Next of Kin
Page 2
Long pulled a stick of gum from his pocket and popped it into his mouth, crumpled the wrapper and put it back in his pocket. It was habit more than anything else; he was almost at the point where he didn’t care who knew about his drinking.
He walked deliberately, taking in the scene as he approached. As he got to the front steps, he paused and looked at those gathered near the entrance of the building next door, isolated the face of the biggest man there, and nodded to him. Those standing with the man on the stoop looked at their companion, eyes curious. The man seemed reluctant for a moment, his eyes darting to the ground, but eventually he nodded back. It was a good start; Long would need cooperation from the neighbors, and it was important to establish authority and acceptance as quickly as possible.
As he turned back toward the front door, Long caught a face in the crowd out of the corner of his eye. The face registered. He didn’t quite recognize it, but it was familiar to him; like a phantom fading from a dream in the early moments of morning, hazy and distant. It was one of the few Caucasian faces in the crowd, framed by steel gray hair that matched the sky. A light pink scar in the shape of a ‘v’ marred the forehead. But what truly made the man stand out was the fact that he was looking directly at Long. While the others only looked toward him, the man with the scar was regarding him directly without the slightest hint of reservation. The image sounded an alarm in the back of Long’s head. It was such a subtle thing that it took a moment for him to recognize the intuition, and he spun back to the crowd, his own eyes burning as they sought out the face again.
The man was gone.
Long gripped the stoop’s rusting handrail, as he considered giving chase. But then he wondered: Chase what? Chase who? What had the man done to be chased? It was no crime, after all, to look out of place.
He took one last long look through the crowd before continuing his ascent.
Officer Washington looked nervously at Long. A light sweat had broken out on his forehead underneath his policeman’s cap despite the cool of the October weather. Long understood why. ‘Detective,’ Washington said. ‘You got here quick.’
‘I was on the way in when I got the call,’ Long replied. ‘Just pulled off the highway.’
Washington looked at his watch and smiled uneasily. Long knew it was after eleven. ‘You’re just coming in? I gotta get myself into plain-clothes.’
‘I was at a funeral.’
‘Sorry. Anyone close to you?’
Long shook his head. ‘My father.’
‘Shit. I didn’t mean to … I’m sorry.’
‘So’s he. What’ve we got in here?’ Washington hesitated. Long could sense the man was gauging whether his apology had been sufficient. ‘Don’t worry about it. Just tell me what we’re dealing with.’
‘Neighbor called it in an hour ago. Name’s Elizabeth Connor, apartment 2C in back. Fifty-nine years old. Lived here for the last fifteen years. No one’s seen her for a few days. They noticed the smell yesterday. Super showed up with a key this morning. Other than him, no one’s been inside. I took a look, just to secure the place, but I didn’t touch nothing. I told people in the other apartments to stay put until we get to them. Told ’em we might need to talk to them.’
Long nodded. ‘What’s it look like?’
‘Looks messy. Lots of blood. Nothing you haven’t seen before. Some sign of a struggle, but not much. Looks like it was on and over pretty quick.’
‘Okay. Crime scene and backup should be here in a minute. Other than them, no one comes up, got it?’
‘Yeah, all right.’
Long looked at the crowd on the nearby stoops. ‘Once they get here, start gathering statements from these people out here. Doers sometimes like to hang out and observe the scene. If they don’t have anything to say, at least get their names and contacts. Get a look at their licenses where possible, just to make sure you’re not getting fake information. Tell them we may need to come back to them. Someone might’a seen something.’
‘You think so?’
‘In this neighborhood? No. Not really.’
‘Okay. You going in?’
Long nodded. ‘Might as well. I’m here, and I got nothing better to do.’
Reggie Hill arrived on time for the baby’s noon feeding. Finn had no idea what qualified Reggie to take care of Lissa’s son, but he seemed to do a good job, and Lissa depended on him. Outfitted like a sherpa to the armies of Hannibal, he blew through the door with three bags slung across his shoulder, an infant car seat hanging from the crook in his other arm. Finn marveled at his balance.
Lissa stood and took the baby in the car seat from him. ‘How was he this morning?’ she asked. She’d taken two weeks off after giving birth; there was never any question that she would come back to work. She was a caring parent, but not the stay-at-home type. Finn suspected that she and the baby would bond better with her at the office much of the day. She set the car seat down, and pulled the baby out. He was sleeping, and she put him over her shoulder, rubbing his back.
‘He was a doll,’ Reggie replied, setting the bags down on the floor. ‘Always is. I swear, you could pull teeth if he had any and he wouldn’t complain.’
‘He takes after his father,’ Lissa said.
‘God forbid,’ Reggie said. He shuddered. ‘Let’s aim higher than that, shall we?’
‘Koz hears you talking like that, he’ll fire you, Reggie,’ Finn said.
‘He wouldn’t,’ Reggie said. He sat in one of the leather chairs against the wall and crossed his legs above the knees. ‘He secretly wants me. Most men do.’
Finn shook his head. ‘He hears you talking like that, he won’t fire you, he’ll shoot you.’
Lissa chuckled.
Reggie said, clucking his tongue, ‘Anyone that repressed is hiding something.’
‘Trust me,’ Lissa said, ‘he’s not repressed.’
‘Maybe he’s hiding his hatred of stereotypes,’ Finn said.
‘No, you di’ent!’ Reggie falsettoed. ‘I know you did not just call me a cliché.’
Finn smiled amiably. ‘I think I did.’
Reggie reached down to a mahogany magazine rack and pulled out a newspaper, shaking it open with a loud flap. ‘Lissa Krantz, I love this child, but if you think I’m going to take this sort of abuse for the pittance you pay me, you are sadly mistaken. I demand that you defend me.’
The baby was stirring. ‘Apologize to Reggie, Finn,’ Lissa said. ‘Or I’ll cut your balls off.’
‘You wouldn’t. I’d sue.’
‘Fine, then I’ll quit, and you can run this place on your own.’
Even in jest the thought made Finn’s heart rate double. ‘I’m sorry, Reggie,’ he said. ‘You are a beacon of masculinity in an insecure world.’
‘Like you’d know.’ Reggie folded the newspaper and put it back into the magazine rack. ‘I’m going to Starbucks to get something to soothe my wounded pride. Anyone want anything?’
‘I’ll have a venti-non-fat-decaf-latte-skim-three-Equals,’ Lissa said.
‘Finn?’ Reggie asked.
‘Do they have coffee?’
‘Heathen.’
‘Skip it.’
Reggie opened the door and stepped out.
‘Don’t start,’ Lissa said to Finn once the door had closed behind Reggie. ‘He’s got his quirks, but he takes fantastic care of Andrew. I’d be lost without him.’
‘What? I didn’t say anything, did I? I like the guy. And I’m pretty sure he’s right; Koz has got a huge crush on him.’
‘Funny.’ The baby was fully awake now, and he started to grump hungrily. Lissa maneuvered him around so that his feet were on her knees, his nose to hers. ‘Uncle Finn likes to take his life into his own hands, doesn’t he, Andrew?’ she cooed. ‘Yes, he does.’ She put him into his car seat and began rummaging through the array of baby bags, looking for a bottle. ‘Speaking of taking your life into your own hands, are we really gonna represent the McDougal kid?’
‘We
’ll talk to him.’
‘There’s a difference?’
‘Maybe he won’t like what we have to say, and we’ll get out of it that way. You never know.’
‘Yes, I do. And so do you.’
The door opened and both of them turned. The man standing there looked like something out of the imagination of Stephen King. He was in his fifties, with a thick head of grayish-brown, disheveled hair. His clothes were rumpled and stained. His face was dirty, though not enough to obscure the long, deep, jagged scar running from the corner of his eye down to just below his ear. He was solid and stocky, and he held a piece of grease-stained computer printout above his head. ‘I got it!’
‘Hi, hon, how was your evening?’ Finn said.
‘Fuck off.’
‘Koz!’ Lissa said sharply. She tilted her head. ‘The baby!’
‘Sorry, I didn’t know he was here.’
She walked over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘It’s okay.’ She crinkled her nose. ‘You smell.’
‘That’s because I’ve been crawling around in garbage.’
‘Everyone needs a hobby,’ Finn said.
‘Yeah, everyone does,’ Tom Kozlowski replied. ‘Mine is saving your ass. I spent the night watching Spencer’s apartment, waiting to see how he would react to his partner’s arrest.’ Finn’s interest was piqued. Will Spencer was the business partner of Carlo Manelli, a client who had been arrested for dealing drugs out of the restaurant the two of them owned. The case against Manelli looked solid.
‘And?’ Finn said. ‘How’d he take it?’
‘Not so well. First thing this morning, he comes out of his apartment with a cardboard box, and climbs into his car. He heads out to the restaurant, pulls around the back and tosses the box into the dumpster.’
‘You climbed into a dumpster?’ Finn said.
Kozlowski frowned. ‘Don’t be stupid. You think he wouldn’t notice someone digging around in the dumpster out back of his restaurant?’
‘Fair point.’
‘I was gonna wait till late tonight, but it turns out today’s trash day at the place; while I’m sitting there a big Waste Management truck pulls up and cleans out the dumpster. So I followed. At the next stop, I gave the guy a fifty to let me in the back of the truck.’
‘Good thinking,’ Finn said. He looked at Lissa. ‘I can see why you love the man.’
‘He’s hard to resist.’
‘So’s the Ebola virus.’
‘Keep it up,’ Kozlowski said. ‘I won’t tell you what I found.’
‘Sorry,’ Finn said. ‘Continue.’
‘It’s all here. Dates. Amounts. Customers. A whole second set of books. It all matches the drug buys the FBI is charging Carlo Manelli with. We got the guy nailed. It wasn’t our client, it was his partner, Spencer, at the restaurant.’
‘Weird,’ Finn said, winking at Lissa. ‘My money was on Colonel Mustard in the study with the candlestick.’
‘You don’t think this gets Manelli off?’ Kozlowski demanded.
‘How do we know they weren’t in this together?’ Finn pointed out. ‘They’re partners in the restaurant, why not in drug dealing, too? Why didn’t Manelli notice the restaurant had a cash surplus every week? We go to the feds with this, they’re just gonna indict Spencer and charge the two of them as co-conspirators, and they’ll probably make it stick whether it’s right or not.’
‘So don’t go to the feds with it,’ Kozlowski said. ‘Let them push the case against Manelli alone. When the trial goes forward, you pull this out on cross. It’ll mess with the entire theory of the case the prosecutors have laid out for the jury, and voilà, you’ve got reasonable doubt.’
Finn considered this for a moment. ‘It might work,’ he admitted skeptically. ‘It’s better than anything else we’ve got to work with.’
‘See?’ Kozlowski said. ‘Worth a night’s work, fifty bucks and some new clothes. All of which I’m billing you for.’
‘Fine,’ Finn said. ‘I’ll charge it back to Manelli as trial preparation expenses.’
Kozlowski took off his jacket, rubbing a finger against a dark stain on the lapel. ‘As long as I get paid.’
‘What’s a new sport coat go for at Wal-Mart these days, anyway?’
‘Laugh if you want, but the people I deal with don’t trust a man in a thousand-dollar suit. You want people to talk to you, you gotta look like one of them.’ He rolled the jacket into a ball and tossed it into the garbage. ‘Anything happen while I was out?’
‘Finn agreed to represent Eamonn McDougal’s son,’ Lissa said.
‘I did not,’ Finn protested. ‘I agreed to talk to him.’
‘ To give him legal advice?’ Kozlowski asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Isn’t that representing him?’
‘Technically,’ Finn admitted. ‘But it’s not like I agreed to take the case to trial. And I told Eamonn that I’m not crossing the line. I’m treating his kid like anyone else. He accepted that.’
‘You’re a moron. You know that, right?’
‘Your wife already pointed that out, thanks.’
‘She knows what she’s talking about. McDougal doesn’t want you to treat his son like anyone else. He wants you to get his son off. No matter what. And if you don’t, he’s gonna be pissed.’
‘I know,’ Finn said.
‘He’s gonna be a real pain in the ass if he gets pissed. He’s dangerous and unstable.’
‘I know that, too.’
‘So, why’d you agree to represent him?’
Finn shrugged. ‘I guess I just believe that everyone is entitled to the best representation they can afford.’
‘Bullshit. You agreed to represent him because it’s a challenge.’
The door opened behind Kozlowski and Reggie walked in. ‘I’ve got lattes!’ he said. As soon as he stepped through the door, his face screwed itself into a frown. ‘Ugh! Jesus Christ on a popsicle stick, what reeks in here?’
Finn and Lissa pointed to Kozlowski. ‘Him,’ they said in unison.
Reggie regarded Kozlowski with revulsion. ‘What happened? Did you go swimming in garbage?’
‘Yeah,’ Kozlowski replied. He looked uncomfortable. ‘Sorta.’ Reggie rolled his eyes and looked at Lissa. ‘I swear, sweetheart, you don’t have to live like this. Just say the word, and my people can have you and that child in a safe house in Provincetown within two hours.
He’d never find you, I promise.’
Lissa smiled. ‘Yes, he would,’ she said. She looked over at her husband, still covered in a film of waste, his features rough and hard set, and her smile broadened. ‘I’d die if he didn’t.’
CHAPTER TWO
Zachary Long climbed the stairs to the second floor of the Massachusetts Avenue brownstone slowly, evaluating everything as he went. Judging from the edges, the carpeting on the staircase had once been beige, but that was a long time ago. Now it was mottled and brown and stained. The wooden railing was beaten and sagging, and the stairs themselves listed from the wall. Even at noon on a sunny fall day, the place was dark. A lamp hung from the wall on the second floor, dislodged and dangling from its wire. There was no bulb, not that a bulb would have been of much use.
As he approached the landing, he caught the stench from the back apartment. It became more pronounced as he reached the top, and he put his arm up to his nose. He wondered how no one had called it in before that morning. As he looked around, the door closest to the stairway, marked 2B, cracked open and a man stuck his head out. His eyes were too big for his face, he was gaunt and he had fringes of white hair around a bald, dark brown head. He was wearing a dress shirt buttoned to the top and a cardigan. Long judged him to be in his eighties.
The man nodded to Long. ‘Safe to come out yet?’ ‘Safe, yeah,’ Long said. ‘But we need you to stay in your apartment for a little while longer.’
The man looked around the hallway, stuck his head out further and glanced down the stairway, frowning. ‘We?’
‘I see,’ the man said. He made a face. ‘Bad smell.’
Long nodded. ‘How long’s it smelled like that?’
The man shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Don’t go out much. I cook; my place always smells good. You wanna get the ladies, you gots to keep your crib fresh.’
‘That work? With the ladies?’
‘Hell yes, fool. Been workin’ for me since before your daddy was born.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ Long said. ‘Someone will be back to talk to you in a little while, okay?’
‘I got nothing to say.’
‘Maybe you’ll think of something. Till then, just stay in your apartment.’
The old man scowled and closed the door.
Long looked around the floor. There were three apartments. One in the front, one in the middle, one in the rear. The back and the middle were accounted for with the deceased and the old man. The third apartment, according to the mailbox in the entryway, was occupied by an individual or a family with the last name Wolfe. It was an open question in a place as run-down as this whether the mailbox was accurate and up to date.
He glanced around the stairway one last time. Seeing nothing of note, he walked toward 2C. He stopped before he entered and pulled out a flashlight, flipping it on and leaning down to take a close look at the doorknob. There were marks; fresh scratches on ancient copper. Moving up, he could see similar scratches at the keyhole for the deadbolt.
He pulled on gloves and turned the doorknob, being careful not to smudge any prints. It was unlikely that they’d get anything useful, but you never knew. The knob turned with little resistance and he pushed the door in. It swung free and easy on the hinges, and Long stepped into the apartment.
The stench was overpowering. The blinds were pulled and the place was dark; slashes of light cutting through at the sides of the window did little to aid his vision. The shelves along the walls of the living room had been cleared, the books and pictures were spilled on the floor. The coffee table was overturned, and a desk in the corner had been stripped, its drawers heaped nearby along with bills and papers and letters. A purse lay on the floor just in front of the front door, turned inside out, its contents in a loose pile. Elizabeth Connor’s body lay in the middle of it all, splayed face down on the faded carpet.