Deadly Diamonds (33 page)

Time was definitely of the essence. Our little band of musketeers—Harry, Seamus, and I—caught the earliest direct flight back to Boston. I put together a plan based on the weak assumption that I was right about where Kevin stashed the diamonds.

When we landed, Harry and Seamus went their way. I rented a car at the first agency I came to. I was on Route 93 heading to New Hampshire fifteen minutes after the immigration officer squinted at my passport photo and admitted me into the country.

At ten p.m., it was pitch-black on the dirt road that led deep into the pine woods to the O'Byrneses' decimated cottage. The moon, thank God, chose somewhere else to shine. I was fairly sure that I was the first one there. Whether I was right about that or not, I needed the headlights to find the dirt ruts that led to the cottage.

I ran inside through the back door behind the lowest beam of a flashlight. Maneuvering between piles of rubble, smashed shelves, and dismantled cabinets required a higher level of beam. Five minutes later, I ran out and drove the car a short distance to a blind pull-off. With all lights doused, the car was completely hidden from sight. I made my way back on foot through the woods to a point where I could lurk behind a tree and see through the appropriate window of the cottage.

It was shortly after midnight when a bobbing set of headlights signaled a car bouncing over the washboard road. I practically willed the car to turn into the car-width path to the cottage. It did. I could see the now recognizable figure of Kevin go inside through the back door.

Timing was still the key to success. I called Harry at his Cambridge
apartment as prearranged. I had him dial up Kevin's cell phone number and sit tight without hitting the call button.

Within five minutes, I could just make out the form of Kevin, flashlight in one hand and a small sack in the other, moving around in the cottage. I gave Harry the signal. True to his MIT graduate engineering training, Harry hit the “call” button right on cue. I could see Kevin put down the flashlight and flip open his cell phone.

I could tell by Kevin's body language that he was reacting to the change of plan I had asked Harry to relay. The new plan was for Kevin to bring the diamonds and meet Huang Liu (Harry) in room 228 of the Parker House at noon the following morning to consummate the deal. Harry was to bait the hook by saying that he would have the cash on hand and Kevin had better have those diamonds. The Lord only knows how Harry delivered that message.

I could see Kevin erupting into some mild histrionics at the change of plan. I suspected that Frank's pampered son could go ballistic over a change of breakfast cereal. I was confident that much of the bluster was to keep what he considered a dominant hand in the negotiation. Since the net result was to be a cash windfall for him and his father, I figured the squall would pass. It did.

I watched a relatively cool, collected Kevin walk back to his car and drive off down the dirt road. There was no point in following closely. The hook had been set.

The next morning, I caught Mr. Devlin as he stepped off the elevator at our Franklin Street offices. Julie told me that it was his first day of coming in for a few hours. She told me that the doctor's orders were to keep the excitement down. Given our line of work, I assumed that was a relative thing.

He may not have been ready for the Olympics, but I could see in his eyes that the fire was back just being in the old digs. That did more for me than my morning's Dunkin' Donuts.

I brought him up to speed quickly because I needed him to work some of that Devlin charm on the district attorney's office. There
was still a major piece of the puzzle that needed placement before anything significant was going to happen.

Mr. D. carefully bypassed Angela Lamb, the Dark Queen of that particular realm. He knew she'd say no to whatever he proposed if only to avoid making a tactical blunder. He talked the very understanding receptionist, Mary Cornelius, into giving him Billy Coyne's private line without sending any flares in her majesty's direction. Billy was on in three seconds.

“Lex. You've just changed my career plans. When I heard you might be out of the wars, I seriously considered retiring. There'd be no fun in it. How're you feeling?”

“Like a first-year associate. More fire and brimstone every day, Billy. Thank you for the compliment.”

“I meant it. And now that we're through being nice to each other, what unfair advantage do you want to take of me this time?”

“Why, Billy! When have I—”

“There was the Huntington case, there was the Scheer case, there—”

“Ah, but those are bygones. I'm a new man. Nothing but straight arrow from here on.”

“If I believed that, I would retire. Come on. Skip the warm-up. Straight out. What do you want from this poor humble servant of the people?”

“Nothing that can do you any harm, Billy. I take it you still have an indictment out for Kevin O'Byrne.”

“What do you care? I heard you people withdrew as defense counsel.”

“That we did. But we didn't withdraw from our interest in seeing justice done.”

“Oh my, Lex. I'm lifting my feet, and the bullshit is still up to my knees. A simple question. What do you want?”

“How would you like both O'Byrnes right in your lap?”

“What the hell, Lex? Are you on my side now?”

“I think in a way all these years, we've always been on the same side.”

“We'll talk about that over a Scotch some night. Assuming what you said could happen, what's the price?”

“A look at the autopsy report on Salvatore Barone.”

“I can't do that, Lex. You're out of the case now. Among other things, there are privacy laws.”

“Yes, there are, Billy. There are such things. And there are other things. There's a blaze that could go up like tinder between the two biggest organized crime gangs in this city. The North End Italians and that plague on our mutual heritage, the South Boston Irish. They could exchange more than words if this thing isn't doused. How does that stack up against your so-called privacy laws?”

“You haven't lost a step, have you? You can still play my emotions like a harp.”

“An appropriate reference, Mr. Coyne. So?”

There was a pause. I could hear footsteps going and then coming back with the sounds of a door opening and closing in between. We both figured Billy was checking for lurking ears.

“I take it your interest is the cause of death, Lex.”

“None other.”

“Well, I suppose it could have been that rope around his neck.”

“It could.”

“But it wasn't. It could have been that knife in his back.”

“True.”

“Nope.”

“Which leaves?”

“Without divulging anything contrary to my oath of office, I suppose it could have been that hollow-nose .22 that splintered in every direction inside his brain.”

“And your conclusion?”

“I conclude that I'll not step any farther outside of the bounds of discretion.”

“Billy, you're a gem. What would the Commonwealth do without you?”

“The day you retire, I'm afraid they'll have to find out.”

Now I was armed with something better than firepower. The information Billy gave, without actually giving it, could well provide the leverage I needed. The trick was to parlay it with a realization that had been growing for some time. Packy's comment the last time we were together confirmed in my mind the fact that you could take all of the self-sacrificing loyalty to the corps among the current generation of mobsters and put it in a peanut shell and still have room for three M&M's. That meant that with a little finesse, they could be played off against each other. At least in theory.

I arrived at the Parker House at quarter of noon. I met Harry as planned in Room 228. We went over the scene he was about to play. Rehearsals with Harry only called to mind the number of ways he could grab the bit in his teeth and run in a direction that could cause us both physical harm. Still, there's no one I'd rather have as my front man.

At noon on the dot, there was a knock on the door. I scooted through the adjoining door to Room 230. Harry dialed up my cell number on his cell phone to let me hear the discussion. As he opened the door, I heard him start babbling Chinese in a high-pitched voice into the phone. It sounded as if he were threatening some poor imaginary soul with the wrath of God.

I opened the adjoining door just a crack. I could see Harry wave Kevin into the room. Between Chinese outbursts into the phone, he gave a firm “stay” signal at the door to the bulked-up bodyguard Kevin brought with him.

When Kevin could get a word in, it was to insist that his giant shadow be admitted with him. That sent Harry into the contortions of a one-man band. He continued to pour vitriolic Chinese into the phone to no one, while he continued to wave off and start to shut the door in the face of the totally stymied bodyguard. At the same time, he glared at Kevin and waved his arm theatrically around the room with a wild expression on his face that seemed to be asking why he needed a bodyguard when there was no one else in the room. It was one hell of a performance.

I was watching through a tiny opening of the door. I didn't know
whether to laugh or applaud. Kevin was equally stunned. Eventually, if only to calm the maniacal Chinese typhoon, he conceded the logic of Harry's position. He told the bodyguard to stand outside the door. I noticed that Harry closed the door and slipped on the bolt lock.

Harry returned to relative normalcy, but not before a final invective into the phone, which he appeared to slam shut without really disconnecting it.

Harry was now all business. According to the script, he pulled out of his pocket a jeweler's eyepiece and took a seat at the desk. He turned on the light and gave Kevin a look that demanded production of the subject of the meeting.

There must have been some hesitancy, because Harry pounded the desktop. I hardly needed the phone to hear, “Come! Come! What am I here for? Produce them! Now!”

Kevin made a vain attempt at controlling his end. “Suppose you show me the money first.”

“Suppose you get the hell out of the room!”

Harry was up and pacing now. “Who you think I am? Nobody told you who I am? I leaving now. You pay for room. That teach you some respect for your betters.” Each phrase was interspersed with Chinese I wouldn't want to hear translated.

Harry grabbed his large briefcase from beside the desk and headed under a full head of steam for the door.

Kevin caught him by the arm. “Please, Mr. Liu. Wait. No offense intended. Damn, you're touchy.”

Harry let that last phrase pass, but not the hand on his arm. He jerked his arm away and faced Kevin straight on. Harry dropped his voice to a whisper that hissed through clenched teeth. “You ever touch my person again, you be in more pieces than jigsaw puzzle.”

Kevin did his best backing-off move. “I'm sorry, Mr. Liu. Really, no offense. Let's calm down. We have business to do. I'll show you the diamonds. Just calm down, will you?”

I was thinking the same thing.
Calm down, Harry. You've got a scene to play before you run out of steam
.

Harry acceded to both of our wishes. He strode back to the desk
like a clerk at Tiffany's. How he could turn the hysterics on and off was awesome.

From the doorway, I could see him pop in the eyepiece. He had a demanding way of simply holding out his hand. I could see Kevin reach into his inside sport coat pocket. He produced a small leather pouch with a drawstring.

Harry waved the fingers of his outstretched hand to speed up the process. Kevin pulled loose the drawstring and dropped several small objects into Harry's open hand.

Harry felt the rough stones between his fingers. He took one and set the others down on the desk. He held it up to his free eye. He gave a withering look at Kevin who probably took it as business posturing.

Harry held the little item between his fingers and pretended to study it through the jeweler's eyepiece for several seconds. He suddenly dropped his hand to the desk. There was a blank look on his face that had Kevin staring at him.

In one sudden motion, Harry used his free hand to slap the eyepiece out of his eye. He rose to his feet almost in slow motion. He held the stone in his left fist while he grabbed the edge of he desk with his right.

I could see it coming. I almost bolted into the room to stop him. Instead I just whispered to myself. “Crap, oh crap, Harry. Don't go over the top.”

But he did. In one synchronized move, he overturned the desk and screamed something in Chinese they must have heard on Tremont Street. He turned a slow look toward Kevin that said he could eat him alive.

Kevin backed off practically to the wall. His mouth fell open and he started to cringe. Harry was, after all, over six feet tall.

With his back to the wall, Kevin started screaming, I think more out of fear than anger. “What the hell is wrong with you?”