* * *
Bruce spent the next couple of days at the DA’s office, helping the authorities reconstruct the crime. He agreed to pay a large fine and give up his license to practice law, but otherwise they promised him immunity from prosecution for his little scams, so he was willing to cooperate. He was also hoping he might see Shelby.
Finally, at the end of the second day of questioning, Jennifer Palmer addressed him. “After you sign this affidavit, you're free to go.” Bruce looked at it, then back at the ADA for an explanation. She was curt about it, but forthcoming. “We’re going to try to get Pierre Prefontaine out on time served. He’s got a baby coming, and we all feel like he got the short end of the stick here.” Bruce nodded, quickly scribbled his signature to the document.
She continued. “But stay here for a minute—Shelby Baskin wants to speak with you. Personally, if I never see you again, it will be too soon.” Bruce wasn’t sure if her animosity stemmed from her friendship with Shelby or from her resentment at being duped by Bruce into believing Pierre killed Charese. Probably both.
She left, and a few minutes later Shelby glided into the room. She looked tired and sad, but, as always, carried herself with a regal elegance. They looked at each other for a few seconds, then he spoke. “You may not want to hear this, but the loss of you is far more significant to me than the loss of Fenway Place.”
She shook her head dismissively. “That’s a crock, Bruce. You had the chance to come clean with me weeks before the auction. But you kept right on lying to me.”
Bruce lowered his head. “I felt like I had to finish what I had started. But let’s face it, Shelby—you never would have been able to love me if you knew the truth about what I had done. My only chance to keep you was to get past the auction, put my lies behind us, then try to build a life with you in the future.”
“I don't know if that's true or not, Bruce, and it’s not really relevant anymore.” She rubbed the back of her hand across the corner of her eye. “But I've been thinking about this a lot the past couple of days. I realize now that when I called you a ‘murdering scumbag,’ I was wrong.”
Bruce straightened in his chair, searched her face for a hint that she might consider forgiving him.
Shelby continued, her blue-green eyes filling with tears. She spoke quietly, but firmly. “You told me once that you saw yourself as a sailboat, a combination of both the power and passion of the sea and the strength and stability of the land. I guess that’s one way to look at it. But it strikes me another way. When I think of the way you try to live your life as some kind of combination of sea and land, I don’t think of a sailboat at all. I think of the sea and land combining to make mud. Your life isn’t some graceful clipper ship, Bruce. It’s mud. Dirty, useless, clingy, foul mud. Your face was covered with it the night I met you, and your soul is covered with it still.”
Bruce lowered his eyes. Shelby, for the first time, raised her voice. “No, Bruce, look at me! Look into my eyes. I want you to feel what I say, not just hear the words. Maybe, just maybe, you can change. I know now that you didn't kill Charese. So, like I said, you're not a murdering scumbag. But you are a scumbag just the same. And I think you only have one choice—go buy that boat that you've always wanted, and sail far, far away. Look into yourself. Way down deep. Maybe there’s something worth saving under the layers of mud. If not, don’t ever come back. Because you’re not meant to live with other human beings the way you are now.”
He focused on a spot deep within the oceans of Shelby’s salty eyes. The sea was wise in these matters, and the sea spoke the truth. Bruce straightened himself to accept its verdict: exile, but with the possibility of redemption. He nodded, and walked slowly toward the door.
He took one step into the hallway, then turned and looked once more into Shelby’s eyes. “Please wait for me.”
THE END
NOTES
*As of November, 2016, the Gardner Museum theft remained unsolved.
*Rent control was outlawed in Massachusetts by statewide ballot initiative in 1994.
*The Massachusetts real estate market recovered and values eventually surpassed their peak levels of the late 1980s.
If you enjoyed the characters in this story, you may be interested in reading Blood of the Tribe and The Wrong Abraham, which are sequels to this book.
[Boston Law 01.0] Unlawful Deeds Page 40