we’re going with the campaign finance angle for now?’

  Long shrugged. ‘I gotta chase it down at least. See where it goes.’

  ‘Yeah, you do,’ Townsend said. ‘Just chase carefully.’

  Sally was in the apartment alone when Finn and Kozlowski arrived. She’d had two free periods at the end of the day, so she’d cut out of school early. Normally she headed straight over to Finn’s office, but with the extra time, she’d gone to the apartment first to drop off some of her books and enjoy a few moments of solitude. It was one of the few things she missed about her old life. Before, nobody cared where she was or what she was doing. If she disappeared for a day just to be by herself, no one even noticed. Now, with Finn and Lissa and Kozlowski in her life, she rarely got a moment’s peace. They constantly wanted to know what she was doing, and where she was doing it, and with whom it was being done. It was alien to her, and it meant that she no longer had the option of solitude when she wanted it. She wouldn’t go back to her old life given the option, but it was nice to have a moment to herself.

  She was sitting in her room doing her homework when she heard the door to the apartment open. She recognized the voices. Her first inclination was to go out to say hello, but something about their tone made her reconsider. She went to the door to eavesdrop.

  ‘What’d you expect?’ Kozlowski was asking. ‘Did you think he was gonna thank you for giving him the opportunity to dismiss a high profile case against a confirmed scumbag who also happens to be the son of a major player?’

  ‘No, I didn’t think that,’ Finn responded. ‘But I thought he might consider trading a drug dealer for a murderer.’

  ‘Maybe he would have, if you could have given him that. But you don’t know what you can give him. For all you know, McDougal is just playing you to get his son off.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Finn said.

  ‘Why not? Because you trust him? Bullshit. He’s a crook and he’ll always be a crook. More than that, he’s a sociopath. He doesn’t play by your nice clean rules.’

  There was a long moment of silence, and Sally wondered what was happening. Then Finn spoke again. ‘So, what do you suggest I do?’

  ‘Not you; we. We take this into our own hands. We get McDougal’s file on your mother ourselves.’

  ‘How?’

  Kozlowski shrugged. ‘It’s in that filing cabinet at 355 Water Street Corp., isn’t it?’

  Finn frowned. ‘You want to break in and steal it? You’re crazy.’

  ‘No, I’m not. It’s not all that hard. We could be in and out in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Breaking into a client’s office to get confidential information? Not the best move for my professional standing.’

  ‘You got a better idea?’

  There was another long moment where nothing was said. Sally wished she could see into the living room, to get an idea of what the two men were really thinking from their expressions. Finally, Finn spoke again. ‘When?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘Lissa’s gonna have to take Sally again while we do it,’ Finn said.

  ‘I can arrange that.’

  There was silence again, and Sally strained to pick up any sound at all. ‘How do you want to work it?’ she heard Finn say.

  ‘We go in after McDougal leaves this evening,’ Kozlowski said. ‘Quiet and quick. With luck, he’ll never know anyone was there. You got what you need?’

  ‘Yeah, I just forgot the brief I was working on. Let’s get down to the office so we can talk to Lissa before Sally gets out of school.’

  Then they were gone. Sally heard the apartment door close, but she stayed where she was for a few minutes, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind. She looked around the room. Finn had painted it a pale pink when she moved in and picked up matching bed covers at some high-priced specialty linen store. Sally hated pink, but she appreciated the fact that he’d cared enough to make an effort. Now that she’d been there for a year, the room was filled with her personality, her things, her spirit. She stood there for a few moments, thinking about all that Finn had done for her. Then she picked up her book bag and headed out to Finn’s office.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Coale was in New Hampshire before four in the afternoon. He had plenty of time; the Health Center was open on Mondays until six. Add in commuting time, and Shelly Tesco wouldn’t be home for well over two hours.

  He found her place without difficulty. It was a small Cape house on a quiet street just outside of town. He parked his car around a corner, where it would draw less attention, and walked back.

  The lawn was overgrown and a gutter needed fixing, but other than that it looked like a pleasant place. There was a large unruly garden in the back, with a patchwork of assorted fall vegetables in various states of harvest or decay. Online records indicated that the house had previously belonged to a Giuseppe and Maria Tesco – Shelly’s parents.

  He considered breaking a pane of glass in the back to let himself in, but thought better of it and searched briefly for a key outside. It took less than five minutes. The key was tucked into a small metallic box attached magnetically to the back of the water
meter – a common spot. Ms Tesco probably assumed that there were few risks in a town as rural and friendly as hers. It was a dangerously flawed assumption.

  He let himself into the house and began the search. Again, it took little time. The file was in the top drawer of a desk in the living room, clearly marked. Coale flipped through the papers to make sure it was what he was looking for.

  Satisfied, he walked through the house, planning out the second half of the job. Fortunately, the place was far enough away from any neighbors that they were unlikely to be disturbed. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was just after five o’clock. He had more than another hour to wait.

  He sat down on a wooden chair and breathed deeply. He’d always been a patient man.

  It was dark by six o’clock in Chelsea. Finn and Kozlowski were standing in the doorway of the warehouse across from 355 Water Street, watching. A biting wind blew up from the harbor, carrying with it the stink of dead fish and diesel. The place was silent, and it felt like the entire waterfront was deserted. It was an eerie, deceptive feeling; the fiercest creatures tended to move freely in the darkest places.

  They’d been in the same spot for more than an hour, dressed in dark clothes, watching. They’d dropped Sally off at Lissa’s apartment at four-thirty, and gone back to change at the office. Finn had told Sally that they needed to keep a client’s wife under surveillance for the night. She’d simply nodded and said, ‘Okay.’

  At five-thirty, Janice, McDougal’s secretary, pulled out of the parking lot in her bright white Camero. McDougal followed soon after, climbing into the back of his waiting Cadillac. It had been twenty minutes since they’d departed, and there’d been no further activity in the parking lot. Finn would have been tempted to move in by now, but Kozlowski said to wait. When asked why, Koz responded, ‘Because.’ He’d never been much of a conversationalist.

  Now Kozlowski looked at Finn. ‘I’m going to do a little reconnaissance,’ he said. ‘Stay here for a minute.’

  ‘You’re not going in without me.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Kozlowski agreed. ‘But I want to have an idea what we are dealing with before we go for real. Then I’ll come back and we can make a plan.’

  ‘Fine,’ Finn said. ‘But if you go in without me, I’m gonna kick your ass.’

  ‘Right.’ Kozlowski didn’t seem intimidated. ‘I’ll be back.’ He slipped away, walking close to the building with his shoulders hunched over. He had on a black watchman’s cap. He would be difficult to notice in the dark, and if he was spotted, he would look like a longshoreman completely at ease in the environment. He’d attract little attention.

  He was gone for five minutes that seemed more like fifty to Finn. When he returned he was frowning. ‘There’s good news and bad news,’ he said.

  ‘Gimme the good news first.’

  ‘They’ve got a sophisticated alarm system.’

  ‘That’s the good news?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s sophisticated, but old. I was trained on it when I was on the force and I’m pretty sure I can disable it.’

  Finn nodded. ‘That is good news. What’s the bad news?’

  ‘I don’t think I can get us through the front door. I’m pretty good with my fingers, but the locks they’ve got on it are monsters. I won’t get through them.’

  ‘Crap,’ Finn said. ‘You’re gonna give it a try, though, right?’

  ‘If I need to,’ Kozlowski said. ‘There’s a back door that looks a little more reasonable. That’s the other good news. We’ll start there.’

  ‘Now?’

  Kozlowski nodded. ‘Now.’

  They headed out along the building, in the same direction from which Kozlowski had just come.

  The meeting was set for six-thirty. Long arrived early, Captain Townsend in tow. He felt like a child bringing his father to the principal’s office, but he understood it was the only way he was going to stay in charge of the case.

  Long had instructed Buchanan to show up at the station house – this was a murder investigation, after all. That mandate was quickly rejected, which caused Long to resort to threats. As it turned out, United States senators are relatively impervious to threats from local law enforcement officers. Long was informed that if the police wished to talk with Buchanan, he would make himself available for the half hour between six-thirty and seven at his lawyer’s office. There would be no negotiation on the matter, and the senator would leave as soon as the clock struck seven. Long didn’t like taking orders from suspects, but there was little he could do about it. Captain Townsend told him to be grateful. He also told him that the two of them would be going to the meeting together.

  The lawyer’s office was in the heart of the financial district, in a tower of pink marble, steel and glass. To get into the building, Long and Townsend had to stop at the front desk, where their credentials were checked and they were issued a building pass. The process made Long feel as though the proper order of the universe had been flipped, and the police were the ones under suspicion.

  Up in the law firm’s reception area, they were kept waiting for another ten minutes, looking out from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows onto a view that made plain how important the attorneys at the firm were. Townsend’s face acknowledged how impressive it was. Long looked away.

  Finally they were led into a conference room with a similarly stunning view out of a different side of the building. Buchanan was already there, along with a stout, balding man in his fifties in a dark suit and bright blue tie. The second man stood, breathing heavily as he lifted his bulk off the chair. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘My name is Spencer Carleson. I represent the senator.’ Buchanan didn’t bother standing, and no one shook hands. ‘Sit,’ Carleson ordered. ‘It’s my understanding that you’d like to talk to the senator with respect to a murder investigation?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Long said. ‘We –’

  Carleson cut him off. ‘The senator is, of course, more than happy to cooperate in any way he can with the police. There are some ground rules, however.’

  Long looked at Townsend. ‘Ground rules?’

  ‘I’m sure you understand the politically sensitive nature of this discussion,’ Carleson said. ‘Senator Buchanan is in the middle of a reelection campaign that has less than a month to go. If word of the senator’s connection to this matter leaked out, it could lead to all sorts of wild speculation. The senator’s opponent would no doubt use it to imply some sort of wrongdoing. We can’t have that.’

  ‘We can’t?’ Long said.

  ‘No,’ Carleson said, with particular emphasis. ‘We can’t.’ He let a beat pass to allow that to settle in. ‘So, here are the ground rules. I will be present for all the questioning. Anything I believe is inappropriate, I will instruct my client not to answer. The interview will last no longer than a half hour, and when it is over, nothing about this meeting will be divulged to anyone. Not to the press. Not to others in the department.’

  ‘We can’t talk to other cops?’ Long was well into a simmer.

  ‘Once word spreads internally, it would undoubtedly be leaked,’ Carleson said. ‘I will not let this be used for political purposes. Besides, Detective Long, according to my internal sources, you don’t have many people in the department who are talking to you these days anyway. It’s not as though you have a partner, is it?’

  Long came out of his chair. ‘You wait a goddamned minute!’ he yelled.

  Townsend remained sitting, but his face had turned crimson. ‘You’re outta line, Carleson,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Carleson said. ‘I’m not convinced the right man is investigating this case. Certainly if this outburst is any indication, Detective Long may not have the right temperament to handle such sensitive matters.’

  Townsend looked at Long and motioned to him to sit down. Long lowered himself back into the chair, his eyes never leaving Carleson’s, his instinctive distrust for the lawyer growing. Townsend said, ‘This is Detective Long’s case. He will n
ot be replaced. If you have a problem with that, you will just have to deal with it.’

  Carleson pursed his lips. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Do we have an understanding with respect to the ground rules?’

  ‘Fuck your ground rules,’ Long growled.

  Townsend put a hand up to cut him off. ‘We will keep the conversation confidential for now,’ he said. ‘We will not let that confidentiality prevent the full investigation of this murder, however.’

  Carleson nodded again. He looked at Long. ‘Ask your questions, Detective.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It was dark when Shelly Tesco got home. She’d been held up at work, explaining the adoption process to a couple who’d recently learned they were infertile. She could have told them to come back the next day; they walked in just as the office was closing, and she didn’t get paid enough to justify overtime. But she felt like she couldn’t leave without helping them. It seemed as though she could read the entire range of human emotions on their tired faces, from desperation to hope. She couldn’t just send them away. Besides, it wasn’t as though she had anything important waiting for her at home.

  She noticed the Mercedes parked up around the corner, but paid it little mind. The Shumleys a few houses over had a son who was an investment banker in New York; he was probably visiting and eager to show off a new toy to his parents. Shelly wouldn’t hear the end of it the next time she ran into Mildred. Bragging about her son’s money had become the woman’s full-time job, almost as though it made up for all the disappointments in her own life.

  Shelly parked her car in the driveway. Soon the real weather would arrive, and she would need to park in the garage. But it wasn’t here yet, and she’d have to put in a full day’s work clearing out the single-car space to make room. She’d promised herself she would get to it last weekend, but just hadn’t been able to muster the necessary motivation. Next weekend, she told herself. There would always be next weekend.

 

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