“I’m not sure. I was little. I was eight. He went fishing. I think he fell overboard. That’s the story I was told. They found his body, later, but my mother wouldn’t let me go to the funeral. I think I was probably inconsolable. I have no real memory of it at all.”
Later that day, as we returned, we stood in the open on the top deck of the ferry with a hard, warm wind on our faces, I asked, “What happened to the ranch?”
She said, “I don’t know. I think the economy was bad and he was in debt. I think it was sold for the debts. My mother wouldn’t talk about it. And whenever I think about it, the only thing I really remember is my father holding me there, high in the water. And my thought is always the same silly thing I must have asked myself way back then, when I was little. Why couldn’t he fly above the water too, the way he had showed me?”
14. Private practice
The thought process went something like this: I ought to start looking for reasons why Desiree had disappeared by looking at the present. Her past in California, or in Texas, might have something to do with it, but she had disappeared little more than two weeks ago. What had happened to her in the last few weeks to make this happen now?
The most obvious thing was moi. It’s always easiest to see yourself at the center of any universe. Perhaps this whole thing was in fact my fault after all. But then, putting myself at the middle of the story felt too obviously narcissistic.
The next link to the present I knew anything about was her job. The problem there was that she had told me next to nothing about her work and I had no easy access to the world of big-time law firms.
I called Connie to find out if his lawyer had any contacts with Carey, Frost, and Theil. Connie’s lawyer, Ed Lynch, called me back an hour later to say he tried to keep his distance from outfits like that.
“Those are the guys that make the law. Their pockets go too deep. It’s places like that where they get the judges that sit on the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court. Guys like me just have to deal with it. The only case I had against them, I settled as fast as I could.”
I made a direct appeal. “I need to find a way to talk with someone there. A lawyer named Charles W. Higgins. Walsh Higgins. Is there any way to cut through the tall grass so I can get to this guy?”
Ed Lynch sniffed at the idea. “You want him to talk to you? If you’ve got $500 an hour, you might get him to chat a little. Talk would run a thousand or more.”
I made the situation as clear as I could. “No. I want him to talk to me on his own. I need to make doing it in his own best interest.”
Ed caught on quickly. “You mean you want something on this guy. Something you can trade with?”
“Yes.”
“How do you intend to do that?”
“I don’t know. I thought you might have an idea. Maybe you could help me find a way.”
Lynch laughed derisively. “I told you. I don’t get involved with people like that. Look! It was Henry Frost’s daughter who ran over an eight-year-old kid on the way to school a couple of years ago. The daughter was coming home drunk from an all-night party. Then she left the scene of the accident. There were witnesses. Do you want to know what happened? I settled it. The case was dismissed. The little girl wasn’t in her grave before her father suddenly lost his job. Social Services was in the family home and filing reports because both parents had been working and their kids did not have adequate supervision. One of the witnesses wasn’t so sure after all that the little girl hadn’t suddenly run out into the street. See? Like I said, I settled. The parents got two hundred grand, the funeral was paid for, my bill was paid, and the case was dropped.”
It was an interesting assessment of the cash value of a single human life, but it did not seem relevant to me at the moment. “So. What can I do? How do I get the dope on Higgins?”
There are moments on the phone when you can practically see the reaction of the other person’s face.
“Geez. . . . Let me look into it.”
The next morning, I was barely out of the shower when Ed Lynch calls again.
“Your friend Higgins there is a real loser. He’s the nephew of the big-shit lawyer George Theil. I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. But there’s lots of crap out there on him. Drugs. A divorce. A bribery charge. He is so stupid he tried to bribe a district attorney. His career is dead-ended. They’ve put him downstairs in charge of Information Services. So what do you want with him?”
“I want to talk with him.”
“About what?”
“About someone who worked for him. Desiree Perry.”
“Oh, geez. Connie told me you’d gone nuts.” He heaved a couple of breaths into the phone. “It’s okay. It happens. Look. If I were you I wouldn’t, but if I was going to do it anyway, I would look into the drugs again. I don’t think this guy Higgins quit the habit, like they say. He’s a coke-head. He’s easily bored. If you want to hurt him a little, just have him stopped for a traffic violation. I bet a hundred dollars and a cup of coffee that the black leather seats in his Lexus are coated with happy powder.”
“I just want to talk with him.”
“It would be easier to assume he’s guilty of something and just make his life a little more difficult. Talk is a lot harder. And like I said, more expensive”
“That’s all I want.”
Ed Lynch is a good guy. He called me back again that afternoon.
“Do you know Fabian Lugano? Luggano? Something like that?”
“Was he a singer?”
“No. This was a kid from your neighborhood. Grew up in Scituate.”
“I’m from Hingham.”
“Close enough. Listen. He deals. He’s a middle-man. The elite drug dealers don’t like to deal directly with the source. He owns Higgins. I don’t know for how much, but a lot. Higgins has been doing legal favors for him to keep the pipeline open. That’s how I know. Now, your friend Fabian—”
“I don’t know Fabian.”
“Right. Your neighbor there—he owns seats at the Garden. Celtics fan. I made a couple of calls. I have a cousin I did some work for a few years back when he set up his business. He has the seats right behind this Fabian. They talk all the time. My cousin says that Fabian there has a sweet tooth. My cousin owns Patty’s Candies. You know them? No? Probably came along after your time. Anyway. It’s a little chain down on the South Shore. He brings Fabian a bag of real candy now and again—the kind with cane sugar and not this high fructose crap—so they’re good friends. I told my cousin he was playing with fire. He says he learned about fire in the Boy Scouts.”
“So, what does this all have to do with Higgins and me?”
“Look. See—we’re on the road to Damascus here. Hold on.”
“I’m holding.”
“So, last year, Mr. Fabian starts coming to the game with this girl. Cute kid. And it turns out that Mr. Fabian has seen the light. You know? He has a girlfriend. He fell in love with this girl last year. And now she’s had a kid. And now Mr. Fabian doesn’t want to be in the drug business anymore. He wants to be a daddy. You got this?”
“I got it. He’s been converted by love.”
“Mr. Fabian has had a conversion. But it’s tough. He has obligations.”
“So where do I fit in?”
“Where? What do you mean, where? Where is where you make it. That’s all I’ve got. It’s something. Work with it. Think about it. Connie says you’re smart. Maybe you can do something with it.”
“Thanks.”
“You can thank me later, if you’re still breathing. I mean that. These are nasty people. I don’t know what your girl Desiree was doing, but she shouldn’t have been doing it with people like this.”
I tell him, “Thanks anyway.”
What I had was a piece of someone else’s story. I didn’t see where it fit in with mine at all. But I thought about it.
That afternoon I went to see Mr. Higgins.
Carey
, Frost, and Theil has two floors in the tallest building on State Street. The directory in the lobby runs over a hundred names just for that one firm alone. Mr. Higgins was on the 23rd floor.
The receptionist is a Barbie doll. She sized me up in the distance between the elevator and her desk. She says, “Are you looking for an attorney?” Before I’ve said a word.
I say, “I’m looking for Walsh Higgins.”
She smiles, “I’m afraid Mr. Higgins does not take clients.”
“I just want to talk with him.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Higgins is very busy. You should call and make an appointment.”
I say, “Could you please call his office and say that I’m here about a matter concerning Mr. Lugano?”
I turned away from the desk then without giving her the chance to put me off any further. I went to a side area beside a tropical plant prematurely strung with Christmas lights and sat down in a leather chair soft enough to sleep on. I don’t think I waited more than five minutes.
Walsh Higgins has bad teeth. Something told me this had nothing to do with neglectful parents. I’ve seen what some drugs can do to teeth. He came right up to me where I was sitting and when I looked up, the teeth were what I saw first.
He said, “Can I help you?” and offered a plastic grin instead of a handshake and my first thought was that someone should tell him not to smile.
I stood up. He’s not a short fellow, but I had him by a couple of inches and maybe fifty pounds. He backed up.
I said, “I’d like to talk with you privately, if I could.”
He nodded. He got his neck into the nod. Some people do that.
“Your name is?”
“John.”
He nodded once with that as well. “Sure. Follow me.”
For the second time in a week, I was following a lawyer down a well carpeted hall. But Mr. Higgins took me directly to his office.
There were none of the usual family photos scattered around. There was the obligatory degree. He had graduated from Suffolk Law. I wondered how bad he must have been to have eliminated himself from the usual Harvard legacy. The books on the shelves were tight and straight as if seldom used. He sat right down at his desk, maybe to get something solid between us, and gestured at a chair. I didn’t take my cap off, but I did sit down.
He said, “What is it exactly that you’d like to speak with me about?”
Higgins’s voice expressed some serious concern. His face showed nothing. Not even mild interest. His hands straightened a couple of pieces of paper on the desk in front of him, then picked up a pen and set it back aligned with the papers.
The key here, as it always is in such circumstances, is to never directly answer any question. I learned that the last time from dealing with my wife’s divorce lawyer. I should have known it before.
I said, “I believe you’ve spoken with Detective Wise?”
Now this was a total guess. I had conjured up several possible lines of attack, but this one seemed the best. Wise would have done his due diligence.
The face broke into a terrific frown.
“Didn’t you say you were here about Fabian?”
“Detective Wise is still interested in anything to do with the disappearance of Desiree Perry.”
The frown was making him squint now, like he had a headache.
“Who are you, exactly?”
“Your association with Fabian Lugano has come up.”
He tried to stiffen his voice, but it sounded a little unsure to me.
“Is this some kind of shake-down?”
I figured I had to answer that one. “My only interest is in Desiree Perry.”
“She doesn’t work here, anymore.”
“She had fourteen years at two previous law firms, with excellent recommendations. Why do you think she was willing to do basic legal research here?”
“Desiree? How should I know? Maybe she was just biding her time until something better came up. All I cared about was her work. She was very good when he was here. But why is this your business?”
I sat forward in the chair. I think I had pretty much kept a straight face.
“You showed some interest in Miss Perry. Is that right?”
He gave half a shrug and sat back.
“She’s a very good looking woman. I’m not blind. But we didn’t date, if that’s what you mean. She has a boyfriend. Ask him.”
This denial seemed a bit planned. He had answered the question a little too readily. I imagine he had a little practice talking to Detective Wise. I took another tack.
It was at this point I went directly at the matter that had plagued my brain since I spoke to Lynch. I don’t believe in coincidence. The fact that drugs were a part of this man’s life and that Desiree worked for him made a link that had some resonance to me. It might explain why Des was sometimes anxious about things and wouldn’t explain or talk about it. I didn’t like that thought.
I said, “The problem would be if there was a drug connection to her disappearance.”
The frown had engaged his cheeks now and his bad teeth were showing again.
“What did you say your last name was?”
I decided it was time to give him a push. I thought it might be more effective to let him start coming forward enough to catch him off balance.
“Finn.”
A realization slackened his cheeks.
“You’re the guy who was calling here every day?”
“Exactly.”
“And what’s your interest in this?”
Something dawned on me. I had made a mistake. I had assumed that the boyfriend he was speaking of was me.
I said, “To find her. Did you ever speak with the boyfriend?”
Higgins mouth had opened with the effort to grasp what I was after.
“Once. When he picked her up downstairs, I was coming out. . . Who do you work for?”
I answered that quickly and moved on to my next question.
“McGuire Security. It appears you were one of the last people to see her before she disappeared. Fred says you spoke to her that evening.”
“Me? No. I saw her at work on Friday afternoon. Right here. In this office. She was going someplace and left early. Who’s Fred?”
It was the first name that came into my mind. I have never known a Fred.
“Her boyfriend. Fred Hughes. What was it you said to her that afternoon? Why was she so concerned?”
“That’s private business. Fred Hughes? I don’t know Fred Hughes. The boyfriend I met was named Jeff. I told Detective Wise his name already.”
“Okay. I’ll check that with Bill, and he can carry that inquiry wherever it takes him.”
I got up to leave.
Walsh Higgins looked confused. “What’s this all about?”
“I told you.”
He stood. “What does this have to do with Fabian?”
“I was hoping you could tell me that. I guess it’s just a police matter now.”
He raised his voice an octave. His teeth were bared now. “Nothing!” He pointed a finger at me. “Nothing! Fabian Lugano is a client of mine. Our relationship is confidential.”
“I don’t care about your relationship with Mr. Lugano. All I care about is finding Desiree Perry.”
Higgins straightened himself for an extra inch of height.
“I can tell you this. I’ll tell you this right now. There’s nothing to investigate here. And if you try to involve me in anything, I’ll make you regret it. I can tell you that too.”
I was on the phone to Bill Wise by the time I was outside on State Street again. I left a message. He called me back as I was passing the old State House. It had started to rain, so I leaned in against the brick beneath the little second floor balcony—the spot where they had first read the Declaration of Independence aloud to the public during the Revolution. I told the detective what I knew, beginning with Texas.
He was not impressed. “I understand your interest, Mr. Finn. I can’t keep you from investigating this. But you ought to back off a little. You might muddy up the water.”
I defended myself. “So, if this was your girlfriend who had disappeared, you’d sit on your thumbs?”
He let that pass. He was a patient man. “No. Look. We already knew that George Jefferson Adams has an apartment here in town. It’s leased to his law firm. I was in there about an hour after I saw you on Monday. Didn’t even have to get a search warrant. Adams gave us permission.”
I looked up at the underside of the balcony over my head. Something to look at as my mind sorted the facts. Maybe I could use this as a location in my novel. That was me. My mind did not really want to be dealing with the present. I did not like the look of the reality I had found.
I had figured this much, so I said, “And she had her stuff there in Adams’s apartment?”
“Yes. She did. From the mail on a table and a newspaper, I would say she might not have been there since the Saturday, a week before you last saw her. And you should know this. Mr. Adams freely admitted that he came up to visit about once a month, and he hadn’t been to the apartment since the week before she disappeared. . . So, now you know all that for sure. Now, you understand that you were not her only love interest. Does that make you any happier?”
If this information was intended to shove me back a little from the police line, it was not enough. And I wasn’t answering any rhetorical questions.
“Then tell me this, if you can. Do you think Mr. Adams is worried about her? Do you think he cares that she’s disappeared?”
At least Detective Wise didn’t hesitate over that. “I think so. He wants to cover his ass, but I think he cares about it quite a bit. He just isn’t in a position to do anything—I’m telling you this, but I’ll deny it if it comes up again. I’m trying to keep you from making a mess of this. I can’t do my job if you’re turning things upside down. Talking to Mr. Higgins was not productive. You didn’t learn anything we don’t already know. Give me a chance to work away on this. Okay?”
I didn’t answer that either. I said, “Can you tell me this then. Has she been seeing him all along, or did Des actually break it off back in Houston?”
John Finn Page 14
