I
T HAD BEEN
nearly two weeks since Finn had last heard from Linda. That was all right, he told himself; she was swamped dealing with the Little Jack case. Besides, she was on television so often that it was like having her in the apartment with him. The gruesome details of Little Jack’s capture had catapulted the saga from local preoccupation to genuine national phenomenon. Media outlets from around the country scrambled to get any piece of the story they could, from any source, credible or not. As the lead investigator, Flaherty was a national hero, interviewed repeatedly on all of the major networks. Finn felt sorry for her, though, noticing her obvious annoyance at being thrust into the media spotlight. Still, it wouldn’t hurt her career.
The break allowed him the opportunity to concentrate on work again, which was good. The Tannery case was moving forward quickly, and it took all of his time just to keep up with the pace. As he sat in the office this afternoon, he was preparing an outline for the deposition of Amy Tannery, Edward Tannery’s widow. Preston Holland would use the outline to conduct a deposition that would leave her no room to wiggle when she testified at trial. Finn had spent several days going through every piece of information their investigators had been able to find on both Tannerys, which now amounted to a file more than two feet thick.
If the American public knew how intensive this kind of litigation was, Finn thought, they’d probably vote to junk the entire judicial system and start from scratch. He now knew more about the Tannerys than they’d ever known about themselves. The firm’s investigators had credit reports going back fifteen years. They’d subpoenaed Ed Tannery’s entire work history, including every review he’d ever been given. They’d found all of the transcripts from both of their colleges and high schools, as well as the yearbooks from each school, and had interviewed many of both husband’s and wife’s former teachers. In all, Finn had notes from the interviews of more than one hundred Tannery friends, enemies, and acquaintances.
But the investigation hadn’t stopped there. The firm’s investigators had gotten hold of some of the Tannerys’ garbage and had sifted through banana peels, cereal boxes, and diaper bags until they’d come across documents containing their social security numbers and credit card information. These provided the real window into the Tannerys’ souls, since they allowed the firm’s investigators to construct a nearly complete history of every purchase they’d made in a two-year period.
For the most part, there was nothing interesting in the information they’d gathered. The Tannerys were a fairly normal couple with the usual spending habits. Finn was able to learn, however, that they’d had difficulty conceiving their child, and had made several payments to fertility specialists during the two years prior to her birth. In addition, there was a two-month period when they were seeing a marriage counselor. Finn noticed that the payments to the marriage counselor were preceded by a three-month stretch when Ed Tannery’s credit card had paid for several short stays in various local motels. It was possible he had been having an affair during that time, and that had led to difficulty in the couple’s marriage. There was no way to tell for sure, but Finn made a note to ask Mrs. Tannery about it during the deposition. It might just make her reconsider settlement if she knew her husband’s infidelity would be revealed during a trial.
Finn pushed the stack of reports away from him and leaned back in his chair, stretching his body against the effects of several hours hunched over his desk. This type of work made him feel unclean, a bit like a voyeur. Still, what he was doing was simply part of his job. Mrs. Tannery was the one who’d brought the lawsuit and opened up this particular Pandora’s box. One of the goals was to make her understand that no one wins in a trial. If she insisted on pressing forward, she’d have her entire life laid out in front of the world. That was the price of justice, and she might as well know it now.
It was Finn’s hope, however, that the case would settle before it came to that. He was beginning to find it hard to take any joy from the game. He wanted to feel clean again.
He looked at the phone. With two weeks having elapsed since that morning in the station house with Linda, why
shouldn’t
he give her a call? He figured he wouldn’t seem too desperate. Rather, he’d simply be confirming he was interested. That’s what he wanted.
He picked up the phone and began dialing her number …
“Six hearts, all matching the first six victims. The hair clippings and skin samples found around the jars also matched the first six victims. The last jar was empty except for the formalde-hyde. We assume he was going to use the jar to hold the last girl’s heart.”
Flaherty looked at the floor in despair as she received the report from Farmalant in the plush comfort of one of the leather chairs in his office. She’d known deep down that this was what he was going to tell her, but she still hoped there’d be something in the forensics that would link Townsend to Natalie Caldwell’s murder.
“Was there anything in his house that matched the Caldwell woman?” she asked. “Any jewelry or clothing or anything?”
“Nothing,” Farmalant replied.
“So, where does that leave us?”
Kozlowski was leaning against the filing cabinet near the door. “The captain wants this whole thing wrapped up in one neat package. So does the commissioner. So does the public. No one’s going to be happy to hear we’ve only solved part of the case.”
Farmalant looked incredulous. “I’m not really hearing what I think I’m hearing, am I? You’d really tank the Caldwell murder just because it’s a PR problem? I thought you guys were better cops than that.”
“I’m not saying we should tank anything,” Kozlowski snapped. “I’m just pointing out that there are going to be plenty of pissed-off people when and if they find out we’re continuing to investigate the Caldwell murder. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it, it just means we should recognize what we’re getting ourselves into.”
“I get really nervous when you start to consider the political ramifications of something. That means we’re in way over our heads,” Flaherty said. She shrugged. “Maybe Townsend really did kill Natalie Caldwell, too, and he just didn’t keep any mementos for some reason. We’re dealing with a first-class psycho, after all.”
“That’s a bullshit rationalization, and you know it,” Farmalant said. “There’s another guy out there, whether you want to look for him or not.”
Flaherty let her head fall into her hands. “Yeah, I know it. I just don’t like it.”
“Do you have any leads?” Farmalant asked.
Flaherty and Kozlowski looked at each other. “Yeah, a couple,” Kozlowski said. “A friend from her law firm says she was sleeping with an older man—someone connected who might have had a great deal to lose if she ever went public about the relationship. That’s one possibility. Either that or …” He paused and looked at Flaherty.
“Or her friend is lying and he killed her because he was in love with her,” Flaherty finished.
Flaherty eyed with distrust the folded piece of paper containing Finn’s list of Natalie Caldwell’s political connections. It had been sitting on her desk since Finn gave it to her. She still hadn’t looked at it. After hearing Stone’s description of Finn slapping around a prostitute at the Kiss Club, she’d put this part of the investigation out of her head in the hope they’d find something linking Townsend to Caldwell. If they
had
found that linkage she would never have been forced to deal with her feelings for Scott Finn.
What feelings?
she asked herself.
I had dinner with him once, that’s all. I kissed him, so what?
That was hardly a sturdy foundation for a long-term relationship, or for real feelings. She could go back to treating him as she would any other suspect. She was sure of that.
Anyway, he was not the only viable suspect, she reminded herself. She had to keep an open mind until she knew more about Natalie Caldwell. There might be something to Finn’s theory about Natalie’s older boyfriend.
She picked up the sheet of paper and held it in front of her face without opening it. She could still turn back now and lay the Caldwell murder at Townsend’s feet. That was what most people wanted—a clean, quiet end to it all. If she opened the piece of paper, any hope of that would be gone. She knew herself too well to believe she’d let the investigation drop once she’d seen the list of names.
She looked over her shoulder to see if anyone in the squad room was watching her. It was an odd thing to do, she knew, but she felt like she was somehow betraying the department by casting a shadow over the biggest public relations victory it had had in decades. Satisfied no one was spying on her, she slowly, deliberately opened the piece of paper and looked at the list of names.
She heard herself gasp as she read it. Every name felt like a punch in the stomach. One by one, she read the names and the brief descriptions of their connection to Natalie Caldwell. She was tied in, Flaherty realized, and tied in big-time. It looked like she knew or had worked with every person with any significant power in Boston. These weren’t the kind of people who’d appreciate being investigated.
Jesus
, she thought,
even the governor is on the list.
Wait, that’s impossible, isn’t it?
Hadn’t Clarke specifically said he’d never met Natalie Caldwell? She was sure he had. So it was possible Finn’s list was wrong, wasn’t it? Maybe she could ignore it. More than that, maybe it was possible that Finn was deliberately giving her false information—leading the police in the wrong direction to cover his own guilt.
There was only one way to find out, she knew, and it depressed her to think about it. She should have just thrown the list away. She hadn’t, though, and it weighed heavily on her. Just then the phone rang.
“Lieutenant Flaherty,” she said as she picked up the receiver.
“Is this the world-famous Detective Lieutenant Flaherty?” the voice asked. It was Finn. She felt her back stiffen, and it took a moment to compose herself. She was not sure what to say. “Linda?” he said after a moment.
“Yes, is this Mr. Finn?” she asked, trying to buy time.
“We’re back to ‘Mister’? How did that happen?”
“I’m sorry, I was just thinking about you.”
“Well then, I guess great minds think alike, because I was just thinking about me too. Specifically, I was thinking I’d like to see you.”
“Yes, I think we need to talk.” She was deliberately distant with him, and she knew he’d notice it. This wasn’t going to be easy.
“Okay, do you want to do it over dinner at Il Panino?” he offered.
“I don’t think that that will be possible.”
“Well then, you pick a place,” he pressed.
There was a long pause on the line. “I think I’d prefer it if you’d come down to the station house so we can talk here,” she said finally. The silence on the other end of the line sent a cold shiver up her spine, and she had the feeling she had just destroyed any hope of their being anything other than enemies.
“Y
OU’RE KIDDING, RIGHT?”
Kozlowski and Stone were in the interrogation room with Finn and Flaherty, but Finn directed the question to Flaherty alone.
“You were the last person we know of who talked to her,” Kozlowski spoke up, somewhat defensively. “You were her former lover—a fact you neglected to tell us the first time we interviewed you—and you still haven’t been able to give us a decent alibi. What do you expect us to think?”
Finn glared at him. “I don’t expect you to be able to think at all, Detective. Just by looking at you, I understand that would be expecting far too much. But I do expect Lieutenant Flaherty to be able to think. And if she’s thinking straight right now, she’s remembering that the last time I saw Natalie was early on Friday evening, and I left the bar we were at without her. She’s also probably realizing that the first time you interviewed me you never asked whether Natalie and I had had a physical relationship. You only asked what our relationship was at the time.”
“So it all depends on what the definition of ‘is’ is? That excuse has been tried before,” Kozlowski sneered.
Finn ignored him. “And she’s probably also remembering that I didn’t hesitate to tell her about my past relationship with Natalie the second time we met, when she asked me about it. Finally, as far as an alibi goes, I dropped by several bars after leaving Natalie. I can name at least a few, and I’m sure I can find some people who saw me there alone—I haven’t lined anyone up, because I wasn’t aware I was a suspect until two minutes ago.”
“Nobody said you were a suspect, exactly,” Flaherty corrected. Her voice was flat, though.
“Then why, when you’ve got a guy in custody who was actually caught in the act of killing one of these girls, are you trying to jam me up for allegedly killing my friend?”
“We’ve told you, nobody’s trying to jam you up. It’s just that we haven’t found anything that ties Townsend to Natalie, and he’s claiming he didn’t kill her. Normally, we wouldn’t be too surprised or concerned that the main suspect denies being the murderer. But in this case, Townsend seems willing to admit to all of the other murders. So the question is, why does he deny killing Natalie Caldwell? That puts us in a position where we have to consider every possibility,” Flaherty said. This time her voice was more reassuring.
“Fine, so look at every possibility. I gave you a two-page list of people Natalie worked with, and who fit the description of her boyfriend. Why not start by looking into that?”
“We do plan on looking into that, Mr. Finn,” Kozlowski said. “But the only evidence we have that Ms. Caldwell was even having an affair comes from you. So before we go knocking on the doors of some of the most powerful people in Boston, accusing them of murder, we thought we’d get to know a little more about the guy who’s pointing the finger at them.”
“Besides,” Flaherty continued, “we’re pretty sure that at least some of the information on the list is false.”
“What’s false about it?”
“For example,” Flaherty began, “we know Governor Clarke didn’t know Ms. Caldwell personally, as your list suggests.”
“How do you know that?” Finn asked.
“He told us so,” she replied.
Finn looked at her, incredulous, waiting for more. “That’s it?” he asked after a moment. “
He told you so?
He didn’t even take a pinkie-oath on it or anything? Did he at least cross his heart and hope to die?”
Kozlowski scoffed. “He had no reason to lie to us when he said it. At the time, we weren’t even considering that the killer might be someone other than Little Jack, so he wouldn’t have had any reason to go out on a limb like that.”
“Right,” said Finn, rolling his eyes. “If he were the real killer, he’d certainly have no motive to foreclose any investigation into his relationship with her.” The on-point sarcasm made Kozlowski feel a little foolish.
“We still have no reason to think he’s lying, yet,” Flaherty said. “We wouldn’t have
any
reason to suspect him if it weren’t for you.”
Finn threw up his hands. “As I explained in the list I gave you, Natalie worked with the governor on one of his crime initiatives—I think it was the one aimed at domestic violence. Her name has to be on the legislation somewhere.”
“We thought of that, but we haven’t been able to find anything.” Flaherty sounded almost sympathetic.
“Which means it’s just back to your word.” Kozlowski was back on the attack. “Besides, there are other issues we have to talk to you about.”
“Like what?” Finn asked wearily.
“Like have you ever been to the Kiss Club?” Flaherty asked. The question was like a slap in Finn’s face, and he physically rocked back in his chair. He looked back and forth between Flaherty and Kozlowski in a state of confusion.
“What does the Kiss Club have to do with anything?” he asked. He had to take a deep breath to keep from becoming defensive. He didn’t like the direction the interrogation was heading.
“The Kiss Club was the last place Natalie Caldwell was seen alive. Whoever killed her may have met up with her there.” Kozlowski was in his element now, and he was enjoying turning the screws on Finn. “Have you ever been there?”
Finn thought for a moment. As a lawyer, he knew that the smart thing to do at this point would be to shut his mouth and answer no further questions. He’d always advised his clients to stop talking whenever it became clear they were a suspect in a crime, even if they were innocent. As a general rule, nothing good ever comes from talking to a police officer who believes you’re guilty. But this was different, wasn’t it? “I was there with Natalie once,” he admitted.
“Ever been back there?” Kozlowski asked. From his tone, Finn had the feeling the detective already knew the answer.
“I was in there a week or so ago,” he answered.
“You want to tell us about that?” Kozlowski asked.
“What’s to tell?”
“Officer Stone saw you in there,” Flaherty said, pointing to Stone in the corner of the room. “He witnessed you assaulting a working girl who apparently looked very much like Natalie Caldwell.” She said it as fact, without any emotion, but Finn could still feel the anger and disappointment in her voice.
Finn turned bright red. “So that’s what this is about?” he fumed. “Officer Stone saw something he took totally out of context, and now you all want to hang me for it?”
“Is there a context that would make this reasonable?” Flaherty asked, her tone exasperated.
Finn shook his head in disbelief. Then he turned to Stone. “Well, for starters, I’m guessing that Officer Stone didn’t hear any of the conversation I had with the young woman, did he?”
Stone looked at Kozlowski, who held his palms up, indicating that he was free to answer the question.
“No, I didn’t,” Stone admitted. “But I don’t see what—”
Finn interrupted him. “So you couldn’t hear that the entire altercation started because she propositioned me and I turned her down, right?”
“Right,” Stone said, “but—”
“And I’m also guessing that you were watching from an angle where you couldn’t see what was happening underneath the bar, weren’t you?”
“That’s true.”
“So you couldn’t see that she reacted to my rejection by trying to crush my testicles, and that I was only acting in self-defense, could you?”
“Like I said, I couldn’t see from where I was.” Stone was backpedaling now.
“I see. So basically, you’ve all convinced yourselves that I murdered my best friend because I went to a bar that she took me to once and then rejected the advances of a prostitute who looked marginally like her. Do I have that about right?”
The three officers looked at one another silently. They seemed defeated, and each hoped that one of the others would find some leverage to go back on the attack. It was Kozlowski who finally spoke.
“That was a fine cross-examination, Mr. Finn. I can see why clients pay the fees that Howery, Black charges. But it doesn’t mean shit in the real world. You’re still the last person we know of who talked to Natalie Caldwell. You’re still her former lover, and you still don’t have an alibi. In my book, that means that we’ve got to take a long, hard look at you. If you have a problem with that, you’ll just have to live with it. And until you can verify some of the information on this list you gave us, I’m going to take the governor’s word over yours every day of the week.”
Finn rolled his eyes and looked at Linda. “If I can prove to you that the governor really did know Natalie, will you stop leaning on me and take a harder look at the people on that list?”
Flaherty nodded. “If you can convince me the governor actually lied to us, then we might be persuaded to alter the current direction of the investigation slightly.”
“Fine,” Finn said, getting up out of his chair. “Come with me.”
All three of the officers got up to follow, but he shook his head and pointed at Flaherty. “Just her,” he said. “I’m not about to go traipsing around this city with the three of you in tow. She’s less conspicuous, and you guys only need one person to verify my information.”
Flaherty looked at Kozlowski and waved him off. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “You stay here and I’ll let you know what I find.”