Final Cut

by Colin Campbell

  “I was saving it for supper.”

  Armstrong frowned.

  “Not for breaking into a photo lab where they had a dog?”

  “I didn’t break in.”

  “The window was broken, and the glass picked out.”

  McNulty straightened his back and bones cracked in the quiet.

  “That must be why I heard the dog yelping.”

  “So you climbed into the point of entry and saved the dog.”

  “Just in time it looks like. Poor fella would’ve been cooked otherwise.”

  Armstrong sat back in his chair and pushed the file away.

  “C-S-I will be checking for prints in the morning.”

  McNulty waved a hand. “Good luck with that. You see how much water them fire boys poured in there? Between that and the smoke. Jesus. Fingerprints? Phew.”

  Armstrong played his last card. “The drapes protected the window frame.”

  McNulty trumped it. “I climbed through the window frame.”

  Armstrong gave up. “And jumped back out.”

  McNulty let out a sigh. “Wouldn’t want to do that again.” He ruffled the dog’s head.“Would we boy?”

  Armstrong clutched at straws. “How d’you know it’s a boy?”

  McNulty gave Armstrong an are-you-kidding-me look. “Way it took a leak on the patrol car wheel? Not in doubt.”

  SIXTEEN

  The sun shines on the righteous. It certainly shone on the dog rescuer as he prepared Alfonse Bayard the following morning. Of course, if you run that quote along, it shines on the righteous and the unrighteous alike, so it was also a sunny day for the film thief and the arsonist. McNulty wasn’t thinking about that. He was wondering how to get rid of the dog.

  “Who’s your friend?”

  Alfonse dropped to his haunches and rubbed the dog’s ear. The dog looked at McNulty to see if Alfonse was a friend and when it looked like he was, the dog wagged his tail. McNulty watched the show of affection.

  “Found property.”

  The police had released McNulty without charge around two a.m. The custody sergeant had tried to kennel the dog, but the Yorkshire Terrier growled and hid behind McNulty’s legs. It wasn’t worth arguing over, so the sergeant filled in a disclaimer and got McNulty to sign. If anybody reported the dog missing the police knew where to send them. The dog hadn’t left his side since.

  “What’s his name?”

  McNulty glanced at the terrier’s neck. It wasn’t wearing a collar.

  “I have no idea.”

  Alfonse stood up.

  “You’ve got to call him something.”

  “How about Dog? Like in that John Wayne movie.”

  “Hondo?”

  “Don’t think it had a name in Hondo. No. The later one. Big Jake. He just calls it Dog whenever he sets it on people.”

  Alfonse looked at the scruffy little terrier.

  “I don’t think you’re going to set this one on anybody.”

  “I won’t have to name him then.”

  Alfonse held his hands out and raised his eyebrows.

  “Of course, you will.”

  McNulty let out a sigh.

  “The name Colin means young dog.”

  “You can’t call a dog Colin.”

  McNulty’s shoulders sagged. He puffed his cheeks out.

  “Yorkie, then. You satisfied?”

  Alfonse nodded.

  “Yorkie sounds good.”

  He looked at the Yorkshireman.

  “Maybe we should call you Yorkie, too.”

  McNulty lowered his voice.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

  With the naming ceremony over McNulty turned his attention to the scene ahead—breaking into a house at the end of Howard Court. Titanic Productions had taken over the cul-de-sac, which backed onto the southern tip of Eaton’s Pond. Location services and transport trucks blocked the tree-lined street. The makeup trailer was parked in the driveway of the corner house where Howard Street headed toward the bus route and Quirk Chevrolet. The house where they were filming was a wood paneled bungalow that had a garage extension with rooms above it. The house nestled in the turnaround at the dead end, surrounded by trees that hid the pond. Sunlight was tinted green and red through leaves that were beginning to turn.

  McNulty took Alfonse to one side, away from the hubbub of camera setup and lighting. They stood in the angle of the garage and the main building.

  “Okay. Establishing shot. Walk like we said.”

  Alfonse relaxed himself into character. “Loose. Watching.”

  McNulty nodded. “That’s right. Ready for action. Hoping for peace.”

  Alfonse flexed his shoulders then shook the tension out of his arms. “Not storming in there, fists clenched.”

  “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

  McNulty stepped away from the bungalow so he could see all of the frontage. “Question time.”

  Alfonse stood next to him and looked at the house. “Shoot.”

  McNulty indicated the approach.

  “You’re coming up to the house. What are you looking for?”

  Alfonse stood and scrutinized the front aspect.

  “Signs of activity. Movement. Windows open or curtains twitching.”

  McNulty stepped aside so the actor could focus without distractions.

  “How do you approach?”

  Alfonse moved sideways then pointed ahead.

  “At an angle. So I can see two sides of the house, not just the front.”

  “Which side?”

  Alfonse scanned left to right then stabbed an arm along his route.

  “Right. The left is up against the trees so you wouldn’t have a clean getaway. The right is clear with more windows.”

  McNulty folded his arms.

  “Script says you’re breaking in, looking for evidence. What’s your first move?”

  Alfonse made a fist.

  “Knock on the door.”

  “Why?”

  Alfonse laughed because he hadn’t run through the thought process before. Just read the script. This was putting flesh on the unspoken parts, the motivation for his actions when approaching the bungalow, not simply going through the motions.

  “Because I want to make sure it’s empty before I break in.”

  “And what are you thinking when you knock on the door?”

  Alfonse took a deep breath. This was all making sense now. This was thinking like a cop, even though it wouldn’t be mentioned in the script.

  “A cop walks up to a door; he doesn’t know what’s on the other side.”

  McNulty applauded.

  “Well done. Passed with flying colors.”

  Alfonse was pleased with himself. He was getting into this walking-like-a-cop thing. Thinking like a cop. Even if it wasn’t obvious in the script, it would inform the character and give depth to his performance. He looked as if he wanted to hug McNulty. McNulty held up a hand to stop him.

  “Forget the script. Where would you force entry?”

  A frown creased Alfonse’s brow. He focused on the house again, scanning the front, first standing to McNulty’s left and then to his right. He discounted the front door, then looked at the windows above the garage and the side door in the angle of the extension. He smiled.

  “Side door. It’s hidden from the street and I can get a good run at kicking it in.”

  McNulty shrugged.

  “Boot or shoulder?”

  “Boot. Don’t want to dislocate my shoulder.”

  “Not bad.”

  McNulty walked toward the side door. It was indeed hidden from the road and there was plenty of room for a running start. The ground was level and firm, but the door was new. Part of the remodeling when the extension was added. The frame was solid, the beading metal. He looked at the vanity window next to the door and smiled at a private thought.

  “But
don’t complicate things.” He made a point with his elbow and feigned jabbing it at the glass. “Go for the weakest link. When it comes to burgling. Break a window.”

  Exterior filming took most of the morning. Larry Unger was away securing more financing, so the producer didn’t hold things up with any of his walk-like-a-duck suggestions. Amy touched up Alfonse’s makeup between takes. McNulty kept out of her way. He felt guilty about Helen Kozora, mainly because he really liked Amy. So did the dog. The only time it left McNulty’s side was to run around the makeup lady wagging its tail.

  “You found a new friend?”

  McNulty couldn’t avoid her any longer. When the shooting changed to interiors, he stood with Amy near the barbecue pit. He repeated his stock answer: “Found property.”

  Amy had the same concerns as Alfonse.

  “Have you given him a name yet?”

  McNulty looked down at Yorkie.

  “He’s not mine to name. Taking him back later.”

  Amy knelt down and stroked the dog.

  “Yorkshire Terrier, isn’t it?”

  McNulty raised his eyebrows.

  “You know about breeds, do you?”

  She stood up.

  “I know about Yorkshire dogs.”

  McNulty fought back a blush. He wondered if Amy knew about his visit with the boat owner. Probably not. Having to worry about it didn’t help the Catholic levels of guilt he was feeling. He knew it wasn’t just to do with Amy. He wasn’t dating her. They weren’t married. He could sleep with whomever he wanted. The guilt went further back than that. It was symptomatic of his greater guilt. Northern X, the massages and the underage girls. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t escape that. He snapped his fingers and Yorkie sat at McNulty’s feet. Amy was impressed.

  “Is canine rescue something else you sold Larry with?”

  “If I did, I sold myself cheap.”

  Amy held her hands out to the side. “Ah. That’s what running away to join the circus is all about. Sell yourself cheap and enjoy the company.”

  McNulty liked the circus analogy, he’d used it many times himself, but wasn’t ready to acknowledge it with Amy. “Who said I’m running away?”

  Amy turned steady eyes on him.

  “We’re all running from something. That’s what the circus is.”

  She indicated the dog wagging its tail.

  “Or maybe Yorkies just like makeup.”

  McNulty got his groove back.

  “Not this one.”

  Amy let out a sigh. “Don’t get too close to me then.” She lowered her voice. “It might rub off.”

  They looked at each other for a moment but neither spoke. It was as close as they’d ever come to expressing their feelings for each other. McNulty felt like he was treading on dangerous ground. The heart. The sun had moved across the sky and glinted off the lake beyond the trees. The leaves rustled in the breeze.

  The side door opened and Alfonse came out while they set up reverse angles inside. The moment passed. Amy touched-up the actor’s makeup and the Yorkshire Terrier followed McNulty to his car. Alfonse didn’t need him this afternoon and there was somewhere McNulty needed to go.

  SEVENTEEN

  The somewhere he needed to go was Bridgewater Photo Lab. The concrete building was as dull and grey as it had always been. The blue sign above the front door was just as faded. The door was open to let some air in but a notice on the door handle read, CLOSED. The only visible damage was a smudged black smoke stain above the boarded window. The only other evidence of the fire was the charred remains the fire department had dumped outside the roller-shutter door when they’d cleared the debris last night. The staff door was open to promote a through draft.

  McNulty parked in a slanted bay outside Dunkin’ Donuts but didn’t go in. He wasn’t in the mood for a Technicolor latte today. Yorkie jumped out of the car with him and circled his legs, looking up to see what McNulty was going to do. What he was going to do was confront the staff at the photo lab. He stood next to the car with his hands on his hips and sniffed the air. It still smelled like smoked bacon.

  Across the parking lot a delivery-truck driver unloaded bathroom fittings at The Home Depot. It seemed like there were more deliveries than sales at the home improvement warehouse. Several cars were scattered around the entrance. Nobody was parked near Bridgewater Photo Lab. McNulty glanced over at the railroad tracks, half expecting a train to pull into Quincy Adams Station, but the track was empty. The sun was warm on his back despite the first nip of autumn.

  “You ready for this?”

  He looked down at the Yorkshire Terrier and shook his head. “I’m talking to a dog.”

  He crouched beside the terrier and stroked its head. There were no more words. The dog wouldn’t understand them anyway. McNulty stood up and walked to the front door. Yorkie sat down, refusing to follow. McNulty paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. The dog was shivering. McNulty sighed. He couldn’t believe he was feeling guilty about the dog now. What was he, a lapsed Catholic? He straightened his shoulders, ignored the dog and went inside.

  “We’re closed.”

  The smiling woman wasn’t smiling today. McNulty jerked a thumb at the sign hanging on the door handle.

  “I noticed.”

  The woman stopped mopping the floor and leaned on the handle.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Survivor guilt.”

  “Nobody died.”

  McNulty glanced at the darkroom door.

  “Lucky you.”

  The fire hadn’t spread into the reception area but the counter and display stands were dull and stained. The ceiling was darker than normal. One of the office windows had cracked in the heat and the paintjob showed a demarcation line where the smoke had filled the upper half of the room but not the lower. That was always the way with fires. McNulty remembered being taught to find the lowest spot during a fire to avoid smoke inhalation. The stain looked like a tidemark in reverse.

  “Must have ruined a lot of holiday photos though.”

  The woman stood the mop against the counter and folded her arms.

  “We’ll be closed for weeks.”

  McNulty nodded toward the darkrooms.

  “And their home movies.”

  The woman wouldn’t be drawn. “Which means we can’t help you today.”

  McNulty looked her in the eye. “With my thirty-five-millimeter film?”

  She stared back at him.

  “We don’t process thirty-five-millimeter movies.”

  He looked at the blackened hole that used to lead to the darkrooms. The door had been thrown out with the rest of the debris. The chemical tanks were gone. The film spools and editing machine were missing. Half of the workbench had burned through and been cut out. The only thing that had survived was the big red bell on the wall, but the wires had melted and disappeared. Nobody was trying to clean up in there. That was a rebuild-and-decorate job.

  Something brushed against McNulty’s shin and he looked down. Yorkie had come in and was hiding behind his legs. He was still shivering but appeared more comfortable with McNulty. The dog reminded him of his next question, so McNulty looked back at the woman.

  “Is the technician in today?”

  The woman’s face went blank. “Technician?”

  McNulty tugged at his sleeve for effect. “Thin guy in a lab coat. Hooked nose.”

  He gestured with his head to indicate the darkroom area. “Works back there.”

  The woman tried to be noncommittal.

  “Nobody’s working back there today.”

  McNulty persevered.

  “But is he here?”

  The woman picked up the mop to strengthen her answer.

  “The technicians are not here. It’s just the sales staff cleaning up.”

  McNulty softened his tone.

  “That hardly seems fair.”

  The
woman responded to it.

  “It’s a business. Since when did fair come into it?”

  McNulty nodded.

  “I bet they get paid more as well.”

  The woman stitched on a fake smile.

  “And they don’t have to be nice to the customers.”

  McNulty’s smile put a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

  “Nice? When was that going to start?”

  The woman jammed the mop into the bucket so hard that water splashed onto McNulty’s shoes. The dog yelped. McNulty got back on track.

  “When will he be back? The lab-coat guy.”

  The woman stood firm.

  “Not in the foreseeable future.”

  This wasn’t going anywhere. McNulty tried one last time.

  “Do you know where I can find him?”

  “Why?”

  McNulty pointed at the Yorkshire Terrier at his feet.

  “I brought his dog back.”

  Yorkie whimpered and hid behind McNulty’s legs again. The woman looked down at the dog then back at McNulty. The smug expression on her face told him he wasn’t going to win. Her smile was thin and humorless.

  “He doesn’t own a dog.”

  EIGHTEEN

  The knock on McNulty’s door made the dog jump. Blacks Creek Motel had a no-pets policy but since Titanic Productions was paying for half of the motel, McNulty doubted they’d kick up a fuss. He didn’t tell the reception clerk anyway, just in case, so the knock on the door late in the evening was unlikely to be good news.

  It was dark outside. The sky retained a hint of blue, but the balcony lights were on. Passing traffic on Quincy Shore Drive had its headlights on, and ships out to sea twinkled on the horizon. Yorkie backed against the wall on his makeshift bed and his water bowl quivered.

  The knock sounded again. McNulty pulled the curtain to one side and looked through the window. Larry Unger stood at the door. McNulty let him in.

  “You got arrested?”

  Larry wasn’t interested in bottled water from the refrigerator so McNulty made two cups of Lipton’s English Breakfast Tea. Hot and sweet. Milk and two sugars. The producer wasn’t impressed with the tea, either.