Innocence

by David Hosp

  “I think so, but it must have been superficial. It didn’t slow him down at all.”

  The sirens turned rapidly from a distant drone to an overpowering scream as two police cars pulled up at the mouth of the alley. The blue and red lights flickered off the wet bricks and sparkled against the tiny flakes that still drifted from the sky. The scene reminded Finn of the carnival he used to visit every summer in Revere: wild and exhilarating and enthralling but somehow also dangerous and strangely perverted.

  “They’re gonna have a lot of questions,” Finn said, nodding at the squad cars.

  “Good thing you’ve got a lot of answers,” Miguel said.

  “I don’t know that they’re gonna like the answers I’ve got. It’s not like your brother’s very popular with the police. And it seems I’ve become public enemy number one since I started working on his case.”

  Miguel smiled again. “You know one of the things I love about this country? Even the corrupt pretend to be fair and impartial when they have to be. In El Salvador, the police would just stand around and let you bleed to death.” He looked up at the officers as they exited their cars and started into the alley. “They may not like you, but they’ll help you. At least for the moment. Worry about tomorrow when the sun comes up. For the time being, let’s just get you through the night.”

  Finn fought to keep his eyes open. Against every rational impulse, he felt reassured. As he looked up, the similarities between Miguel Salazar and his brother struck Finn again. Only age and circumstance seemed to separate the two siblings. They were probably fewer than ten years apart in age, but it seemed like twenty. Maybe more. Prison ages a man beyond his years, Finn reflected. Scenes from his own misspent youth flashed through his head briefly, and he suddenly realized how lucky he was.

  He leaned up on his elbow and dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. He didn’t need to check who had called him; he knew already. He’d known the moment the phone rang, startling the man who’d tried to kill him, probably saving his life. He pressed two buttons to dial.

  “Who are you calling?” Salazar asked.

  Finn gave him a thin, weary smile as he held the phone to his ear. Through chattering teeth, he said simply, “My friends.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Finn sat on the bed in the emergency room at Massachusetts General Hospital, watching with interest as Miguel Salazar dressed the wound on his arm. He was intrigued by his client’s brother, this young man who had shattered the odds and crawled from poverty to become a respected physician. The first time he’d met the younger Salazar, he’d been impressed but not overwhelmed. It had been clear that the staff at the free clinic in East Boston revered him, but that had meant little to Finn. Those who worked there were crusaders, and crusaders always craved a messiah.

  But over the course of the past few hours, Finn had seen Miguel in action, and it was clear that he was built from more than convenient platitudes. When the police had arrived on the scene in the alley, Miguel had taken control, delivering orders as though he were in charge. The police had sought to question Finn at length, but Miguel had intervened, asserting his medical authority, and demanded that Finn be given immediate medical attention at the hospital. The officers had objected, but Miguel told them that if they interfered with Finn’s medical treatment, he would ensure they would face disciplinary charges and be held personally liable for the detrimental effects of any delay. That had ended the debate, which was fine with Finn; one of the cops on the scene had already made clear that he was aware of Finn’s connection to the case involving Madeline Steele and his attempts to get her attacker released. Finn could tell already that the police were lacking zeal in their determination to find his assailant.

  When they loaded Finn into the ambulance, Miguel had climbed in behind him. “Mass General,” he ordered.

  “City Hospital’s closer,” the driver objected.

  “Mass General,” Miguel had repeated in a tone that defied argument. The driver shook his head but pulled out onto the street in the direction of Beacon Hill, where Mass General was located. Miguel leaned over and whispered to Finn, “It will be easier for me to make sure you get the proper attention at my hospital.”

  Through it all, Miguel had never needed to raise his voice. He’d spoken clearly, calmly, and with an authority that came from someplace deep within him where diplomas had no influence.

  “Thank you,” Finn said as Miguel wrapped a tight sterile bandage around his arm and taped it down securely.

  “No need.” Miguel waved off Finn’s gratitude. “You are helping my brother, and by doing so, you’ve placed yourself in danger. It is my family that owes you.”

  “How did you know I would be in Roxbury?”

  Miguel said, “I didn’t. I was following you. I requested time off from work here at the hospital, and I’ve been following you as much as possible for the past few days.”

  Finn whistled. “Pretty crappy way to spend your vacation time.”

  “It’s not an issue, Mr. Finn. I haven’t taken a day off in three years. I thought the chief surgeon was going to have a coronary when I put in the request. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m dying.”

  Finn wasn’t sure how to ask the next question. “And the gun?”

  Miguel looked up from applying the tape to Finn’s arm. “The gun?”

  “The gun,” Finn replied. “The one you used to save me. It didn’t look like standard hospital issue.”

  Miguel shrugged. “I work in a free clinic in a very rough neighborhood, and I’m often carrying drugs.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Prescription drugs, Mr. Finn. They are very much in demand on the streets these days. We’ve had doctors assaulted a number of times for them. A year ago I got a permit to carry some protection.”

  “What would Hippocrates say?” Finn asked.

  Miguel gave an embarrassed smile. “I don’t think he intended the physician’s oath to bar doctors from practicing reasonable self-defense. Besides, I have a family to think about. If something were to happen to me, I’m not sure what my mother and niece would do. They’ve been through enough already.”

  “I’m not in a position to complain at the moment. In fact, I’m sorry the police took it from you.”

  “It makes sense,” Salazar said with an air of resignation. “It appears that I shot a man this evening. They have to carry out their investigation.”

  Finn scoffed. “Don’t count on it. They already know who I am. Once they discover that you’re Vincente’s brother, I’m guessing the investigation will last all of around five minutes.”

  “I’m surprised you’re so bitter,” Salazar said.

  “I’m surprised you’re not,” Finn replied.

  The doctor held up Finn’s arm, admiring his own handiwork. “You have to be careful with this for several weeks,” he said. “It took more than sixty stitches to pull the tissue back together. You were very fortunate that the muscles weren’t severed; that would have required surgery. Still, it will be very painful for a while, particularly once the local wears off. I’ll prescribe some painkillers.”

  Finn stood up. “Thanks, Doc. That’ll save me a trip to my local dealer.” He winked at Miguel. Then he took a step toward the door, wobbled, and caught himself on the bed. Miguel took his arm and guided him back so that he was sitting again.

  “You’re not going anywhere yet, Mr. Finn,” he said. “You lost a lot of blood. We’re going to set you up with some fluids and an IV antibiotic drip to make sure there’s no infection. You’ll be here for a few more hours.” He looked at the clock on the wall. “Given how late it is already, I’m going to admit you. It will be easier that way.”

  “No can do,” Finn replied. “I’ve got an important case I’m working on, as you well know. I can’t lose the time.”

  “You can’t help my brother if you collapse. Your friends are outside; I’ll send them in. But you are going to have to stay here through the night.”


  Finn wanted to argue, but all at once he felt too tired to think. He sat back on the bed. There was something to be said for getting a little rest, he supposed. Then he could start out fresh in the morning—the first thing he needed to find out was what Steele had been investigating in Roxbury on the night she was shot.

  Finn looked at Miguel, who was making some notes on Finn’s medical chart, looking at his watch, and then writing some more. It was starting to sink in that, were it not for this young doctor, Finn would in all likelihood be dead.

  Miguel hung the clipboard with Finn’s medical charts on the wall. “I’ll be back,” he assured his patient.

  As the younger man walked to the door, Finn called out to him. “Hey, Doc?”

  Miguel turned around.

  “Thanks. Seriously.”

  Miguel shook his head. “Thank my brother when you see him.”

  z

  Jimmy Alvarez sat against a brick wall in the shadows of the main temple of the Church of Christ, Scientist on Huntington Avenue. The Mother Church, as it was known in Boston, was a palatial domed structure on several acres, fronted by an endless reflecting pool. The church was built in 1894 to celebrate the philosophy of Mary Baker Eddy, who stressed the connection between the mind, the spirit, and the body. Central to the tenets of the religion was the belief in the ability of people to heal themselves through faith and prayer. Jimmy felt his shoulder and was doubtful that faith alone would mend the gunshot wound that throbbed excruciatingly.

  The pool was dry for the winter, but the storm had picked up, and it was already half filled with powdery white snow. As Jimmy looked out on it, he longed for the warm winters of his Mexican border town and wondered how it was that he had found his way to this godforsaken urban tundra.

  He pulled off his jacket, shivering as he looked down at his shoulder. The wound was still oozing, though the flow had eased, at least. He craned his neck to get a better view and saw clearly both the entry and exit wounds, which made him feel better. He could be reasonably sure that the bullet had not lodged within the flesh, and as he probed the wound with his fingers, it seemed the bullet had passed cleanly through the muscle without damaging any of the bones or joints. That was fortunate. While the pain was excruciating, he still had the full use of his arm—for now.

  He couldn’t go to a hospital, he knew. A gunshot wound would raise all sorts of questions, and he didn’t have any good answers. Nor could he seek help from his associates in VDS. He had failed miserably in his assignment, and until he had corrected the mistake, he was a liability to them. He had seen how the Padre dealt with liabilities. His options were limited.

  He picked up a handful of snow and spread it on the wound, hoping to stem the bleeding even further, fighting off the scream that the agony tried to force from his lungs. But the cold seemed to deaden the pain, and he relaxed a little, with his back to the bricks.

  He thought through his predicament carefully. He was tempted to ditch town altogether—pack it in and head back south. It wouldn’t work, though. The only home he’d ever known was two thousand miles away, and even if he made it back, Carlos’s people would find him there. It might buy him a few weeks, but no more, and the terror of what they would do when they did catch up with him was too grotesque to consider.

  On the other hand, setting things right in Boston would be no easy task. The lawyer would be on guard, and it would be difficult to get to him. More important, even if he had another chance, Jimmy recognized now that he didn’t have the mental strength to kill. He’d known that it would be difficult, but he’d thought he’d be able to do it. He’d ordered people beaten before, and while he’d never been directly involved in a killing, it was commonplace enough in his hometown for him to believe he would be able to cross the line without any significant problem.

  He’d been wrong. Having people roughed up was one thing. That was business, and the lack of permanence in a beating allowed Jimmy to settle into a comfortable rationalization that still permitted him to sleep. As he’d held the blade to the lawyer’s throat, Jimmy had realized that the gulf between ordering a beating and slitting someone’s throat was too wide and deep for him to cross. Irrespective of the potential retribution from Carlos and his henchmen, he knew that he could never look someone in the eyes as he ended a life.

  He had only one option. He’d studied Finn’s patterns enough to identify his weaknesses, and he thought in his heart that perhaps the man didn’t need to die. Perhaps there was another way.

  Jimmy pulled his jacket back over his shoulder and stood up, battling a light head. He had work to do before he could rest. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself, working through exactly what must be done. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was possible, he told himself.

  He looked out one last time upon the reflecting pool, pale blue in the streetlights and covered in drifts. As he pulled his jacket tight around his shoulders and headed out toward the Back Bay, he wondered why anyone would choose to live in a place so cold.

  z

  “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  Kozlowski stood against the whitewashed wall of the hospital room, shaking his head. He felt like a father scolding his teenager, but he couldn’t help himself. Lissa sat in an uncomfortable-looking, semi-recliner by the side of Finn’s bed. Salazar had left the room to check in with the hospital staff.

  “I was thinking I might learn something that could help us,” Finn replied. “I think maybe I did.”

  “I think you almost helped yourself into the fucking morgue.”

  “You’re not listening to me.”

  Kozlowski shook his head. “No, you’re not listening to me. The pictures of Mark Dobson weren’t enough to clue you in? Whoever we’re dealing with is playing for keeps. Not the way Slocum plays for keeps, sending some Irish pituitary case to try to scare you. These people will cut your heart out and feed it to you. Literally. You get that now? You’re a target, and until this goddamned case is in the rearview mirror, you don’t go out on any part of this investigation without me, you understand?”

  Finn sat up straight, almost tearing the IV out of his good arm. “I pay you, not the other way around. I can take care of myself.” The line feeding antibiotics and fluids into his system caught on his neck, and he struggled to free himself.

  “You’re an arrogant idiot,” Kozlowski said, his face flushing. “You can’t even defend yourself against your fucking saline solution, but you want to take on these psychopaths on your own?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “No, fuck you.”

  “No, fuck both of you,” Lissa cut in. “Jesus motherfucking Christ, what is it about testosterone that turns men into kindergarteners?” She looked back and forth between them and then mimicked in baby talk, “‘Fuck you.’ ‘No, fuck you.’ ‘You’re an asshole.’ ‘No, you are.’ You guys going to get into the whole ‘I’m rubber and you’re glue’ discussion next?” She turned to Kozlowski. “You can’t just bully people into following your orders, even if you know you’re right.” Then she looked at Finn. “And you are, in fact, an idiot if you don’t realize that you’re in real danger because of this case. Shit, look around you, Finn. This is a hospital you’re in, not the fucking Four Seasons. From what Salazar’s little brother said, you’re lucky to still have your fucking arm. No, wait, check that. If he hadn’t been keeping an eye on you, you wouldn’t be worried about your arm, you’d be fucking dead. You’re lucky you still have your head, forget about the arm. If you don’t take Koz up on his offer to watch your back through the rest of this, you’re dumber than you look. And trust me, after tonight, that’s hard to fucking believe.”

  Kozlowski fought to suppress a smile. Lissa was a phenomenon. She was smart, and direct, and there wasn’t an ounce of bullshit anywhere in her. She was entirely different from any person he’d ever known. He looked over at Finn and saw that her speech had had an impact. Finn was looking down at his arm with guilt and concession in his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumble
d.

  “Me, too,” Kozlowski offered.

  Lissa looked back and forth between them again. “Good,” she said. For a moment her stare kept its intensity, as if to dare either of them to reopen the debate. Then she let out a breath and seemed to relax. “My work is done here, then.” She stood up. “I’m going home to get some goddamned sleep.” She looked at Kozlowski. “I take it you’re staying here, after all your bitching about keeping an eye on him?”

  Kozlowski looked at Finn. “It makes sense.”

  “Fine,” Finn agreed, not meeting Kozlowski’s eyes.

  “Fine?” Lissa’s voice was sharp and accusing.

  Finn’s eyes drilled through the floor. “I mean thank you.”

  “Very nice,” she praised him. “Was that so fucking hard? See, all you assholes needed was the softness of a woman’s touch.” She leaned forward and kissed Finn on the forehead. “I’ll see you at the office in the morning.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I need to talk to you for just a second,” she said to Kozlowski as she passed him on the way out the door. He followed her out and she walked a short distance down the hallway and around the corner before she stopped, still facing away from him.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She spun and, in one fluid motion, put her arms around his neck, pulling his head down and kissing him. It was a fierce, passionate kiss, her fingers running through the hair on the back of his head, her tongue slipping into his mouth, probing, her body pressed against his. He was aware of people staring as they passed by the pair locked in public intimacy, and at first he felt self-conscious. After a moment, though, the rest of the world faded away, and the thought of their public display aroused him. There was little question that she could feel his body respond.

  She laughed through the kiss and pulled away from him. “My, my,” she said. “What a nice reaction. I’m flattered.” She pulled his head down again and kissed him gently on the lips. “Right now you have other things to concentrate on.” She nodded in the direction of Finn’s room. “You need to keep an eye on him.”