Dark Harbor

by David Hosp

  “You knew her,” Townsend said simply. “She’s the one the police were asking me about.”

  “I need to know,” Finn nodded.

  “Were you married?” Townsend asked. From looking at Finn he knew the answer before it was given. “No, not married, but lovers. Sinners together.” He raised his eyebrow. “The serpent of temptation claims another victim, right, Mr. Finn?”

  Finn remained silent, and Townsend laughed. “You came here to escape, didn’t you?”

  “I need to know what happened,” Finn pressed. “Did you kill her?”

  Townsend shook his head. “That would be too easy for you, wouldn’t it? For some answers you need to look inside yourself.” He picked up the picture and examined it closely. Then he looked at Finn, searching his eyes. The intensity of the look made Finn uncomfortable. “She was beautiful, and you loved her, but she wasn’t yours,” Townsend said at last.

  “Bullshit!” Finn said, recoiling.

  Townsend laughed again. “I’m sorry for you, Mr. Finn. Seven is the number God wanted, and seven is the number I gave him. Those seven did not include her. Search your own heart, and you’ll find the answers if you want to.” Townsend was smiling as he signaled the guard through the Plexiglas to open the door and let him out.

  As he stood up from the table and began shuffling toward the door in his leg irons, he turned and looked at Finn. “As for this whore you mourn. I have no sympathy for her. God has shown us the way, if we would only choose to follow it. She was the filth that corrupted the beauty preordained by God. Her punishment in the corporeal world is but a fleeting taste of the torment she’ll rightly suffer in the hereafter. She will be consumed by fire, for mighty is the Lord who judges her!”

  Finn leapt out of his chair and grabbed him by the collar, throwing him against the wall. “You did it, didn’t you! You bastard!” he screamed in his face.

  Townsend shook his head. “I can’t help you,” he gasped.

  “You’re lying! Tell me what I need to know!” Finn lifted the little man off the floor and he could feel his fingers digging into Townsend’s throat, but the only reaction he drew was a knowing, satisfied smile. It felt so good, like the days of his youth on the streets of Charlestown, letting loose his anger against a world that had cheated him so badly. The fact that Townsend didn’t struggle made Finn even angrier, and he watched the smaller man’s face turn bright red. The smug, superior grin hung on Townsend’s lips as they began to turn blue, like a statement of secret victory as his life began to ebb away. At least, Finn thought, I will be the one to wipe that smile off his face.

  “What the hell is going on here!” Finn heard someone shout from behind him. It was the guard. A few more seconds and it would be over. He could hold on that long, couldn’t he?

  But he knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t a street thug anymore, and he couldn’t go back to that. He pushed Townsend to the side as he released his throat, sending him sprawling into the corner, coughing and hacking and grasping his neck.

  The guard watched the scene with malevolent amusement as Townsend fought to get air back into his lungs. Then he looked at Finn. “Are you all right? Do you want me to report any misbehavior?”

  Finn shook his head.

  The guard looked at Townsend. “What about you, scumbag? You wanna make any trouble for me?”

  Townsend was hunched over on the floor in the corner of the room, still gasping for air. “No sir,” he sputtered finally. “I was just considering Mr. Finn’s kind offer to represent me as my attorney.” The guard turned and looked at Finn quizzically, a new contempt for him evident on his face.

  “Thank you, Mr. Finn,” Townsend continued. “But I think I’m satisfied with my current representation.” Then he started toward the door, dragging his chains behind him. When he got there, he turned around. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, but I’m not in a position to help.”

  Finn watched him go, helpless. Wordlessly, he followed another guard out of the room, back down the corridor, and out of the prison, signing himself out along the way, and emerging into the cool night air in the parking lot. The breeze that cut across the open fields bordering the prison was the first break in the weather in weeks, and it chilled him in his sweat-soaked suit. He’d gotten his answer from Townsend, though it wasn’t the one he was looking for. The bizarre little monster hadn’t killed Natalie. Finn was sure now, and that knowledge was a dangerous thing, for it strengthened his resolve to find out who had killed her. As he climbed back into his car and pulled out onto Route 2, heading back to Boston, he worried about what he might uncover.

  Chapter Forty-one

  “OBJECTION!” BARNOLK SHOUTED. “Not even you can think this line of questioning has anything to do with this case!” The deposition had already taken over two hours, and everyone’s nerves were beginning to fray.

  Finn looked down at the copies of the credit card receipts that he’d just laid in front of Amy Tannery. Then he looked back up with a practiced expression of bewilderment. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “This line of questioning is highly relevant.”

  “What do some five-year-old hotel bills have to do with this case?” Barnolk was beside himself with rage.

  “First of all, Mr. Barnolk, they’re not hotel bills, they’re motel bills. Second, you were the one who included a loss of consortium claim in Mrs. Tannery’s complaint. As a result, you’ve asserted that Mrs. Tannery is entitled to cash damages based on her being deprived of her normal physical relationship with her husband. To define a measure of damages under that claim, we have to inquire as to the nature of that physical relationship.” Finn’s explanation offered a calm counterpoint to Barnolk’s apoplexy.

  “This is outrageous!” Barnolk exploded.

  “No, that’s fine, Fred,” Mrs. Tannery interrupted. “He can ask his questions.”

  “But we haven’t prepared for—”

  “I hadn’t prepared for anything that’s happened in the last year. In comparison to what I’ve already been through, Mr. Finn’s questions are a minor inconvenience.” She looked directly at Finn. “Go ahead, lead us down whatever sleazy path you choose.”

  Finn was impressed with Amy Tannery. She played the role of victim with strength and dignity, but not so much so that it would obscure for the jury the depth of her pain and the genuineness of her grief. She was beautiful in an understated way—no makeup on her pale skin, and light brown hair that was neatly brushed, not styled. She wore no jewelry except a smallish engagement stone protected by a plain platinum wedding band. She’d make an excellent witness and would probably have a devastating impact on a jury if she ever took the stand. Finn felt even more pressure to convince her it would be better to settle her claims.

  He fingered the motel receipts. “Have you ever seen these before, Mrs. Tannery?” he asked.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “But you recognize the imprint from your husband’s credit card?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “So it’s fair to say that for a three-week period in 2001, your husband was renting a motel room at various times of the day on a fairly regular basis, isn’t that right?” Finn asked. He was starting to feel dirty again, but he needed to know how far she could be pushed before she’d crack. She’d already kept her composure for longer than most.

  “Assuming these receipts are accurate, then yes, that appears to be the case,” she responded, her eyes never leaving Finn’s.

  “Do you know why?”

  “No, I don’t.” Finn couldn’t look away from her eyes. They were large, brown, and unflinching. They didn’t even contain the hatred and anger Finn was so used to seeing in the eyes of the people he ripped apart during depositions. There was nothing there but simple dignity, a kind of regal acceptance.

  “Did he meet you at this motel?” he asked.

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Did he meet anyone else?”

  “As I sai
d, I don’t know.”

  “So it’s possible he was meeting someone else, isn’t that right?” Finn was laying the groundwork, and it would be hard for her to fight the conclusion.

  “Yes, it’s possible.”

  “Is it also possible he was having an affair, Mrs. Tannery?”

  The question made her flinch ever so slightly, but she didn’t back away from it. “I suppose anything is possible, Mr. Finn. This entire year has been a lesson in the cruelties human beings are capable of.”

  It was a fine retort, and it made Finn blanch. “Do you know if he was having an affair?” he pushed. It was his job, he told himself.

  “No, I don’t. I only know that we were having problems at the time, the way all married couples have problems. We both worked very hard to get through those problems, and we succeeded. If there were any indiscretions on his part, I didn’t know about them.”

  “I hope you’ll pardon me for asking this, Mrs. Tannery, but you don’t seem distressed at the prospect your husband may have been having an affair. Why is that?”

  “I’ll pardon you for nothing, Mr. Finn—that’s not my job— but I’ll answer your questions. You see, I came in here today fully expecting you to do everything you could to tear apart the memory of my husband. But I will not let that happen. I can’t let that happen. I have a little girl who is only a year old, and all she has in this world is me, so I can’t let this thing destroy me. All she’ll ever have of her father are the memories I can share, so I can’t let this destroy those, either. My husband wasn’t a perfect man, but he was a good man—much better than you would have me believe. I suppose, if you dig deep enough, you’ll find a hint of dirt on anyone. But no matter how much mud you throw at me and the memory of my husband, you’ll never be able to take away my love for him. I won’t let you.” The last sentence came out with such quiet resolve that it moved even Finn. In all his years of wading through the cesspools of petty human emotion that so often collected during the course of civil litigation, he’d never come across someone with the strength of this widow sitting across the table. For the first time in his career, he felt a kind of self-loathing.

  “Why didn’t you accept the federal settlement in this case?” he asked impulsively.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I mean that, according to our calculations, you would have received over two and a half million dollars under the federal settlement. All of that would have been tax-free. Now, with attorneys’ fees and the cost of this litigation, not to mention the taxes on any noncompensatory portion of a possible monetary award, you need to have the jury award you more than five million dollars just to break even. It just seems like a huge risk. So I’m wondering why you didn’t settle?”

  Mrs. Tannery leaned back in her chair. “Do you know how long the federal investigation into what happened last year lasted, Mr. Finn?” Finn shook his head. “Seventeen days. Seventeen days was all the time that anyone felt was necessary. It’s like people didn’t even want to know what happened. Well, I want to know what happened.”

  “But even if you win this lawsuit, there’s no reason to think that there’ll be any further investigation,” Finn pointed out.

  Amy Tannery smiled sadly. “Have you ever truly loved someone, Mr. Finn? Ever had a soul mate?” Finn said nothing. “I suppose it’s an unfair question,” she said, shrugging. “It assumes you have a soul in the first place.” She paused to let her barb sink in. “If you’d ever had a soul mate, though, and that person were to be ripped away from you without any rational explanation, you’d understand why I’m doing this. I need to know the answers. And as long as the questions remain, I can’t let it drop.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, seeing in each other an understanding that went beyond the confines of their roles in the lawsuit. Finn knew why she was pursuing the case, and she could see in his face that he understood. He felt even more uncomfortable putting her through the hard questioning required by his job. He wondered if she comprehended that he had no choice, but then realized it didn’t matter. What mattered was whether he understood.

  “Are you done?” Barnolk asked, interrupting the silence between them.

  Finn kept looking at Amy Tannery, the widow of a good man, making her way in a world that had broken its promises to her; a woman who was raising her infant daughter alone, without anyone to share the joys of her child’s first step and each new word. He admired her. More than that, he realized, he cared for her in an odd way, which made what he was about to do even harder.

  He turned and looked at Barnolk. “No, I have another hour or two of questions,” he said.

  Chapter Forty-two

  RICH LORING, THE UNITED STATES ATTORNEY for the Federal District of Massachusetts, was sitting at his desk when Flaherty walked into his office. It was a big mahogany piece with a leather top that oozed power and importance. The entire room did, paneled as it was in dark wood and papered in dark green. The thick, cream-colored carpet absorbed sound and gave the room a confidential feel. The windows looked out across the water from the new Federal Courthouse in Southie toward the taller buildings of downtown Boston. The courthouse had been completed in 1998, at the apex of an economy that seemed limitless, and the optimism of the time was reflected in the plush appointments afforded.

  It was late afternoon on a Thursday, and it looked like Loring was getting ready to leave early for a long weekend—one of the perks of being the boss, Flaherty supposed. A small overnight bag rested by the side of his desk with a tennis racquet leaning up against it.

  “A long weekend away with the family, I presume?” Flaherty asked, startling him. He looked up with the expression of a little boy caught in the act of some disobedience.

  “How did you get in here?” he demanded.

  “Sorry, there’s no one out at your secretary’s desk, and the door was open, so I thought I’d just poke my head in.”

  He was clearly annoyed. “Alice!” he called toward the open door, out to the empty vestibule where his secretary’s desk was located. There was no answer. “Alice!” he called again, with similar results.

  “She’s not there, trust me,” Flaherty assured.

  Loring grumbled, “I’d fire her if they’d let me.” Then he shrugged. “Try taking a job away from a civil servant with sixteen years seniority. It’s easier to separate a pit bull from a big, meaty bone.”

  “Aw, the trials of being a political appointee in a bureaucratic world.”

  Loring actually smiled at that. “It’s the truth.” Then he turned serious. “Look, if Alice had been here, I would have had her tell you that I’m leaving soon and that you need to make an appointment for next week. I have to get out of here for a legal conference. Will you call her to set something up?”

  “That’s all right, I only need a minute or two. I can even walk you out while we talk.”

  Loring shook his head nervously. “That won’t work, but I might be able to give you a quick minute—just a minute.” He walked over and closed the door, glancing outside the office as he did, then returned to his desk.

  “That’s fine,” said Flaherty. She sat in one of the upholstered chairs opposite him.

  “I suppose congratulations are in order,” Loring said grudgingly, leaning forward in his high-backed executive leather chair. “Catching Little Jack is a pretty big feather in your cap.”

  “We’re happy we found him. Most of the credit goes to Kozlowski’s and Officer Stone’s intuition, but we’re definitely pleased.”

  “That’s odd. I haven’t heard the media mention Kozlowski or Stone when they interview you. It must be an oversight,” he said with a wry smile.

  “Actually, I’ve mentioned them in every interview I’ve given,” Flaherty retorted testily. “Sometimes they edit it out, but I keep trying.”

  “They must think it makes a better story with a woman as the hero,” Loring said, again letting his sarcasm show. He shrugged. “In any case, I’m happy you found him
, particularly for Natalie Caldwell’s sake. Hopefully, she’ll rest easier now.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Flaherty said. “How well did you know Natalie Caldwell?”

  “We worked on several cases together in the two years she was at the Justice Department and I was at the FBI,” Loring said. “We got along, but I wouldn’t say we were particularly close.”

  “What cases did you work on together?”

  “A couple of drug investigations,” he offered. “Mainly ones involving the Asian gangs that run drugs up from Providence.”

  “Didn’t she also work with you on the Bulger case?” Flaherty asked. She tried to make it sound offhanded, but it was too pointed a question to escape Loring’s attention.

  “Yes, now that you mention it, we did work on that case together, but I’m not sure how that’s relevant to anything having to do with her death.”

  “Did you and Ms. Caldwell see each other socially?”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Loring barked.

  Flaherty refused to back down. “It means exactly what it says. Did you see her outside of work?”

  “That’s a highly unusual question, Lieutenant, and I’m trying to decide whether to take offense at it. I saw her when some of us went out for drinks after work, but nothing more than that. I’m married, you know.”

  “Yes, I know,” Flaherty replied. “Other than that, you’ve never seen her socially? Not even since she left the Justice Department?”

  “I don’t think I like your tone, Detective,” Loring said. “What’s this about, anyway?”

  “There are just a few discrepancies involving the Caldwell murder that we’re trying to clear up.”

  Loring took a deep breath and brought his fingers together temple-style in front of his face, as if in deep contemplation. After a moment he said, “In that case, I think I am offended. I don’t appreciate your coming in here with baseless inquiries about my relationship with a murdered woman, particularly since it appears you’re simply looking for additional headlines in the media circus you’ve already created.”