A Fine Line (29 page)

“But what about Walt Duffy and Ben Frye? Why’d he have to kill them?”

“Duffy was the main man of SOLF,” he said. “The organizer. The ringleader. Just like Agent Randall explained to you. The FBI was all set to subpoena him. They’d been conferring with arson people and the local cops, so Keeler was in on it. He got to Duffy first. Killed him to shut him up, took his computer and cell phone. Duffy must’ve said something about those letters before Keeler whacked him on the head.”

“What about the letters?”

“It wasn’t really the letters that Keeler was after,”
Horowitz said. “Duffy had slipped a couple pages of computer printouts in with them. The printouts listed the e-mail addresses of what looks to us like every member of the Spotted Owl Liberation Front in the northeast. Including Keeler’s. Duffy had you deliver it to Benjamin Frye, who was sort of his second-in-command, so he could carry on after they nailed Duffy.”

“So Walt must’ve told Keeler what he’d done.”

“According to Keeler, he threatened to go after Duffy’s son, so Duffy spilled the beans to him. Keeler didn’t want that list with his e-mail address on it floating around.”

“So then,” I said, “Keeler went after Ben, but by the time he got to him, he’d given the letters, along with the printouts, back to me. Ben never even knew the printouts were there. That’s when Keeler started haunting me. Calling me on the phone, mugging me in my parking garage, hoping I still had the letters in my briefcase.”

“And when he realized you didn’t,” said Horowitz, “he snatched Ethan Duffy, hooked you up with that cell phone, and sent you on your scavenger hunt. He figured you’d do anything to get Ethan back.”

“He figured right,” I said. I thought for a minute. “So why’d he kill Conrad Henshall?”

Horowitz shrugged. “Ethan was hiding out in that little apartment over Henshall’s shop. Keeler had to get him out of the way.”

I thought about all that, and it made sense. “So how
did
you find us at that shed? Did you get my message? I called you from home, got your damn voicemail. Or was it that 911 call I made from Julie’s phone? The note I left with your name on it?”

He shook his head and smiled. “That voicemail you left
me, all I could hear was the sound of running water. I didn’t hear about that 911 call you made from your office until this afternoon. That didn’t matter anyway. It was that cell phone of yours.”

“What do you mean? Keeler had me tied up on that phone the whole time.”

“I set it up when we were at the ball game,” he said. “Slipped one of those little bugs the size of a dime under the leather case. After that, I heard everything that was said within twenty feet of that phone. Followed that entire conversation he had with you last night. Knew where you were every minute.”

“You knew Ethan and I almost died in that shed?”

He shrugged. “We did the best we could, Coyne. It was tricky.”

“I wasn’t complaining.”

“Keeler had an electronic detonator with him, see,” he said. “There was dynamite in that shed, and it was soaked with gasoline. If we’d spooked him before you got out . . .”

“He blew it up anyway,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Horowitz. “You had me kinda worried there for a minute.”

T
hey made me stay in the hospital until Saturday. Evie came into my room around ten in the morning. She had clean clothes for me.

“Thank God,” I said when I saw her. “My angel of mercy. Get me out of here.”

She came over to where I was sitting on the edge of the bed in my humiliating hospital johnny. “I’m gonna pamper you all weekend,” she said, sliding a soft hand under my hem.

“I don’t want you to pamper me too gently,” I said. “Sometimes I like it rough.”

“We’ll see how you’re feeling, big guy.”

They insisted on pushing me out in a wheelchair. Liability, you know.

When Evie and I were settled in her car, I said, “Let’s go see Ethan.”

“Right now?”

“Please.”

While I was laid up in Beth Israel I kept in touch with
Ethan’s progress at Mass General. They’d moved him out of Intensive Care on Thursday.

Ellen Bramhall, Ethan’s mother, was sitting with him when Evie and I walked into his room. When she saw me, she stood up and gave me a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You saved my boy’s life.”

I didn’t understand why people kept insisting I’d saved Ethan’s life. The way I figured it, if it hadn’t been for me, he wouldn’t have been kidnapped in the first place.

I shook hands with Ethan, then introduced Evie to him and to Ellen. Ethan’s head hadn’t been shaved in a while. It was covered with brownish fur. I noticed that they’d removed the stud from his nose, too. He looked pale and fragile and very young, lying there on his white pillow.

We chatted for a few minutes, and then Ethan said, “Mom, I need to talk to Brady for a minute.”

Ellen frowned for an instant, then smiled quickly and said, “Oh, you mean privately.”

He nodded. “If you don’t mind.”

Evie stood up. “Come on,” she said to Ellen. “Let’s find the cafeteria. I need some coffee.”

After the women left, I pulled a chair close to Ethan’s bed. “What’s up, partner?”

“You said you were my lawyer, remember?”

I nodded. “You think you need one?”

He rolled his eyes. “The cops’ve been asking me a lot of questions. About me, about my dad. There’s some things you should know.”

“I know your father was involved with SOLF. The Spotted Owl Liberation Front.”

“Right,” said Ethan. “So was I.”

I nodded. I realized I wasn’t surprised.

“I didn’t think my father knew about me,” he said. “I was going to tell him after I—after I actually did something. Did something to make him proud.” He shrugged. “I knew about him, though. I guess I thought it would be a way I could, I don’t know, earn his respect. Have something in common with him. You know what I mean?”

I nodded. I knew how it could be with fathers and sons.

“That FBI lady told me about the list of e-mail addresses they found,” Ethan said. “Mine was on that list.”

“Is she telling you that they’re going to prosecute you because your e-mail address turned up on a list?”

“That Agent Randall,” said Ethan, “she’s like threatening me. Wants me to tell her everything I know. I keep telling her I don’t know anything. The only people I know of who were in SOLF were my dad and Connie.” He swallowed. “And they’re both dead.”

“Conrad Henshall?”

“Yes. What happened to him is my fault. I got him into it.”

“You never torched a building, did you?” I said.

Ethan shook his head. “With SOLF, you were pretty much on your own. You just e-mailed back and forth with them. With my dad, actually. They didn’t organize you or tell you what to do. They didn’t even know who you were. You could pick a building or something and you and your team could just . . . just go burn it down and make sure SOLF got credit.” He smiled. “Connie and I, we were a team. Our own little two-man cell. We’d drive all over the place, scouting for a good target. We found dozens of them, but Connie, he always decided they weren’t quite right.”

“Henshall was protecting you,” I said. “Keeping you out of trouble.”

“Yeah, I gradually began to realize that. We spent a lot of time together, pretending to be eco-terrorists. It was kinda fun.” Ethan smiled. “He was being a father to me. And I guess I was a son to him. He didn’t have kids, and me, I felt like I didn’t have a father. I could talk with Connie about anything.”

“What about that apartment over the record shop?”

“Connie owned the whole building,” said Ethan. “He kept saying he was going to rent out the apartment, but he never did. He used to spend the night there sometimes when he had a fight with his wife. Or if me or one of the other people who worked for him needed a place to crash, he let us use it. Connie was a good guy.” He looked up at me. “So am I in trouble?”

“You didn’t do anything criminal,” I said. “You can’t be punished for guilt by association.”

He shrugged. “I guess I need a lawyer to convince Agent Randall of that.”

“Sure,” I said. “You got one.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” I said. “We’ve got other lawyer-type things to talk about, too, you know.”

“I know,” he said. “I already thought about them. My mother and I have been talking. My father’s will, right?”

I nodded.

“I know I’m his only heir,” said Ethan. “I know the only thing he left me is his house. I guess I’m supposed to make sure his collection of bird stuff goes to museums and libraries, right?”

“That’s my job,” I said. “It’s all my job. You don’t have to do anything. The issue is, until you’re twenty-one, your mother is your trustee.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning she’s the one who makes the decisions about your, um, your inheritance.”

“We’ve already talked about it,” he said. “That’s not a problem.”

“Good.”

“We know what we want to do.”

“Well,” I said, “as your lawyer, I should know, too.”

“As soon as we can take care of my father’s collections,” he said, “we want to sell his townhouse. The money will pay for my college. I’m going to go stay with Mom and Jonathan and live in a dorm or an apartment or something when school starts. Like a normal college student.”

“Whatever ‘normal’ means,” I said.

Ethan smiled. “Does that sound okay?”

“It sounds very sensible. You’ll have a lot of money left over, if I’m any judge of Beacon Hill real estate. Your father owned that place free and clear. We’ll set up a trust fund for you. In a couple years when you’re twenty-one, it’ll be yours.”

“Cool,” he said. “I can use it to make my first movie.”

I smiled. “Your lawyer will undoubtedly try to hook you up with a good financial adviser.”

Ethan rolled his eyes.

“That’s the sort of boring, sensible thing lawyers do for their clients,” I said. “Still want me?”

“After what you did for me?”

“Listen to me,” I said. “The most generous way to look at what I did was this: I got you into trouble, then I did what
I could to get you out of trouble. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I still want you to be my lawyer.”

We shook hands on it.

“I don’t know what to do about Henry,” he said after a minute.

“My secretary’s taking good care of him. Don’t worry about Henry.”

“But once I move out of Dad’s house, I’m going to have to sell him or something.”

I started to say, “You can’t do that.” But I didn’t. Instead, I said, “Your mother won’t take him?”

“It’s not her. It’s Jonathan. He won’t allow animals in his house. Mom’s upset about it, but she won’t stand up to him. I don’t want to make a problem for her. Jonathan’s an asshole, but I guess she’s stuck with him. He’s probably pissed about me living there as it is. I feel bad about Henry.”

“We’ll find a good home for Henry,” I said.

“I hope so.” He hesitated. “I’ve been having this thought. About my father.”

I nodded.

“I think he knew I was involved with SOLF,” he said. “I think he recognized my e-mail address on that list. I think he got rid of that list when he knew they were going to subpoena him. To protect me.”

“If you’re thinking—”

“That he got killed because of me?” Ethan nodded. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. The day it happened?” He blew out a long breath. “He picked a terrible fight with me. Told me he couldn’t stand having me around. He hated how I looked, how I acted, hated my friends, my lifestyle. Everything about me. I told him if that’s how he felt, I was leaving.
He said good, go, he didn’t want me around.”

“He knew something was going to happen,” I said. “He didn’t want you involved.”

He nodded. “That’s what I think now. But at the time . . .”

“You were upset.”

“Yes. I went to Connie, asked him to let me stay in his place over the shop. Told him I didn’t want anybody to know where I was. That night you came looking for me and saw Phil?”

I nodded.

“I was there. Upstairs. I figured Dad had sent you looking for me.”

“You didn’t know what happened to your father?”

“Not until I went back to the house. I had some things there I needed. That’s when I saw the crime-scene tape on the doors.”

“The police were looking for you, you know.”

He nodded. “Sure. I figured I was a suspect. I should’ve turned myself in before Keeler kidnapped me and killed Connie. But I was scared and upset. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. I called you to tell you I was okay so you’d stop looking for me. I blew it. The whole thing. If it wasn’t for me . . .”

“Nobody blames you for anything,” I said.

“My dad was protecting me. He picked that fight with me to get me out of harm’s way.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“And he passed on that list to Mr. Frye to keep my name out of it. That’s what got him killed. Both of them. Connie, too. Trying to protect me.”

“That’s not how it was,” I said. “Your father passed that list on to Ben Frye because he wanted to keep SOLF going.
That’s all. That had nothing to do with you. Don’t blame yourself for what happened to your father.”

“You think?”

“I’m certain,” I said, although I wasn’t.

Ethan smiled—a bit sadly, I thought. “I don’t know whether I should be relieved or disappointed.”

“Your father loved you more than anything,” I said. “Never doubt that. He just wasn’t very good at expressing it.

“I’m gonna be better at it with my kids,” he said. “It’s a hard way to grow up, feeling that your father doesn’t notice you.”

A few minutes later Evie and Ellen returned, and for another half hour or so we all sat there in Ethan’s room making small talk.

Then Evie glanced at her watch and stood up. “This man,” she said, jerking her head at me, “is just out of the hospital. I need to get him home so he can rest and get his strength back. I have big plans for him.”

Ellen giggled and Ethan grinned. I think I blushed.

On a blustery Wednesday morning toward the end of July, Evie and I drove Ethan and Henry to Plum Island. Ethan and Henry rode in the backseat. Henry kept his nose pressed against the window. Ethan held Walt Duffy’s urn on his lap.