by Brian Shea
“Let’s go back to the beginning. Maybe now that we know who we’re looking at, we’ll see the link.”
Kelly was about to sputter an underwhelming platitude but stopped himself. And then it hit him. “I think you might be onto something. If nothing else, I think you’ve just filled a nagging gap in the disappearance of Faith Wilson.” Kelly was suddenly energized again and turned back to his desk, ignoring the looks from his boss as he retrieved Faith’s file.
33
Kelly sat in the same lot he’d been in six days earlier. At that time, he’d approached with more questions than answers. Today was different. He wasn’t alone, and the majority of the questions had been answered, some he hadn’t even thought to ask until earlier this morning.
The two exited Barnes’s Caprice and walked toward the door. The same nasty welcome mat greeted them. Kelly banged loudly on the door and waited. As before, the man inside moved with the speed of a sloth. Kelly heard the creak of the floor from the other side and knew Gary Wilson was peering out through the peephole, then came the sound of a deadbolt unlatching.
“Detective,” Gary Wilson slurred. The day’s eventful drinking had taken hold of the man.
“Mr. Wilson, may we come in?” Kelly asked.
“Free country.” The man staggered back. He was wearing a robe loosely tethered around his bulging gut. It did little to cover the striped boxers and stained tank top serving as his only clothing for the day. From the looks of it, he’d been in this hobo’s ensemble since the last visit. The funk surrounding him only added to the man’s overall presence.
Kelly entered and Barnes followed, closing the door behind them. Once inside, Kelly decided to keep the conversation to the confines of the hallway stairs. The interior was littered with trash as if the quaint town of North Andover had begun using his condo as a secondary landfill.
“Did you get my message?” Kelly asked.
Wilson plopped heavily onto the stairs, missing the one he’d aimed for and sliding down to the next. “I did. Meant to get back to you, but forgot.”
“That’s a shame. Maybe you don’t recall, but I’m the guy who’s been hunting your daughter’s killer.”
“Of course I remember!” Wilson tried to stand in an effort to show his outrage at the insinuation, but failed miserably. His hand slid off the railing, and he only managed to get an inch rise before flopping down.
“You can save the theatrics.” Kelly closed the distance, ignoring the man’s stink and leaning down toward him. “Your daughter’s killer’s been arrested.”
“What? You found him?” Wilson looked genuinely pleased. His eyes watered.
“Not him. Her.”
“A girl killed my Faith?” Wilson rubbed at his greasy scalp.
“Looks that way.” Kelly paused and evaluated the grieving father. “But there were a lot of people responsible for her death.”
Wilson put his face in his hands and wept loudly.
“I won’t be able to bring them all to justice. At least not just yet. But some are already facing their own punishment.”
Wilson wiped his nose on his sleeve and met Kelly’s gaze.
“I never saw it. Couldn’t make the mental jump. But today, one of the people I believe had a hand in your daughter’s death walked into my office with his attorney. The same lawyer who represented Clive Branson.”
Wilson’s tears still fell, but his sobbing stopped.
“When you told me you were a manager at a grocery store, I didn’t realize it was the same one Clive Branson’s father owned. You worked for the man whose son was responsible for the disappearance of your daughter.” Kelly gritted his teeth and felt the disgust rise up. “You didn’t get a mental health disability from the store. I did some digging into your compensation package. Seemed strange to me that in the interim, since you left work, you managed to keep your condo here in North Andover. But your accounts didn’t add up. You’ve got a pretty healthy bank account. Although, I’ve noticed, since the initial deposit made eight months ago, you’ve drank your way through a bit of that quarter million.” Kelly kicked a nearby empty can of beer on the floor. “I don’t know many grocery store managers that get a two hundred fifty thousand dollar payout when they take an early retirement. But you and I both know it wasn’t a retirement payout. It was a payoff to keep your mouth shut.”
Wilson opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
“Your daughter may have died cold and alone in a shallow grave, but your hand might as well have been on the shovel that filled it.”
Wilson slumped back. “Do you know what I gave up because of that girl? I had scholarships to the big name schools. I was on my way. Then she came along and everything fell apart. After her mother left us, it all went downhill from there. It was all on me to raise her.”
“That’s your job. You signed up for it when you became a parent. And nobody ever said it was supposed to be easy.”
“I was buried in debt.”
“Please don’t try to rationalize what you did. There’s nothing you can say that’ll ever come close to making sense to either of us.”
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“I would if I could, but seems to me you’re already a prisoner.”
“What about the money?”
“What about it?”
“Are you going to take it?”
“No. Branson made sure it was properly accounted for. So, your blood money is safe.”
Wilson belched and rubbed his ruddy face.
“Doesn’t look like that money was worth it.”
Kelly didn’t wait for a reaction and turned to leave. Barnes opened the door and the two detectives walked away, leaving the man to his own version of hell.
“What father would turn a blind eye to his daughter’s abduction?”
“I’m pretty sure karma’s kicking the proverbial crap out of him. There’s no light at the end of his tunnel.”
“Where to now?” Barnes asked.
“I’ve got to make another stop, but this is one I’ve got to do alone.”
34
The phone rang. He saw the incoming caller ID and was tempted to let it go to voicemail, but after the third combination of vibration and chime Kelly answered.
“What’s up, Marty?”
“Hey Mike. Bad time?”
Kelly had several preloaded retorts but refrained. “What do you got?”
“Judge Coleman rendered his verdict in the Baxter Green case.”
“And?”
“The death resultant of the shooting was deemed accidental. He saw no cause to fault the actions of the tactical team.”
There was a pause and Kelly remained silent, assuming there was more.
“Judge Coleman said you acted in accordance with policy and procedure. Your decisions to try and effectively resolve the situation were sound. He further went on to commend you for your efforts.”
“Doesn’t put the bullet back in the gun. Doesn’t bring back the boy.”
“No, it doesn’t. But hopefully this gives you some peace. As for the Green family, the judge awarded a two million dollar settlement.”
“Is that the going cost for a dead child?” Kelly thought about the value Wilson placed on his daughter. Comparatively better, but in no way would ever compensate for the loss.
“For what it’s worth, I respect the way you handled yourself during the trial even if you went against everything I advised you to say.”
“Thanks. Just trying to do the right thing.”
Kelly swiped the red digital button, ending the call.
The room was private. A secluded space set aside for attorney-client meetings and, on occasion, a law enforcement interview. This meeting could be clearly defined by either category. Although he was a detective and the man he was scheduled to speak with was a convict. Aside from those parallels, this meeting was designed with one thing in mind. Atonement.
A buzz and the door unlatched. A mechanical clank
ing retracted the heavy steel. Behind it stood a thin man in the correctional garb of MCI Cedar Junction’s correctional facility. Even though the name had changed, inmates and cops alike still referred to the prison as Walpole, home to the commonwealth’s most violent prisoners. A thick-necked guard with a fresh crewcut escorted the man in.
Kelly sat patiently while the prisoner’s shackles were linked to the table’s steel.
“Never thought in a million years I’d see you here.”
“To be honest, I never thought I’d be here, either,” Kelly said. “I found your daughter.”
The man stammered and started to shake. “How? When?”
“She was in a house we raided. I’m not going to lie, she’s going to need a lot of assistance getting past what she’s been through. But, at least she’s safe.”
“A house? Where?”
“She was found with a group of girls. I’m not sure how long she was there, but hopefully in time Sabrina will open up and clarify. I’ve got some good people helping her through this. But it’s going to take some time.”
Trevor Green wept.
“Listen, I can never undo what happened to your son. His death haunts me to this day.” Kelly cleared his throat. “But you have one child that’s going to need you. You’re about to receive a fat check from the city. Although it doesn’t begin to make amends for your son’s death, you can put it toward giving your daughter a fighting chance at a better life.”
“How could she bear to look at me after what I’ve done?”
“Family first. Family always. It’s something we say in mine. Basically, no matter how bad things get, they are always there.”
“Maybe we come from different stock?”
“I’ve got a girl waiting on the other side of that door who proves otherwise.”
Trevor Green’s jaw dropped as Kelly stood and walked to the closed door. He knocked twice and another guard opened it.
Sabrina Green entered as Kelly exited. The door closed behind him as the two were given a chance to reconnect and he was given a fraction of redemption.
35
Kelly had spent the majority of the day organizing the details of his case. Veronica Ainsley, who Sabrina Green knew as Slice, didn’t receive the red-carpet treatment from the Rakowski family. She was being represented by a public defender and had a bond set well beyond her means. Her sworn statement was still under review at the District Attorney’s office as to its ability to bring charges against Aleksander Rakowski, who she identified from a photo lineup as the handler running the girls. Kelly desperately sought to find a shred of evidence connecting Rakowski to the organization, but whoever kept their books did an excellent job of hiding any breadcrumbs. Even the teenager, Jakub Balicki, managed to duck the justice system, and didn’t end up spending a night in juvenile detention. He was out free, awaiting a hearing on watered-down motor vehicle charges. Furthermore, he refused to speak to police.
With Ainsley in custody for the murder of Faith Wilson, his regular caseload began to resume precedence. Kelly stared at his Murder Board and took down Faith’s red card, replacing it with a blue one.
His newest red card, Phillip Smalls, taunted him. Bobby’s potential connection with the death bothered him, and he wasn’t sure where it would lead. His homicide partner, Jimmy Mainelli, would be back from vacation tomorrow. He listened to Cliff Anderson in the cubicle across from him talk up his amazing week with one of his many mistresses and longed to have Barnes back at his side. She was back working her own cases, and although only down the hall, it felt like miles apart.
Kelly picked up the phone. “Hey Ray. Any luck with the Phillip Smalls scene?”
Charles chuckled a throaty laugh. “On the initial pass everything seemed to point to a suicide.”
“I know.” Kelly rubbed his temple.
“There are a few oddities that need exploring.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for one there was no GSR on the gun hand.”
“A guy fires a gun and there’s no gunshot residue?” Kelly did not like that.
“And then there’s the strange wound on the left hand.”
“What wound?” Kelly tried to recall it but wasn’t able to visualize anything specific.
“In the meat of the hand between the thumb and pointer finger is a small X.”
“An X?”
“It looks like an X. Had it been on the right hand I might’ve written it off as the shooter riding too high up on the tang of the weapon and maybe catching a piece of his skin. You’ll have to wait for the official report from the autopsy, but in my humble opinion, the injury appears to be done postmortem.”
Kelly said nothing. His mind raced to the details of another case file, one he’d committed to memory and one that, in his world, trumped all others. “Ray, I gotta go. I’ll check back with you later.”
He hung up the phone and unlocked his file cabinet. His hand ran along the files, finding the thick bulk of the tab he was looking for. Kelly withdrew the hefty beast and set it down on his desk. Removing the thick rubber band holding it together, he thumbed through its contents in search of a particular photograph.
After a few minutes of scouring the several hundred photos contained therein, Kelly freed the one he’d been searching for. He sat back in his chair and peered at the image, focusing on one particular section—the zoomed view of the left hand with two same size cuts forming a clearly identifiable X. The hand belonged to his best friend and former patrol partner, Danny Rourke.
Kelly stuck the picture back inside and returned the case file to its rightful place. Getting up from his desk he checked the clock. For once he’d be on time.
He walked in and saw his friends already gearing up for their match. Edmund and Donny were stretching and idling near a heavy bag. Bobby was lacing up his gloves.
Kelly crossed the floor with a focused intensity. He grabbed Bobby and spun him by the shoulder. “Tell me you didn’t do it!” Kelly yanked his friend’s tank top, lifting him up off the stool he was using.
“What gives? Have you lost your ever-lovin’ mind?” Bobby shoved hard at Kelly, knocking him backwards, breaking free of his grip.
“Say it! Say you didn’t have nothing to do with it!”
“You need to lower your damn voice in here.” Bobby set about adjusting his now stretched-out tank top.
Kelly saw the others in the gym had stopped their drills and were intently watching him. Pops made his way over to intervene.
“You boys know where to take this if there’s a problem,” Pops said.
There were two places arguments were handled, the ring or the parking lot. In the ring, all were free to watch. But Pops’s rules were that if the issue needed to be addressed in the parking lot then it was to be done in private. Either way, the etched wood hanging above his office said it all—Fighting Solves Everything.
Kelly eyed his friend. “Parking lot.”
Bobby didn’t answer. He pulled off his gloves and stormed out. Kelly loosened his shoulders as he walked behind.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Bobby McDonough took a swing. Kelly, caught off-guard, wasn’t able to completely avoid the haymaker. But he did move enough to deflect the full force of the heavy blow.
Kelly popped Bobby with a quick jab to the head, creating distance. In the separation, Kelly found his range and began his attack.
Bobby was tough. Probably could’ve been better than Kelly, but he’d fallen in early with Conner Walsh’s crew and the two lifestyles didn’t mesh.
Kelly saw red. He was bathed in a rare anger. The flurry of blows he unleashed on his friend was devastating. Bobby desperately tried to counter, but his defense proved useless. Within seconds he was down on one knee with his left fist raised in defeat.
Kelly reared back to deliver one final crushing punch, but stopped himself. Bobby looked up, his eyes showing something not found in the man’s normal demeanor. Fear.
Kelly looked around, ensurin
g nobody was within earshot. “Did you kill Smalls?”
“No.” Bobby spit blood onto the blacktop of the parking lot, then sat back, rubbing at his jaw.
“Then who did?”
“Mikey, you know there’s things I can and can’t tell you. This is one of those I can’t.”
Kelly seethed.
“Look. I went out on a limb to get you that information. Didn’t it help? I heard you saved a bunch of girls.”
“It did. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about who killed Smalls.”
“Who cares about that perv anyway?”
“I don’t care about Smalls. The world’s a better place without savages like him walking the street.”
“Then what gives?”
“Because whoever did Smalls was the same guy who killed Danny.”
Bobby said nothing, but from the expression on his face Kelly realized his friend was definitely not the killer.
Without a doubt, his lifelong friend knew who killed Danny Rourke.
“Are you going to tell me who the shooter is?”
“You know I can’t do that. You better than most know why.”
Kelly walked over to the atonement cooler Donny had left outside the back door. He pulled two cold beers out from the ice chest and returned. He handed one to Bobby, who immediately placed the cold can on his swollen left eye.
“Tell Conner Walsh I’m coming for him. One by one, I’m going to tear down his crew until I find who I’m looking for.”
“You’re asking for a death sentence.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. This is my neighborhood too. Don’t forget that. Only difference is I bleed blue.”
36
His mother sat across from him. Their knees touched ever so slightly. “I’ve tried to give you every opportunity. You’ve brought the police to our door. All that we have worked toward is vulnerable to exposure.”
