Dark Harbor (8 page)

Chapter Fourteen

F
LAHERTY SAT AT HER DESK
, staring at her computer screen, feeling defeated. She’d spent much of the morning in a meeting with the entire task force—more than twenty police officers in all—sharing information and analyzing what they’d come up with. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much. They had no leads, nothing to guide the investigation. They continued to turn over rocks, only to find dirt underneath. Her eyes hurt. Her head hurt. Her muscles ached. But still, she needed to press on to find an answer. If only she could get a good night’s sleep, maybe then she’d see whatever it was they were missing.

She suddenly looked up from her computer screen and noticed Kozlowski standing in front of her desk. He had this way of materializing without a sound that she sometimes found disconcerting. It was a useful skill as an investigator, though.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. He looked at her like he had something on his mind, though. “I ran the tox screens again—same result. I also had some uniforms do a house-to-house of all of the businesses and homes near where the Caldwell woman’s body was dumped, just to see if anyone saw anything. Nothing. And I just spent the last two hours cross-checking our references, trying to find anything that ties these seven girls together—other than their being carved into pieces over the last four months. Zippo.”

Kozlowski was thorough, but Flaherty already knew that. He wouldn’t waste his breath on this kind of useless detail unless he had a point. He used conversation too sparingly for that. There was something else behind the visit.

“What’s on your mind, Kozlowski?”

“You found anything in your magic computer there?” he asked. It sounded almost like an accusation, and Flaherty didn’t like it.

“If I’d found anything useful I would have told you by now, Sergeant.” She referred to him by rank on purpose. It was meant to remind him that, friends or not, she wasn’t required to take his crap. “But then, you already knew that, didn’t you? If you’ve got something to say, why not say it?”

She was letting her frustration show. It had been more than a week since she’d put both their heads on the chopping block in front of the leaders of every law enforcement agency in the state, and they were no closer to catching their killer. If anything, they had more questions now than they’d had before.

Kozlowski fidgeted a little, like he was trying to make up his mind about something. It was odd to see such a bull of a man fidget, Flaherty thought. Something about it seemed incongruous.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Koz?” she asked, raising her voice, and several others in the squad room turned and looked in their direction. She didn’t care; she was used to being scrutinized on this case.

Kozlowski hesitated just a minute longer. “I think we need to get a little more proactive, boss.”

“How much more proactive can we get?” she asked incredulously. “I’ve got twenty-two cops running down leads, comparing data, looking for patterns. Everyone is busting his ass on this, including me. What is it exactly that you think we’re not doing?”

Kozlowski looked at her, and it was clear that he was debating whether to take the conversation a step further. He had never doubted the team’s commitment to the case, and Flaherty knew he certainly would never question her resolve and dedication, but she’d put his ass on the line right alongside hers.

“We should be out there,” he said, nodding toward the window that looked out on Congress Street in downtown Boston.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s time to stop playing computer jock and get out on the streets.” His voice was low and strong, and it somehow made Flaherty feel inadequate.

“What the hell are you talking about?” She meant to express indignation, but instead her voice seemed plaintive and small. “We’ve got cops in uniform knocking on doors all over downtown and Southie.”

Kozlowski shrugged.

“If you’ve got any suggestions, I’d love to hear them.” She was furious now, but she was also desperate. Kozlowski had no diplomatic skills, but his ability in the investigative realm was unparalleled.

“Let’s start leaning on people,” he said simply.

“Leaning on who?” she demanded.

“Local scumbags. Bartenders. Convenience store clerks. Anyone who may have seen something or might know something. It’s time to get our hands dirty.”

“‘Local scumbags’? You don’t really think there’s a mob connection here, do you? There’s nothing that even suggests—”

He cut her off. “It’s not wiseguys doing the killing, but we need their eyes out there on the street. Somebody must have seen something. Or if nobody’s seen anything yet, they will in the future, when this asshole kills again. We’ve got to make sure everyone who crawls in the gutter at night is taking this investigation seriously.”

Flaherty thought about this for a moment. They hadn’t been reaching out and putting the heat on their snitches because they weren’t thinking of this as the type of crime where snitches could be helpful, but Kozlowski had a point. Boston still ran on its unseen connections, and Southie was the home of one of the oldest and best-organized crime networks in the country. It might be worth putting some pressure on the right sort of people.

“Fine,” she conceded. “Set up a pressure cooker and see if anything pops. Anything else?”

“Yeah, let’s get someone out at the Kiss Club in street clothes.”

“What the hell for? You and I were both out there shoving Caldwell’s picture under every nose we could find, and we got nothing. Even if that’s where Little Jack found her—and we don’t know that for sure—we’ve got no reason to think he’d go back there. How can we possibly justify an undercover operation?” He was really pushing it. They’d run that lead down as far as it would go, and they’d come up with nothing.

“You got any better ideas?”

They stared at each other for an eternity. She had no comeback, and he knew it. She could pull rank on him and simply say no without giving an explanation, but she knew neither of them would accept that. It would be like admitting defeat. She drew in a deep breath and pulled her brow down into an angry scowl, causing deep creases to appear on her broad, attractive forehead. Then she blew out a long exasperated sigh. In her position, she couldn’t turn down any suggestions, and there was no question Kozlowski had the best instincts in the department.

She looked up at him and shook her head in frustration. “Just make sure it’s someone who won’t be recognized.”

Chapter Fifteen

F
INN SAT IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM
, listening intently as McGuire’s deposition progressed at a snail’s pace. It was all he could do to keep himself from wringing the necks of the plaintiffs’ lawyers across the table from him, but at least the work kept him focused.

Work was the only thing keeping him sane in the wake of Natalie’s murder. He found it to be more of a distraction than a passion now, but he welcomed the distraction with the desperation of a drowning man thrown a lifeline. He missed Natalie even more than he had anticipated. Even through their difficulties, she had provided an anchor in his life. A few times a day he still found himself picking up the phone to call her. And whenever something funny or odd or outrageous happened at work, he’d instinctively head out of his office toward hers, only to realize in an instant that she was no longer there. He’d walk by her office, which was now being used as a storage room until the fall, when a new crop of nameless, faceless law school graduates would start with the firm as first-year associates. Her nameplate still hung by her door like a tomb-stone or the plaque on a mausoleum entryway. It felt wrong that no one had bothered to take it down, as if the firm hadn’t even noticed her death. But he couldn’t bring himself to carry out the task.

The firm had, of course, noticed her death. In fact, it became a central topic of speculation and gossip in the weeks after she was found. The circumstances of her murder and the link to the murders of the six prostitutes tickled the other lawyers’ hunger for sordid detail and appealed to their natural fascination with the dark side of human nature. Many of them showed up at her funeral, but Finn wondered how many had merely put in an appearance out of curiosity—like rubber-neckers on the highway, eager for a glimpse of pain, and blood, and death. The interment had been delayed for a week, as a thorough autopsy pulled her body apart piece by piece, until there was barely enough left to sew back together. In the end, a closed casket had been required.

All of this was painful enough for Finn, who felt he was one of the few people who had been a true friend to Natalie, but what made it worse was that there was no one he could talk to about it. He was a natural loner, probably because of his past, and to the extent that he felt like he fit in at the firm, it was because of Natalie. He thought of talking to Preston about how he was feeling, but although they were exceptionally close, Finn was unsure how his mentor would react to such a show of weakness. He liked Nick Williams, but they certainly weren’t confidants. As a result, he was left simply to churn through his daily routine.

There was a ton of work for him to churn through, though. That much, at least, was a blessing. The Tannery case was a monster to get his arms around. Between the state agency that oversaw the security program, and Huron Security, the lawyers at Howery, Black had overseen the disclosure of more than a million pages of documents, from simple purchase orders and requisition forms to complex reaction plans prepared in case of nuclear or biological attack. The case was a far cry from the relatively simple white-collar criminal and securities matters Finn was used to working on. Those cases usually involved fewer documents and fewer legal issues, and winning them depended on finding a simple hook that would resonate with the jury. By contrast, the Tannery case required exacting attention to detail. It became clear to him early on that, to win this case, he must acquire an encyclopedic knowledge of the facts.

He threw himself into the task with fervor, reading and analyzing every document, reviewing prior deposition testimony, and even visiting the security company’s offices twice. He wasn’t sure his efforts were paying off yet, though. His mind worked better with broad themes than with detail. That was another reason Preston had originally chosen to put Natalie on the case instead of him. Sure, it helped that she was a woman, but she was also better suited to the kind of work that was required here. Holland had pointed that out to him. “She’s a great case manager,” he had said. “You’re a great trial lawyer, but your case management skills are not top-notch.” It had hurt Finn to hear that, even more so because he knew it to be true. Now that he’d waded hip deep into the case, he felt renewed admiration for Nat and her skills.

His struggles in dealing with her loss made working on the Tannery case more difficult, too. Every day he came across memos or briefs bearing her name. Just when he’d lost himself in the case and had forgotten about her death, he’d notice her handwriting in the margins of a document, and the memories would come flooding back.

The clients didn’t make things any easier. They were, without doubt, the most obstinate, obfuscatory group of people he’d ever dealt with. Finn supposed that that was normal in the security business, where secrecy and discretion were cornerstones, but it nonetheless presented significant difficulties. He’d been working for two weeks straight, and still felt like he had no idea what the case was really about.

McGuire was particularly difficult to handle. He was a wily bastard—much more intelligent than Finn had initially given him credit for—and that made defending his deposition all the more difficult. As Finn sat in the conference room at the plaintiffs’ lawyers’ office, he knew he was about to have a battle on his hands.

“I can’t recall,” McGuire was saying again. Apparently he’d taken Finn’s advice to heart; that was at least the twentieth time he’d professed his ignorance in the face of the most basic questions.

“What do you mean, you don’t recall?” There was anger in Fred Barnolk’s voice now. Fred was the lead attorney for the plaintiff, and a real character. He’d nearly flunked out of law school, and it had reportedly taken him three tries to pass the bar exam. Once he passed, though, a nose for big payoffs and a talent for righteous indignation had led him to represent high-profile plaintiffs against large corporations, and more than one jury had awarded his clients into the hundreds of millions of dollars. As their lawyer, Fred was entitled to one-third of that—an enormous amount of money by any standards—which he used to fund additional lawsuits. He had long, jet black hair that curled over the collar of his designer shirt.

“I mean I don’t remember,” McGuire said calmly.

“You’re saying you don’t remember how many people work under you?”

“That’s what I am saying.”

“Well, can you give me a rough estimate?”

Finn interrupted. “I’m going to object to that question, Mr. Barnolk. The witness is not here to speculate in his answers at this deposition, and he should only answer from his personal knowledge.” He looked at McGuire. “You can respond to the question if you know the answer.”

McGuire looked at Barnolk and smiled. “As I said, I’m really not sure of the exact number of workers we have, and I wouldn’t want to guess.”

Barnolk’s face was now bright red, and contrasted nicely with the deep blue of his shirt. “Let me just say, Mr. Finn, that this is the most deplorable deposition behavior I’ve ever encountered in more than twenty years of practice. You may think that the best way to handle this case is to stonewall us, but you’re dead wrong. My client and her family are victims of America’s war on terror, and they’re entitled to answers.”

“Be careful, Mr. Barnolk,” Finn interrupted. “It’s starting to sound like you’re blaming the terrorists who bombed the train instead of my clients whom you’ve sued.”

“My client and her family are the victims of corporate greed in the manner in which the war on terror has been conducted,” Barnolk corrected himself without missing a beat. “And they’re heroes. They’ll have their day in court, and they’ll prevail regardless of whatever sleazy tactics you employ here.”

“Mr. Barnolk, you may have noticed that there’s no jury in the room. Nor are there any newspaper reporters present, so I’d suggest you save the speeches for your closing argument. As far as the witness’s ‘behavior’ during this deposition goes, it’s been exemplary. He’s answered every single one of your questions honestly and without speculation. Furthermore, the specific information you are asking for is contained in the documents that we have turned over in response to your discovery requests.”

“You turned over two rooms’ worth of documents. We don’t have the time or the resources to go through a production like that. We’re not a big white-shoe firm like Howery, Black & Longbothum.”

“Then you shouldn’t have asked our client to turn over such a broad range of documents. Besides, I happen to know that with the tobacco settlement fees you received last year, partners in your firm made more money than the partners at Howery, so the David-versus-Goliath routine is a little disingenuous, don’t you think?”

Barnolk turned back to McGuire. “Mr. McGuire, how many security guards were assigned to each train as of September 12, last year?”

McGuire leaned back in his chair and brought his giant hands together at the tips of his fingers, staring up at the ceiling as though lost in contemplation. “I’m not sure what the exact number was at that time, really. I’m sure I could look it up. It must be in one of the documents our lawyers gave to you guys.”

Barnolk stared at McGuire with such malice it might have been disconcerting if he didn’t cut such a comic figure in his tailored suit and oversized gold cuff links, his jowls hanging over his two-hundred-dollar Hermès tie.

“This deposition is over for today,” he said finally. “But I want it on the record that Mr. Finn has, at best, failed properly to prepare the witness for this deposition, and has, at worst, prepared the witness specifically to frustrate the purposes of discovery and conceal relevant evidence. In either case, I believe that he has violated his ethical obligations to the judicial system, and we intend to bring this behavior to the attention of the court.”

“Well, you can obviously bring whatever motions you want before the court, Mr. Barnolk,” Finn retorted calmly. “But I have no doubt that the court will see clearly that the only reason you’ve become frustrated during this deposition is because you were woefully unprepared at the outset. That’s obviously neither the witness’s fault nor my fault, but it is something we can discuss with the judge. In any event, we won’t make this witness available again unless the court orders it. You’ve had a full and fair opportunity to question him, and we will
not
allow the safety of other rail passengers to be jeopardized while you waste the time of those who are charged with the heavy responsibility of administering public safety.”

Finn and McGuire were standing now, and they pushed their chairs out from the table and started walking toward the door. As McGuire passed Barnolk on the way out, he smiled at him again. He leaned over the prissy lawyer, and his huge right hand swung toward him. In a moment of horror, Finn thought McGuire was actually going to punch Barnolk. That would be difficult to explain to the judge under any circumstances. Barnolk clearly had the same thought, because he threw himself sideways in his chair, knocking his notes off the table, and almost falling out of the chair himself. It was only then that Finn saw that McGuire’s hand was opened, and he was offering it in a handshake to Barnolk.

McGuire laughed heartily, and left his hand out. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” he said through his own laughter.

Barnolk looked up, clearly still shaken. Tentatively, he held his hand out to shake, and McGuire’s paw enveloped his.

As they shook hands, McGuire leaned in and whispered something into Barnolk’s ear. When he turned back toward the door to head out, he was no longer laughing, but he was grinning from ear to ear. Over McGuire’s shoulder, Finn could see that all the blood had drained from Barnolk’s face.

Back in the street outside Barnolk’s office, McGuire hailed a cab. He turned to Finn and held out his hand. “Thanks a lot, Counselor. I think it went pretty well in there. You were a pistol on those legal arguments.”

Finn looked at the hand, caught in the memory of the bizarre exchange he’d witnessed up in the office between McGuire and Barnolk. He hesitated for just a second before he shook the hand. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to my office and do a little postgame analysis to figure out where we might have taken any hits?”

McGuire shook his head. “Nah, I gotta get back to my own office and see what’s happening there. We did well today, though. I already know it.” McGuire smiled again as he stepped into the cab.

Finn couldn’t hold himself back from asking the question that was weighing heavily on his mind. “Hey, what was that between you and Barnolk up there?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“What was what?” McGuire asked.

“When you whispered to him, what did you say?”

“You don’t need to worry about that, Counselor.”

“I’m not worried, I’d just like to know,” Finn protested.

McGuire laughed again. “I just told him you lawyers are the dumbest people I’ve ever had to hang around with,” he said. Then he roared with laughter one more time. “Listen, Counselor, don’t sweat it. You did great in there, and I’ll make sure Holland knows it.” With that, he nodded to the taxi driver to head out and closed the door.

As the taxi pulled away, Finn looked down at his hand, still lost in the feeling that he’d witnessed some moment of import in the office upstairs. Something about the exchange made him feel queasy, as if an event of significance had occurred right before his eyes and he’d missed it. He hated that feeling. It made him question whether he was really in control of the case. The uncertainty was all the more difficult to deal with because Natalie wasn’t there to lend her support. She’d have been able to help him sort everything out. Of course, if she hadn’t been killed, he never would have had this case to deal with in the first place.