I said to Bill, “Because I caught him. I got him killed."
"Do you know them?” Bill asked the gendarme. “The drug dealers?"
Eugene just shrugged that Gallic shrug.
Robert, who'd showed up from someplace, told me, “Maybe they'll catch them. Maybe they won't. That's the way it is with the cocaine."
Bill narrowed his eyes at him. “Do you know the drug dealers, Robert?"
"Who, me? No, mais non. I may have my faults, Bill, but I'm not stupid, not Robert."
"Let's go home,” my husband took my arm to lead me away. “Don't blame yourself."
"I may have my faults, Bill, but I'm not stupid. Tomorrow night—” I slid my arm around his waist. “—I'm going to see the green flash if it kills me."
Robert heard me. “They say when you see the green flash it means the end."
"The end? The end of what?"
"Whatever.” Robert nodded knowingly.
"It's over, huh? Okay. It's over. Good night, Robert. Incidentally, you haven't paid your share of the money we paid for the blank T-shirts even though you got your shirts. To sell. You owe us one twenty-nine ninety. Maybe tomorrow?” One of the tales Lucillia told was that Robert was a French con man, which, of course, wasn't true. Robert was Monacan.
Copyright (c) 2007 DeLoris Stanton Forbes
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SOLUTION TO THE MYSTERIOUS CIPHER
You live up here, and it doesn't take long to understand why crime rates drop like a stone come November. Winter takes the place of crime...
—Eve Fisher
From “Drifts,” AHMM, Jan./Feb. 2006.
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REEL CRIME by Steve Hockensmith
Long before it was finished, Dennis Lehane had a good feeling about the new adaptation of his novel Gone, Baby, Gone ... because of the movie's feel-bad ending.
A couple years back, Lehane read the first draft of the script (by actor Ben Affleck and writing partner Aaron Stockard) and was pleased to see it didn't sugarcoat his original downer denouement.
* * * *
Dennis Lehane. Photo by Terri Unger.
* * * *
"I remember thinking, ‘Wow. No matter how this turns out, hats off,'” Lehane says. “They kept the point, and that was a really ballsy thing to do. That probably cost them thirty million viewers."
Avoiding a clichéd Hollywood ending was especially important to Lehane because it's something he barely managed to do himself. The novel (the fourth in the popular Kenzie/Gennaro private eye series) sets Lehane's heroes on the trail of a missing girl. The case leads to a showdown with a truly horrifying crew of child molesters—and the realization that some problems are too big for a couple gumshoes, or perhaps anyone, to solve.
"I told myself, ‘I've gotta make sure this has a bright ending,'” recalls Lehane (who had a job working with abused kids before he hit it big as a writer). “And I just blocked. I couldn't write. Because it was (baloney). And then directly across the river from where I lived, a little boy was kidnapped. I knew in my heart that he was dead. And they found his body three days later. When I heard that, I dropped the hammer on the book. I said, ‘There is no happy ending. That's a lie.’ I finished the book in a mad dash of pure anger."
The result: what Lehane calls “the most depressing book I ever wrote.” Which is really saying something, as his novels (including the acclaimed mystery/tragedy Mystic River) are hardly laugh-a-minute fluff. So it's a bit surprising that Gone, Baby, Gone would be the first of the Kenzie/Gennaro books to make it to the screen. Why start there?
"He just really loved the book” is the only explanation Lehane can offer. “He” being Affleck, who not only coscripted the adaptation but made it his directorial debut as well. Like Lehane, Affleck grew up in the Boston area, and the novel's Beantown flavor no doubt appealed to the fledgling filmmaker.
"It's the most authentically Boston film since (1973 cult fave) The Friends of Eddie Coyle,” says Lehane. “It feels on every level like this is made by somebody who understands the ethos of the Boston character."
* * * *
Casey Affleck. (c) Miramax Film Corp.
* * * *
But Affleck didn't just make a great Boston movie. According to Lehane, it's a great movie period. The film, which opens October 19, stars Casey (brother of Ben) Affleck and Michelle Monaghan as P.I.'s Patrick Kenzie and Angela Gennaro. Hollywood heavyweights Morgan Freeman and Ed Harris add heft to the supporting cast, while rapper Slaine appears as sociopathic sidekick Bubba Rogowski.
Perhaps because he's an actor himself, Affleck cast his film with care, even turning to Lehane for advice at one point ... advice Lehane couldn't give.
"I went out with Ben about a year ago, and he was just pumped,” Lehane says. “He started showing me Polaroids of actors saying, ‘This is who we got to be such-and-such (character) and this is who'll be so-and-so and I wanted to ask you a question...’ And I said, ‘Ben, I have no idea who you're talking about. I wrote this book eight years ago. I've moved on.’”
That distance Lehane felt did have an upside, though: It left him free to enjoy the adaptation on its own terms—an experience he didn't have with Mystic River.
"Within sixteen months of the publication of that book, Clint Eastwood had wrapped shooting of the film,” Lehane points out. “The first time I saw it, I had no idea what I'd just seen. None. I had to take it on faith when people said, ‘That's a really good film.’ It wasn't that I thought it was bad. I couldn't grasp it."
Fortunately, the rest of the world felt no such ambivalence, and the film was nominated for six Academy Awards.
After the success of Mystic River, Lehane was a literary star with loads of critical buzz and newfound mainstream name recognition. His next book, the psychological thriller Shutter Island, was a huge bestseller, and Lehane followed that up with a succession of creative departures: penning a play, releasing a collection of short stories, writing scripts for HBO's gritty crime drama The Wire, toiling on a massive historical novel. Somewhere in there, he also found time to teach writing courses at Harvard and his alma mater, Florida's Eckerd College.
But while Mystic River might have made it easier for him to go his own way, Lehane says he would have branched out beyond Kenzie and Gennaro anyway. (The two detectives made their last appearance in 1999's Prayers for Rain.) Writing a long-term series—or even a stand alone hit—was never Lehane's goal.
* * * *
(c) Warner Bros. Entertainment
* * * *
"Very early on, I had a discussion with my agent (Ann Rittenberg) and my editor (Claire Wachtel) about my career,” Lehane says. “And I said, ‘Does everybody accept that I will never write a bestseller? Does everybody accept that I'm going to follow my own path?’ And they said, ‘Yeah. We're good.’ And that's been our business model ever since."
Of course, that business model's been incredibly successful. But perhaps it'll be put to the test by Lehane's biggest departure yet: The Given Day, his long-awaited historical epic, which should hit bookshelves sometime next year. The first installment in a proposed trilogy, it chronicles a turning point in American labor relations—the Boston police strike of 1919.
The subject's close to Lehane's heart, both as a Bostonian and the son of a committed union man.
"In my family, (the labor movement) was the second religion to God,” Lehane says. “These days, the debate's framed where somehow unions are bad or just one more special interest group with their hands out. It's like 1919 all over again. I wanted to bring back the day when (people remembered what unions meant)."
So if fans of Lehane's earlier books are turned off by a six hundred-page tome about post-World War I labor strife ... well, Lehane doesn't exactly say “Tough luck.” But he'd tell his readers the same thing he told his agent and editor all those years ago: He has to go his own way.
Copyright (c) 2007 Steve Hockensmith
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Fiction: PANDORA'S FORT by Gilbert M. Stack
Joel Spector
* * * *
The news came just as Father Murphy was finishing Mass for the mostly Irish soldiers at Fort Bridger. The priest faced his congregation, black cassock flapping in the light Wyoming breeze, white stole askew about his shoulders.
"Dominus vobiscum,” he chanted. The Lord be with you.
"Et cum spiritu tuo,” Corey Callaghan responded with the rest of the congregation. And the spirit with you.
In addition to the soldiers, the congregation included Corey's friend, Miss Pandora Parson, and his boxing trainer, Patrick O'Sullivan.
"Ite missa est,” the priest continued. Go, this is the dismissal.
"Deo gracias,” the soldiers responded. Thanks be to God.
As Father Murphy ended the Mass with the prologue to the Gospel of John, a nervous-looking private appeared at the edge of the congregation and began sidling between the soldiers as he made his way up to Sergeant Kelly. He got a glower for his efforts and wisely kept his mouth shut until the priest finished this final prayer. Then he stepped up next to Sergeant Kelly and whispered, “They're missing, Sarge."
"What's missing, son?"
"The carbines, six crates worth of carbines are missing from the stores."
A carbine was in essence a cavalryman's rifle—shorter than the infantry model to make it easier to use from horseback. It was not the sort of item to be easily overlooked in an impromptu inventory.
"Nonsense! How could they be missing?"
"I don't know, Sarge, but they're gone."
The sergeant fixed his cap firmly atop his head. “Show me!"
The two strode off toward the quartermaster's domain, leaving Corey standing thoughtfully behind them. He would have thought that with a hearing to decide if an officer deserved a court martial just about to begin there was quite enough happening at Fort Bridger this fine September morning. Apparently he had been wrong.
Corey wondered if Miss Parson had overheard the exchange as well, but before he could ask, Patrick clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Corey, me lad, it's time to go congratulate Father."
Patrick moved on, assuming that Corey would follow him. Corey hesitated long enough to meet Miss Parson's eyes and make certain that she knew that she also was invited. Miss Parson rewarded Corey's efforts with a slight smile and started after the old man. Corey fell in beside her.
Patrick was already talking to the priest by the time they caught up with him. “Surely, Father, the angels themselves could not have sung so beautifully during the Mass."
Father Murphy's eyes sparkled with the compliment, although he pretended to reprimand Patrick for his exaggerations. “Now you've done it, Patrick. I'll have to hear your confession so I can forgive you for that little falsehood. Now truthfully, man, have you gone tone deaf or could you be wanting something from this poor little priest?"
"Poor?” Patrick asked. “Weren't you the big winner at last night's game?"
"Well, the good Lord did look kindly upon me,” the priest admitted.
"And that's what I wanted to ask you about,” Patrick continued. “You see, the good Lord hasn't been looking so kindly on me of late—not since I won all those hands on the train. And I was wondering if you might want to give Him another opportunity to bestow his blessings."
Corey sighed. Patrick was always trying to set up another card game. Their funds were dirt low at the moment, and Patrick ought to be saving what little they had left for the fight he was trying to arrange between Corey and a burly private named Higgins.
"I'm quite certain that we'll have plenty of opportunities to play later in the week,” the priest said before changing his tone and feigning righteous indignation. “Unless you're suggesting we play a game on Sunday?"
"Oh no, Father,” Patrick insisted, although Corey was certain that was exactly what he wanted to do.
The priest grinned. “Good, can you imagine what the Protestants would have to say about that?"
Miss Parson entered the conversation. “Nothing they haven't said already, I'll bet."
"Only more so,” the priest agreed. “But truthfully, I give them enough reason to complain already. I draw the line at gambling on Sundays."
Everybody laughed and Father Murphy switched to another subject. “What was that business with the private interrupting the service?"
Corey shrugged. “Something went missing at the quartermaster's."
Father Murphy lost interest immediately. “That doesn't sound important. I thought something big must have happened, what with him interrupting Mass."
He was wrong, of course. As matters turned out, the missing weapons were very important indeed.
* * * *
The four had dinner with Lieutenant Ridgewood that evening. He was restricted to his quarters while he waited for his hearing—a polite gesture by Colonel Holworth under the circumstances. Ridgewood had made a critical error in judgment while traveling by train to Fort Bridger. Rather than remain with the men under his command and guard the army payroll entrusted to him, Ridgewood had chosen to play cards with several of the other passengers, including Patrick, Miss Parson, and Father Murphy. Three of Ridgewood's men had died as a result of this decision, and the lieutenant was now waiting to learn how the army viewed the situation. Was he a villain for his lapse in judgment or a hero for recapturing the stolen payroll and rescuing his surviving men?
The food was delivered from the officer's mess: a potato stew, with a faint hint of beef within it, and loaves of crusty white bread. Father Murphy, as usual, had brought his friend Jack to the table, and he generously shared the whiskey with Ridgewood, Corey, and Patrick. Miss Parson declined.
"So tell me, Thomas,” Father Murphy suggested. “How does the inquiry look?"
Ridgewood was calm, as if he had made peace with the unpleasant business ahead of him. “I'm told Captain Harris arrived two hours ago, so we now have enough officers of sufficient rank to sit in judgment. We'll begin tomorrow. My counsel, Lieutenant Summers, doesn't think that the actual hearing will take very long—maybe just a single day."
Corey was surprised by how few officers were actually stationed at Fort Bridger. Apparently the army was both badly under strength and widely dispersed in 1874. Detachments nominally under Colonel Hayworth's command were permanently spread all over the West, so finding three officers senior to Ridgewood to sit in judgment over him had not been simple.
"The trial, Lieutenant,” Patrick interrupted. “What's going to happen at the trial?"
"It's a hearing,” Ridgewood patiently corrected him, “a simple inquiry to determine whether or not the facts of the case merit a formal court martial. Frankly, I'm surprised the colonel is letting you share dinner with me. You are witnesses, after all."
"It probably just means he's already made up his mind,” Father Murphy suggested, trying to make a jest of it. “He's already taken our depositions. He knows what we're going to say."
The truth was, Corey realized, there probably should be a trial. Ridgewood was a decent man and Corey liked him, but three of his men had been killed while under his command. Corey wasn't certain what the charges should be, but there was little doubt that the army would frown upon Ridgewood's decision to play cards instead of remain with his men and oversee the protection of the payroll the military had entrusted to him. It would take a miracle to keep Ridgewood out of prison or, for that matter, in the army.
Miss Parson had evidently come to a similar conclusion. “Will they give you an opportunity to resign, Lieutenant?"
Ridgewood sighed. “Well they haven't yet."
"Would you take it if they did, Thomas?” Father Murphy asked. “Perhaps I could speak
to the Colonel on your behalf."
"Let me be very clear to all of you,” Lieutenant Ridgewood said. His words were very precisely spoken, but there was no anger in them. “You are here as witnesses to what happened, both the good and the bad. I do not want you to take any action on my behalf. If the judges recommend a court martial, then that is what I deserve."
"I'm just trying to help, Thomas,” Father Murphy protested.
"And you did help, Father, when you agreed to come here and tell what happened. I don't want any help in addition to that."
"So what do you think of these missing carbines?” Miss Parson asked, clearly trying to move the conversation in a new direction.
"It looks bad,” Ridgewood told her. “Lieutenant Summers told me about it when he came in this afternoon. He's responsible for the fort's stores. It seems that six cases of new-issue Springfield carbines have gone missing."
"Missing?” Patrick asked. “Sounds like maybe he's the one who needs a lawyer."
"That is a lot of weapons,” Father Murphy agreed.
"What does he think happened to them?” Miss Parson asked.
"He doesn't know, but whatever it was happened recently."
"How does he figure that?"
"He had just accounted for them about two months ago in anticipation of my arrival. In the normal course of events I would have taken over the quartermaster's duties from him and inventoried the stores in preparation for the transfer of authority. In practical, if not technical terms, I'm replacing him. He's leaving the service at the end of the month."
"So how did they discover the theft?” Corey asked.
"The materials are technically only missing at this time,” Lieutenant Ridgewood explained. “Lieutenant Summers is currently redoing the inventory, but in essence, an overzealous private was consolidating the stores when he discovered an empty crate in the pile. A little extra searching determined that a lot of the boxes were empty."
AHMM, December 2007 Page 11
