Dark Harbor (29 page)
F
LAHERTY WALKED INTO THE ROOM reluctantly.
She closed the door behind her and stood silently for a moment as she and Finn looked at each other. Then she walked over to the table and sat down.
“Wouldn’t this be easier for everyone if you just dealt with Detective Kozlowski?” she asked.
“Nothing’s easy about this for me,” Finn said. “And at the moment I really don’t care about making this easier on anyone else. After all, it’s my life on the line.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you killed Natalie Caldwell.”
“That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you,” Finn said. He took a deep breath and looked at her hard. “I didn’t do this.”
“It’s too late for that.” She had to be firm. Any sign that she had lingering doubts would likely foreclose the possibility of a confession.
“I know how this looks, but I’m being framed.”
“How could I possibly believe you?” She wanted to, but overnight the evidence had mounted, and she knew she had to put her personal feelings aside.
“Think, dammit! Why would I leave those things in my apartment if I really killed her? Am I really that stupid? Those things were put there by someone who’s trying to frame me, and I know who it is.”
“Nobody’s trying to frame you, Finn. You’re guilty. It’s not just the evidence we found at your apartment. One of the bartenders at the Kiss Club has come forward and says he remembers you.”
Finn looked confused. “I told you, I went there because I missed Natalie. I explained all that to you.”
“No, not that night. The bartender remembers you from the night Natalie was killed.”
Finn turned white. “No I wasn’t! I wasn’t there!” he shouted. “The bartender’s lying,” he pressed on. “Somebody got to him.” Finn felt like he was falling into a deep, dark pit.
Flaherty shook her head. “Nobody got to him, Finn. It’s over.”
“It’s not over,” he objected. “This is all wrong, he’s getting away with murder.”
“Who is? Who is this person you think is setting you up? Tell me. Make me understand.”
Finn was gripping the table now, and it was clear that he was trying to keep from losing his grip on reality; trying to keep himself oriented. “McGuire,” he said after a moment. “McGuire is the one. He’s pulling the strings.”
“Who is McGuire?”
“He’s the president of Huron Security. He’s a friend of the governor’s, and I think he’s connected to the mob.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Finn? You’re delusional.”
“No, I’m not. It’s true. The company has been ripping off the state, and Natalie found out. That’s why he had her killed.”
“And I suppose you can prove this?”
“I can. I have documents that prove the company was stealing from the state, and I can prove Natalie found out about it just before she was killed.”
Flaherty was shaking her head. “I can’t simply take your word for it, Finn. I need some kind of confirmation.”
Finn thought for a moment. “Bostick,” he said.
“Bostick?”
“Yes, Peter Bostick. He lives in Chinatown. You’ve got to get to him. He can explain it all in a way that you might believe it.”
“Peter Bostick? The former Boston police officer?”
“Yeah, that’s why you’ll believe him. All I’m asking is that you talk to him.”
“That’s going to be difficult.”
“Why?”
“Because Peter Bostick was found murdered last night.” She hesitated as she saw the shock and horror register on Finn’s face. “It looks like a robbery. The whole precinct has been talking about it all day.”
Suddenly it looked like the darkness had closed in around Finn. It was as if he could no longer see or hear anything, like he was lost in a whirlpool, spinning faster and faster.
“I have to get out of here,” he said, more to himself than to Flaherty.
“You’re not going anywhere. Tell me what Bostick has to do with this.”
“I’ve got to leave,” he said again. He got up and stumbled in the direction of the door. Flaherty stood up and grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Finn, talk to me! What’s going on?”
He heard her this time, but he still wasn’t able to focus on her words. “I’ve got to leave!” he shouted. “Don’t you understand?”
“No, I don’t understand.” She pushed him back against the wall and he stumbled, hitting his head. “Tell me what this is all about! What does Peter Bostick have to do with this?” He struggled against her, but he was dizzy, and all of his strength had left him as the revelations piled up on one another.
“No, let me go!” he yelled.
“I’m not letting you go! Tell me what happened!” she yelled back.
Just then the door swung open. “That will be enough of that, Lieutenant!” a firm, strong voice boomed into the room, full of shock and indignation. Both Finn and Flaherty turned toward the voice, and there, standing next to Captain Weidel, both of them looking angry, was Preston Holland.
“C
APTAIN WEIDEL
, I want to express my extreme displeasure at the treatment of my client. The days of rubber hoses have long since passed from our system of justice, or so I thought, and my client and I will be discussing very seriously the possibility of bringing charges against the department as a whole, and against Lieutenant Flaherty individually.”
“What are
you
doing here?” Flaherty asked, still in shock from the sudden interruption.
“This man is my client, Lieutenant. Now, I would ask that you both leave us alone, please.”
“I’ll leave when I’m good and ready,” she said defiantly.
“You’ll leave now, or I’ll have your badge by this afternoon!” Preston spouted back. “You’re already in deep trouble for the illegal search you conducted of this man’s apartment. If you want to salvage what’s left of what was, until recently, a promising career, you’ll be gone without another word, young lady!”
“Illegal search? What the hell are you talking about? He invited me in!”
“My understanding from your report is that he invited you in to wait for him. He did not give you consent to search his apartment—or his closet—and it’s apparent you didn’t get a warrant for that search. This is one of the clearest violations of the Fourth Amendment in the recent history of the Boston Police Department, and I guarantee that the case will be thrown out of court faster than you can say ‘illegal search and seizure.’ ”
“But—”
Flaherty began. “Lieutenant!” Weidel interrupted. “Get out of this room immediately!”
Flaherty looked from Weidel to Holland to Finn incredulously. Then she closed her mouth and walked out.
Weidel nodded at Holland as he, too, withdrew. “Take all the time you need,” he said, backing away and closing the door behind him.
Flaherty felt shaken as she sat at her desk. Finn was guilty. There was no other logical conclusion she could reach. He was the last person to see Natalie Caldwell alive; he was seen at the Kiss Club—where they had reason to believe Natalie Caldwell had been—on the night of her death; they’d found the ribbon and the knife at his apartment; and he had the perfect motive—jealousy. She couldn’t imagine a simpler case.
So why didn’t she believe he was guilty?
She sat at her desk for a long time, working through her feelings methodically. First, she had to recognize that she liked Finn. It had been a long time since she’d been drawn to anyone the way she was drawn to him. She forced herself to acknowledge that her hesitation might simply be a by-product of her
hope
that he was not guilty. She thought it was something more, though.
Part of it was that the case against Finn had become too simple. There was a certain compelling truth to what Finn had said. He struck her as too smart to keep the murder weapon barely hidden in the closet of his bedroom. The evidence just seemed too neat to be believed. That had been her first thought at his apartment, before the bartender at the Kiss Club came forward to claim Finn had been there the night Natalie was killed.
She was deep in thought when Kozlowski plopped down in the seat next to her desk holding two cups of coffee. He held one out to her. “So, how’d it go in there?”
“You weren’t behind the mirror watching?”
He shrugged. “Someone has to fetch the coffee around here.”
“It was interesting,” she said after a brief pause. “He claims he didn’t do it.”
“Still?”
“Surprising, isn’t it?”
“How did he explain the ribbon and the murder weapon we found?”
She raised her eyebrows. “He claims he’s being set up by the real killer. He says that the evidence was planted, and that the bartender at the Kiss Club is lying.”
“Did he have any suggestions for us about who the ‘real killer’ might be?”
“He did, actually. He has a very vivid imagination. He claims that some guy named McGuire, a bigwig at Huron Security, had her killed. You believe that? He’s trying to shift the blame to one of his own clients.”
Kozlowski frowned. “Tony McGuire?” he asked.
“I’m not sure, I don’t think he gave me his first name. Why? Does it matter?”
“Probably not. It’s just that when I was digging into Loring’s past, Tony McGuire was a name that kept popping up. Loring apparently has an obsession with the guy, and he’s been trying to bust him for years. It goes back to all of the trouble the Justice Department got in for using informants like Whitey Bulger.”
Flaherty nodded. “Go on.”
“Well, a lot of the recruiting was apparently done in an attempt to get this guy Tony McGuire, but it never worked and the guy slipped through the net every time.”
Flaherty rubbed her forehead. “You think it’s a coincidence?” “I’ve been a cop for twenty-five years. I don’t believe in coincidences anymore.”
“What do you think, then?”
“We need to have a conversation with Loring and find out more about this Tony McGuire.”
“I’m so sorry, Preston. I never meant to drag the firm into this.”
Holland waved Finn off. “I think of this firm as a family, and when one of us is in trouble, we pull together behind him. You know how fond I am of you, both as a lawyer and as a person. You’re one of the best associates we’ve ever had.”
“I didn’t do this, Preston. I swear to you, I didn’t do any of the things they’re saying. I could never have killed Natalie.”
“I know it.” Preston Holland patted Finn on the knee. “But the real question now is, how can we convince the police of that? Start by telling me exactly what you told them. I need to know everything.”
“I told them what I just told you. That I didn’t do this.”
“And what about the evidence they found in your apartment? What did you say about that?”
Finn shrugged. “I told them it must have been planted there. That someone is trying to frame me.”
“Good. Do you know who might be behind it? Anyone who has a grudge against you? Anything like that?”
Finn hesitated. Huron Security was Preston’s client, and everything Finn had learned about the company and about McGuire was the result of Finn’s participation in representing them. It suddenly occurred to him that, in telling Flaherty about his suspicions, he might have broken the law by divulging attorney-client privileged information. He hated to disappoint Preston any more than he already had. At the same time, though, he needed his boss’s help too much to hold anything back.
“I think it’s McGuire,” he said, almost in a whisper.
“Tony McGuire?” Preston sounded shocked. “Nonsense,” he snapped without a thought. Then he looked at Finn for a moment, as though he were considering the possibility, but he shook his head. “No. It just doesn’t make sense. I understand Tony is not the most polished client the firm has ever had, but I can’t believe he’d be involved in anything like this.”
“I know how it sounds, Preston, but I can prove it. He’s been stealing from the state, and I think he killed Natalie because she found out about it. Now he’s trying to frame me for her murder.”
Preston stood up and walked around the room, deep in thought. Then he spun on Finn. “You can prove this, you say?”
“I can prove that he’s been stealing,” Finn said. “I’m not sure I can prove yet that he murdered Natalie, but it makes sense.”
Holland thought for a moment more. “What’s your proof that he was stealing?”
Now Finn hesitated. “I don’t want you to get too involved, Preston. You’ve already done so much for me, and I don’t want to put you at risk. You just have to trust me; if I can get to the office, I can get the proof.”
Holland nodded. “I do trust you, Finn. I do. It’s just so incredible. Murder? Tony McGuire? It doesn’t seem possible.”
“If there’s any way that you can get me out of here, I could prove it to you—and to the police, too.”
Holland looked at his watch. “The problem is that it’s ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. I could probably convince a judge that the search of your apartment was illegal, and based on that, you should be released. The only problem is that no courts are in session again until Monday.”
“I can’t wait that long,” Finn said, groaning. “McGuire is trying to pin this on me, and at the moment he’s doing a pretty good job. He’s also clearly got a good deal of power. For all I know, they’ll have someone in jail try to kill me before I can get in front of a judge.”
Preston Holland rubbed his temples. “Maybe there’s a way. I have several friends who are sitting Superior Court judges. I may be able to convince one to open a special session of court today just to hear this issue. If they did that, they could rule on our request for your release this afternoon.”
“Do you think any judge would do that?”
“I think so,” Holland said. “A couple owe me favors. I could call Harvey Whitehead. I was instrumental in getting him appointed to the bench in the first place.” He leaned back in his chair and said in a confidential tone, “I also sponsored him for his membership in the Country Club in Brookline. He owes me big-time for that.” He rubbed his chin. “It would involve calling in a huge favor, though.”
Finn looked at his feet in shame. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”
Holland patted Finn on the knee again. “Don’t worry about it. I have lots of chits out there on the table. I may as well have the fun of calling some of them in before I die.”