“Did you?” he said, smiling broadly at Shana. He was a good-looking man, easily six-two, narrow-waisted but with broad shoulders. His face was likeable too, with a solid jaw line and that thick tamed hair the people loved. “Thanks for your support. Who did you work under?”
We had looked it up before leaving the hotel. “Arnie Sussman,” Shana said.
“It was a great campaign,” he said, “wasn’t it?”
“A turning point for me, sir.”
I said, “Let’s not waste his time, honey, get in there.”
Mrs. McConnell had moved off to talk to friends, shake a few hands and buss some cheeks, carefully so as not to leave traces of the heavy makeup she wore. My guess was her natural complexion would be the same waxy shade I’d seen on patients in Stayner’s waiting room.
When Shana stood next to McConnell, he stooped a little to minimize the difference in height. I took a shot, then examined the swing-out viewer and frowned. “Sir, you might have been blinking-here, what do you think? Should we take one more?”
I thumbed the review screen one frame back and came to stand next to him with the camera. He raised himself back to his full height and took in the picture of David Fine’s bloodied head and neck. To his credit, or not, the studied, serious face never changed. He didn’t even blink. He leaned in closer to me and said, “What is this?”
“The right question is who, sir, and it is Dr. David Fine, who worked under Dr. Charles Stayner. He was going to assist in your wife’s surgery tomorrow night at Halladay’s.”
“Who the hell are you?” he whispered.
“An investigator.”
“For who?”
“David’s parents. They hired me to find him and I did. And ten minutes later someone killed him. Note the time code here, sir.”
“Oh my God, that’s this morning.”
“Yes. Sean Daggett had him killed. As with JFK, sir, you’ll note most of his head and neck are gone. The crime scene is probably just wrapping up. The investigation’s only now kicking into gear. So my question for you is, How do you want to be included?”
“Included?” He looked around and saw his wife, who was breaking off from her receiving line and beckoning him to join her. He gave her the one-minute sign.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Daggett has my partner and he’s going to kill her if I don’t find her first.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“What time is the surgery supposed to happen?”
His wife called again and he turned to her. He pasted on a smile and said, “One sec, hon,” then turned back to me and took out a leather case from his inside pocket. He slid out a card and a small pen and scrawled something on the back of the card and handed it to me. It had his home address in Louisburg Square. “Present that to the driver of my car, Mr. Steinauer, outside the house at twelve-thirty,” he said.
“While you’re in church, pray for my partner,” I said. “And that you can find a way to help get her back.”
CHAPTER 28
According to media reports, the McConnell home-or more rightly the Austin-Smith home, since Lesley had paid for it-was worth around seven million. The room I was in must have accounted for a good chunk of it. It was a parlour, I suppose, on the ground floor with a generous bay window into which cushioned seats had been built to face the morning sun. The furniture was comfortable, despite being expensive, in muted burgundy colours with spindly wooden legs. The art was pastoral, also muted.
I was alone with the congressman. Once he’d gone into the church, Shana had hailed a cab and said a curt goodbye without a look back.
“I usually have a whiskey after church,” McConnell said. “Lesley needs to rest afterward, and all that public pressing and greeting is harder on me than you think.”
“Was that an offer to join you?”
“I’m sorry, yes it was. I have some single malts, some Irish.”
“Black Bush?”
“Of course.”
“Just enough to cover one ice cube, please.”
He made my drink, using tongs to take the ice out of a bucket. His own was a single malt neat. He threw one back in one shot, then poured a second, which he sipped slowly as he arranged his long frame into a leather recliner the colour of a dark forest undisturbed.
“I have a deal to propose,” he said.
I knew he would. It was what he did for a living.
“My wife is scheduled to get a new kidney tomorrow night, as you know. If I help you, even if things don’t turn out your way, you let the operation go through. It’s a willing donor who needs the money.”
“David was murdered. The woman who found your donor through the genetic testing program has been murdered.”
“That can’t be true.”
“Check the news. Carol-Ann Meacham. Daggett was paying her to find superior donor matches for people on his list. But things have gone bad since David threatened to expose it and now Daggett is killing people who know too much.”
“He’s not killing Lesley. He’s saving her life.”
“At the cost of how many others? Work that into your deal.”
McConnell set his drink down and walked over to his desk. There was a framed photo there with its back to me. He picked it up and brought it over.
Two teenagers, both tall and gangly, their arms around each other, both wearing T-shirts and shorts and flip-flops, leaning against a split-rail fence. Marc and Lesley, summer camp sweethearts. Only Lesley had an oxygen tank trailing her on wheels, and tubes in her cute little nose.
“I’ve loved her since we were fifteen,” he said. “I thought she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. It didn’t matter how sick she was. And she got even sicker while she waited for her lung transplant. She watched her sister die. She went down to eighty-six pounds herself, and they wouldn’t operate until she got back to ninety. She gorged herself on shakes and preparations to put on weight to keep her spot on the list. But she made it through, Mr. Geller. She made it through. Got her transplant, followed by years of reasonably good health. She’d develop more infections than most people, outbreaks of thrush and things like that. No kids, but hey. It doesn’t happen for everyone. And then watching her get sick again … you can’t begin to understand how that felt.”
“Are you telling me you couldn’t grease the system, with everything you and your wife have?”
“Trust this to be the one institution that still works in America. The organ bank people couldn’t be persuaded. I don’t mean individual bribes, of course, but I offered to sponsor a major education campaign if they could just move her up the list. They refused every overture.”
“What about China?”
“Don’t think I didn’t look into it. As bad as that sounds for someone like me. I interviewed a physician who had toured their top transplant centre and he said the conditions were awful. Completely unsterile. Lesley never would have survived an ordeal like that. She needed top-quality care close to home.”
“Then you heard about Daggett.”
“Yes.”
“From Rabbi Ed Lerner?”
McConnell’s eyes widened. “You continue to surprise me, Mr. Geller.”
“When did he call you?” I asked. “Two weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
“On the Friday.”
“Yes.”
“He told you Dr. Stayner had been performing illegal operations and you could approach him about Lesley. What did he want in return?”
“A clear zoning path for his Beacon Hill synagogue. He also wanted a contribution to the capital campaign.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand.”
“What does Daggett get?”
“Half a million.”
“And the donor?”
McConnell stood up and made himself a third drink. “I never asked.”
“Nobody does, I bet. You should hope he survives the procedure. Not all of them do.”
>
“What does that mean?”
“One recent donor died on the table. An allergy problem they overlooked because they were rushed.”
“That won’t happen tomorrow. Lesley’s doctor has checked this donor out thoroughly and we’ve been assured he is in excellent health.”
“How great for him. The dead man’s name was Patel, thanks for asking.”
“I didn’t mean to sound uncaring. I’m very sorry for his family. Now will you take the deal?”
“You haven’t given me anything yet. What time are you supposed to arrive tomorrow night?”
“Nine o’clock sharp. They’ll prep the donor and Lesley at the same time. They told us they’ll probably start around ten-thirty and be done by one a.m.”
“Did they show you where it would be done?”
“Yes. We went out one night to view the facility, make sure it looked clean and professional.”
“Did it?”
“Yes. And Dr. Stayner came with us, which helped. Gave it all the credibility we needed. He also assured us he’d handle Lesley’s aftercare. She’ll still have a long road ahead of her once she gets the kidney. More anti-rejection drugs, ironically. The very thing that put her in this position.”
“What entrance are you supposed to go in tomorrow?”
“We were told to go around the back to the receiving area.”
“What vehicle are they expecting?”
“The Town Car.”
“With the two guards?”
“No. Just me and Lesley.”
If Daggett was serious about taking Jenn’s organs, it would likely be when the surgical team was done with Lesley and her donor. Sometime around one in the morning. Not the best time for an assault but far from the worst-if Ryan could get us more men. I told McConnell to give me a number where he could be reached day or night. He added it to the back of the card that had gained me entry. I gave him my cell number, which he memorized.
“Do we have a deal?” he asked.
“I’m going to do whatever I have to do to get Jenn out of there. Unharmed. If allowing your wife’s procedure to take place helps, then I’ll allow it. If it hurts, all bets are off.”
“That’s not much of an assurance.”
“And I’m not reporting you to the FBI or sixteen House committees.”
Posturing aside, we ended up with if not a deal, then an understanding of sorts. I can’t say exactly what his understanding was but mine was clear: If the best time to get Jenn out was before his wife’s surgery, I’d disrupt it. And try to kill Daggett on the way out.
I left Louisburg Square and walked the short distance from Beacon Hill to Copps Hill in the North End where Dante Ryan had been conducting his morning-long surveillance in a cafe called Daberto.
“Unless something better presents itself between now and then,” I said, “we have two options for tomorrow night. Hit the place right before or right after they operate on Lesley McConnell. Any update from your friend?”
“He’s sending two guys out to meet us.”
“Who?”
“Their names are Frank and Victor.”
“What do you know about them?”
“They’re in one of his crews, was all he said. Soldiers.”
“Can four of us take Halladay’s?”
“Not so fast. What he agreed to was they’ll meet us. We’ll sit and discuss the plan and they’ll decide how deeply they want to be involved, was how he put it.”
“That’s it?”
“I told you, Jonah, this guy has what your people would call schlep. He has pull.”
“A made man?”
“I won’t acknowledge that verbally but watch me nod. Now, as long as there’s nothing too wacky, I think they’re in.”
“They provide their own guns?”
“Sidearms, sure. More than that, we might have to outfit them.”
“Then let’s hope Lugo works Sundays.”
Lugo was indeed home and working. Ryan told him what we were looking for, listened and said, “For that price, John, you should be coming with us. No, I’m not haggling. I’m just saying … all right, but you’re going to miss out on all the fun.”
When he hung up, I called the Stayner home and got his wife. She said he couldn’t come to the phone right now.
“Tell him it’s an emergency.”
“Aren’t you the man who was here yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“And you had an emergency then?”
“This one’s worse.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Geller, it’s Sunday. Charles needs his downtime.”
“Ma’am, please pass the phone to your husband. Let him decide if he wants to take it or not.”
Ryan said, “Tell her if she doesn’t, I’m gonna shove it up her ass.”
“If you don’t put him on,” I said to Mrs. Stayner, “he’ll have to talk to the police instead.”
“About what?”
“You can ask him when we’re done.”
“Oh, just a minute.”
She put the receiver down none too gently on a hard surface and I heard steps recede into the distance. A minute later, different steps approached.
“What the hell are you trying to do!” Stayner said. “Implying to my wife I have something to hide from the police? She doesn’t know anything about what’s going on.”
“If you don’t want her to, shut up and listen.”
“You can’t-”
“David is dead,” I said.
“What!”
“He was murdered this morning.”
“No.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Oh, God. Poor David.” His voice sounded choked with genuine emotion. For whom, I wondered.
He said, “Do the police know who did it?”
“I don’t know. Let’s call from your house and ask.”
“You’re coming here?”
“Right now.”
“But there’s nothing else I can do.”
“Oh yes, there is.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
“You’re not bringing your goon?”
“Watch it,” I said. “David was shot to death this morning in front of my eyes. The goon could easily be me.”
CHAPTER 29
Jesus Christ, Sean thought, the big blonde bitch had broken Kieran’s leg with her car. He’d needed a plate to stabilize the shin bone, she’d busted it so bad. He had a deep gash in the back of his head too, from where his head had banged off the headlight of a parked car, all kinds of glass and paint and chips they had to pick out of there. They’d had to shave the whole back of his head, but left the long floppy front until he woke up so they could ask him if he wanted that buzzed off too. But when he came around, he was so pissed off at what had happened, at what she’d done to his leg, he told them the first person to touch him with a buzzer or anything else was gonna die. Sean was glad they were keeping Kieran in the bed with his leg up, all those tubes in his arm. Otherwise, he’d be hopping bare-assed down the hallway in his hospital gown, looking for his car to go run down the bitch.
But she was already down, way down, which left one to go: the PI from Toronto who had led them to the good Dr. Fine. And wasn’t that poetic, using one Hebe to track down another, when they were always so protective of each other-like some secret little society you couldn’t get into if you didn’t have the nose and the big mouth and all their other shit. He wants to rescue his girl? Let him try. Him and the buddy he had with him now, an Italian in dark clothes; nothing much physically, his watchers said. They had shown his picture to a few North End friends with bent noses but no one gave up his name. So what? One guy, two guys. Didn’t matter to Sean. His boys would just dig the grave deeper.
Freddie Hogan hadn’t been near a girl this good-looking in a long time. Maybe at a party for like two minutes before she spotted a better prospect and moved off. This one was better looking than any of them. Tall, Chris
t, a good three inches taller than him, with that rare combination: a great big body, fit but lots of curves, and a great face too, even with her eyes closed and a tube down her throat. He’d seen her alive and kicking when Sean had brought her in and thrown her down onto the bed, put the gun on her and told her if she moved he’d blow a hole in her and gut her right there. Freddie had seen her eyes then: beautiful blue eyes, scared, angry, scornful. He’d seen her mouth with even white teeth and full lips telling Sean he was an asshole and worse. Didn’t get to Sean. He’d just smiled and held his pistol while she took off her clothes with her back to them-Jesus, what an ass, full and creamy, two good handfuls-and put on the thin hospital gown that barely hid anything. It was chilly in the prep room and it took no time for them rosebuds to appear beneath the front of her gown, especially as her boobs moved against the cloth as she squirmed while he strapped down her arms and wrists. She stopped once the drip took hold. Then she just lay there while he intubated her and put in the catheter, not using any of the antiseptic the kit provided, and watched her as she settled into the long dark sleep that was going to follow. Sean watched too, over Freddie’s shoulder, until she was gone, then told him that no one was to so much as touch her until Monday. Watch her, Sean had told him. Call if there were complications.
There wouldn’t be any, Freddie said, and Sean left to go about his business. Now there she lay naked under a gown thinner than a hostel bedsheet. Talk about pulling prize duty, all because he knew how to keep someone on ice like this. Leave it to Sean to think of it. Normally, you abduct someone and you want to keep them alive a few days, you need to find someplace secluded, feed them, watch them go to the bathroom, take their shit, listen to them plead. Sean said, “Fuck that shit-knock ’em out for a few bucks’ worth of P.”
And he was right. Propofol, run through someone properly at a good level dose, was a nice clean drug. It kept Sean’s people quiet as mice. He didn’t have to do shit but run a few tubes in them, keep an eye on them, make sure they didn’t barf and then choke on it.
The place itself, this prep room at Halladay’s Funeral Home, gave Freddie the creeps, though. Big time. How could it not? All the dead bodies that had been worked on in the room, embalmed, made up and what have you. Stuffed into their best suits, their lips sewn shut and their ties knotted just right. But Sean paid well and all Freddie had to do was keep people on the drip until they were needed. This girl, though. Look at her. Look at the titties rise and fall with her breath.
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