Dark Harbor (4 page)

Chapter Five

F
INN HAD NO IDEA
where the day had gone. He’d started reading deposition transcripts in one of his cases, and by the time he looked up it was after three.
I guess time really does fly when you’re having fun
, he thought with a note of sarcasm. Sadly, there was nothing fun about what he was reading. There, in front of his eyes, was the testimony that would likely send one of the firm’s clients to jail. It was a securities fraud case, and the firm was representing one of the principals at a Fortune 500 company, the stock value of which had fallen eighty-five percent in five months. The particular executive they were representing, Paul Miller, had gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar—up to his elbow, actually—trading on insider information as his company crashed around his feet.

Rich people baffled Finn. Miller had stashed away tens of millions of dollars already, and management had created enough golden parachutes for everyone in the upper echelons. Even if the company flew straight into the ground, Miller was sure to land gently in the middle of his ten-acre estate on Martha’s Vineyard, where he could spend the rest of his days living in luxury off the interest in his holdings. Apparently, that hadn’t been enough. When Miller saw the writing on the wall, he began dumping his company holdings. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, he was also shorting the stock, making millions by betting that the company’s stock would go down. It wasn’t just criminal; it was criminally stupid. Finn shook his head.
How could he have possibly thought he wouldn’t get caught?
Even the street thugs Finn once represented as a public defender would have laughed at the man’s idiocy.

Ah well, Finn sighed. This was what he’d signed up for when he came to play in the big leagues. Regular folks couldn’t afford the fees that generated his salary. Not even the innocent ones—particularly not the innocent ones. Only the fabulously wealthy could afford to break the law, secure in the knowledge that the brilliant legal minds at Howery, Black & Longbothum, PC, would work tirelessly to protect them from any hint of justice.

And Finn and his colleagues would probably get Miller off in the end. They’d cut a deal with the Securities and Exchange Commission and the feds, and their guy would walk with a fine and a slap on the wrist. Afterward, the partners would marvel at Finn’s brilliance as they lunched at Hamersley’s or Locke-Ober, and Finn’s salary would continue to grow. As hard as it was to stomach, he knew there were worse ways to make a living.

The buzzer on his phone brought him out of his trance. He hit the intercom button. “What is it, Nancy?”

“There are two people out here who want to talk to you.” His secretary lowered her voice to a whisper. “They have badges,” she said quietly.

“Badges?”

“Yes.”

“What do they want?”

“All they’ll tell me is that they want to speak with you.”

“All right, you can bring them in, but buzz me in five minutes and pretend you’re reminding me about a meeting.”

Badges. For a moment, Finn considered the possibility that the folks from the SEC were ready to pitch a settlement in the Miller case, but he was on good terms with Sarah Golden, the lead prosecutor, and she would have called to set up a meeting.

As a lawyer, he shouldn’t have been bothered by badges. He certainly had dealt with the police all the time when he was in the Public Defender’s office, and he should have gotten over his fear of the law. But badges still reminded him of some of the darker moments of his youth, before he gained control of his life. He took a deep breath and straightened his tie as Nancy brought the two badges in.

Finn’s first reaction was one of shock. The woman who followed Nancy through the door was stunning. She had shoulder-length dark hair, brushed back neatly in a simple but stylish manner, and the face and figure of a model. It made him reevaluate his notion of what it meant to be one of Boston’s Finest. For just a moment he let himself believe this might be a pleasant experience.

Then he noticed the Neanderthal behind her. He was much more typical, Finn thought grimly. He was shorter than Finn, but much thicker—particularly through the shoulders and chest. Finn estimated him to be at least ten years older, but suspected that it had been a hard decade—the kind that produces a particularly hard man. The man gave the impression of being someone you wouldn’t want to mess with.

“Mr. Finn?” Detective Flaherty said. She was smiling, but her voice contained a strange lilt that sounded almost like sympathy. It unnerved Finn. “My name is Lieutenant Linda Flaherty with the Boston Police Department. This is my partner, Detective Tom Kozlowski. We’d like to take a moment of your time, if that’s all right?”

“Yes. Please, sit down.” Finn gestured toward the two small wooden armchairs that were crammed together in the tiny space opposite his desk. They were nondescript, functional units mass-produced for hundreds of thousands of similar small offices around the country. Still an associate, Finn was rarely called on to host clients in his office, so only the bare necessities were provided. Flaherty took the chair closest to the wall. The hulk she was with squeezed himself into the chair next to the door. He looked almost comical, and the absurdity made Finn feel more at ease.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, smiling at the brunette.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions,” she said, somewhat gently.

“Yes, my secretary told me. I can assure you that, whatever it is, I didn’t do it. I’ve got witnesses.” Finn hoped his joke would help lighten the mood. It didn’t. Flaherty’s smile was indulgent at best, and Kozlowski just kept staring straight through the back of Finn’s head.

“Mr. Finn,” she began again.

“Please, it’s just Finn. Nobody ever calls me ‘Mister.’”

“Mr. Finn, we need to ask you some questions about Natalie Caldwell.”

That got Finn’s attention. He’d been craned forward over his desk, trying to draw the officers in and establish some rapport. He immediately leaned back in his chair when he heard Natalie’s name. He was protective by nature, and he didn’t like the idea of the police asking him questions about a friend.

His change in attitude must have been apparent, because he noticed his visitors exchange a look. The chess game had begun. He smiled again, forcing himself this time.

“What do you want to know about Nat?” He’d learned long ago that it was always better to be the one asking questions, and he’d developed a reflex of going on the offensive when confronted with an interrogation. He wondered what Natalie had done wrong. Most likely, she’d pissed off somebody down at City Hall, he thought. She had an aggressive personality, and most men hated dealing with assertive women. As a consequence, she often made enemies. She must have really stepped on somebody’s toes this time for them to send two cops out asking questions. The thought amused him, and he suddenly felt better-equipped to deal with the meeting.

“Well, let’s start with when you last saw her?”

Finn regarded the attractive brunette and silently counted to five. It was another technique he’d learned over the years; always control the pace of the questioning—it throws people off. He didn’t change his expression or look away. He simply looked straight at her until he reached five.

“Why would you want to know when I last saw her?”

“We’re conducting an investigation that involves her. Mr. Holland, the head of your firm, indicated you’ve been her closest colleague, so we thought we should start with you.”

“Really? An investigation involving her? Could you be a little more specific? Maybe that would help.” He was toying with her now, and enjoying it. God, she was pretty.

“Well, we’d really like to start out by determining when it was you saw her last.”

Just then the buzzer sounded.
Right on time.
“Yes, Nancy?” he said into the receiver. He paused as though getting some important news. “Oh, that’s right, thank you for reminding me.” He hung up the phone and looked at the officers. “I’m going to have to run to a meeting in a moment. Look, if it’s an investigation involving Natalie, maybe you should start by talking to her. Her office is right around the corner. Have you stopped by to see if she’s in there?” It was time to get rid of these two. As much as he was enjoying the joust with this good-looking cop, he had work to do and didn’t want to say anything that might put Natalie in a jam.

“No, we haven’t. We’re pretty sure she’s not in there.”

“How would you know if you haven’t looked?” Finn flashed them his most condescending smartass lawyer smile.
This ought to get rid of them.

It was Kozlowski who finally answered. It was the first time he’d spoken. “Because we found her body floating in Boston Harbor last night.”

He said it so simply, so utterly without passion or feeling or sympathy, that Finn convinced himself that he must have mis-heard. He
must
have. That was the only logical explanation. Even if Finn was being a prick, which he was, the police wouldn’t joke about something like that, particularly not to a lawyer. It would invite a lawsuit. No, it couldn’t have been a joke, and that meant Finn must have misheard the giant squeezed into the chair in front of him, because the only other explanation was that Nat was actually …

He looked at Flaherty again, and she had the same sympathetic look on her face that she wore when she walked into the office. All at once, Finn knew it wasn’t a joke, and that he hadn’t misheard Kozlowski.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded. He meant for it to come out forcefully, as though if he were belligerent enough, he could prevent what Kozlowski said from being true. He heard his own voice as a whisper, though.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Finn,” Flaherty said. “We believe we found Ms. Caldwell’s body in the harbor yesterday evening. We’re investigating the circumstances of her death.”

“You ‘believe’? You mean you’re not sure?” Finn felt his heart flicker, only to have Kozlowski stomp on it again.

“The body’s fingerprints match those on record for Ms. Caldwell with the FBI. As you probably know, she had no parents or immediate family, so we haven’t found anyone to make a positive ID yet, but we’re ninety-nine percent sure.”

Flaherty cut off Kozlowski’s cruelty. “Again, we’re very sorry, Mr. Finn, but we do need to ask you some questions.”

Finn could hear the blood rushing through his ears. The pretty lieutenant was still talking, but he couldn’t make out her words. His world had narrowed and his brain was blocking out everything; everything except that one sentence that kept repeating over and over:
We’re investigating the circumstances of her death.
The rhythm of the words tortured him and kept him from focusing on anything else.

“Wait,” Finn interrupted Flaherty in midsentence. “You found her in the harbor?”

“Yes, she was …” But Finn had tuned her out again. He got up and took two steps over to the floor-to-ceiling window in his office. He looked across the channel and saw the yellow police tape still walling off an area near the bridge, but there was only one officer still there. For the most part the activity from the morning had ceased.

“It was Natalie, wasn’t it?” Finn asked without turning around.

“I’m sorry?” Flaherty asked, not comprehending.

“It was Natalie they were talking about in the papers, wasn’t it? Number Seven. It was her. Little Jack did this, didn’t he?”

“We’re not sure at this point.”

“The papers seemed sure this morning.”

Flaherty sighed. “Yeah, well, this kind of thing makes better copy if it’s a serial killer, doesn’t it? And it’s possible it
is
the same guy; that’s certainly something we’re looking at. At this point, though, we’re just trying to conduct the most complete investigation we can.”

Finn was still staring out the window at the crime scene across the channel. All at once it hit him. He wouldn’t have the chance to apologize for his behavior at the bar on Friday. She couldn’t forgive him. It wouldn’t be all right.

“That’s why we need your help,” Flaherty said, trying to penetrate his grief.

He took a deep breath and put on his game face before turning around.

“What can I do?” he asked.

Chapter Six

“L
AST FRIDAY NIGHT
,” he said. “Evening, actually. We went out for a couple of drinks.” The detectives were still in his office. Finn was sitting at his desk again, having composed himself.

“This was with people from the office?” Flaherty asked. Both she and Kozlowski had taken out notebooks and were scribbling away.

“Not really people, just Nat and me.”

“Was that normal? The two of you going out to drink alone after work?” This time it was Kozlowski, and there seemed to be some insinuation in the question.

“We’re lawyers,” Finn said simply. “We
all
drink.”

“How long were you out for?” Flaherty asked.

“Several hours, but I was only with Natalie for an hour or so. We had separate social lives, so we were just having a couple of drinks after work. To unwind, you know?”

Kozlowski gave a grunt. Finn couldn’t tell whether it was a grunt of understanding or of judgment, but he was beyond caring what the Neanderthal thought.

“What time did you see her last?” At least Flaherty seemed to have some sensitivity.

“I left the bar at around seven or so. We were out at the International, right across the street.”

“Did she tell you what her plans were for the rest of the weekend?”

Finn thought for a moment. “I’m pretty sure she had a date, but she didn’t give me an itinerary or anything like that.”

“Did she tell you who the date was with?”

“She didn’t. She had a new boyfriend, I think, but he was older, and I guess I didn’t really approve, so she didn’t go into it.”

Flaherty and Kozlowski shared another look. Kozlowski asked the next question. “You don’t know anything about this guy?”

Finn thought back to his conversation with Natalie. She’d been talking about her new man in veiled terms, but he’d tuned her out. He’d been too busy dealing with his own emotions. In his memory, he could hear her voice in the background of his own thoughts, but he couldn’t make out what she had said. “Like I said, I got the impression he was older, but that’s about it,” he said at last.

“What was your relationship with Ms. Caldwell?” Again, it was Kozlowski, and his voice had a bite to it that annoyed Finn.

“We were colleagues,” he said flatly.

“That it?” Kozlowski pressed.

Finn breathed in slowly as he considered the question. “No, that’s not it,” he said after a pause. “We were friends.” He turned back to Flaherty. “Are we done here? It’s turned into a pretty crappy day.”

Flaherty nodded. “I think that’s all we need at the moment, but I do have a favor to ask.”

“I can’t wait.”

“As I said before, we haven’t been able to get a positive identification—yet.” She paused, as though unsure whether to follow through with her request. Finn could read the question on her face, though.

“You’ve got to be kidding. You want me to ID her body?”

“I know it’s not pleasant, but we need to do this if we’re going to progress with the investigation. I would think you would want to do that for your friend.”

Finn rolled his eyes. He couldn’t bear the thought of having to look at Natalie’s dead body. He would have much preferred to remember her the way she was when she was alive: vibrant, vital, and beautiful. But something about what Flaherty said struck a chord. It wasn’t so much the investigation he was worried about; it was that she didn’t have any family. Natalie was an only child and she’d lost her parents when she was young. Finn was an orphan, and had never known his parents. The absence of family was one of the things they shared; a bond that others probably wouldn’t understand, but that kept them together even when there was tension between them. He couldn’t let her death go unacknowledged by the one person who really cared about her. That would be too much of a betrayal.

He also still harbored the desperate hope, in the back of his mind, that they’d made a mistake. Maybe she wasn’t really dead. He knew he’d never really accept her death unless he saw her with his own eyes.

“All right, let’s go,” he said, standing up and grabbing his suit jacket. When he got to the door a thought struck him. He turned around and looked at Flaherty. She was less than an arm’s length away from him in the small office and he could smell her perfume.

“I thought Little Jack only killed prostitutes. Why would he have killed Natalie?”

Flaherty hesitated, trying to phrase her answer delicately. “She was dressed provocatively. He might have mistaken her for something she wasn’t.”

Finn closed his eyes again and dropped his chin into his chest. He was silent for a moment as he fought off a wave of memories. He knew he had to put them aside if he was going to get through this. He could do it; he’d done it before. It was a part of the survival skills he’d learned at a young age. Psychiatrists called it “compartmentalization”: the ability to separate feelings, memories, and tasks. It was a useful skill in dealing with difficult issues while still leading a useful, productive, even successful life. Finn was an expert at it.

He took two more deep breaths, then lifted his head.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

The three arrived at the ME’s office twenty minutes later. As they walked down the corridor to where the junior coroner had laid out Natalie’s body, Flaherty realized that she felt sorry for Finn—and that was rare for her. When you spend your time wading hip deep in human tragedy, you become numb to the pain of those around you. You have to in order to survive. You say the right things to the grieving widows, and you wear the proper facial expressions to convince the victims’ families of your sincere and heartfelt condolences, but you never really let it in.

For some reason, this was different. Maybe it was because she’d seen something in the dead woman’s eyes the first time she looked over the embankment wall at the body floating in the water. Flaherty felt like she’d glimpsed the woman Natalie Caldwell had been: strong, confident, unapologetic. It was an image Flaherty identified with as a woman in a brutally unforgiving, predominantly male profession. And now, watching Scott Finn’s face, she saw her intuition confirmed. In seeming homage to Caldwell’s strength, he didn’t wail or cry the way so many others did when confronted by death. Nor did he look away when the sheet was pulled back. His expression was stoic and reserved, with just a slight twitch at the corner of his eye, and a drawing together of his lips.

“That’s her,” he said. He reached out his hand and stroked her hair. It was matted and stiff, as though to provide further evidence of her death. His eyes watered, but he kept the tears from falling. “I’m sorry, Nat,” he said. Then he pulled his hand away.

Flaherty nodded at the junior coroner, who pulled up the sheet over Natalie Caldwell’s face and carefully slid her body back into the refrigerated drawer that had become her home. When the drawer closed, a latch caught with a loud crack that signaled finality. Flaherty watched Finn as he continued to stare at the drawer’s door, lost in thought. Once again, she felt sorry for him.

“Thank you for doing this,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Is that all you need?” Finn asked, still staring with empty eyes at the door that had swallowed his friend.

“Yeah, that should do it for now.”

“You’ll be around if we need to ask you any questions, right?” Kozlowski asked. Flaherty cringed. Her partner had the sensitivity of a pit bull.

Finn’s gaze moved from the drawer to Kozlowski, narrowing as it bore straight through his forehead. Flaherty saw the change instantly. The grief that had been there only a moment before had been replaced by something else. Rage. Finn’s face reflected an anger so intense that Flaherty thought for a moment he might actually attack Kozlowski. It was a determined rage, and Flaherty didn’t like it. She stepped in between the two men.

“We’ll contact you if we need anything else,” she said to Finn.

He turned and looked at her. His eyes softened a bit, and the sadness returned. “If there’s anything I can do to help the investigation, let me know.” With that, he turned and walked out of the room. He didn’t look at Kozlowski again.

“What an asshole,” Kozlowski said when he was gone.

Flaherty nodded. “Yeah, you two make a great pair.”

“What the hell did I do?” Kozlowski protested. “He was the one who was jerking us around from the start; pulling his hot-shot lawyer bullshit. I’m telling you, I’ve got a nasty feeling about that guy. He’s hiding something. Anyway, he needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“Well, if anyone would be an expert on peg-knocking, it’d be you.”

“You’re not going soft on me, partner, are you? Did you see the look on his face before he left? Pure violence. Hell, if it wasn’t for Little Jack, I’d be lookin’ at this guy as our perp on the Caldwell murder.”

Flaherty had seen the look; she couldn’t deny it. But she’d also seen something else. Something more complicated, buried deep inside Scott Finn. She couldn’t put her finger on it yet, but she knew it was going to gnaw at her until she did.

“Yeah, well let’s focus on Little Jack for the moment,” she said as she and Kozlowski walked out of the ME’s office.