Flynn's World (5 page)

“Sassie Fleming, for one,” Grover said. “She murdered her husband! She murdered over a hundred people! She’s rich! She was never charged!”

“Is that so, Flynn?”

“He never let me charge his damned sons for knocking me down on a Cambridge street, either!”

“Grover,” Flynn said patiently. “Cambridge is outside our jurisdiction. Another city altogether. You’ve taught me that.”

“What was all that about, Flynn?”

“Grover misunderstood instructions,” Flynn said. “Sometimes the lad’s enthusiasm causes him to forget the object of our exercise.”

“My name’s not Grover!” shouted Sergeant Richard T. Whelan. Now his face was very flushed. “It’s Dick!”

“Ah, what’s wrong with my having a pet name for you, Grover? Somehow I can’t bring myself to call you a Dick.”

“What is a Grover?” Walsh asked.

“A creature which travels close to the ground, I think,” Flynn said. “Seldom looks either up or to all sides of himself. Myopic, whose little legs travel him faster than he can apprehend either directions or dangers.”

“That’s another thing,” Grover said. “He’s always sayin’ things no one understands. We’re sick of it!”

“Is a grover some kind of a mythical character, Frank?”

“I wish.”

Walsh squared himself to his desk. “I went to Boston Latin School.”

“I’m sure the old place is proud of you.”

“Well, Frank. I’m going to give you a choice. Resign.”

“But, Captain, you don’t understand. I am resigned.”

“Is that another one of your jokes?”

“Not really.”

“Or, while you are suspended from duty, Internal Affairs will do a thorough investigation of all affairs concerning ‘Inspector’ Francis Xavier Flynn. Such an investigation will probably take months. The way you spend money, you’ll probably have to get another job, or jobs, anyway. The first thing IA will require from you are your income tax filings and financial statements for the last seven years. Have you been in this country seven years?”

“Yes and no.”

“Having feelings for you as a fellow police officer, of however short a duration, feelings you do not have for others, I strongly suggest you resign. If you wish to avoid an investigation, the commissioner should have your resignation on his desk tomorrow morning.”

Grover looked as if he’d heard Santa’s sleigh land on the roof.

Walsh asked Flynn, “What do you think of me now, Frank Flynn?”

Flynn said, “I see you’ve never been in Afghanistan.”

The intercom on Walsh’s desk buzzed. He pushed the button. “Yes?”

“Captain, the commissioner called to ask Inspector Flynn to come to his office right away. He heard Inspector Flynn is in the building.”

Grover beamed. “I sent a copy of my report to him, too.”

Captain Walsh said into his intercom, “Tell the commissioner we’ll all be there right away.”

“What’s this?” Police Commissioner Edward D’Esopo looked up from his desk as Inspector Francis Xavier Flynn, Captain Timothy Walsh, and Sergeant Richard T. Whelan paraded into his office. “Who sent for you guys?”

“You did,” said Captain Walsh.

“I did?” D’Esopo looked at his assistant, Captain Reagan, sitting in a side chair. Reagan was dressed, as always, in full parade uniform, down to brass buttons and gold braid. “What do you guys want?”

Captain Walsh sat in a chair facing the commissioner. Grover lingered behind him.

Flynn wandered over to the floor-to-ceiling windows fourteen stories over the city.

“I’ve had a good discussion with Inspector Flynn,” Walsh said. “Explained his options to him: either resign or face a long and thorough investigation by Internal Affairs.”

“You have?”

“I have. After studying the report prepared by Sergeant Richard T. Whelan, which doubtlessly you haven’t had time to study fully.”

“I have studied it. Fully.” D’Esopo looked at Grover. “Are you Sergeant Richard T. Whelan?”

Grover nodded enthusiastically.

“Flynn’s problems can be boiled down simply.” Walsh adopted the kindly manner of speech of one of his teachers at Boston Latin School, long since dead. “First, there are Inspector Flynn’s frequent, prolonged absences from work, for which he offers the most ridiculous excuses: supposedly he’s had his appendix removed twice; he’s buried his mother five times . . .”

D’Esopo frowned at Reagan.

“Then there’s the matter of his questionable finances. Owns a large, mortgage-free house on the water in Winthrop; he owns a farm in Ireland—”

“Locked Phooey,” Grover said.

“—has four children in private school—”

“Went to the wrong courtroom this morning.” Grover grinned in Flynn’s direction. “He was supposed to go to Courtroom 6 but went to Courtroom 9 instead.”

“Did he?” Walsh asked with great interest.

“Who is this guy?” D’Esopo asked Reagan. “Sergeant Richard T. Wailing? Whatever?”

“Captain Timothy Walsh’s nephew,” Reagan said. “Promoted ahead of his time, you might say. Ahead of your time, too. We put him over in the Old Records Building with Frank to keep him out of harm’s way.”

Flynn muttered, “He’s Grover.”

D’Esopo asked the standing sergeant: “You’re Grover?”

Grover nodded less enthusiastically.

“Well, we can fix that.” To Reagan: “Are we still planning nightly foot patrols in the combat zone?”

Reagan said, “Eddy, you might as well send Grover directly to the emergency room at Boston City Hospital.”

D’Esopo cleared his throat. “Are you applying for early retirement, Timothy?”

“Me?” Captain Walsh’s nose reddened. “No. At my age? Whatever made you think that?”

“It seems to me that you are.”

“How can you say that?”

“It seems to me you’re questioning my judgment.”

“That’s a very good way to win early retirement, Timothy,” Reagan advised him.

“Why are you questioning Inspector Flynn at all, Timothy?”

“Grave irregularities concerning Flynn have come to my attention, Eddy. Commissioner. I outrank ‘Inspector’ Flynn. So—”

“Who says you do?”

“I’m a captain, Eddy. I have the duty—”

“We only have one inspector, Timothy. I assigned Francis Xavier Flynn the rank of inspector. How do you know I didn’t mean the rank of ‘inspector,’ as you belch the word, higher than the rank of ‘captain’?”

“Is it?”

“It is, if I say it is. Captain Walsh, do you know everything about everything?”

“Well, no. I’d never say—”

“Then what makes you think you know where Francis Xavier Flynn came from, why he’s here, what he’s doing here . . . even who he is?”

“Well, I guess I don’t. If you put it that way.”

“Do you think I run such a sloppy police department I don’t well know Frank has had his appendix out twice? I visited him, personally, in the hospital, both times. That his mother has died five times? I attended every funeral, myself. Even sent flowers. I’ve heard this morning Inspector Flynn’s mother is feeling poorly again, poor dear.”

“Eddy, I didn’t mean—”

“To stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong? I suggest you take your nephew, Sergeant Richard T. Whining, downstairs, and each stick your nose in a cup of strong, black coffee.”

Captain Walsh jumped up, to obey.

“And after you’ve done that, Sergeant Richard T. Writhing, go get a car, and wait for Inspector Flynn outside the front door. I suspect shortly he’ll want to go to Cambridge.”

Grover said, “Cambridge isn’t in our jurisdiction.”

D’Esopo looked at Reagan.

Reagan said, “Go along, there’s a good lad, Grover. Do as we tell you. Take Inspector Flynn to Cambridge, then to his home; then go to your own wee nest, make a nice fire of your written report on Inspector Flynn, and try not to burn your fingers any more than you already have.”

Before leaving his office, Sergeant Richard T. Whelan turned and said to Captain Reagan: “My name’s not Grover.”

His was the face of the four-year-old who had confused Christmas with April Fools’ Day.

FIVE

“Frank,” Commissioner Eddy D’Esopo asked. “How do you know the President of Harvard University?”

“I don’t think I do,” Flynn said. “Of course, one meets all sorts on a bus.”

“He seems to know you.”

“Does he?”

“He called me personally asking if I would ask you to make some time for him today. At your convenience.”

“I’ve heard Harvards have nice manners. Shall we have him up for tea?”

“He asked if you are out of town.”

“Am I?”

“He said he called your home yesterday. Left a message asking you to return his call.”

“That he did,” Flynn said. “Come to think of it.”

Captain Reagan chuckled. “If the President of Harvard University called me, I think I’d remember it. A lifetime. I think I’d return his call, too.”

“I was half asleep when Elsbeth told me. I’d just returned from doing a bit of surgery in a graveyard, you know, tree surgery, depending on your perspective—”

D’Esopo looked at Reagan. “What’s he talking about?”

“Who knows?” Reagan shrugged. “Who ever knows?”

“Have you ever been in the mansion of the President of Harvard University, Frank?”

“Not that I remember.”

Reagan chuckled.

“God.” The commissioner sighed. “I’d love to see inside that place. Anyway, now’s your chance. Captain Reagan will call and say you’re on your way.”

“Any idea what this is about?” Flynn asked. “Lost dog? Cat up a tree? Noisy neighbors, do you suppose?”

“Probably wants your advice, Frank, on how to invest their multibillion-dollar endowment.”

“Ah, could that be it? I’ll offer them my idea regarding billboards. I’m sure there’s a profit to be made there.”

“Billboards?” Reagan awaited the punch line.

“Yes,” Flynn drawled. “Some billboards should be blurry.”

“Blurry billboards?”

“Yes. For those who leave their eyeglasses at home.”

Reagan and D’Esopo enjoyed their laugh.

“Sure.” Flynn looked around the big, bright office. “Isn’t the world a better place without Grover and Timothy Walsh?”

“God.” D’Esopo fiddled with a pen on his desk. “That came off the wall at us. I admit it is hard for us, Frank, to cover the fact that you have obligations to another agency.” He raised and lowered his shoulders. “Whatever agency. I suggest that we try to do a better job at making excuses for you. Who would have thought anyone would be watching our paperwork so closely? We’ve been a little playful with it.”

“You can afford to lose a kidney, Frank.” Reagan smiled broadly. “You have two of those.”

“Kidney next time,” Flynn agreed. “Then perhaps I’ll be ready for a brain transplant.”

“The brain of a pig, Frank?” Reagan was enjoying himself. “I understand pigs are smarter than they look.”

“No one would notice the difference, I’m sure. But, while I have at least half my wits about me, hasn’t the time come now for me to be relieved of Grover? No human scares me more than the stupid person who thinks he’s clever.”

“Can’t, Frank.” D’Esopo was firm on the topic. “We can’t justify assigning anyone to you who may have a real future with the department.”

“Anyone who is capable of doing good work,” seconded Reagan. “Just use Grover as your go-for, your gopher?” Reagan’s eyes lit up. “That’s what you’ve really been calling him all these years! I’ll be damned! That’s the first thing I’ve ever understood about you, Flynn! Am I right?”

D’Esopo said, “Keep the idiot squelched.”

Flynn prepared to leave. “Lieutenant Concannon was very happy when I saw him this afternoon. I do believe he would have been jumpin’ up and down with glee, if he were able.”

“Good.” D’Esopo looked at Reagan. “You took care of the Cocky matter?”

“I did. He’s now on full pay. The income he’s lost since we forced him into early retirement has been made up to him, with interest.”

“I trust,” Flynn beamed at D’Esopo, “that now Cocky is on full pay, no idiot, say, in Personnel, will think to reassign him, for example, to your staff? He wouldn’t be happy elsewhere.”

“There is no such idiot,” D’Esopo assured Flynn. “I’ve seen you two work together. You should know by now, Frank, I’m smart enough to let well enough alone.”

“That you are, Eddy. That you are. I appreciate that.”

“By the way, Flynn,” Reagan said. “Remember that the president of the United States can be called Bob or Bill, but the tradition is that the President of Harvard is called The President.”

“Is he indeed? I can understand that. My grandmother had a canary once she called The Bird.”

The houseman in the white coat repeated, “Inspector Flynn? Boston Police?” Then he said, “Would you wait here a moment, please, sir?”