“Dr. Corey McDowell has the card. No prints and no DNA. He’ll hand it over to you and only you. Oh, and you might want to bring him a Twinkie or something.”
“What?”
“There wasn’t a case file on this. He’s got a sweet tooth and a wife who has him restricted to rabbit food,” CC said. “If you don’t want him to bury you in red tape until the next ice age, bring the guy something he shouldn’t be eating.”
“How is it you get things done in this city? No wonder it took you eighty-two years to finally win another series.”
“Hey!” CC was infuriated. Brown could question her skills all she wanted, but there was no need to bring her beloved Red Sox into it. “What are you, a Yankees fan?” Her jaw dropped when Brown smirked at the comment. “Oh, that’s enough. First you’re snarky about Dunkin Donuts, now you like the Yankees. I can’t work with this.”
* * *
Val did pay a visit to the Lucky Seven. It wasn’t hard to find Mac Calloway. He was holding court in a back corner of the bar. As his niece predicted, he was indeed hooked up to an oxygen tank. Even at a distance, the man looked pale.
“A cop bar. Talk about hiding in plain sight.” She shook her head, fully aware that everyone was watching her every move. “Mac C?” She showed her badge and kept her hands in plain view, alerting everyone in the room that her intentions were honorable.
“A Fed?” He stroked his bushy mustache. “To what do I owe the honor?” He motioned for her to take a seat. Her initial assessment of the bookie hadn’t been far off. He was indeed frail, his probably once vibrant red hair now wisps of white strands. Yet there was a coldness in his dark blue eyes. This was not a man Val wanted to upset in any way, shape, or form. “Please sit,” he repeated with a ghost of smile.
Val took a seat in the rickety wooden chair across from him. Unconsciously, she moved the chair slightly so she could view the entire barroom and not have her back to everyone.
“Smart.” He nodded, not missing her action. “Not having your back exposed. Military?”
“Navy, retired.”
“If you’ve come to place a bet, I should warn you that would be entrapment.”
“I don’t give a…” She almost laughed at his assumption. “I’m not here for a friendly discussion on tonight’s game. I’m Val Brown, US Marshal. This is about a man who may have caused you some stress in the past.”
“Not a short list.”
“Albert Beaumont.”
“Bert?” Mac truly seemed surprised. “If you’re here to tell me that pissant isn’t rotting away in a four by nine cell, I’m not going to be a happy man.”
“You’re not going to be a happy man.”
“Don’t tell me some bleeding-heart jackass put him in witness protection or some other bullshit?”
“No. Idiot took a runner.”
“Here?” Mac looked as if he was about to fall out of his chair. “That would make him a new kind of stupid. Look, back in the day I didn’t do anything because Cattie asked me not to. Kid is just like her old man, stubborn as all hell. I respect her.”
“I just need to know if I’m looking for a corpse.”
“I didn’t hurt a hair on his chinny-chin-chin. But if I could-“
“Best you stop there,” Val said. There was no way he was lying. The anger in his eyes was fresh. He hadn’t known. Now he did, and that made Beaumont fair game.
“Blood on your hands isn’t what your niece wants.” Val shivered when she looked into his eyes. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that Mac already had blood on his hands. Since she was certain it wasn’t Beaumont’s, she decided to just let it be.
“I know, and keep quiet about Cattie. She’s clean, no need tarnishing her badge. I love that kid and her sister. Those girls and little Emma are the only family I’ve got left.” He paused to take a hit of oxygen. “You find him, before I do. But I have to tell you that sorry SOB wouldn’t come anywhere near here. The only thing waiting for him in Boston is a target on his back. Much as I’d hate to break my word, I’m on my way out. Taking the trash out with me wouldn’t bother me a bit.”
“I believe you.”
A sly smile crossed his lips before he took another hit of oxygen. His cell phone vibrated on the battered wooden table. Val took that as her cue to leave. She didn’t say a word as he studied the text message. She understood guys like him. He wasn’t a bad man. In fact at heart, he was a very good man. He just broke the law.
“You’re a Yankees fan!” he shouted just as she stood.
She almost started to laugh, knowing that CC Calloway was determined to have the last word. She turned to him, confused by the twinkle in his bloodshot blue eyes. She was more than ready to counter with, “So, what,” followed by a scathing remark regarding the Boston Bums. The words died on her lips, when she felt an ice storm assault her. The barroom was eerily quiet. Slowly she turned and realized where she was. In the back corner of a sports cop bar in Boston, and she had just been branded.
“Ah, crap.” She looked down at a very amused man. Mac C might be on his last breath, but he was still a dangerous man. “Haven’t been in a bar fight in a long time. This should be interesting.”
“Do you mind if I take bets on how many teeth you’ll lose?”
“Mac!” A heavy voice boomed, stirring up the crowd. “Why are you yanking my poor goddaughter’s chain? Calm down, boys. This is my cousin Pete’s niece.” A bold figure emerged. Despite the man’s advanced years, he was an imposing figure as he confidently made his way across the barroom. “Born and raised in Chelsea. Made her father proud and broke her mother’s heart when she had Teddy’s number nine tattooed on her arse.”
Val blew out a heavy sigh of relief when the sturdy man thumped her on the back. The crowd snickered and thankfully went back to their business. She had no idea who her savior was.
“Frankie, the kid’s too sensitive.” Mac laughed, breaking the tension “Told her not to bet the Colts over the Saints.”
“She square with you?” Val’s new hero played along.
“Oh, yeah.” Mac waved it off. “Just giving her a good ribbing, boys,” Mac said, ensuring there would be no more problems. “Why don’t you let Uncle Frank walk you home?”
Val cringed, not missing the hard look dimming Mac’s blue eyes. She understood that he wasn’t merely making a suggestion. He was telling her that it was time to leave. Things could have turned very ugly if Frank hadn’t intervened. She decided it was in her best interest to heed his advice.
“Yeah, thanks, Mac,” she said. “Haven’t had one like that pulled on me in a long time. You take care now.” Frank led her safely out of the dimly lit barroom. “Uncle Frank?”
“Frank Donnelly, Boston PD, retired.” He ignored her offer to shake his hand. “Got a call from Mills. Good thing I was in the area.”
“How small is this city?” Val wondered if everyone in Boston was somehow related. “Hold on, Donnelly. I need to talk to you.”
“About Beaumont,” he said. “That’s why Mills called me.”
“Can we talk while we head over to the State crime lab? And thanks again for the save.”
“Mac didn’t mean—”
“Yes, he did. Not because he doesn’t like me. He just wants his shot at Beaumont. Can’t say that I blame him. Plus, I think the guy is just this side of crazy.”
“My fault on that one.” Frank’s broad shoulders slumped. “Should have told him what was happening at the time. When he found out, that was it between us. Used to be good friends. He was right. Should have let him handle it his way. But I’m a cop…”
“I get it.” Val readied her car keys. She did get it. It was the way Frank said that was it between us. She had a feeling that good old Frank and Mac were a lot closer than anyone knew. She couldn’t help recalling the comment about CC going to live with her funny uncle. It made sense. Generational, these guys would never be open about who they were. Val felt a pang of sadness as she recalled her own isola
tion during her years of service. No matter what she did for her country, she was still at risk of losing her benefits if she was outed. It frosted her cookies that guys like Beaumont could roam free without a care in the world, but being gay still meant you were an outsider. A gentle nudge on her elbow disrupted her dreary thoughts.
“We can walk. It’ll be quicker than fighting traffic and looking for parking,” Frank said with another nudge before guiding her down the street. “It’s about a block away from the three-three.”
“Would you mind telling me about Beaumont?”
“Cattie was in trouble with her parents. Started whacking her stepfather with a baseball bat. Granted, she was always a firecracker, but that was a bit much. Sat her down and she told me that Beaumont tried to put his hand in her underwear. She was going through all the guilt trips and confusion that kids do when something like that happens. It broke my heart. I kept it together and followed the rules. And that slimy bastard had the social workers and everyone else convinced that Cattie was a liar.”
“You believed her?”
“Yes. Back then, you couldn’t just type a name into a computer and find out everything you need to know. I went looking. Hard to do, since he lied about where he was from. I kept an eye on Cattie. Told her to come to me if she was in trouble.”
“That was it?” Val didn’t believe it for a minute.
“It was different then.”
“Yeah?” She knew there had to be more to the story.
“Took him for a ride down by the docks.”
“Just to let him know you’d be watching.” Val knew it was wrong, but at times, she almost wished cops could still pull stunts like that.
“And I did watch, and Cattie kept him in line.” Frankie guided her along the narrow streets. “More so after Stevie was born. There were a couple of complaints over the years. A couple of Stevie’s friends said stuff. Nothing we could prove. I’d stop by now and then just to let him know I was still watching. By the time I got my hands on his record, the family was in the wind. Later, when Cattie went after custody of Stevie, I showed up with a wall of blue and a stack of files. Maria didn’t even put up a stink. Still can’t believe how cold that woman was. I put the boys down in Rhode Island on watch. Thought we had Beaumont wrapped up. Now, he’s back.”
“Not for long, I hope.” If this case had been a regular runner, she’d have had him by now, she was sure of it.
“Who are you seeing downtown?”
“Corey McDowell.”
“We’ll need to stop at the bakery on the corner.”
“Are you serious?”
When they arrived, Dr. McDowell did hem and haw about a case number and federal-over-state jurisdiction. That was until Frank gave her a nudge and she forked over a bag of fudge-nut brownies guaranteed to melt in your mouth. She was stunned when he handed over the greeting card and a full report.
Chapter 19
Bert paced around the room wringing his hands. He couldn’t believe he let himself get caught up in this mess. Everything was going good. All he had to do was show up at work and do his therapy. Okay, the job was crap. A man his age shouldn’t be tarring roofs. The therapy was a joke. Say the right thing, and you’re free. He knew nothing was going to change what he was. He just wanted to live his life. Sure, he hated his stepdaughter most of the time. The rest of the time, he could admit what he had tried to do to her. Those times were few and far between. He wasn’t looking forward to starting over, registering as a sex offender, having his neighbors note his every move.
“Maybe that’s what I need,” he muttered to the empty hotel room. “I don’t give in when I know they’re watching. Having Caitlin watching and sending the cops after me kept me on the straight and narrow.”
Silently, he wished he had experienced this revelation a couple weeks ago before that letter and cell phone showed up. The letter offered him a whole new life. A chance to start over again. New name, new place to live, with no one knowing what he had done. All he had to do was go back to Boston and let people know he was there. He had to be careful. Getting caught wasn’t part of the plan. He hoped that wasn’t part of the plan. The truth was, he didn’t know the plan.
He got an envelope with a bus ticket to Boston and a key to a locker. In the locker were the first pieces to his new life. A little cash, a different prepaid cell phone, and a hotel room keycard. Not just any hotel, The Marriott Copley. After spending the better part of two decades in the segregated unit of Bridgeport prison, it was like a dream come true.
The plush hotel was nice. Very nice. He couldn’t deny it. Still, there was something very wrong. The text messages he kept getting that told him to go for a stroll and don’t hide from the security cameras didn’t make sense. Why run, then show your face? It wouldn’t be long before his stepdaughter got wind of this. Having a cop with a very big axe to grind chasing after him wasn’t his idea of freedom.
The last text made him antsy. He was moving to a different motel, one out of the city but close enough that he could hop on the subway and run. It made sense to get away from all the cops and high-tech surveillance. The only thing he had to do was check out. Not a difficult task, since everything was paid for. He had to sign the name he had been given, Gilbert Osborne. The text said to take the subway to Boylston where he would have a hotel room waiting for him. Another new name and a new cell phone. He was to destroy and trash the present phone just as he had with the last one. He was happy to be leaving downtown Boston, although a little farther away than Boylston Hills would have pleased him. Still he had the niggling thought that something was very wrong.
“Grow a set,” he told himself and grabbed the few belongings he possessed. He took one last look around the comfortable room. Just a little more time and he’d be free. New name, a place to live, and a little money. “Then why do I feel like it’s all going to hell?”
Chapter 20
Val sat in the conference room, staring over the files and the greeting card. She tried to remain objective, but nothing this guy did followed the usual route. “Pussy, pie, or payback” was her usual game plan. Most runners go right for easy sex, a home-cooked meal, or vengeance. There were those who just ran as fast and as far as they could, but somewhere along the line, they stopped for pussy or pie. It was human nature after all. Payback was the only other option. The misguided urge to settle a score. It was the only thing that would explain why Beaumont came to Boston. As far as she could see, the one person Beaumont blamed for his sorry life was his stepdaughter.
“We’ve got your boyfriend!” Mills waved a disc around the conference room.
“What?” Val looked up from the meeting she was having with her team.
“Strangest thing. We got a tip. We also got him on camera,” Mills said. “At the Copley.”
“The Copley?” Deputy Mark Finn frowned. “Where is this prick getting the money?”
“He’s staying there?” Val agreed with Finn’s assessment.
“Don’t know yet,” Mills said, “but he’s been on camera more than once around the mall that’s connected to the Marriott. Here’s a copy of the video.”
Finn snatched it up and put it in the DVD player. Val was well aware that Finn felt like Val had stepped on his toes by coming into his city uninvited. Val refrained from reminding Finn that when she first arrived no one thought Beaumont would be stupid enough to come back to Boston.
Val had called Finn before coming up to Boston. She suggested he put a BOLO out on Beaumont and have someone watch South Station. Finn ignored her request. By the time Val arrived in the Hub, the only thing they had to work with was a video image of a man who might be Beaumont getting off a bus and accessing a locker at the station. It had taken time to get the image, since they were looking at the bus terminal not the train station. Mills had a hunch, and low and behold, there was someone who matched Beaumont’s description wandering around the station.
Two things bothered her and Mills: The guy they spied on camera did
n’t take the bus as the tip suggested he would. He had also arrived three hours earlier than their informant had led them to believe. Val felt a gnawing in her gut.
Val was certain the man in the surveillance video was Beaumont. Finn didn’t agree. The only reason Finn agreed to work with Val was because his boss told him to do so. Val couldn’t care less if Finn wanted to take the lead or grab the glory. All she wanted was Beaumont locked up where he belonged. She was finally getting pissed off by Finn’s condescending attitude. Mostly because Finn’s arrogance had cost them valuable time.
“Damn, that’s him.” Val watched the tapes carefully. “Right out in the open. Doesn’t make sense.”
“He thinks we’re not looking for him,” Finn said. “There he is again.”
“Geez, are you telling me this guy is staying at the Marriott? He’s right around the corner. Why is he this close to home?” Val’s brow furrowed. “Nothing this guy does makes any sense. Okay, Finn, take his photo to the Marriott and ask around. Keep me posted. The rest of you keep working your details. Watch the daughter and ex-wife. If Beaumont is planning on doing something stupid, I want us there. I’m going to drop in on Detective Calloway and update her. Then I’ll meet up with you.” She nodded to Finn who seemed less than pleased at being told what to do. “One thing, people. I know there’s a connection to one of your own, but out of respect for Detective Calloway’s reputation, let’s try not to send Beaumont home in a body bag.”
“What if he—”
“I didn’t say he couldn’t accidentally fall.” Val secretly hoped that Beaumont would indeed have an accidental fall or bump his head. “He’s a child molester. Any bumps he gets resisting is fine by me. All I’m saying is, unless he’s going to shoot you, don’t shoot him. Got it?”
“For the record, we don’t cross the line,” Finn said. “Never have. Never will.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that you would.” Val didn’t miss the way the rest of the team rolled their eyes at their boss’s statement. “I’m just saying that with these types it’s hard not to get worked up.”
Checkmate (Caitlin Calloway Mystery Book 2) Page 14
